Advantage Disadvantage (22 page)

With a couple hours to go before the game, the East
End locker room filled with family and friends. Coach Venturi
allowed players to host guests for fifteen minutes. Cameras flashed
amid a loud buzz of excited, nervous people. A five-minute line
formed in front of the stall preserved with Michael Jordan’s
nameplate intact as players posed with their loved ones. After a
while, Coach worked his way around the room saying hello and
shaking hands with his players’ parents and friends. Coach Venturi
was especially proud of his players as he heard repeatedly, “Thanks
grandma (or grandpa, dad, mom, etc) for coming to see me play”.
They had grown as players and as young men. He could not have been
more proud. Finally, the locker room emptied of all guests.

“Boys,” Coach Venturi began. “I want to ..”

“Wait a minute,” Jamal said. “Before you talk to the
team, I’d like to say something.”

“Ok, Captain. The floor is yours.”

“I want to say that this has been the best year of
my life. We have worked hard, really hard. I mean extra
hard...”

“We get it,” Scott interjected as the boys laughed
but agreed with Jamal.

“I’m just trying to say that some of what we did in
the summer didn’t make sense to us – we weren’t winning games, but
Coach we’ve figured you out. You are a great coach and we admire
you, and if any of us end up in coaching, we will take a lot of you
with us. Thanks for getting us here.”

After the applause died down and he wiped a couple
tears from his eyes, Coach Venturi began his pre-game talk.

“Boys, I know I am speaking for Coach Imari as well
when I tell you how proud we are at the progress of this team. We
knew how good you might be early on – well before the Windy City
Daily came around to rank us. You are going to find out that in
life potential does not mean a damn thing. It takes hard work and
commitment to reach goals – you have given the coaching staff
sacrifices we could not have imagined. Coach Imari and I watched
Carl Markon’s last five games, repeatedly. We have not installed
anything special because we believe you can beat them by playing
our regular game. No gimmicks tonight. Make no mistake about it –
they are a great team. But I ask you, what are we? I only have this
request – do not hold anything back on the court. We sprint always.
We block out. We run bruising pick plays. But remember, we don’t
take any shit from anybody. Let’s bring it in.”

The team encircled the two coaches while reaching in
their arms to the common center.

“Who are we?” Jamal asked the team.

“East End”, they responded.

“Who?” a little louder he asked.

“East End”, they yelled back.

“Who?” Jamal said, higher pitched.

“VENTURI’S MEN!” they said as they surprised the
coach. That was the first time all season that they responded that
way to end the cheer.

“Alright guys. Let’s take 15 minutes of shoot
around. Get used to the bigger, pro court out there. Wave to your
girlfriends. Kiss the babies. Take it all in. Then come back in
ready for business. Jamal, bring ‘em back in 15.”

The team filed out of the locker room into the
tunnel leading to the floor.

Back in the locker room, Venturi turned to his
assistant and said, “We might really be in trouble this game,
Marcus”.

“I know Scott, but it don’t matter. The boys have
taken in 98% of the experience already. Going downstate only gets
you the last 2%,” Marcus replied.

“That’s bullshit, but thanks for saying it. And
thanks for coming back to the team. You’ve been a blessing to us,”
Coach Venturi said.

“OK, but let me say there are only two, exactly two
coaches responsible for Jamal’s basketball progress – T.J. Battle
and you. And on a personal note you are the best thing that has
happened to me since I saved that slime dog Bobby G. from getting
his ass beat in the Cook County Lockup,” he laughed.

Chapter Thirty-five. It is Just A Game – A Super
Sectional Game

Frank Worrell sat at the end of the scorer’s table
near the half court line. The IIAA observer was trying to get Frank
to chat. As the players ran through their warm-ups, the observer
peppered Frank about his perceptions of the season and specifically
the quality of officiating. They discussed coaching job openings,
rule changes, surprise teams and attendance of high school
basketball in the short time before the game began. The chitchat
provided relief to Frank because it kept him from worrying about
whether Carl Markon’s team would cover the point spread. It was
hard to stop thinking about a half million dollars.

