Bouncing Back
Page 19
Going into that game, it kind of felt like we were starring in a movie, so we knew we would win. Just before the third quarter, I looked up at the big scoreboard and thought, How can that be? We’re the Rollin’ Rats. We settled down in the fourth quarter and lost by only six points, but we knew we hadn’t played our game. And we knew that the next loss would put us out of the tournament.
Afterward, Trooper told us, “Apparently the Lions are not impressed by your fame. Guys, we didn’t come all the way down here just to pose for pictures and let everyone pat us on the back. We came to play ball, and so far, we are in a daze.”
Maybe we did let our “fame” go to our heads a little bit. The newspaper story called me “the Rats’ distributor,” but I threw away a couple of passes trying to be too fancy. Early in the second half I was next to Trooper and he told me, “Remember, Carlos, spectacular plays are created by simple passes.”
Suddenly, the State championship seemed a million miles away. We would have to win five games in a row.
Back at the hotel, James called a players-only meeting in the lobby.
“Rats,” he said, gazing intensely at all of us, “we worked too hard for this to go home after two games. Any ideas about what we can do to get back on track?”
“Maybe play some D,” Jellybean suggested.
“Good idea,” Mia said. “The Lions set a lot of picks and we didn’t really help each other. They got way too many easy shots.”
Everyone agreed.
“Anything else?” James said.
Nobody said anything, but Hayley was working on her sketchpad. We watched her, then she held up a drawing of a rat in a basketball wheelchair. Over the rat’s head was a thought balloon. Inside the thought balloon was a basketball.
“A message can’t get much simpler than that,” Hot Rod said.
So that’s what we tried to do. Forget all the outside stuff and make this all about basketball. We had a team activity planned that night, a trip to a mall. Instead, we asked Trooper if we could practice. The hotel let us use a ballroom and we did a couple of hours of passing and defensive drills.
Now we were day-to-day—every game was win or go home. We beat the Lake Arrowhead Bluebirds 38–35. We played our best defense of the season, led by Hayley, who was all over the court. She shut down their best player, and had three blocks and three steals.
“We were going to give you the game ball, Hayley,” Jellybean said, “but you already stole it.”
Next we squeaked past the San Bernardino Smoke by five points. Still alive, but we’d need to win three more for the title. Next up: the Sacramento Ducks.
During warm-ups, Trooper called me aside.
“We’ve been sluggish moving the ball,” he said. “I’m going to tell the others to play it like hot potato, and that means you’ll be handling the ball a lot and setting the tone. Whenever you throw a pass, immediately start looking for your next pass. Sacramento is not real quick—we can tire ’em out by moving the ball.”
We did, and I had seven assists. Back in our room, Edgar looked at the stat sheet and said, “I’m keeping this to show the guys back home. I’ll tell them this Cooper guy is your twin brother, the one who shares the ball. That was beautiful, Coop.”
The next morning, I was rolling through the hotel lobby on my way to team breakfast, although I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to eat much. One team would be on a plane home the next morning—either the High Desert Rattlers or the Rollin’ Rats. The winner would play for the State championship.
Then I was jolted from my somber mood.
“Get outta the fast lane, dude. I’m late for class.”
I turned around and—yep, it was Stomper. He laughed the famous Stomper laugh and gave me a fist bump.
“My mom and I came down from the Bay to hang with some relatives,” he said, answering the surprise in my eyes. “I asked her if we could go to your game today.”
“Great,” I said. “We can use a couple more fans. How are you and your mom doing?”
“We’re doing pretty good,” he said. “Lot of people are helping us out. Including your aunt. My mom really needed a friend, you know? I mean, she’s got me, but dude, your aunt really gets things done. She helped us hook up with a local agency that works with families who, uh, you know, need help.”
We turned at the sound of another voice.
“No way!”
It was Mia. She rolled up to us, smiling, and stared at Stomper.
“He’s coming to our game,” I said.
