Road Trip (14 page)

The crowd didn't cheer nearly as loudly. But that didn't stop the eleven of us from screaming at the top of
our
lungs.

“I don't know if we're going to play in the finals,” I said to Tristan. “But I know we're going to win this game.”

Tristan laughed. “Since when are you Mr. Confident?”

“Heck… look at who I've got as my teammates,” I answered. “Do you think these guys — and girl — are going to lose?”

One by one the announcer called out the other four starters. I cheered just as loud for each of them. Part of me wanted to be a starter, but the other part was pretty happy to be right there on the bench for the first shift. It was all pretty intense, and it would calm me down just to watch for a couple of minutes.

Coach stood up and we all gathered around him.

“Before you go out there, I have a few words to say to all of you,” Coach began. “I've played a lot of basketball in my life and I've been part of some very good teams, and a couple of great ones. And of all those teams, I've never been more proud of one than I am of this one. This is some team,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “And whatever the score is at the end of this game… we walk away winners. Now go and play some ball.”

*

“Foul, number four orange!” the ref shouted at
me as he whistled down the play.

“He didn't touch him!” Tristan yelled. “He got nothing but ball on that block!”

The ref turned away, ignoring him. “Two shots!”

Tristan was right: I hadn't touched their man. The game was less than five minutes old and that was the eighth foul called on our team – eight against us, and none against them.

We took to the line. His first shot hit the edge of the rim and bounced off to the side. Thank goodness they weren't very good from the foul line, or this game could have been getting out of sight. As it was, they were up by three. We were beating them from the field, but the foul shots they had made had put them in front.

“Time out!” Coach called out.

We trotted over to our bench and the ref trailed behind. “You want thirty seconds or a full timeout?” the ref asked.

“That's impressive,” Coach snapped. “It's nice to see that you know at least one of the rules of the game. What sort of calls are you making out there?”

The ref ‘s face hardened.

“I'll take a full time-out. Maybe you can use the time to go and read the rule book.”

The ref turned away without saying a word.

“Call it for both teams or don't call it at all. Just because you live in Mumford doesn't mean you can't
call an honest game!” Coach called after him.

That got the ref ‘s attention. He spun around and started back toward our bench.

“Oh, good, it's nice to see you're at least awake!” Coach snapped.

“One more word and I'll give you a technical foul,” the ref warned.

“Excellent!” Coach replied. “I'm so impressed that you know a second rule of basketball. Two down and another hundred or so to go!”

“That's a technical!” the ref yelled.

“Congratulations!” Coach thundered. “That's the first correct call you've made all night. Why don't you just pull a Mumford jersey on over top of your ref's shirt so there'll be no confusion about which team you want to win and — ”

My father grabbed Coach by the arm and spun him around. “You have to stop,” he hissed through closed teeth. “Just put it away for now. A second ‘t' and you're gone. He'll toss you from the game and then where will the team be?”

Coach looked like he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead he sat down at the end of the bench.

The timer hit the buzzer to signal the end of the time-out.

“Okay, everybody, get out there and play!” my father yelled.

I sat on the end of the bench closest to the scorer's table. I looked up at the scoreboard. We were down by five points with just under three minutes left in the game. The game was over for me, though — I'd fouled out. I'd never done that before in my life. And I wasn't alone. Tristan was done. Jordan was done. Altogether we'd had thirty-one team fouls called against us. Thirty-one!

Mark dribbled down the court. He fed the ball inside to Al, who faked a drive and threw it back out to Mark. He put the shot up and it dropped for a three! I jumped off the bench. That brought us to within two points! Despite the thirty-one fouls, despite the other team having only been called for two, despite the fact they'd made twenty-five points from the foul line, we still weren't finished. We could pull this off . . if the refs let us win. What a terrible thought – if the refs
let
us win.

I'd been around basketball all my life, and I'd hardly ever been to a game where somebody didn't think the refs were against one team – their team – and for the other. A couple of times I'd sort of believed it. This was the first time in my life I had no doubts. The calls on us got sillier and sillier. Even worse was the lack of calls against the Mumford team. I'd been hacked, slapped, grabbed and
pushed all over the court without a single call. I'd heard about hometown reffing, but this was just ridiculous.

Coach was beside himself. He jumped and danced and screamed and questioned and a couple of times he tossed down the water bottle he was drinking. For the most part, the two refs just tried to ignore him. I thought they were so embarrassed about what they were doing that they didn't even have the nerve to look Coach in the eyes.

One of the refs blew his whistle. “Foul, number twelve orange!”

“You're right it was a foul!” Coach yelled. “A charging foul!”

The official at the scoring table pushed the buzzer.

“That's his fifth foul… he's gone.”

David trotted over, his head down.

“That's okay, David, take a seat. And don't worry, it wasn't like that was a real foul!” Coach yelled, loud enough for everybody on the court, including the refs, to hear.

“Are you sending in another player?” one of the refs asked.

“What's the point?” Coach asked. “You're just going to make up calls to foul him out anyway.”

“Jamie, go in,” my father said, tapping him on the shoulder.

Jamie pulled off his warm-up shirt and ran
onto the court. The ref turned away and walked back toward the key. Everybody took up spots on the key for the free throw. The shot went up and clanked off the rim and to the side.

“Maybe you refs should take the shots for them as well!” Coach yelled.

“You have to be careful or he's going to toss you,” my father warned Coach.

Coach shrugged.

The second shot went up the side and right down to where Al stood. He dribbled slightly out to the side and saw Kia breaking free. He fed the pass up and over her head. It bounced in front of her; she picked it up and started dribbling for the net! Nobody could get to her in time… if she made it the game would be all tied up!

She went up for the lay-up and bang, she got smashed from behind! The ball sailed up for the net while Kia crashed forward. The ball dropped through the hoop at the same time Kia crunched into the wall! Everybody on the bench jumped to their feet and screamed. Kia didn't get up, and the ref blew down the play.

Coach ran onto the court and Kia slowly sat up. He bent down and started talking to her and then offered her a hand and helped pull her to her feet. The whole crowd, which had become suddenly silent, started clapping. Slowly Kia,
Coach still holding her by the arm, came across the floor.

“Kia, are you okay?” I asked as I met her at the line.

“I'm fine… just a little shaken up.”

“Coach,” one of the refs asked, “are you calling a time-out?”

“Me calling a time-out?” Coach demanded. “You're supposed to call this one because of the injury.”

“We're not calling a time-out,” the ref said. “She either has to come back out or you have to substitute.”

“And can the sub take the foul shot for her?” Coach asked.

“I didn't call a foul.”

“What?” Coach yelled, leaping across the floor until he was practically on top of the ref. “You didn't call a foul on that! Are you completely blind? And even if you were blind you could have heard the collision! Do you think the wall jumped out to hit her?”

“That's enough from you. One more word and you're gone!” the ref snapped. “One more word!”

Coach turned his back to the ref, like he was going to stop. He was now facing my father. “If he tosses me, you're in charge.”

“What do you mean I'm in charge?” my father asked, although we both knew what was coming up.

“Hey ref !” Coach called out, and the ref spun around and came stomping back toward us. “Can I ask you a question?”

The ref shrugged, but didn't say he couldn't.

“You been watching that camera over there?” Coach asked, pointing to the corner. The ref looked over.

“Because that camera was on that play and that girl has been their feature story, so I know they captured that last play on film. And you know what? When that goes out on the news, and I add my interview, you're going to look like the biggest, most incompetent, biased fool who ever
pretended
to ref a basketball game. So, think hard — and I know thinking isn't one of your strengths — are you sure you don't want to make a call on that play?”

The ref looked like he was angry enough to explode, or at the very least toss Coach right out of the gym. He looked over at the scorer's table. “One shot.”

“Time out!” Coach yelled. “Full.”

The rest of the team ran off the court while those of us on the bench rose to join them, surrounding Coach.

“Kia takes the shot. If she makes it, you put on the press. If she misses, you press. Either way, leave number sixteen open. I want them to send the ball to him. We want him to have the ball. Then foul him and foul him hard. If you can, smack his left
wrist. He's left-handed and that might hurt his shooting. Now go and do it!”

They trotted out to the court. The rest of us stood on the sideline. There was no way I could sit down now.

Kia took the ball from the ref. I didn't know if Coach was bluffing when he said the camera had caught her being fouled, but now the camera was trained right at her.

Kia bent down slightly, dribbled the ball and put it up. It bounced off the rim, but Al grabbed the rebound and put it up. It dropped! We all screamed and yelled and jumped into the air.

“Press!” Coach yelled. “Press, press, press!”

Everybody except number sixteen was closely covered. The ball came in to him, and Jamie rushed over. He didn't even attempt to get the ball, instead smacking him as hard as he could.

Both refs blew their whistles and called out the foul. There was no arguing with that one.

“Double bonus, two shots!” one of them called out.

Everybody slowly walked down the court to our end.

Two shots. If he made both of them, the game was tied up. If he missed even one, we had the lead and ball with only twelve seconds left. All we'd have to do is hold on to the ball.

Number sixteen stood at the line. He bounced
the ball, and that was the only sound in the whole gym. The entire crowd had fallen silent. He bounced the ball again and then put up the shot – nothing but net. Darn. The crowd roared. If his wrist was hurting, it wasn't having any effect.

“The ball's in play after this shot!” the ref called out, and the crowd fell silent again.

He bounced the ball. He bounced it again. And again. What was he doing? Why was he taking so long.

“Come on, ref, he's only got five seconds!” Coach yelled. “Either he puts it up or you take it away!”

He put the ball up. It smashed into the bottom of the hoop and right into Al's hands again! Almost like an instant replay, he dribbled out and threw the ball up to Kia as she broke down the wing. She dribbled in and put the ball up, and it dropped just as the buzzer sounded! We all exploded as we rushed the court.

I had never seen that many people go so quiet. The entire crowd seemed to have had the wind knocked out of them and couldn't make a sound. Wordlessly they filed out of the gym. In the end, it hadn't mattered how loud the crowd had cheered during the game or even what the refs had done or not done. Despite it all we'd won.

Although I didn't really think it was going to make much difference. Winning on the court wasn't going to get us to the finals.

“We've got to get to the meeting so they can hear the appeal,” my father said to me. “We need all of you to go back up to the rooms and wait for us and — ”

“Why can't we come?” Kia asked.

“Yeah, we should be there,” I agreed.

My father turned to Coach. “What do you think?”

“I think they have a point. It's about them, so it should include them.”