Rucker Park Setup by Paul Volponi

can’t set up. They give them to you gift wrapped. Bones for Dog—that’s a trade I’ll take right now. They lose twice as much as we do ’cause they got to lean even more on Mustard.
    Down by just four points—I can feel the momentum switching to us. I’m gonna win this bet and the championship, too. I see it comin’, so let me tell Father Time on the clock to cool his heels, and let it flow natural.
    Monty’s been down with me forever. I never talk to him and he never talks to me. The money just shows up in his pocket come tournament time. Monty wraps the plug to the clock around his leg nice and tight. Then every time he leans back, the plug edges out of the socket and cuts the juice. I can get an extra eight or ten seconds a minute that way when we’re on the wrong side of a score. But things are lookin’ good now, and I’ll give him the sign to back off.
    That’s right—look at me, Mustard.
    Fuss with that damn Spider, too.
    Let me fill up your mind till there’s too much to think about.

14
    SPIDER’S HAWKING ME all over the court. He thinks he’s the shit and that he’s got my number. I hate that everybody else is probably thinking that, too. He’s way up in my face, and I finally shove him off to get free. That’s when Stove blows his whistle and shoots an arm straight out to show everybody what I did.
    â€œGood call, ref! Good call!” yells Fat Anthony, clapping his hands. “That Mustard must be piss-yellow now!”
    Spider takes the ball out on the sideline next to Fat Anthony, with me guarding him. I can see the sweat on Anthony’s neck and the flesh flapping under his chin when he opens his mouth. Then Fat Anthony lifts his eyes up to mine. He knows exactly what I am inside, and how it took just five hundred bucks for me to sell out my team.
    â€œBetter not let your daddy down,” says Fat Anthony as Spider inbounds the ball.
    Stove waves both arms over his head, stopping the clock.
    â€œDon’t you talk to a player on another team,” says Stove, straight to Anthony’s face. “I’m warning you, I won’t let you disgrace this game.”
    â€œI’m talkin’ to my kid! You hear me? My kid! ” explodes Fat Anthony. “Don’t get between me and my players, Stove!”
    â€œYou get a second technical, you’ll be out of this game,” Stove warns him. “I’ll make you leave the park.”
    Greene’s going ballistic from our bench.
    â€œI already showed you once how I set traps for rats, Fat Man,” snarls Greene. “Keep away from my boyz, ’cause next time I settle up with you !”
    His words rip right through me. I’m shaking all over, and if I could, I’d curl up on the court, crying my eyes out like a little baby.
    Stove steps back from Fat Anthony to look at me good. I know he heard everything out of Greene’s mouth, and I can see his eyes turn to fire.
    I wish I could jump into Stove’s arms. I’d hug him tight and bury my face in his chest. I’d tell him how he’s been like my second pops. That J.R. was my blood brother, and I’ll never have another friend like him. But he’d probably spit in my face and tell me how he hated my guts. That I don’t deserve to call anybody family.
    â€œLet’s finish this!” demands Stove, emptying his lungs into his whistle.
    Non-Fiction brings the ball up court, and my mind’s everywhere but on the game. Spider’s cutting back and forth, and I just follow him. I’m almost numb inside, and only my legs are still strong. So I keep on running, trying to hold my balance.
    Kodak nails another tough shot, and our lead’s down to two points, 65 to 63.
    Spider’s set in front of me, and I want to slap the confidence right off his face. I throw my feet into high gear. He bites hard at every fake, and the crowd roars as I make him