“To root for us, I hope,” Mia said with a chuckle. “Then you might as well eat breakfast with us.”
“Breakfast? You mean, like, with your team? Is that cool with you guys?”
Mia said, “Didn’t I just invite you?”
Stomper smiled. So different than his old evil grin.
It was kind of weird. The Rats knew Stomper as the legendary bully and jerk, but also as, thanks to Jellybean, “General Stomper of the Railroad Avenue Cavalry.”
And leave it to Jellybean to break the ice.
“You must be General Stomper,” Beans said. “I wish the rest of us could have seen the mayor’s face when you and your boys crashed that party.”
Stomper looked embarrassed but flattered.
“Grab some food and sit down,” James said. “You’re going to ride the team bus with us to the game, right?”
“Uh, sure, if that’s okay,” Stomper said.
“Heck yes,” Jellybean said. “You can ride squirt-gun. I mean, shotgun.”
James nearly choked on his orange juice.
The Rattlers were really good, but we were on fire. James hit four shots in a row at the start of the game, and that kind of took the wind out of the Rattlers’ sails.
After James hit a couple of long shots, his man started overplaying him to keep him from getting the ball.
“Back door,” I said to James as we brought the ball up.
James went to the corner, did a U-turn, and came back toward me. I faked a pass, his man lunged out, and James cut back door to the hoop. Easy assist for me. We did that twice, and the Rattlers never recovered.
We should have been the team running out of gas, since we had seven players and the Rattlers had eleven, but Trooper subbed a lot to keep us fresh, and our cheering section, featuring the new voice of Stomper, got us extra pumped up.
We huddled after the game and Trooper held up one finger.
“One more game. Now’s the time to start thinking about State.”
Our whooping and shouting echoed through the arena.
“Coach,” Jellybean said, reaching into his sweatshirt pocket, “here’s where my mind is.”
He unfolded a piece of paper and held it up: Hayley’s drawing from our team meeting.
Four wins in a row! It felt great. Then I felt fluttering in my stomach.
GIVE-AND-GO
AS WE TOOK THE COURT FOR WARM-UPS, I LOOKED into the stands and found Stomper and Easy E, then I looked at my teammates, and I thought how not that long ago I was sure I would never have a friend.
That warm feeling faded instantly when I looked at the other end of the court, at the San Diego Sailors. They had super-cool warm-up jackets that looked like navy uniforms, and they were doing a warm-up drill that made them look like a college team.
The Sailors were undefeated; they had crushed the four teams they played, and because they were undefeated, they had to play only four games to advance to the championship game. We had watched one of their games, and DJ said, “I’m pretty sure that number twelve could grow a beard. Did anyone check their birth certificates?”
“I don’t know about number twelve,” Mia said, “but one of them does shave. That girl they call Magic. I was next to her at the snack bar yesterday and I’m pretty sure she shaves her legs.”
Our cheering section had gotten a little bigger each game, with new friends and relatives joining the party, and Stomper and Easy made sure everybody was making noise.
We huddled up before tip-off and Trooper kept it simple. As usual. In fact, the bigger the game, the simpler his pregame message.
He rolled into the huddle, looked around at our faces, and said, “Have fun.”
Then, “One-two-three”—we all joined in—“go, Rats!”
To open the game, Hayley and I were on the bench. Trooper said, “Carlos, I want you to watch number eight, the girl they call Magic. Tell me what you see. And I want you to think about shooting. I know you’re our playmaker, but if you have an open shot, I want you to fire away.”
I knew my main job wasn’t to shoot, but if the other team figures out you’re afraid to shoot, or can’t shoot, they stop guarding you, and that messes up our offense.
The Sailors scored on their first possession. Magic cut hard around a pick and drove the lane. James left his man to pick up Magic, but he was a second late and she zoomed past him for a layup. She wasn’t big, but she was super quick.
Their cheering section exploded. It felt like we were in an NBA arena. Gave me chills.
