Dunk Under Pressure

by Rich Wallace

  “Big ocean,” Krystal said.

  Dunk looked, but then turned his gaze back to the boards beneath his feet. He folded his arms and held his chin in his hand.

  “You remember a race I ran during my senior year in high school?” Krystal asked. “The county championships, remember?”

  Dunk thought about it. “That time you lost?”

  “That’s the one. I got caught on the final straightaway of the four-hundred by that girl from Lincoln and I just folded up; finished fourth!”

  “Yeah. Only race you lost the whole season, wasn’t it?”

  “Right. So you remember three weeks later in the sectionals, same situation, same girl? Remember what happened?”

  “You smoked her,” Dunk said.

  “I did. I stewed about that collapse for three weeks, Cornell. I thought about it when I went to bed and dreamed about it all night. Woke up every morning in a sweat and carried that with me all day. And I ran with it in my head during every workout, fought twice as hard as I ever did to make sure it would never happen again.”

  Dunk nodded slowly. He wiped a tear from his eye with his thumb. “You’re lucky you had a chance to make up for it,” he said. “This one’s gonna haunt me for a long, long time.”

  “It’ll go faster than you think,” Krystal said. “It hurts like crazy right now, but I’m telling you the truth. That hurt is what’s going to make you a better basketball player than you’d ever be without it. It’s going to drive you, Cornell. I can see it.”

  He stared across the Boardwalk at a stand where players were lined up to shoot water guns at targets that would propel small mechanical horses toward a finish line. The barker was calling to people in the crowd, trying to get two more players for the race. Sixties rock music was blaring from the speakers.

  “You’re right,” Dunk said. “When that game ended I thought I’d never want to play basketball again. Forget it ever happened. Now I can’t wait to get back to it. Get a chance to redeem myself.”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Krystal said.

  “Nah,” Dunk replied. “I probably won’t even play in that game. What I mean is, the next season is a long way off. I’m going to have to live with this for a while.”

  “Live with it, yeah. Kick it in the butt every time you get on the court. You don’t want to forget what happened. You want it hanging there to remind you how hard you have to work to get past it.”

  Dunk’s eyes opened a little wider. He bit down on his lip. “I hear you.”

  “How’d you even make this team in the first place, Cornell? As I remember you were the worst of the worst a year ago.”

  Dunk gave a slight smile. “Was I that bad?” “You weren’t good. Took about a thousand hours of practice just to learn to shoot free throws, didn’t it?”

  Dunk’s smile got wider. “I think I learned a little faster than that.”

  “Still can’t jump,” Krystal said. “Still can’t run. Got a long way to go, I’d say.”

  “Whoa,” Dunk said, leaning back in mock surprise. “Getting tough on me, aren’t you?”

  Krystal put her arm around him. “Maybe you’re finally getting tough enough to take it, nephew. See, there’s more to life than free throws. There’s more to basketball than free throws. That’s a good place to start, though. Now we just move on from here.”

  8

  Back on the Horse

  Coach Temple had a surprise for the team as they gathered in the locker room before the consolation game.

  “Miguel and David will be the starting guards,” he said. “This is not a demotion for Willie or Spencer or anybody else. But we’ve all worked hard and we all deserve some quality playing time, especially since the title is out of our reach.”

  Spencer looked surprised, but he didn’t balk. Willie put up his hand.

  “Yes, Willie?”

  “Will we play at all?”

  “Sure. Everybody will play a lot today. But I’m not done naming the starters yet.”

  “You’re benching us, too?” Fiorelli asked.

  “Not benching. Just spreading things out. We’re going with Lamont and Dunk at forward. Louie at center.”

  Dunk’s eyes got wide and he felt a tightening in his gut, but that quickly went away. Jared gave him a light jab with his elbow and said, “It’s all you, bro.”

  “You got it,” Dunk replied.

  “We’re not conceding anything,” Coach said. “Third is better than fourth. But last night was wrenching. Let’s take the pressure off and enjoy this game. I don’t expect any falloff just because we’re starting five new guys. Everybody on this team is good.”

