Three-Point Play (10 page)

Cody hung up the phone. “A bathrobe, now
that's
another story,” he said.

Chapter 7

Captain Cody?

T
he locker room buzzed with nervous energy. Outside, Cody could hear the cheers rising occasionally as Robyn and the frosh girls battled their longtime rivals from Holy Family.
There's nothing like the home opener
, Cody thought, as he watched Bart Evans make his fourth or fifth trip to the urinals, passing Slaven, Sam Hooper, and Gannon on the way.

Mark Goddard, short on height and talent but big on desire, sat on a bench near the entrance bouncing a ball firmly between his legs. The slap-slap of leather on cement seemed to set the backbeat for all the activity.

Coach Clayton moved to the center of the room. “Listen up,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically tight. “To start, we're going with Bart and Brett at forwards, Slaven in the middle, and Goddard and Gannon at guards. Gannon, you're on the point, so take care of the rock.

“We're gonna go man to man on this team. Athletically, I like the way we match up with'em. Slaven, you remember Young, Holy Family's center? He's shot up to six feet five inches, but he has all the agility and grace of Frankenstein's monster. So you can handle him. Just don't let him push you around. And fellas, we gotta get back on
defense
. That's why we're zero and two right now. Please, fellas. Think defense! Don't make me beg.”

The team hit the court for warm-ups. Cody heard a sprinkling of applause. He scanned the stands and felt his spirits deflate at the sparse crowd. After drawing full houses in the cramped middle-school gym the previous season, this was a letdown.

“I bet the chess team packs in a better crowd than this,” he grumbled.

“Let's get some layups in,” Brett Evans called out.

“Nah,” his brother countered. “Let's just shoot around for a while. Get loosened up.”

Cody saw Brett's eyes narrow as he stared down Bart. “Coach said layups first.”

“Well, I didn't hear him.”

“That's because you weren't listening, as usual! Some cocaptain you are!”

“Hey,” Cody offered, “let's compromise and do tip drills.”

Gannon brushed past Cody, grabbing the ball from his hands. “Don't let me interrupt your little sewing circle,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “But I'm gonna shoot some buckets.”

Cody shrugged and jogged to the Eagle bench and plucked another ball from the stainless-steel rack on wheels. The rest of the team followed suit.

Cody had just missed his fifth straight shot from the left wing when the buzzer sounded, meaning it was game time.
Woulda been nice to make at least one shot
, he complained to himself.
Just to prove I can still shoot. Of course, I woulda sunk at least two or three if Gannon hadn't shot at the same time and messed up my shots. What does it matter anyway? I'll probably spend half the game on the bench. I can't believe Coach didn't make me a starter right away. Has he forgotten I made all-tournament team last year?

Cody slumped at the end of the bench and watched Holy Family go on a 13–0 run to start the game. Keenan Jones took Bart to school on the first three Saint possessions, and, despite Coach Clayton's pregame admonitions, Young dominated Slaven on the low post. If it had been Pork Chop at center, the story would have been different. But Pork Chop was playing JV ball. It had taken only three practices for the JV coach to wrest him from Coach Clayton's clutches. He had notched eighteen points and fifteen boards (and four personal fouls and a warning for a technical foul) in his first junior varsity game. By midseason, Cody estimated, Chop would join Alston on the varsity.

As the Eagle frosh jogged off the court at the end of the first quarter, Cody stared at Coach Clayton, whose narrow face was etched in a frown. “Just dandy, kiddies,” the coach said. “We're down 16–2— to a team we whupped by 14 last year. Now, math never was my strong suit, but I do believe that makes us about 28 points worse. Did you guys forget everything I taught you last season? This is the most disgusting thing I've seen since my ex-mother-in-law donned a two-piece bathing suit at a family reunion. All y'all so-called starters can take a seat. I'm clearing my bench; second five in, now!”

As Cody headed to the scorer's table to check into the game, Coach Clayton hooked him by the elbow. “Dawg,” he whispered loudly, “how ‘bout stopping with the sulking, getting your head in the game, and starting with some leadership?”

The words stung Cody. For a moment, he thought about protesting his coach's sarcasm. Then he saw his four teammates wandering onto the court looking like immigrants stepping on US soil for the first time.

“Listen up,” Cody said, approaching them. “Jones is all mine. Hooper, you take Young. And don't be afraid to front him. Wright, you help Hoop if he gets beaten down low. Lang, overplay Mack to his right. He's got no left hand. Berringer, it looks like they're putting in a new guy at two-guard—you got him. C'mon, let's get back in this!”

Almost as one, Cody's four teammates stared at him and shrugged
. They're probably wondering who died and made me boss
, he reasoned.
But that's okay. I'm not having us go out and get spanked like the starters— in our house! This is downright embarrassing!

Holy Family got the ball to start the quarter. Mack drove right, then looked to lob to Young on the low block. Hooper fought his way in front of the much larger center and, after tipping the pass once, gained control of the ball.

“Outlet, Hoop!” Cody barked at the backup center, holding his hands out. Hooper fired a chest pass to Cody, who immediately looked downcourt and spotted a streaking Berringer. Cody cocked his right arm and hurled a football-style pass—right over Berringer's head.

“Well, John Elway I am not,” Cody scolded himself, punctuating his remark with a slap across his thigh.

