Tournament of Champions

by Phil Bildner

  “You really think I’m going to let you beat me in front of everyone?” Mr. Acevedo said.

  He soft-tossed the ball back to Diego, and as soon as he caught it, Mr. Acevedo swarmed. He batted the ball up and out of Diego’s hands.

  Just like I did to Diego yesterday.

  “I’ll take that!” Mr. Acevedo said, plucking the ball from the air. He stared down Diego. “You got anything else to say?”

  Mr. Acevedo didn’t wait for an answer. He backed Diego into the paint and shoulder-bumped him aside. Then he pivoted left and put up the shot.

  Swish!

  “Who’s your teacher?” Mr. Acevedo stood over Diego. He bobbed his head and beat his chest. “Boss!”

  Rising to the Occasion

  “This here is Amy Wu,” Coach Acevedo said at the start of Thursday’s practice after school at RJE. Clifton United had circled up under the basket by the water fountains. “She’ll be taking Headband’s spot on the roster.”

  “Headband’s not on the team anymore?” I said.

  “No, he’s not,” Coach Acevedo said.

  I clasped my hands and pressed my thumbs and knuckles to my lips. Coach Acevedo had said to expect changes, but I had no idea that meant kids might be replaced.

  “That’s five girls now.” Maya folded her arms and nodded. “Ballin’.”

  “Everyone needs to be on point today.” Coach Acevedo looked around the huddle and made eye contact with a few kids. “We come committed to excellence.”

  “Committed to excellence.” Diego jumped in place and shook out his arms.

  I sized up Amy. She played in a different league, but I’d seen her run ball a couple times. She had real good hands and a pretty good shot, and, like Maya, she’d gotten a lot taller.

  “Decisions are being made.” Coach Acevedo looked around the huddle again. This time, he made eye contact with me. “Dazzle me. I like to be dazzled.” He soccer-style rainbow-flicked the basketball to Red. “Shoot your free throw.”

  Red took his free throw.

  Red made his free throw.

  Tweet! Tweet!

  “Rip, put everyone in pairs,” Coach Acevedo said, pointing downcourt. “Make two lines under the basket facing this way.”

  “A-Wu’s with me,” I said. That’s what other kids were already calling Amy. I started walking to the hoop. “Elbows, you’re with Mehdi.”

  “I’m with Red,” Maya called.

  “Oh, yeah.” Red hopped. “I’m with Maya Wade.”

  “I’m with Super-Size.” Diego leaped onto his back.

  I lined up first under the hoop. “Hudson, you’re with Zoe. Mimi, you’re with Speedy.” I clapped three times. “We will rise to the occasion, which is life.”

  “Yo, where’d you learn that?” Diego stepped to me and laughed in my face. Literally laughed in my face. “That was mad corny.”

  Everyone else laughed, too.

  I cringed.

  “Where’d you learn it?” Diego asked again.

  “A fortune cookie?” Elbows said.

  Everyone laughed more.

  “Coach Acevedo,” I said.

  “Seriously?” Diego stopped laughing.

  I nodded. “He wants it to be our team saying, our mantra.”

  “That’s tight,” Diego said. “Mad corny, but tight.”

  I checked Coach Acevedo. He was adjusting the mini cones at the far end of the court and hearing all of this.

  I cringed again.

  “We will rise to the occasion!” Diego began jumping in circles. “We will rise to the occasion! We will rise to the occasion!” He chest-bumped Elbows and then ran along the baseline until he reached Red. “We will rise to the occasion!” He double-high-fived him. “We will rise to the occasion, which is life!”

  “We will rise to the occasion, which is life!” Red said, and hopped.

  Everyone laughed harder.

  I checked Coach Acevedo again. He was laughing, too.

  Clifton United Can Ball

  “Clifton United can ball!” I said to Diego and Speedy during the water break between end-of-practice sprints and end-of-practice free throws.

  “This is what I call a team!” Speedy said. “You’re fearless under the boards.” She double-fist-bumped Diego. “Fearless.”

  “That was tight,” he said, bouncing like always.