  Dunk stood and walked with the others to the gym. He was excited but scared. This was unexpected.

  Montclair had won its first two games but had fallen to Burlington in the semifinal. So the two North Jersey teams would be playing for third place in the tournament.

  And though he knew it was just a consolation game, meaningless to anyone but those involved, Dunk couldn’t help but feel as energized as if he were competing for a state title. What a difference to know in advance that he’d be playing an important role. Not like last night when he’d been caught off guard and unready at a crucial moment.

  “Thanks, Coach,” he said, falling in step with Coach Temple as they entered the gym.

  “Right back on the horse,” Coach said. “Put last night behind you.”

  “That’s where it is, but I won’t ever forget it. I’m ready.”

  Dunk stood near the basket and rebounded for his teammates, who were firing up jump shots. The bleachers were nearly empty. Most of the Hudson City fans had gone home after last night’s game, and the bigger crowd for the championship game hadn’t arrived yet. Aunt Krystal was seated behind the Hornets’ bench.

  “Guess it’s up to us,” said Louie Gonzalez, joining Dunk under the basket. Louie had not played since the opening game against Salem, and even then he’d only been on the court for a couple of minutes.

  “We’ll be fine,” Dunk said. “Usually the nervousness goes away once the game starts.”

  “Hope so,” said Louie. He wiped his hand across the top of his big round head. Like Dunk, he was tall but chunky, not very quick or limber. His feet were huge for a twelve-year-old. “I’m so nervous I could puke.”

  Dunk smiled. “Aim for a Montclair guy if you do.”

  Louie swallowed and nodded. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “Maybe Montclair will start their subs, too.”

  But that was not the case. Montclair sent its regular lineup onto the floor. Dunk looked at the opposing five as they lined up for the jump ball. They looked very competitive and athletic.

  The guy lined up next to Dunk was about his height, but his shoulders were higher and his stomach was taut. Even his fingers looked more athletic—longer and stronger, as if he could grip that basketball like a vise or yank it out of your hands.

  Now the ball was coming their way, tapped easily away from Louie by the Montclair center. Dunk’s man grabbed it and pivoted quickly, darting toward the basket as Dunk stumbled and then gave chase.

  Lamont ran over to stop the rush to the hoop, leaving his own man uncovered.

  “Switch!” Lamont called, and Dunk ran over to pick up the other forward.

  David had already tried to make the same switch. The chaos left a guard wide open near the foul line, and that’s where the ball went. But he missed the open shot and Louie grabbed the rebound, hugging the ball to his chest and looking for someone to pass to.

  Miguel took the ball and gave Louie a relieved grin. “Survived that one,” he said. Of today’s starters, Miguel had the most experience, having been the first sub off the bench in the first three games and playing significant minutes. He dribbled across the midcourt line and passed the ball to David.

  Dunk fought for position near the basket, but Montclair’s man-to-man defense was tough. Sneakers squeaked on the wood floor and elbows flew.

  “Let’s see some mo
tion!” Miguel called. He had the ball again and was dribbling at the top of the key, eager to pass the ball inside. But nobody was close to being open.

  Lamont drifted outside and the ball went to him. His shot was off target, smacking the side of the rim.

  The Montclair center ripped down the rebound and made the quick outlet pass to the point guard, who led a fast break. But an errant pass went right into David’s hands, and the momentum swung back the other way.

  Dunk hadn’t even reached midcourt yet, but this time his slowness was to Hudson City’s advantage. While the rest of the players were racing up the court, he and Louie had been caught flat-footed. So they were both wide open, and David’s pass found Dunk, who took three dribbles and made an easy layup.

  He slapped hands with Louie and ran back on defense as fast as he could.

  The Montclair coach was standing in front of the bench and yelling at his players. “You’re out of control,” he said. “Settle down.”

