Boot Camp (12 page)

They passed the ball around the perimeter, trying to set up an open shot. Kia jumped forward, knocking down one of the passes. She raced up the court, grabbed the lose ball, leaving everybody on both teams behind. She put the ball up for a lay-up and we were ahead four to nothing.

“Too easy!” Jamal yelled out. “Too easy!”

It was a little early to be trash talking, but I thought he was right. This game wasn't going to be a challenge.

Jamal threw up a shot. It bounced off the backboard, hit the front of the rim, went up into the air and then it rolled around before dropping for a basket. I had expected it to drop. The way he'd been playing this game he could have kicked the ball and it would have dropped in for two points. He'd played well in our first game of the morning,
a convincing win, and then even better in our second—a closer win—but he'd been unbelievable in this game. And, we'd needed him to be that good. The team we were playing had only lost two games yesterday and they were really good.

I looked up at the clock. It wasn't the game clock, but the clock that would signal lunch. It was three minutes to twelve. I knew that if we wanted to start the play-offs on time this afternoon, we'd need to start lunch on time. All we had to do was hold onto our three-point lead for another three minutes and we'd win.

“Spread!” I yelled.

Kia knew what I meant, although nobody else had any idea. It was a play our rep team used to kill time. Each person spread apart and to the outside so we could pass the ball back and forth without trying to score. We didn't need to score.

I moved up to the top and Kia threw me the ball. I dribbled away from the key—away from their zone defense. I continued to dribble, not moving toward their net. Their players—all in their positions in the zone—just watched and waited. They'd be waiting a long time if they expected me
to come inside. I passed over to Kia who was on the other side, just as far away from the basket and from their players.

Slowly their zone started to shift open, and Brandon slipped in behind them. He raised his hand to show how open he was. If we were trying to score, that would have been perfect. We weren't trying to score. We were just trying to waste time. Besides, I didn't think he could catch the ball and score unless everybody on the other team was in their dressing room.

Kia passed the ball to Jamal. Did he understand what we were trying to do?

“Jamal!” I screamed. “No shot! No shot!”

For a split second he looked confused, and then he nodded in agreement. He tossed the ball back to Kia and cut to an open spot. She passed the ball back to me, and I dribbled and put a pass back to Jamal and—a loud whistle blew, sounding the end of the game! The morning was over, and we'd won all three of our games.

We were now three wins and six losses and ready for the play-offs to begin. Maybe we wouldn't win it all, but we certainly weren't going to be anybody's joke anymore.

The six of us sat off in the corner, together, away from the other teams. We were eating our lunches and talking strategy. I was mostly just talking. I was too nervous to eat much.

“I think we should try to go man-to-man to start,” Kia said, again.

“That won't work. We have to stay with zone,” Jamal replied, again. “Even if we could do it right—and we can't—we'd burn ourselves out before we got to the finals.”

“The finals?” Kia questioned, suddenly sounding very serious. “Do you really think we have a chance of getting to the finals?”

“Why not?” Jamal asked.

“There are some good teams…teams that beat us yesterday.”

“Nobody beat us yesterday. We beat ourselves. After the three games today is there anybody here who doesn't think we can get to the finals?” Jamal asked.

Nobody answered. Maybe they agreed with him and maybe they just didn't want to say anything.

“I don't want to get to the finals,” Kia said.

“What?” I questioned.

She shook her head. “I don't want to get to the finals. I want to
win
the finals.”

Jamal reached out and gave her a high five. “Okay, is there anybody here who doesn't think we can win the finals? Nick?”

I startled at the mention of my name.

“You haven't said anything,” Jamal said. “Do you think we can take it all?”

I didn't answer right away. “I think that if we play the way we did this morning we have as good a chance as anybody else…maybe better.”

Just then Jerome came walking up and stood behind us as we sat on the floor.

“Some good games this morning,” he said.

“We played pretty good,” I answered.

“Looks like maybe I was right all along,” Jerome said

“Right about what?”

“Right about this being a pretty good team.”

“Nope,” Jamal said, “you were wrong. We aren't a pretty good team, we're the
best
team here.”

Jerome burst into a big smile. “I'd be more than willing to be wrong.”

“So how are the play-offs going to work?” I asked.

“One loss eliminations. You lose and you're out. The team that finished first plays the tenth place team. Second place team plays the ninth place team.”

“We finished seventh,” I said. “So that means we play the…the…”

“The fourth place team,” Jerome said. “I think that's the Thunder team.”

“Oh…we played them yesterday. They beat us by twenty,” I said.

“Wrong,” Jamal said. “We beat ourselves by twenty. That team is in for a real surprise this time around.”

“So if we beat them—no
when
we beat them— then they're eliminated and we go on to play again, right?” I asked.

“After the first round five teams are left. The top team remaining from league play gets an
automatic berth in the finals while the four other teams play off for the other berth.”

“And what happens to the teams that are eliminated?” I asked.

“Yeah, we need to know that because we're not going to be seeing it ourselves since we're not going to lose any games,” Kia explained.

“You said it, girl,” Jamal agreed, and the rest of the team nodded and cheered along.