  “You outjumped Super-Size!” Speedy said. “On that one play, you got the rebound over him and then scored on that crazy pass from Elbows. Fearless!”

  But it was more than just that one play. Diego and Speedy put on a show all practice. The two smallest kids on the team played bigger than everyone.

  “You’re a menace on defense,” Diego said to Mimi as she walked up. He gave her a pound.

  “A menace!” Speedy hopped to Mimi and double-fist-bumped her as well.

  Diego pivoted to me. “You’ve got the insane-in-the-membrane crossover dribble.”

  “The Iverson crossover!” I air-dribbled. “Unstoppable.”

  “Yo, check out Red,” Diego said, resting his arm on my shoulder.

  Red was talking with Maya by the stage, hopping from foot to foot and basketball-smiling.

  I pumped a fist by my side. Maya was now part of my Get-Red-to-Come-to-the-Showdown Plan, too. Her job was to make Red feel like an indispensable member of Clifton United, something Maya was doing even before I told her about the plan.

  “He has to come to the Showdown,” Speedy said.

  “He’d better come to the Showdown,” Mimi added.

  “Trust me,” I said. “Red’s getting on that bus next Friday.” I shook out my hair and turned to Elbows and Super-Size, who had joined us. “Coach Acevedo’s a little different from your coach, right?”

  “A little?” Elbows said.

  “He’s usually not this intense,” I said. “This is the most—”

  “You call this intense?” Elbows cut me off. “Coach Acevedo’s a playful puppy compared to our old coach.”

  “Coach Acevedo’s a playful puppy dog,” Diego baby-talked.

  We laughed.

  “I can’t understand how you played for Coach Crazy,” Speedy said.

  “He was the only parent available,” Super-Size said.

  “Whose parent was he?” I asked.

  “Our big guy,” Elbows said. “The one who almost cracked open that kid’s head.”

  “Coach Crazy is Mega-Man’s dad?” I held up my hands. “No way!”

  “Yeah,” Super-Size said. “Coach Roth is Charlie Roth’s dad.”

  “No way!” I said again.

  “Is Mega-Man anything like his father?” Speedy asked.

  Super-Size shook his head. “He’s real quiet. No one liked hanging with him because of his dad.”

  “I thought you were good friends with him,” I said.

  “Not me,” Super-Size said.

  “Me neither,” Elbows added. “I never knew what to say to him, especially when his dad was losing his mind.”

  “Which was all the time,” Super-Size said. “But what bites is now we have no coach and no team.”

  “Yo, you have a team.” Diego rested his arm on Super-Size’s shoulder. “You have Clifton United.”

  In the Zone

  Twenty-two hours and sixteen minutes later …

  “Let’s talk about the zone defense,” Coach Acevedo said at Friday’s practice, once Clifton United huddled up and after Red sank his beginning-of-practice foul shot. “How do we beat it?”

  Red’s hand shot up. Coach Acevedo chin-nodded to him.

  “To beat a zone defense, players on offense should stretch the defense,” Red said. “Players on offense should perform shot fakes and pass fakes. Shot fakes and pass fakes lead to opportunities.”

  Coach Acevedo twirled his whistle. “Looks like someone did his homework.”

  “Oh, yeah, Coach Acevedo,” Red said.

  That big tournament packet Coach Acevedo had sent out on Monday included a section on attacking the zo
ne.

  “Players on offense should keep proper spacing,” Red went on. “Proper spacing spreads the defense and forces the defense to cover a lot of ground. Proper spacing leads to opportunities.”

  “He makes his free throws and comes prepared.” Coach Acevedo snatched his whistle. “Let’s give this a whirl. Ladies, the five of you are on offense.”

  Maya clapped her hands like cymbals. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

  “Speedy, you’re running the point,” Coach Acevedo said. “Go set your team.” He spun to me. “Rip, you’re leading the defense. Set up in a two-three zone.”

  “Who’s in?” I asked.

  “Your call.”

  “Elbows, Mehdi.” I waved them over. “Red, Diego. Let’s do this.”

  We huddled near midcourt.

  “Could you have picked a smaller five?” Diego asked.

