Shootin' Some B'Ball Outside of the School

This was Coach’s big shot at the title, and he knew it. So did all the slivers of chewed nail and splatters of perspiration mingling underfoot as he paced up and down the line.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he and his ragamuffin team had arrived here, here at the State Championship Final in the Superior Dome. They weren’t a terrible team by any means, but he had never pictured them here, not in his wildest fantasies. His kids were all decent athletes and each had unique skills that they brought to the team. And it wasn’t that they didn’t work well together. In fact, there were moments when Coach could’ve sworn that they’d been born and raised on the court together, passing, dribbling, and shooting as one organism since their advent.

No, the problem, in Coach’s eyes, was the fact that they’d never been to State before. They were a relatively inexperienced team, but few people knew that. Coach had come to the school highly recommended, but always felt that he didn’t have the history to back it up. He grew to despise praise of his coaching ability. This was not only a first for these kids on the team, but for Coach as well.

He’d heard from other coaches about what it’s like to win state. He’d also heard about losing there. The disappointment, the build-up to failure, the crushed expectations; he hated thinking about it, but that was what he thought about now.

That and the trophy that would sit on his mantle should he pull this off. What he really couldn’t get his mind off of was that beautiful, golden, smoothly curving cup firmly planted in its base reading “State Champs.” Not only would he get to gaze upon it each night at home, but the school would also have one in the trophy case for all to see each and every day. Anyone that walked by would hardly be able to resist staring in amazement, awe, and (Coach secretly hoped) a bit of envy.

He’d learned plenty of strategies for winning a basketball game in his years of playing and coaching, but he rarely liked to implement them. To him, they felt somewhat sneaky, underhanded even. He loved the idea of his guys winning just by being better players. Resorting to playing some psychological game with the other team felt dirty. The biggest pressure he’d received from his betters as of late was to throw his kids into a full court press mid-way through the game. And here in the third quarter, trailing by more than a few, and his kids seeming to lose spirit, it was sounding pretty good.

Coach thought about the trophy. He looked out at his kids on the court. He called time. Everyone came in off the court and off the bench and huddled around him.

“This is it,” someone in the bleachers said. “This is where he lays it all out, inspires those kids to play like their lives depended on it.

“Yeah I’ve seen him do it before,” said another, who hadn’t. “He brings them all in, and riles ‘em up, and the come out playing like men possessed.” No one knows what he tells them in there, but it friekin’ works.”

As the circle of players began to break up, the excitement built. What could he have told them? Would it work this time? As the whistle blew to resume play, a few startled cries from the crowd quickly turned a roar.

“Where’s Butler?” someone yelled. Butler, the team’s leading rebounder, was nowhere to be seen on the floor.

“And Jack? Where’s Heizel?

“Is Tyler Aykoi out there?”

Heizel and Aykoi were neck and neck all season in points, always vying for the top spot.

Coach had stopped pacing. He now stood at half court, arms crossed, staring straight ahead. His varsity team sat behind him on the bench. On the court were the JV and freshmen kids who thought they were just suiting up for this game and had never dreamt they’d play. Coach watched and didn’t think of any trophies at all.