“Looks like your whole team is in agreement. The teams that are eliminated play games against each other until the finals when everybody, as well as parents and anybody else who wants to, can watch the final game.”

My stomach suddenly felt a little swell of uneasiness. I wanted to be there playing, but it would be a lot easier just to be sitting and watching rather than being watched.

“So all we have to do is win four games and we're the champions,” Kia said.

“Just four games,” Jerome agreed.

“That doesn't seem too hard. We won three games in a row this morning. We just have to repeat that plus one. Piece of cake.”

“I don't know about any cake, but I know
you better get yourselves ready. Your first game starts in five minutes.”

We won the tip, and the ball went right to Jamal. He started dribbling, and instantly the other team sent three men right at him. They were going to triple team him like they had in the game yesterday where they'd beaten us. Jamal tossed the ball up to me—completely open under the net. I took the ball and put in our first points.

The members of the other team looked surprised. From what they'd seen they really hadn't expected Jamal to pass to anybody. It was pretty clear that the best thing we had going for us was that the other teams hadn't figured out that we were playing differently now. With any luck, by the time they figured it out we'd already have such a big lead that they wouldn't be able to come back.

Play after play we'd passed the ball around, sharing the touches and sharing the points. Jamal had actually gotten to the point where he was passing up shots he should have taken so that he could pass off. He seemed to be getting more of a charge out of getting an assist than getting a basket.

Regardless, it was working. We had a healthy lead and it seemed like with each passing moment we got more confident and the other team got more frustrated. I could tell it was hard for them. They had expected to just roll over us again, and when it didn't work out, they started pressing more and more. When that didn't work, they began bickering and blaming each other. The more we played like a team, the less they did. There was still more than half the game to play, but it was over.

I looked at the board. Five teams had been eliminated. Five remained. The first place team—the team that had killed us, the team that we'd gotten into the shoving match with—had won their game and were now guaranteed to be in the finals. They all sat off by themselves in the bleachers, laughing and joking around, hardly paying any attention to the other kids or who had won or lost the other games. They were confident, but why shouldn't they be? They hadn't just beaten our team badly, but had won every single game against every team, all by double digits. Now they had the next hour off, while the remaining four teams fought it out to decide who would play against them.

“Five minutes until the next games begin!” Sergeant Push-up yelled.

“The second games feature The Heat versus the Pistons on the far court, and The Zebras take on the Cobras on the center court!” said the announcer.

I looked up at the board. The Cobras had finished second. They had only lost one game—to the first place team—and had beaten us fairly easily. This was going to be a harder game. Not impossible, just harder. We were ready.

The Cobras were a good team—and a smart team. They had expected us to play the same way as we had in our loss. When we didn't— when we played like a team—they reacted quickly and started playing us straight up. Jamal was a good point guard, and he and Kia worked really well together. Both of them could dribble, shoot and pass when the rest of us were open.

The music came up, signaling us to substitute players into the game. It was my turn to go off. I sat down—no, I practically collapsed onto the bench. I was tired, really tired and I felt like I needed the rest. Right now I thought we
could really use that seventh man—our player that hadn't shown up today.

In the beginning it had been an advantage because it meant more playing time for Kia, Jamal and me. That extra playing time had helped us win that first game, but now it was starting to wear us down. Even if we won this game, how would we be for the next game, or the finals? We were running ourselves down, and the team that we'd be playing in the finals—if we made the finals—was going to be completely rested.

I couldn't think about that. I had to keep my mind in this game. I took a big drink from my water bottle, put it down and got up off the bench. I needed the break, but I didn't want my legs to lock up on me.

“Keep running!” I screamed as our team came back on defense after scoring a basket.

Kia picked up her pace, but she looked really tired. She was due to come off next.

“Close game.”

I looked up. It was Sergeant Push-up.

“Closer than I'd like,” I admitted. “They're a good team.”

“There are two good teams out there playing in
this game. There won't be any loser out there,” he said.

“Maybe no loser, but there will definitely be a winner—the team that scores the most points— and I hope it's us.”

“Could be. You're up by one point with not much longer to play.”

The words had hardly come out of his mouth when the Cobra's point guard put up a three-point shot and it dropped!

“Hardest part is that, while your team and the Cobras are playing each other hard, the first place team is resting, and watching.”

“Watching?” I asked. I looked over to the bleachers.

Four members of the team were sitting and watching our game, while the other three members were watching the other semifinal. They were scouting the teams so that they knew what to expect. That was smart, but it wasn't good— at least not good for us. Up to this point we'd had the element of surprise on our side and that had been good for at least a few baskets at the beginning of each game. They now knew that we were a different team—a real team—and they'd be waiting for us.

The music swelled again, signaling a final substitution. Kia trudged over to the bench.

“Play ‘em hard,” Kia said as we tapped hands and she sat down and I stood up.

It was our ball.

“In bounds the ball to me,” Jamal said to me under his breath. “And then head for the basket. I'm going to put up a three-pointer. If I miss, I need you to get the rebound.”

“We only need two to tie,” I said.

“But we're not trying to tie. Have confidence.”

I nodded. “Just do it. If you do miss—and I don't think you will—the rebound is mine.”

“Come on, you guys, let's get playing,” Johnnie said. He was also watching our game.