Frank asked, “Are any of these officials working
tonight also assigned to the state finals?”

“No, almost though. There was a last minute change
that took one of these guys off the championship game,” the
observer said.

Frank knew that Bobby G. would get great pleasure
knowing that he may have cost Billy Rechter his chance at this
year’s state final. He thought how much easier winning this bet
could have been if Rechter would have cooperated. Frank began
nervously tapping his foot as he remembered what was at stake
during this game. He would have to be careful to hide his temporary
bias toward the Carl Markon High School team.

Billy had completed the check of players and named
starters in the official book at the table. Three referees gathered
in front of the scorer’s table and summoned the coaches to call
their captains. Each team brought three players – East End had the
starting seniors. Jamal humbly stepped up to the meeting. The UC
was getting noisy as the schools’ bands played dueling fight songs.
Coach Venturi was unusually calm. He fretted all weekend to try to
find a weakness in the Markon team, but he never found one. He
hoped his team would play with confidence and perhaps catch Markon
on an off night. But he really did not have a proactive plan.
Marcus, proud as a peacock, watched his son participate in the
captains’ meeting.

“What do they talk about in the pregame conference?”
Frank asked the observer.

“IIAA wants the referee to ensure the players are
properly dressed, to establish gentle authority, and also to remind
the teams to play with good sportsmanship. I think before games the
players are so wired they hardly listen to it anyway,” the observer
replied.

Billy had his pregame version of the discussion
memorized and polished.

“Coaches, may we assume that all players who might
enter the game tonight are properly equipped and ready to play
basketball tonight?”

“Yes,” both coaches replied.

Billy continued, “Coaches are there any special
considerations that we need to consider for this game such as
medical bandages or religious uniform exceptions?”

“No, we’ve got none of that,” Scott replied.

“Neither do we,” replied the Markon coach.

“Ok, thanks coaches. Players, we know that this is
an important game for both teams. But the rules for tonight are the
same as all other games. We implore each of you to show your
respect for the game, respect each other, respect the coaches and
respect the officials. Coaches, we ask for your respect as well. We
will work hard for both teams tonight. Coaches, remember to coach
from inside the designated box at all times. When you call time
out, please show us signals to indicate a short or long one.
Players, congratulations on taking your teams this far. Enjoy the
moment – the three of us will, and we hope you do as well. Play
hard, play intensely, but always tonight, show great sportsmanship.
Alright men, shake hands and have a great game.”

The officials then approached the scorer’s table and
shook hands with the timer, scorekeeper, state observer and even
Frank. This was quite an honor for the crew, and Billy had accepted
that this year was just not his time to go downstate for the
finals.

East End was the home team. They wore their white
home uniforms and their band had the honor of playing the National
Anthem. It echoed off the rafters of the cavernous United Center.
Next were player introductions. The referees removed their all
black IIAA jackets after the introduction of the last players.
Starting players took the floor, and one of the oldest living
ex-board members of IIAA approached the center circle to throw a
“ceremonial toss”. Having dispensed with all pre-contest
festivities, it was game time - winner goes downstate.

Billy moved forward to start the game with a jump
ball. The crowd was on its feet screaming. It was deafening. The
ball was batted around three or four times. Finally, a Markon
player wrestled the ball away and in the confusion dribbled toward
the wrong basket. Half the crowd was shocked, the other did not
realize the mistake about to happen. Neither did a player on East
End’s team. The Markon player drove toward the basket and as he
went in for the lay-up, an opponent initiated hard contact. While
still in the air, he released the ball, which floated into the
basket. The crowd roared. Billy covered the play and blew sharply
his Fox40 whistle. This was a complicated play. Did the points
count? If so, which team tallied the points? Did they shoot free
throws? If not whose ball was it?