  The point guard nodded as he dribbled past. He called out a play number and made a sharp pass to the corner.

  Montclair clearly had the better talent on the floor, but their shooting remained cold. By the midpoint of the first quarter their lead was only 7-4.

  Ryan, Jared, and Spencer reported in at the next stoppage, sending Dunk to the bench along with David and Louie.

  “Nice job,” Coach Temple said as they took seats on the bench. “Stay ready, men. You aren’t done yet.”

  Dunk grabbed a water bottle and sucked half of it down, then wiped his face with a towel. He raised a fist and brought it down on top of Louie’s, then did the same to David. They’d played well. No embarrassment this time. This game wasn’t meaningless. Not to them.

  Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “You got promoted, huh?” asked Krystal.

  “Nah,” Dunk said. “I know where I stand.” He pointed to the court, where Jared was racing past with the ball. “These guys are good. Give me another thousand hours or two. Then we’ll see where I’m at.”

  “Looking good so far,” Krystal said. “Keep at it.”

  Coach Temple substituted freely throughout the first half, and Dunk got a couple of more minutes late in the second quarter. Montclair did not let up at all, however, and built a ten-point lead by halftime.

  Dunk held his head high as they left the court for the locker room. But his gaze fell on the basket at the far end of the court. The basket where he’d missed those crucial free throws the night before. Hudson City would be shooting at that basket in the second half. He might just find himself at that line again.

  “We’re looking like a team,” Coach said in the locker room. “We’ll see if we can make a run at them in the second half, but I’m still planning to use everybody. We’ll go with our usual starting lineup at the beginning, but all twelve men will play. Keep digging and scrapping. Keep chasing after those loose balls.”

  Jared came alive in the third quarter and dominated the inside. His thundering rebounds and a driving put-back worked the deficit down to four points.

  “Dunk and Miguel,” Coach called. “Give Ryan and Spencer a breather. Report in.”

  They crouched by the scorer’s table, waiting for a timeout or a foul. The third quarter was nearly over when they finally went in. Fiorelli’s jumper had brought Hudson City to within two.

  The Montclair players looked frustrated, having let a comfortable lead slip away. And Jared was as competitive as always, so the play under the boards was physical. Dunk got shoved but he shoved right back. The ball was in the air. Jared brought it down.

  “Smart now!” Miguel said as he took Jared’s pass and moved up the court.

  “Fourteen seconds!” yelled Coach Temple. “Plenty of time. Good shot.”

  Fiorelli set a screen and Jared fought past it, finding a brief opening and taking Miguel’s bounce pass. He pivoted and shot, but the ball hit the backboard hard and deflected off the rim.

  Jared’s move had brought Montclair’s big men to the right side of the hoop, but the ball came down to the left. Dunk grabbed it. Time was running out.

  Dunk was in the paint with the ball, trying to out-muscle the man who was guarding him. It was like pushing against a wall, but Dunk gave a juke to his left and then swung right, finding enough freedom to get off a shot with a hand in his face and another in his rib cage.

  The shot missed, bonking off the backboard and falling to the floor. But Dunk had been fouled. The referee’s whistle halted the action with three seconds left in the quarter.

  Dunk stepped to the line. The buzzer sounded and Lamont ran onto the court. He pointed toward Fiorelli, who had his hands on his knees and was puffing. Fiorelli blinked his eyes quickly and walked off the floor.

  Dunk stared at the basket, the one where he’d missed those three shots last night. He took a deep breath and let it out. His heart was beating hard, as much from anxiety as the running.

  He made the first shot and looked quickly toward the ceiling with relief, shaking his wrists and feeling a nice surge of adrenaline.

  “Yes, Dunk!” came a cry from the bench.

  “Back at it!” said Lamont, who was lined up to Dunk’s right.

  Dunk calmly made the second shot. He turned and watched for his man, but the horn sounded to end the quarter before Montclair could get off a shot.

  Dunk looked at the scoreboard. The game was tied. What a difference.

  Last night seemed like a million years ago.

