Technical Foul (8 page)

“Right here!” yelled Spencer, and Jared made a hard pass to his teammate. Then Jared raced up the court, even with Spencer. The pass came to Jared, who immediately fired a pass to Fiorelli, well ahead of the others. Fiorelli took the ball straight to the hoop, and Hudson City had a one-point lead.

“Way to run!” Spencer yelled.

“All day!” said Jared.

Palisades came right back aggressively, with Johnson nailing a three-point shot from the top of the key. Again came the chant of “Neon! Neon!”

Jared took the ball out of bounds and carefully passed it to Spencer. “Let’s shut them up!” he said.

Spencer nodded and gave a small smile. “It’s coming to you,” he said.

Spencer was true to his word. Jared took the ball just below the foul line and worked his way toward the basket, backing up his defender, who was all over him. Jared’s shot was good, and he drew a foul besides. He made that shot, too, regaining a one-point advantage.

I’m taking over now
, Jared told himself.
Both ends of the court.

But Johnson owned at least one end. Despite Spencer’s gritty defensive effort, Johnson hit another three-pointer, then added a driving jumper after a steal from Spencer in the backcourt. Palisades suddenly had a four-point lead. About three and a half minutes remained.

The Palisades fans stood and cheered as Hudson City took a time-out. Leon Johnson pumped his fist and pointed at the scoreboard. That team was fired up.

Spencer stared at the ceiling as the Hornets huddled up around Coach Davis. “He’s killing us,” Coach said, nearly shouting to be heard above the cheering and the pep band. “Let’s go to a double-team. Willie, step out and help Spencer on Johnson. Nobody else is shooting, and Jared will control the inside. We’ve got plenty of time, but there’s no tomorrow.”

Jared grabbed Spencer’s jersey above the number and put his face right up to his teammate’s. “You okay?” he asked.

“No problem,” Spencer mumbled, his eyes wide and angry. “Let’s do it.”

Jared overpowered his man for another layup, but Palisades came right back at them. Johnson drove to the free-throw line and looked to shoot, but Willie and Spencer had him covered. Johnson found the open man in the corner, and Jared bolted out to stop him. But that left the center wide open underneath, and all it took was a bounce pass for an easy layup. The lead was back to four.

Fiorelli made a basket, but Palisades came back with a pair of free throws after Ryan Grimes’s foul. Jared connected on a leaning jump shot, but Johnson answered after eluding both Spencer and Willie.

Two minutes remained. Spencer dribbled slowly upcourt, catching his breath. Johnson waited at midcourt, ready to play aggressive defense. The spectators in the stands were shouting.

Jared stepped out near the foul line and waved for the ball. Spencer’s pass was soft and high, but it didn’t have much force. A Palisades forward stepped out and got his hand on the ball, and there was a wild scramble on the floor. Jared took a chance and ran to the basket, and the risky move paid off. Fiorelli got to the ball and sent an overhand pass to Jared, who made the easy layup.

“Press!” shouted Spencer, and the Hudson City players picked up their opponents in the backcourt. The ball went to Johnson, who easily broke the press by himself, darting upcourt and eluding Spencer and Willie.

Jared came charging up behind Johnson and cut him off as he drove into the lane. Jared planted his feet and took Johnson’s full momentum, getting knocked backward and landing on his butt.

Jared closed his eyes as the whistle blew.
Not a fifth foul
, he hoped.

Not this time. The referee signaled for an offensive foul. Spencer grabbed Jared’s hand and hauled him to his feet. “You’re the man!” he said.

Hudson City had the ball and new life. The deficit was only two points, and Jared had a one-and-one free-throw opportunity.

Jared met Johnson’s eyes as he stepped to the line. Johnson nodded and gave a half smile of recognition. There was an MVP trophy waiting for one of them at the end of this game.

Jared took the ball and bounced it twice, staring at the rim. He let out his breath and lofted the ball, watching the satisfying ripple of the net as the shot found its target.

Same routine on the second shot. Two bounces. An exhale. A swish.

The game was tied.

“Don’t press!” yelled Spencer. The Hudson City players ran downcourt and set up their defense, with Spencer waiting at the top of the key for Johnson.

Finally Johnson missed a shot, taking a long jumper that barely grazed the rim. Jared got the rebound and passed quickly to Spencer, then sprinted toward the opposite basket.

Johnson ran alongside Jared, determined not to let him get an easy bucket. But Jared had the size advantage, and Spencer got him the ball. Jared drove all the way to the hoop with Johnson all over him, then found Fiorelli wide open in the corner. Jason dribbled in and Johnson darted out to meet him. That gave Fiorelli an easy opening to pass back to Jared, who laid the ball off the backboard and in.

Palisades called time-out. Hudson City had fought back and taken the lead. Eighteen seconds remained.

“Spencer—you know who’s shooting,” Coach Davis said. “You give him an open shot, he’ll nail it. I want five guys thinking nothing but defense out there. This thing is seconds away from reality.”

“Let’s go!” the team shouted as they broke the huddle.

“Used to be
you
telling Coach what to do,” Jared said as they headed onto the court.

“He learned from the best,” Spencer said, grinning.

Johnson dribbled up and surveyed the court. The Hudson City players were in a tight zone, except for Spencer, who was all over Johnson. He could drive the lane to try to tie the game, or he could work for an open three-pointer to win it.

Johnson passed the ball inside, then drifted toward the top of the key, calling for it back. Jared stepped out to meet the forward with the ball, closing off the lane as Fiorelli and Spencer hustled over to help.

The forward had no shot, but Johnson was open.

“Spencer!” Jared shouted as the ball flew out to Johnson.

