Break for the Basket (5 page)

“But I can’t in a game,” confessed Emmett. “I can’t hit at all.”

“There’s something wrong, then,” his father said. “You’re doing all right here.”

“Let me have that ball,” said Mr. G. “See if you ever tried this shot.”

Emmett tossed Mr. G. the ball. “All right. Guard me.”

Emmett played Mr. G. close and smiled to himself.
He felt sure that he could steal the ball away from Mr. G. without difficulty if he wanted to, for he was certain that Mr.
G. had never played basketball.

But Mr. G. pulled a surprising thing. He started off dribbling slowly in front of Emmett. Then he shot past Emmett. Before
Emmett could get close to him again, Mr. G. was driving in. He jumped, and lifted the ball underhand. The ball rose over the
rim of the hoop, banked sharply, and riffled through the net.

“Hey! Nice shot!” cried Emmett. “Wow!”

Mr. G. chuckled. “It’s been a long time,” he said. “But that underhand drive-in shot used to be a favorite of mine. Might
pay you to learn it.”

“I will!” said Emmett.

He tried it and tried it until he did it almost as well as Mr. G. But to think that Mr. G. had played basketball! Emmett would
never have guessed that!

Mr. Torrance tried some set shots and then some layups. He looked rusty, but Emmett watched him proudly. Anybody could tell
that his Dad had played a lot of basketball in his younger years.

Mrs. Torrance called her husband in to get groceries. Mr. G. and Emmett played together until Mr. G. grew so tired he had
to quit.

“I’m not in shape for this sort of thing,” he said. “But you do all right, Emmett. You should be playing regularly.”

“I don’t,” said Emmett. “I warm the bench most of the time.”

“When do you play again?” asked Mr. G.

“Tuesday night, at Northside,” said Emmett. “It’s a non-league game.”

“I’ll try to be there,” said Mr. G.

Emmett didn’t really think that Mr. G. would go to the game. But at game time Mr. G. was sitting in the bleachers. As usual,
Emmett started the game warming the bench. He finally took Wayne Reese’s place and had several chances with the ball.

As usual, he became tense and worried. He hardly dared to shoot for fear he might miss the basket. He didn’t try any layups,
only set shots, hoping that luck would be with him again. But it wasn’t.

He felt terrible. He looked terrible. He wished that Mr. G. hadn’t come to see the game. Mr. G. would see now how poor a player
he really was.

W
HEN THE FIRST QUARTER ENDED
, the Penguins trailed the Bucs 8 to 3. Mr. G. motioned to Emmett. Emmett toweled his face and neck, tossed the towel to Robin
Hood, and went to see what Mr. G. wanted.

“How long have you played with these boys?” Mr. G. asked.

“Since before Christmas,” Emmett said.

“How well do you know them? Do you play with them or talk with them any time between games?”

Emmett thought a while. “No. I hardly see them.”

“Don’t you see them in school?”

“Yes, but — we don’t talk much.”

Mr. G. nodded, as if he understood.

“If your coach lets you in there this second quarter,” he said, “loosen up a bit. You’re too tense. Do more running. And do
more shooting. You had some chances that first quarter.”

“I’ll try,” said Emmett.

The second quarter started with Emmett on the bench. This time Johnny Clark was playing forward. He dumped in two points,
then was fouled as he tried to sink another. Two shots. He missed the first free
throw, but sank the second. A minute before the quarter ended, Mr. Long had Emmett go in for Rusty Kane.

Emmett tried to keep Mr. G.’s suggestion firmly in the front of his mind. He ran more. Twice he was in the open, but neither
time was the ball thrown to him.

At last he got a break. He intercepted a pass from the Bucs, pivoted, shot the ball to Robin Hood, and streaked for the basket.
Robin dribbled toward the right baseline, then leaped as if to try a long shot. Instead, he snapped an overhand pass to Emmett.
Emmett caught the ball, made a fast break toward the basket, and leaped up. With his right hand he gently laid the ball up
against the backboard. Swish! The ball banked into the net for two points.