  “I like small ball.” I bumped Diego’s shoulder. “You play down low in the middle since you’re our biggest player.”

  “Diego Vasquez isn’t our biggest player,” Red said.

  I reached to ruffle his hair, but Red ducked away.

  “You’re too slow, Mason Irving,” he said, smiling and pointing.

  Up until this year, I would never have tried ruffling Red’s hair. He would’ve freaked. But now he’s fine with it. He ruffles my hair, too.

  “Time to show Coach Acevedo we’re committed to excellence,” I said. “Time to do a little dazzling.”

  “Let’s show them this small-ball five gives Clifton United the best chance at winning.” Diego gave everyone double pounds. “We will rise to the occasion, which is life.”

  We all laughed.

  As we set up in our zone, my basketball brain revved:

  • Watch the shot fakes. Watch the pass fakes.

  • Don’t bite when they try to spread the floor. Don’t chase the ball. Play your space.

  • Watch Mimi and Zoe going high post to low post. No open shots in the paint.

  • Don’t let Speedy penetrate. Don’t let her create openings.

  • Box out.

  Tweet! Tweet!

  Our zone was airtight!

  The girls couldn’t get us to chase the ball. They couldn’t get the ball into the paint. They didn’t score a single basket. They didn’t get a single offensive rebound.

  Lockdown!

  “Nicely done, defense,” Coach Acevedo said after five straight stops. “That’s what we want to see.”

  Tweet! Tweet!

  “Let’s switch it right up!” Coach Acevedo said. “Defense, you’re on offense. Let’s go.”

  Our small-ball five huddled at the top of the key.

  “We move the ball around quickly,” I said. “No one stands still.” I pointed to Red and Elbows. “One of you is getting the open shot in a short corner.”

  Diego smacked the floor with both palms. “Let’s do this, offense,” he said. “Let’s show the girls how it’s really done.”

  We whipped the ball around the perimeter and looked for gaps, but the girls’ zone was in perfect sync.

  So it was time for a little dazzling.

  Elbows passed to me on the wing. I looked inside for an open teammate or for a gap in the zone. Nothing. But instead of sending the ball to Hudson up top or back to Elbows in the corner, I fired an overhead skip pass across the court to Diego. He sent the ball to Red, wide open in the corner. Red squared to shoot, but his basketball eyes spotted Elbows sliding into the paint. Red fed him with a sweet pass. Elbows put up the shot.

  Swish!

  “Great look!” Diego pounded the floor with his fist. “That’s how it’s done.”

  “It sure is,” Coach Acevedo said, clapping. “Way to make the extra pass, Red. Beautiful play, offense. Beautiful!”

  “Boo-yah!” I hammer-fisted the air.

  “Bam!” Red cheered.

  * * *

  “Let’s learn a couple of those out-of-bounds plays you sent me,” Coach Acevedo said later at practice. “Zoe, Rip, Red, Speedy, Maya—thanks for the suggestions. They were exactly what I was looking for.”

  Coach had messaged us last night:

  I’d emailed Coach Acevedo my play suggestion as soon as I got his note. I didn’t know Red had suggested one until right now.

  “Speedy, we’re learning yours first.” Coach Acevedo tossed her the basketball.

  “Sweet!” she said.

  “We’re calling it Hawkeye.” He pointed the rest of us to the baseline. “Take it away. Teach your teammates.”

  She ran the ball out to the foul line and power-dribbled once with both hands. “Hawkeye is an under-the-hoop out-of-bounds play,” she said. “When it works, you don’t just get the ball in, you score a basket.”

  Speedy taught us the play. She ran to each spot on the floor and demonstrated the positioning and moves. Then she ran through the entire play by herself, showing us all the passes, shots, and options.

  “Everyone got all that?” Coach Acevedo asked. “Good,” he said, before anyone could answer. “We’ll be running it shortly.” He called for the ball and trapped Speedy’s pass under his heel. “Our other out-of-bounds play is a sideline play. We’re calling this one Thor. Maya, you’re going to teach it to us.”

  “This play is boss!” She banged her hands like cymbals. “It works every time.”

  “But before you start,” Coach Acevedo said, “I have to acknowledge the most creative suggestion I received.” He fired a chest pass to Red. “If we ever need a desperation play at the end of a game, we’re running yours.”

  “Thanks, Coach Acevedo.” Red squeezed the ball.

  “You want to tell everyone a little about it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Red hopped from foot to foot. “The play is called Pacer. That’s what Valparaiso—”

  “Valpa who?” Diego interrupted.

  “Valparaiso University,” Red said. “On March 13, 1998, the Valparaiso University Crusaders won their first ever NCAA tournament game, defeating the University of Mississippi Rebels seventy to sixty-nine on a buzzer-beater three-point shot by Bryce Drew.”

  “That’s the play you suggested?” Maya asked.

  “That’s the play, Maya Wade.”

  “Now that’s boss!”

  “The Valparaiso University Crusaders were the number-thirteen seed in the 1998 NCAA tournament,” Red said, still hopping from foot to foot. “The University of Mississippi Rebels were the number-four seed in the 1998 NCAA tournament. The University of Mississippi Rebels were expected to advance to the second round, but—”

  “I’m going to cut you off there, Red,” Coach Acevedo said. “You are going to teach us Pacer, just not right now. Definitely before we leave for the Showdown. And I’m putting you on notice. If and when the time comes we need a close-out play, you’re the man.”

  “Thanks, Coach Acevedo.” Red hopped faster. “I’m your man.”

  Dazzling

  I chugged what was left in my water bottle and wiped the water from the sides of my mouth with my shoulder sleeve. In a couple minutes, we were running our end-of-practice up-and-backs. On my select team last year, we called them by a different name, but Coach Acevedo wasn’t a big fan of that word. No matter what you called them, they were brutal.

  “Way to go, Rip,” Coach Acevedo said, walking up. “Above and beyond.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling.

  “I’m serious, Rip. You far exceeded my expectations. Impressive.”

  My smile grew. “You said you like to be dazzled.”

  “And you sure did dazzle. Things are gelling.” He play-punched my shoulder. “Once we finalize our third-chaperone situation, we’ll be good to go.”

  “We still don’t have someone?”

  “Not yet.” He shook his head. “We have a few options. It’ll all work out.”

  “Do you know anything about the other teams?” I asked.

  “I know some of them have been playing together for years.”

&
nbsp; I chucked my water bottle toward the corner. It landed against the rolled-up volleyball nets. “Have you seen them play?”

  “Not in person.” Coach Acevedo tucked his hair behind his ears. “How we fare may depend on the luck of the draw. Some of these teams are supposed to be … impressive.”

  “Like me.”

  “Like you.” Coach Acevedo smiled. “Like Red. That was some pass he made to Elbows.”

  “Amazing!”

  Coach Acevedo laughed. “I got such a kick out of the play he suggested.”

  “He didn’t tell me he sent you one.”

  “You think he’s coming to the Showdown?”

  “He’s coming. I know Red.”

  “I know you do. You’re a good friend.”

  “He’s a good friend.”

  “The way you interact with him,” he said, poking my chest, “is impressive. Red makes such a difference. Everywhere he goes. You’re a big part of that.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I think … Coach Acevedo, I think you’d make a good dad.”

  “Wow, Rip. Where’d that come from?”

  “I don’t know … I just … I think you would. You listen to kids, and you … and you compliment people.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think you would.”

  “That’s a kind thing to say, Rip.” He held out his fist. “Thanks.”

  I gave him a pound.

  “Aisha and I hope to start a family in the not-too-distant future,” he said. “She works with a number of foster agencies. That’s how we got involved with Maya and her sister and their situation.”

  I didn’t know there was a situation. It helped explain why Maya was with him in the park the day he ran into Diego.

  “For the moment,” Coach Acevedo went on, “we’re letting life happen as it happens.” He play-punched my shoulder again. “By the way, saying nice things to me isn’t getting you out of up-and-backs.”

  “It was worth a shot,” I said.

  A basketball rolled into the back of my leg. I turned. Diego chased it down.