Spencer darted toward Johnson, who dribbled once and shot. The ball arced toward the hoop. Jared turned to get ready for the rebound. The ball hit the back of the rim and rolled out, and Jared was there to grab it. He was immediately fouled.

Jared took a deep breath. Six seconds remained. If he made these two free throws, the game was theirs.

Johnson was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at the basket as Jared walked past him.

Jared made the first free throw. The best Palisades could hope for now was for Jared to miss and for Johnson to hit a long three-pointer. The spectators were stamping their feet and screaming for Jared to miss.

Jared dribbled twice and set his focus on the rim. The shot was true. Hudson City had a four-point lead.

“No fouls!” Spencer shouted as they ran back on defense.

Johnson shot from midcourt but the ball banged off the backboard. Hudson City had won the title!

Jared shut his eyes and made two fists. The crowd had been groaning, but now they were cheering. Hudson City had earned their respect. Fiorelli and Spencer and the others joined Jared on the court, thumping each other and shouting.

Spencer grabbed Jared’s arm and pulled him close. “You’re the man!” he shouted.

“Nah,” said Jared, shaking his head and smiling. “No heroes, remember? The team. That’s what this is about.”

“We’re the
men
,” Fiorelli said, his face right in Jared’s. He pointed at Jared, then Spencer, then Coach Davis. “You! You! You!” he said to each of them.

Jared could only laugh.

 

READ AN EXCERPT FROM
FAST COMPANY
WINNING SEASON #3!

The guy seated next to Manny on the basketball court inside the track had his eyes shut, nodding slowly to the rhythm of the music from his headphones. His shirt said NORTH JERSEY STRIDERS. Other runners were pacing the floor or stretching, all looking intense.

The gymnasium at Fairleigh Dickinson University wasn’t quite as large as the Armory, but Manny was even more nervous for this meet. This wasn’t a relay meet; there were no teammates to help carry the load. In a few minutes Manny would be out there for the 800-meter race with nine opponents.

He checked his racing shoes—double-knotted with the laces tucked in—massaged his thigh, and took a deep breath. He knew nothing about the other racers, didn’t recognize any of them from the meet at the Armory. This was primarily a New Jersey event.

“Eleven-twelve boys’ 800. Step up.”

Manny got to his feet and bounced in place a couple of times. He was warm and loose. They’d had time to jog a full mile before the meet and he’d been stretching ever since. The track was the same length as the Armory’s—200 meters—but the turns were flat.

He stepped to the starting line. The runners on both sides of him were tall and leggy. Manny crossed himself and shut his eyes.

“Take your marks,” said the official.

Manny leaned slightly forward and exhaled hard.

“Set.”

He clenched his fists lightly and stared at the track.

The gun fired and Manny surged from the line, darting to the head of the pack to avoid the jostling as runners fought for position. Coaches and teammates were shouting, but Manny’s focus was entirely on the track. He could hear the padding of nine pairs of feet just behind him.

Pace yourself
, he told himself.
Hold the lead, but be smart about it. Long way to go.

Manny’s goal was 2:18, the time Serrano had run at the Armory the week before. Who knew what Serrano would do this week; he was probably racing at the Armory again. All the results of the Armory meets were posted on the Internet, so Manny could compare his progress with Serrano’s and everybody else’s.

“Thirty-three,” came the call as Manny finished the first lap, still holding the lead. He needed to average under 35 seconds per lap to meet his goal for today. He felt strong.

Manny glanced behind him as he raced along the backstretch. Coach had told him never to do that, but he couldn’t resist. Two runners were just off Manny’s shoulder, but the rest of the field had fallen a few yards behind. These two seemed content to let Manny lead the way.

Each stride felt smooth but Manny could feel his shoulders beginning to tighten. He passed through the end of the second lap at 67 seconds.

Fast,
he thought.
Got to keep this up
.

Coach had told him that the third lap was often the most important one in a four-lap race. The runners were getting tired from a quick start and were saving some energy for a finishing kick. A strong runner could put away the race with a solid third lap. But the temptation was to hold back a little.

Manny surged into the turn, testing his opponents to see if they’d stay with him. They did more than that. The North Jersey Strider runner went wide on the turn and moved into the lead.

Don’t let him get away,
Manny thought.
Stick with him.

They pounded down the backstretch in a tight cluster, but the leader surged again coming off the second turn. Manny opened up his stride on the straightaway, pulling away from the third-place runner and turning it into a two-man race.

“1:43,” came the cry as the bell sounded for the final lap. Manny quickly did the math; that lap had taken 36 seconds. They were slowing down.
So what!
Manny hollered inside his head.
It’s a race! Forget about the time.

Manny moved to the outside edge of the first lane and stuck within inches of the leader. Around the turn and into the backstretch, his aim was to stay with this guy.

Arms pumping furiously, they headed into the final turn, puffing and grunting as they began an all-out sprint. The leader moved out to the line between the first and second lanes, forcing Manny to go even wider if he wanted to get past.

Onto the straightaway, just fifty meters from the finish. Manny dug for everything he had left. Closer, closer, and suddenly he had the lead. Leaning forward with no air in his lungs, his throat burning and his arms feeling like cement. The finish line, the tape against his chest. He’d won it!

Manny got off the track and settled to his knees. He put his fingertips to his pounding forehead and shut his eyes, gasping for breath. He lowered his hands to the floor and crouched like that for a few seconds, waiting for his head to clear and his breathing to slow down to normal.

Suddenly he felt hands around his waist and was pulled gently to his feet. “Fantastic race,” said Coach Alvaro. “Walk it off, buddy. Don’t lie there in a heap.”

Manny took a few slow steps and inhaled deeply. He looked up at the coach and gave a pained smile. “Caught that sucker,” he said softly.