“Thatago, Em!” shouted Robin Hood.

The Bucs took out the ball. They moved it down-court and across the center line. Emmett’s man caught a pass and started to
drive in. Anxiously, Emmett bolted in front of him. He hit the man’s shoulder.
Shreeek!
A foul! The referee held up one finger for the scorekeeper to note, and then five fingers to show who had committed the foul.
Emmett raised his hand and shook his head glumly. He hadn’t meant to guard his man that close. He had to be more careful.

The Bucs’ player scored the shot. Then the horn blew, announcing the end of the first half.

The boys filed into the locker room. Coach Long followed them in. “Good game so far,” he said. “Nice
shot, Emmett. You surprised me. You should do that more often.”

Emmett blushed. “Thanks,” he said.

Mr. Long didn’t say any more. Then the door opened again, and in came Mr. G. The whole team stared as the little man with
the thick mop of red hair stood smiling in front of the door. He was smaller than Mr. Long, and only a couple of inches taller
than Rusty Kane, the Penguins’ center.

“Hi,” he said. “Mind if I come in?”

None of the boys answered for a moment, as if stunned at seeing him in the room.

“Not at all.” Mr. Long broke the awkward silence. “Come in. Aren’t you Mr. Garfield, the painter?”

“Yes, I am,” replied Mr. G. “At least, I’m Mr. Garfield.” He smiled. “Most people know me as Mr. G. I suppose that’s easier
to remember.”

Mr. Long put out his hand, and Mr. G. took it. “I’m glad to know you, Mr. G. I’m Ed Long. These are my boys. I guess you know
your neighbor, Emmett Torrance.” Then he went on introducing the rest of the team. “Frankly, I know very little about basketball,”
Mr. Long admitted. “The boys had to have a coach, so I volunteered.”

Mr. G. smiled. “I don’t like to interfere,” he said, “but I think I could point out a few things to the boys that might improve
their playing.”

“I’ll go along with that one hundred per cent,” said Mr. Long.

“That’ll be swell!” said Robin Hood. Emmett looked wide-eyed and happily at Mr. G.

“To begin with, you boys aren’t guarding correctly,” said Mr. G. “Most of the time you’re in front of your man, but not between
him and his basket. That’s why they’re breaking away from you so quickly and scoring points. Also, don’t dribble just before
you shoot. You’re losing time and giving your opponent a chance to block your shot. Well, there are two things you can work
on. I don’t want to tell you too much now. Good luck!”

The boys thanked him. As they started out for the second half, Mr. G. reached out and clutched Emmett
^’
s arm. “And you,” he said softly, “are tightening up like a drum again. Break loose from that thing that’s gripping you. Don’t
be afraid to be yourself and play the way you really want to. As if you really mean it.”

Emmett smiled. “I’ll try, Mr. G.”

Emmett started the second half. He tried to remember every word Mr. G. had said. He played hard, and scored a set shot and
a foul shot before Mr. Long took him out. The other boys seemed like new men, too. Rusty uncorked a long shot that sank for
two points, and Robin Hood dumped in two baskets in less than a minute.

The score kept piling up for the Penguins. The Bucs were caught flat-footed. They didn’t score a point in the third quarter.
In the fourth the Penguins kept rolling. When the game ended the Penguins were the victors, 31 to 24!

“Mr. G.,” said Robin Hood, coming up the bleachers to stand in front of the little redheaded man, “will you be Mr. Long’s
assistant? You really helped us win this game.”

“Please, Mr. G.!” cried Emmett. “Will you, please?”

Mr. G. stared. “But you have a coach.”

“I could stand an assistant,” Ed Long smiled. “How about it, Mr. G.?”

“I guess I’m outnumbered,” said Mr. G. “Okay. I accept!”

“
F
OR MY GRATEFULNESS
to you boys for asking me to be Mr. Long’s assistant,” said Mr. G., “I invite you to my apartment after the game next Saturday
morning. I’ll treat you to a surprise dinner. Surprise, because I don’t know what it’ll be myself. How about it? Any takers?”