  Coach Temple’s strategy was paying off. While the Montclair starters were worn down playing their fourth hard game in three days, the Hudson City subs were fresher and very eager to prove themselves. Lamont in particular was having a big game—nine points and six rebounds.

  And when David hit a three-pointer late in the fourth quarter, the Hornets had their largest lead of the game, 49-44. Willie and Jared were the only regular starters on the floor.

  “Dunk, go in for Louie,” Coach said.

  Dunk popped up and waited by the scorer’s table. The bleachers were filling up now; fans from Camden and Burlington waiting for the title game that would follow.

  Third place is better than fourth. Dunk recalled Coach Temple’s words. Coach had taken a chance today, letting his backup players do so much of the work. Dunk wasn’t about to let that be a bad decision. He’d do everything he could to help preserve this win.

  Montclair’s point guard was at the line when Dunk took the floor. Less than a minute remained. He hugged Louie as he sent him to the bench, and Louie patted his shoulder.

  “We pulled this off,” Dunk said. “We’re gonna win this one.”

  The first free throw was good, but the second bounced high off the rim. Dunk boxed out the man beside him and leaped for it, getting up higher than he ever had in his life. He hauled the ball down with his right hand and brought it to his chest, elbows up, protecting his prize.

  Willie raced over behind Dunk and hollered for the ball. The players on the Hudson City bench stood and clapped, knowing that this one was as good as over. The lead was four. Montclair was out of gas. Hudson City had the ball and the momentum.

  Time was running out. Willie, Lamont, and Miguel worked the ball around the perimeter, killing precious seconds. Montclair had to foul.

  The ball came to Dunk. No reason to shoot, so he dribbled toward the corner. The Montclair bench was yelling for their players to foul to stop the clock. Finally someone grabbed Dunk’s arm.

  The whistle blew. Dunk tossed the ball to the referee and walked to the line.

  “Ninety-nine percent!” yelled Lamont.

  “Like a robot!” called Fiorelli.

  Dunk smiled and glanced at the clock. Eight more seconds. Willie smacked him on the shoulder. Jared made a fist and shook it.

  Both shots were identical. Nothing but net. After the second one swished, the buzzer sounded. Louie came back into the game, pointing to Dunk and grinning.

  The Hudson City players gave Dunk a standing ovation as he walked
off the floor.

  He hugged his coach and sat down.

  9

  Credentials

  They had checked out of the hotel before the game, but Coach Temple had promised three hours to enjoy the beach and Boardwalk before making the trip back to Hudson City. Each Hornet player had been presented with a third-place medal right after Camden wrapped up the title over Burlington.

  “That could have been us,” Fiorelli said, watching the Camden coach and players accept the championship trophy.

  “We know that,” Spencer said. “We were at least the second-best team in this tournament. Next time we win it, right?”

  “You got it.” Fiorelli had his bronze medal around his neck, hanging from its red-and-white ribbon.

  “Don’t go wearing that thing in the ocean,” Dunk said. “One hard wave and it’s lost.”

  Dunk wasn’t thinking about the beach yet, though. His stomach was rumbling with hunger. He’d eaten very little since yesterday afternoon.

  He walked out of the YMCA with Krystal. “You’re not going straight home, are you?” he asked her.

  “I guess not,” she said. “I’ll at least eat with you before driving back.”

  “So meet us at the Boardwalk. By that big food stand next to the arcade.”

  The mood on the bus was very different this time. The Hudson City players were back to their usual selves, loose and joking and relaxed.

  “That was, like, an intense couple of days,” Fiorelli was saying. “I mean, it’s tough enough trying to win games against teams you see two or three times a season. Then you get down here and you don’t know what to expect. Every time we took the floor I was shaking. I was like, ‘We could get clobbered here. These guys look awesome.’”

  “That tells you something, don’t it?” Willie said. “Because we played everybody tough. We got what it takes. We can think beyond our own neighborhood now. We got credentials.”