As he backpedaled into defensive position, he heard Coach Clayton yelling, “That's the right idea, fellas! Keep it up! Keep it up!”

On the Saints' next possession, Mack was successful in lobbing the ball over Hooper's up-stretched hands.

“Help!” hollered Cody.

Quickly, Wright left his opponent and slid into position behind Young. When the big center turned toward the basket, he was surprised to find reinforcements in his way. Moments later, he was whistled for too much time in the lane.

Cody pulled alongside Lang as they ran downcourt to set up on offense. “Mack's giving you lots of room,” he said. “He knows you're too quick for him.”

Bradley Lang nodded. He called for the ball as soon as Berringer brought it across half-court. As Lang dribbled toward Mack on the left wing, the Saint guard gave ground, his hands low. Lang stopped quickly and elevated for a sixteen-footer that orbited the rim once before dropping in.

After consecutive blocks by Hooper and Cody led to Berringer fast-break layups, Holy Family's coach ejected from his chair and signaled a time-out.

“We got'em running scared,” Lang said, smiling at Cody as they trotted to the sideline.

“Maybe,” Cody said grimly, “but we're still getting waxed, 16–8.”

“You so-called starters taking note of this?” Coach Clayton said, staring down his first five with accusing eyes. The Evans brothers nodded sullenly. Slaven studied his shoes as if they were the most interesting items in the entire gym. Gannon and Goddard stared straight ahead, eyes smoldering.

“Well,” the coach continued after a few uncomfortable seconds dragged by, “keep watching and learning. Second five, stay on the court.”

Holy Family got its first points of the quarter when Jones converted both ends of a one-and-one, but Grant slammed the door after that. The period ended with the Saints clinging to an 18–17 lead.

Cody jogged to the locker room expecting halftime praise for the second unit—and a hailstorm of criticism for the starters. Coach Clayton, however, said nothing until just before the team trotted out of the locker room. “We'll go with our starters again to start the third,” he said quietly.

As Slaven and Young squared off for the second-half jump ball, Coach Clayton patted the chair next to him. “Martin,” he said, his voice ragged and weary, “right here, dawg.”

Cody whistled sadly through his teeth as he watched Holy Family stretch its lead to ten points. Jones set a beautiful back pick for Mack, and the latter returned the favor moments later. Young earned a three-point play when he head faked Slaven into the air, then banked in a shot from close range.

When Mack hit an uncontested three-pointer from the top of the key, Cody wondered if his coach might bolt onto the court and drag his lackluster starting five to the sidelines. Instead, he just sighed and turned to Cody. “You see what's happening out there, don't you, dawg?”

“Yeah. A massacre.”

The coach snorted. “That's a pretty apt description. But why?”

Cody looked away from Coach Clayton for a moment, turning his eyes to center court where the Evans twins seemed to be arguing over who would assume the unenviable task of guarding Keenan Jones. “Well, I'm not sure, Coach, but it looks like nobody wants to take charge out there.”

“You get a gold star, Cody Martin,” Coach Clayton said, his voice resonating with disgust. “For the love of Larry Bird, nobody wants to be a leader. What we've got out there are five guys playing as individuals, not as a team. Nobody wants to be accountable for bringing'em together—the way you were with the second five.”

Cody smacked his hands together in frustration as Gannon launched a twenty-footer, missing Brett Evans wide open under the basket. “Somebody's gotta tell him to have a look down low,” he shouted.

Coach Clayton smiled. “Yeah,
somebody
sure does. You get yourself in there and do it.”

“But, Coach,” Cody stammered, “Bart and Brett are captains; they're not gonna listen to me. Besides—”

“Besides what, dawg? Captain ain't some honorary title. It's all about what you
do
. To me, captain is a verb. And Evans & Evans, Incorporated, aren't doin' jack—except carping at each other.”

“But Coach, I've never been a team captain. I'm really not comfortable hollering at guys and stuff—”

“Comfortable? You think I care if you're comfortable? Dawg, I'm your coach, not your flight attendant. And right now, your coach—your team—needs a leader. So get your skinny carcass out there and lead!”

Cody checked into the game on the next dead ball. As the Eagles settled into defensive position, Cody barked, “Call out the picks! And don't be afraid to holler help if you get beaten on D. C'mon, fellas, we gotta talk on defense!”

Holy Family's rail-thin backup point guard attacked the right wing trying to set up a pick-and-roll with Jones. “Switch!” Cody called as he watched Jones plant himself behind Gannon. Gannon nodded, then rolled right along with Jones as he moved toward the basket.

Cody, meanwhile, jumped out on the point guard, smothering him, frustrating him, until the referee blew his whistle. “Five-second violation,” he intoned.

As Gannon walked the ball upcourt on Grant's ensuing possession, Cody saw the Saint guard creeping up behind him ready to steal the ball.

“Wolf right! Wolf right!” Cody barked, using the code term Coach Clayton had taught his team last year.

Gannon smiled and deftly crossed his dribble from his right hand to his left. The Holy Family defender sped by, swatting at nothing but air.

Grant finished quarter number three up by two points. The Eagles extended the lead to eight midway into the fourth—with Cody and the second team seeing most of the action.

Coach Clayton called a time-out with 3:49 left in the game, putting his original starters back in.
That's a good move
, Cody thought, nodding approvingly.
I bet by now they're learned their lesson. And maybe I showed Bart and Brett at least a little about how to be a captain.