Billy confidently raised his fist as he blew his
whistle to indicate a foul was committed. He gave the preliminary
signal for a push. He then waved off the basket. As he approached
the scorer’s table, both coaches pinched in to try to understand
what the ruling meant. Billy stopped and in a loud clear voice he
said,

“Because the Markon player was shooting at the other
team’s basket, not his own basket, he was not an
Airborne
Shooter
. This means that when the foul occurred, the ball
became dead. Because the ball was dead, there is no basket”

He showed the no basket signal by extending his arms
straight out from the shoulders. Then he crossed them back and
forth in from of his body to wave off the points.

Billy continued, “Since a player must shoot the ball
at his own basket to be
in the Act of Shooting
, the foul
committed here is simply a common foul. Therefore, the foul was by
twenty-two white, a push. The ball will be put in by red on the
baseline, no free throws.”

Both coaches turned away without raising any fuss.
Frank tried to understand what was going on.

“Do you agree with Billy’s rulings?” Frank asked the
observer.

“I agree entirely. That is an example of how good
Rechter is … we really made a damned mistake not using him this
year at the finals downstate. I am not sure why the state’s office
pulled him off the finals game. I’ve got to look into that.”

Frank began to worry. Bobby G. had placed the entire
bet on a team who tried to score in the wrong basket on the first
play of the game. It could be a very long night.

They played on. The first quarter went back and
forth with no unusual plays or rulings beside the first one. East
End struggled with Markon’s full-court press but was able to keep
the score close. The play was sloppy, and as Coach Venturi feared,
East End could not find a rhythm for the game. Frank was sweating
so profusely that the state observer asked him if he was ok. Frank
told him he was vacillating between being hot and cold because of
some kind of virus. Out of mercy, the observer retrieved one of the
team towels from the trainer so Frank could towel-off. The score
was tied at the end of the quarter, but the East End’s players were
gassed.

Frank was trying to calm himself down. His thoughts
were jumping around in his head, “East End was not playing very
well, but they were very much in the game. On the other hand,
Markon High did not have to win this game; they just had to stay
within 6 and ½ points.”

Frank got up to hustle to the washroom. Bobby G.,
who was sitting a few rows behind the scorer’s table, followed
him.

“Don’t worry, Frankie. East End can’t finish this
one,” he whispered to him.

“I can’t take it, man,” said Frank. “What if East
End covers?”

Bobby G. quietly said, “If that happens, one way or
another, you won’t ever see me – the bangers would hunt me down if
I didn’t pay them off, which I won’t do. I’d try to leave town for
a while. But don’t sweat that.”

Frank was no fool, but he was just figuring
something out. He immediately played out two scenarios as far as
Bobby G. was concerned. If East End covered, then Bobby G. would
disappear as he suggested. But wouldn’t Bobby G. have the same
problem if Markon High covered? The bookie would not owe anybody
money, but they might be pretty pissed off if they figured it out.
If that happened, maybe Bobby G. would spill the beans and blame
the gang’s losses on Frank. While standing at the urinal next to
Bobby G., for the first time, Frank doubted the sanity of the
Advantage / Disadvantage plan. Frank was in way over his head and
maybe in real danger.

“When this is over how will I get my cut?” Frank
whimpered in a rising, nervous voice.

“I’ll call you at the office as soon as I can. Then
I will get you your share. Just relax and enjoy the game. I am
leaving at halftime – this place is filled with about-to-be
pissed-off gangbangers. Just think about half a mil, brother, half
a mil.”

When the buzzer sounded to signal the start of the
second quarter, East End came out confidently. Playing to a first
quarter tie boosted East End’s confidence. Frank reclaimed his seat
next to the state observer.

“Great quarter for my referees and both teams, right
Frank?” said the observer.

Not caring to engage in more conversation Frank
shortly snapped back, “Well, seen one close game, seen them
all.”

There was no relief for Frank in the second quarter.
The game had a good flow, with few fouls and not much notable play.
At the end of the first half, East End had a two-point lead and
their crowd was going crazy. Frank looked back at the crowd and
noticed that, as planned Bobby G. was gone. The East End Band was
belting out loud-music while their dance squad took the halftime
floor. Frank had to use the facilities again because he his kidneys
were pressured by his out-of-control nerves. When he returned to
his seat, the observer struck up more conversation.