We hit them right back. After Magic’s layup, James made one of his famous (to us) out-of-bounds spin-passes, to Hot Rod, who hit DJ streaking down the right side for a layup. Hot Rod’s pass was risky, but Trooper says it’s okay to take “smart risks.”
The sound of our “little” cheering section hit me like a big wave, and I looked up in the stands and grinned.
The Sailors’ coach yelled, “Guys, that’s what we talked about. They run. We have to get back on defense. No more cheap buckets!”
“That was a fast bucket,” Trooper said to me while keeping his eyes on the court, “but it was not a cheap bucket. We earned that.”
The Sailors scored two quick baskets, but we got one when Mia stole a pass near midcourt and zipped in for a layup.
“Okay, Carlos,” Trooper said as the Sailors brought the ball up. “What have you seen?”
“Well,” I said, hoping I passed this test, “they like to set picks near the top of the key for Magic, and then she likes to drive.”
Trooper nodded. “So if you’re guarding her, what do you do?”
Uh-oh. I crossed my fingers. “Go under the pick, instead of fighting over it?”
“Exactly,” Trooper said, looking pleased. “We won’t worry about her shooting the long shot behind the pick. So go behind the screen and cut off her drives. Check in for James.”
Was I nervous? Ohhh yeah. As I waited at the scorer’s table, I heard Rosie yell, “Go get ’em, Carlito!” And Edgar added, “Kill ’em, Hooper!”
Better not let ’em down, I thought as the action stopped for an out-of-bounds play and the ref waved me in. I slapped hands with James as he headed to the bench, breathing hard. He said, “Hey, the refs are letting a lot of little stuff go, so don’t be afraid to make contact.”
I gave my wheels a hard crank to shoot out onto the floor. I wanted to at least look like I was eager to go.
They in-bounded to Magic, and I picked her up as she dribbled up-court. As she got to the top of the key, a Sailor came up from behind me on my right and set a pick, so I spun to my left, circled back and behind the guy screening, and met Magic on the other side of the pick. I beat her to the spot, but she had made up her mind to go to the hoop, so she crashed into me and knocked my chair back three feet, then stopped and hit the shot.
An obvious charging foul on her, I thought. No whistle.
“Welcome to the State Finals, number seven,” one of the San Diego fans yelled rudely, and their fans laughed. My face burned.
“You good, Carlos?” Trooper called out. I gave him a thumbs-up. Actually that hit felt good, kind of woke me up. That and the mouthy fan.
At halftime the Sailors led, 23–22.
They were more physical than us, but we were faster, and we were starting to get used to their hard contact and we were giving it back. And we kept running.
I hit my only shot of the half, a ten-footer on the baseline that bounced twice on the rim and dropped in.
Easy E yelled, “Cooooop!” and I had a quick flashback to the old days. But I knew my main job was moving the ball, keep the Flow offense flowing.
At halftime, Stomper and Edgar came over to give me encouragement. Stomper looked around, like he had a secret, and said, “Hey, you know what I was thinking?”
Stomper looked at Easy, who gave Stomper a nod, like, Go ahead.
Stomper said, “What’s the name of that play you showed me at school the other day? The give-and-take?”
“You mean the give-and-go?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, Easy noticed that whoever Magic is guarding, when her man passes, she leaves him and goes to double-team whoever gets the pass, right? You guys could give-and-go. Right, Easy?”
Edgar nodded, and said, “Just a thought. Get back out there and kick some butt, dude.”
We played ’em even in the third quarter. Their offense was slow and deliberate. They liked to get the ball to Magic or their other shooter, Jeff, and set picks for them, or let them go one-on-one, and they were both hard to stop.
But they had to play defense, too. Whenever we didn’t beat them downcourt with our fast break, we set up and passed and moved nonstop, and I could see the Sailors starting to drag just a little. Mia was moving and cutting so much away from the ball that the guy guarding her was beet red, and he finally waved to the sidelines, asking for a rest.
I shook my head and almost laughed. Asking for a rest in the State championship game?
Then I remembered my first practice with my team, when I couldn’t wait to get off the court and rest. And hide.
“Anybody need a break?” Trooper yelled from the bench.
I shook my head and cranked my wheels harder to make sure Coach got the message.
I threw a pass out of bounds when DJ and I got our signals crossed, but I remembered what Trooper said the first game I played, about perfection not being our goal. Just give effort.
For sure we were doing that, almost like we were enjoying being exhausted. Maybe all those outdoor practices had made us tougher.
With two minutes left in the fourth quarter, we were down by three. Jeff missed a shot and I made a mistake, looking up for the rebound instead of boxing out Magic. She made me pay, speeding past me to get the rebound and put it back in.
Sailors up by five.
Trooper called a time-out. Mia rolled up next to me and said, “Carlos, come on, you’ve got to box that girl off the boards!”
I looked at her and nodded. Mia held up her hand for a high five and said, “We’re going to do this, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said.
We needed points, so I thought Trooper might take me out and put in Hayley, a better shooter. But in the huddle he said, “Stay in, Carlos. Be our floor general.”
They had the ball, and Jeff missed a fifteen-footer from the right side. I was guarding Magic, but playing off her because the ball was on the other side of the court. When Jeff’s shot went up, I knew Magic was coming to rebound, hard.
I spun to the left and cut her off, turning my chair so that she rammed into me from behind. Perfect box-out. Crash!
Both our chairs flipped onto the floor. The ball rebounded back to Jeff and he put it in, but the ref blew his whistle and waved off the basket.
“Over the back, number eight, white,” the ref said calmly, pointing to Magic. “Before the shot, no basket. Gold ball.”
Their coach moaned. “Come on, ref, let ’em play ball! This is for the championship!”
My teammates helped me get back into my chair. I brought the ball up and passed to James, and he gave it right back. I was wide open at the free-throw line.
Magic had sagged a few feet off me.
“Let him go, Magic, he can’t shoot,” one of their guys yelled.
I heard J
ames say in a calm voice, “Shoot, Carlos.”
I shot.
Swish.
The Sailors’ lead was cut to three.
They missed a shot and DJ got the rebound. Trooper whistled and made a circle in the air with his finger, his signal for “Run the same play again.”
I passed to James, he passed back to me. Same play. Magic was camped in the middle of the key again, but this time she wasn’t going to give me that open shot. She came at me hard.
That left the middle of the key open. James saw the space and cut through the paint. I lobbed a pass over Magic’s outstretched arms and James had an easy layup.
Magic’s momentum sent her crashing into me, but she was off-balance, so her chair flipped onto the floor. No whistle.
“Gotta call that rough stuff on them, ref!” yelled their coach. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
I saw Trooper glance at the Sailors’ coach and smile to himself.
The Sailors’ lead was cut to one, but they had the ball with only twenty-five seconds left.
Their other guard, their best ball handler, number 30, was planning to dribble out the clock. Maybe she was thinking about how she would throw the ball into the air in triumph at the buzzer, because Mia sneaked up behind her and poked the ball loose. It bounced to James and five Sailors zoomed toward him, but he quickly called time-out.
Eleven seconds on the clock. Maybe eleven seconds left in my basketball career, at least for a few years, until I could try out for the high-school-age team. Weird, I didn’t feel nervous. Just excited.
Stay calm, I told myself. Then I remembered what Stomper said at halftime.
I rolled into the huddle and motioned to Trooper. “Coach, Jeff is on Mia and whenever Mia passes the ball, Jeff leaves her. What about a give-and-go?”
Trooper looked at me. I gulped. Was I too cocky, telling the coach what plays to run?
Trooper frowned, then nodded and handed me his dry-erase board. “Draw it up,” he said.
I hesitated. Then James said, “Come on, give us a play.”
“James brings the ball down the far left side,” I said to my teammates. “They’ll try to trap him right away, since they know he’s our best shooter.” The marker squeaked on the whiteboard and everyone nodded.