“Yes!” The reply came in a loud, single cry.

“You’re invited, too, Ed,” said Mr. G. to the coach. “Though you may prefer the more satisfying cooking of Mrs. Long.”

Ed Long grinned. “If I’m not there,” he said, “it won’t be because of that.”

The game against the Kodiak Bears Saturday morning started off with much life and spirit on the part of the Penguins. However,
it was. Johnny Clark who again started at forward. Emmett warmed the bench. He watched the game with uneasiness, for the Penguins
and the Kodiaks were playing good ball. The score was tied, 6 to 6, when the first quarter ended.

Emmett took Johnny’s place and Wayne Reese went in for Mickey when the horn sounded the start of the
second quarter. Penguins’ ball out. Wayne bounced it in from the out-of-bounds line to Robin Hood. Robin dribbled the ball
toward the front of the court, then passed to Rusty. Rusty faked his guard and broke fast to the left baseline. He stopped,
set himself, and shot a one-hander at the basket. It missed. Glenn Long and a Kodiak player went up for the rebound. Glenn
snatched it from the other player’s hands, came down on his feet, struggled free, and shot an underhand pass to Emmett.

The pass came unexpectedly. The ball struck Emmett’s hands and bounded across the baseline.

“Come on, Emmett!” Glenn cried. “Wake up!”

The Kodiaks took out the ball and moved it upcourt. Hurriedly, Emmett ran down to guard his man. Missing Glenn’s pass hurt
him. He would try to make up for it.

He followed his man to the backcourt, saw him reach for a pass. Emmett began waving his arms hard in front of his man. It
didn’t do any good. The Kodiak player caught the ball and pivoted on his left foot to fake Emmett out of position. Emmett
made weak motions with his arms, afraid that he might commit a foul. Then the player made a fast break past him, leaped, and
pushed the ball up against the backboard. The ball riffled down through the net for two points.

Emmett stood back as Wayne took the ball from the referee’s hand. The other Penguins ran downcourt. Wayne bounced the ball
in to Emmett. Emmett dribbled
toward his front court, happy that he had the ball awhile, yet tight with fear at the same time. Would the team resent his
dribbling a lot? Was he hogging the ball? He, who had been missing passes and letting his man pile up points.

Emmett dribbled across the center line. He looked for a free Penguin to pass to. The Kodiaks were guarding them all close.
His own guard was pressing him. He saw Robin swing behind him, and heaved the ball to him.

Shreeek!
Curiously, Emmett stared at the referee. The referee pointed at the center line, and Emmett realized what he had done. He
had passed the ball back behind the line.

Kodiaks’ ball out. They moved it down into their territory. Robin Hood stole it from Emmett’s own man and dribbled it all
the way down to the Penguins’ basket. With the crowd shouting, Robin leaped, laid the ball up against the boards. Swish! Two
points.

The horn blew. Emmett was taken out.

“You’re stiff out there,” said Mr. G. “Tight as a string. You’re afraid to let yourself go, Emmett. You’re afraid you’re going
to foul, or miss shots. You must get that out of your head. Forget about the people watching you. Don’t worry about your teammates.
They’re not going to eat you. They’re not cannibals. Just be yourself, and play the way you played with me and your Dad.”

Emmett listened, bewildered by Mr. G.’s words.
Because Mr. G. was saying the exact things that had been bothering him on the court. He
was
afraid of fouling. He
was
afraid of missing shots. He
was
bothered by all the people watching. And he
was
worried what his teammates might say to him if he made mistakes. It was funny, but knowing that Mr. G. knew these things
about him made Emmett feel much better.

Emmett got in for two minutes in the third quarter, and again about two minutes in the last. He scored one layup, a neat play
that drew applause from the fans. The basket made him feel a little better. The Penguins won 38 to 37. Robin Hood got credit
for 14 of those 38. But if Emmett had not scored that one basket, they would have lost.

The scorebook read: