struggled to prevent the snicker dancing in his mind from showing off on his face, savoring the moment briefly. Then he blew his whistle, his new chrome Wile E. Coyote whistle. From the girls’ locker room, where he’d been holed up since eleven-thirty, Olaf materialized. He was a gangling giant in oversized game shoes and a bright new jersey, number 99, striding toward the south backboard with a flimsy confidence and a glimmer of hope in his innocent blue eyes.
He dribbled once, jumped, and jammed the basketball down through the netting. He turned and regarded his audience with uncertainty.
Everyone in the gym sat gawking, silent, catching their breath. Then, breaking out of this trance, they rose, hooting and clapping and shouting in shocked surprise.
“Are you going to
play
?” Rob asked.
“Why didn’t you
tell
us?” Pete said, looking up into Olaf’s boyish mirth.
“Olaf and I have been working together for a while,” Sam told the meager company. “He wanted to try it and see how it felt. He’s never played before, he’s learning. We’re all going to learn to play basketball together.”
Sam turned to his team.
“We’re going to learn how to run together, rebound together, play defense together. Men, we’re going to learn how to
win
together.”
“Yo!” Rob shouted.
“Sweet!” Pete yelled.
“Bodacious!” Dean shouted, and a fresh enthusiasm lit up their faces.
“By God, we’ll beat those son-bitches!” Rip shouted hoarsely, and everyone in the gym echoed his sentiments.
“All right, let’s scrimmage for five minutes or so,” Sam said, tossing the ball to Rob, “and then we’ll all go home and get some rest.” He divided them evenly, with Sam as the ref, and they played half-court. They went at each other with a fiery frivolity. Olaf dropped passes, missed shots, and stumbled around, making it evident that he had no experience with the game. But he made one deep, unexpected impression on Sam. The long-armed boybatted more than one shot away, and his reactions were quicker than Sam had hoped.
Wearing a bright, multicolored ski jacket and a Padres baseball cap, Diana scrambled into the gym looking sleepy-eyed and out of breath. Sidling up to Sam, she caught him off guard.
“I’m sorry, I fell asleep,” she said. Then she noticed Olaf out on the floor. “My God, is he going to
play
?”
“That was my surprise,” Sam said, feeling flushed beside her.
“
Can
he play?”
“I hope so.”
“Wow,” she said, then ran up into the bleachers to watch. Peter Strong, in this first glimpse, was all that Grandma Chapman boasted, and then some. If Olaf could do it—and seeing him in action for the first time gave Sam severe doubts—they would have a formidable attack that would send the opposing coaches digging through their duffel bags for their antacid.
Sam blew his whistle. An outburst of clapping came from the bleachers.
“I want to thank you for coming out tonight. Neither the boys nor I will forget your kindness. They’ll change and be right out.”
Scott turned on the Notre Dame fight song, a ludicrous footnote to this unlikely gathering, and the handful of players hustled into the locker room.
“I told you so,” Truly said to Sam. “Didn’t amount to a rat’s ass.”
The superintendent marched triumphantly from the gymnasium. Sam glanced up at Rip and couldn’t help but wonder if all this was a divine omen of the season to come. The frail old man had fallen sound asleep, snoring loudly from his toothless mouth.
CHAPTER 13
Into the first week of practice, Sam recognized he was caught up in a newfound insanity. He was dropping into bed near midnight and he feared he was driving the boys beyond their limits like some NCAA coach obsessed with national rankings. Sam even faltered in English class on more than one occasion, standing before his students in the middle of a lecture without a notion as to where it was going.
Some things were obvious, even to a coach
He dribbled once, jumped, and jammed the basketball down through the netting. He turned and regarded his audience with uncertainty.
Everyone in the gym sat gawking, silent, catching their breath. Then, breaking out of this trance, they rose, hooting and clapping and shouting in shocked surprise.
“Are you going to
play
?” Rob asked.
“Why didn’t you
tell
us?” Pete said, looking up into Olaf’s boyish mirth.
“Olaf and I have been working together for a while,” Sam told the meager company. “He wanted to try it and see how it felt. He’s never played before, he’s learning. We’re all going to learn to play basketball together.”
Sam turned to his team.
“We’re going to learn how to run together, rebound together, play defense together. Men, we’re going to learn how to
win
together.”
“Yo!” Rob shouted.
“Sweet!” Pete yelled.
“Bodacious!” Dean shouted, and a fresh enthusiasm lit up their faces.
“By God, we’ll beat those son-bitches!” Rip shouted hoarsely, and everyone in the gym echoed his sentiments.
“All right, let’s scrimmage for five minutes or so,” Sam said, tossing the ball to Rob, “and then we’ll all go home and get some rest.” He divided them evenly, with Sam as the ref, and they played half-court. They went at each other with a fiery frivolity. Olaf dropped passes, missed shots, and stumbled around, making it evident that he had no experience with the game. But he made one deep, unexpected impression on Sam. The long-armed boybatted more than one shot away, and his reactions were quicker than Sam had hoped.
Wearing a bright, multicolored ski jacket and a Padres baseball cap, Diana scrambled into the gym looking sleepy-eyed and out of breath. Sidling up to Sam, she caught him off guard.
“I’m sorry, I fell asleep,” she said. Then she noticed Olaf out on the floor. “My God, is he going to
play
?”
“That was my surprise,” Sam said, feeling flushed beside her.
“
Can
he play?”
“I hope so.”
“Wow,” she said, then ran up into the bleachers to watch. Peter Strong, in this first glimpse, was all that Grandma Chapman boasted, and then some. If Olaf could do it—and seeing him in action for the first time gave Sam severe doubts—they would have a formidable attack that would send the opposing coaches digging through their duffel bags for their antacid.
Sam blew his whistle. An outburst of clapping came from the bleachers.
“I want to thank you for coming out tonight. Neither the boys nor I will forget your kindness. They’ll change and be right out.”
Scott turned on the Notre Dame fight song, a ludicrous footnote to this unlikely gathering, and the handful of players hustled into the locker room.
“I told you so,” Truly said to Sam. “Didn’t amount to a rat’s ass.”
The superintendent marched triumphantly from the gymnasium. Sam glanced up at Rip and couldn’t help but wonder if all this was a divine omen of the season to come. The frail old man had fallen sound asleep, snoring loudly from his toothless mouth.
CHAPTER 13
Into the first week of practice, Sam recognized he was caught up in a newfound insanity. He was dropping into bed near midnight and he feared he was driving the boys beyond their limits like some NCAA coach obsessed with national rankings. Sam even faltered in English class on more than one occasion, standing before his students in the middle of a lecture without a notion as to where it was going.
Some things were obvious, even to a coach
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