‘We’ve won two of our three home games so we’ve got an advantage,’ Scott was saying. They were in the changing rooms pulling on their white tops. Some of the squad were out on the court already, warming up. He snapped his tee-shirt on Adam’s leg. ‘Bring your balls, Adam! Big game!’
Adam dodged a second flick. ‘Wainui are second on the table, aren’t they? This is going to be really tough to win.’
Richard cracked his knuckles. ‘The only thing that can stop us winning is ourselves.’
Adam nodded, then shook his head. ‘Yeah, but, you know. They might win. It’s just statistics. They might.’
Richard gave Adam a stern look. ‘You go out there thinking like that and it’s all over.’
‘I’m
just saying!’ Adam was getting frustrated. ‘I don’t have that attitude
you guys do, okay? I just don’t, I wish I did but I don’t. I’ll go out
there and I’ll try as hard as I can, but that’s not inside me, all
right?’
Richard, surprised, didn’t say anything. Adam looked away, uncomfortable with the whole thing.
Scott
put his hand on Adam’s shoulder. ‘You’ll try as hard as you can, sure.
You always do. But maybe too often you try from here,’ he tapped Adam’s
head, ‘instead of from here.’ He slapped Adam’s chest, hard, the sound
echoing through the changing rooms.
Scott
and Richard both backed off a bit. Adam folded his arms, feeling his
skin smart where Scott had slapped him. He rolled his shoulders. Maybe
they were right. Maybe he’d been doing it wrong all this time.
Dennis would know. But Dennis wasn’t in the team any more.
The
old St Francis gymnasium had filled up with spectators. Adam wasn’t
sure he was exactly happy about that, now that he was there, even though
he’d asked people to come. Down the other end of the court the Wainui
team were going through their drills with a busload of supporters
cheering them on. Adam tried to put them out of his mind and waited for
his turn in the free throw drill. His eyes skipped along the wall: Mark
Keyes with mouth hanging open, Kane with sleazy-looking girl in scruffy
school uniform, big Will with Ray’s and Lio’s girlfriends, Julian’s
tight curly hair all messed up, bigmouth Craig and his sixth-form
buddies, Mike and Brett jangling carkeys at each other in some kind of
Freudian contest, Jacob looking seedy, and then more. He needed to pee
again. His turn: two claps, two claps. Both in. All that work on free
throws might be finally paying off. Lio slapped his back and he excused
himself. He threaded through people arriving around him. Phil and Sasha.
Shane, smiling hugely, wearing his trademark shades. Alone.
The
toilets were at the far end of the locker room and they linked through
to the foyer. They weren’t empty. Lurking by the basins were three guys
he’d never seen before, bundled in thick jackets and oversized jeans.
One of them stared at Adam with a smoke at his lips. Adam went to the
urinal and hitched the front of his shorts down and he could feel their
eyes on the back of his neck, hot like cigarette ash. He tried to put it
out of his mind. They weren’t talking, they weren’t doing anything that
he could hear, which meant they were just staring at him. He stood
there and tried to summon back the urge that had been so pressing a
moment back. He tried to think of running water, to concentrate on
water, to flow. It wasn’t working. Were they moving towards him? He
peered at the stainless steel cistern for reflections but saw only his
own face distorted.
It
became clear to him that nothing was going to happen downstairs. No
water. He contemplated hitching up his shorts and sauntering out
nonchalantly but knew he wouldn’t be able to pull it off. He’d worked it
out, they were from over the hill and they’d be there to watch the
game, and they’d watch him and they’d know he hadn’t even had the
confidence to piss in public. It would be bad. He had no idea what to
do. Why were they hanging around in here?
There
was muttering and a stifled laugh. Adam waited, frozen, hoping it meant
they were giving up and heading out the door. These hopes were dashed
by a loud ‘Fuuuuck’ from one of the visitors. Adam jolted nervously as
the other two laughed, but he caught up with himself and turned the
reaction into a shoulder-jiggle. Then he pulled his shorts back up. Once
he’d started he didn’t let himself stop. He came back off the step and
went over to the basin, and they were looking at him with hooded eyes
and he turned on the tap and soaped his hands and rinsed them clean. It
was easier when you were in motion. He turned his head towards them and
they were looking at him and he went right next to them to dry his hands
on the handtowel. He met their eyes. And then he walked out of the room
and rejoined the team at courtside.
‘One minute!’ called the referee, a stocky guy with a face like worn-out rubber.
‘All
right, all right,’ Damon Taylor said, reeling his team in. ‘This is the
one, we sink or we swim. I’m talking the momentum of the season, and we
have the move now, this is the game. I want you all to be aware of each
other out there. You are a team, that means you operate as a team. Each
of you affects the others. If a big rebounder subs off, step up and
rebound more! If a ball handler goes then adjust to help the passing.
Get it? Balance! I want team, on three!’ They put hands in. ‘Starters
are Rich, Adam, Ray, Lio, Viane. We’re going big and I want that ball
pounded inside until their defence starts to bleed. Hands in, hands in…’
Chris Tala’s huge palm came down on top and the shout of team punched
the air.
Adam
came away as the circle broke, heart pounding, nervous, but ready.
Richard was across from him. Ray slapped his back. Viane was nodding,
quickly, totally certain. Adam felt the energy rising.
He stopped by Scott as he headed on court. ‘Seen Dennis?’
Scott shook his head.
The
referee held the ball in the centre of the circle. ‘Okay, white
attacking that hoop, red attacking that hoop… Let’s go boys.’
Adam got into position. One thought. Jump, feel everything beneath you and jump.
The referee threw the ball upwards.
Adam
watched the ball rise higher and higher and the other centre was
coiling down, the ball was hanging above like the sun, and Adam was up
and rising, his arm stretched upwards reaching, and his fingers found
the leather, and the crowd exploded. He was flying.
The
ball tipped sideways to Ray, who charged at the basket, streaking
through gaps to leap and switch hands and kiss it off the backboard. The
coach was clapping but somehow, impossibly, the basket didn’t come, the
ball racketed out. Adam glanced off the court but there was no sign of
Dennis, there was an empty doorway with no shadows beyond. Wainui were
coming down court and Adam slotted back into position. The game had
begun.
The
crowd noise grew every play. Slamming down walls, Wainui slipping
through like eels, a bucket right under the backboard, far too easy.
Pushing
an attack, the ball came into Richard’s hands but he pulled up short as
a defender snapped him up. Ray was marked, Adam too, Lio was trailing,
Viane also covered, Rich had run out of teammates, the defence
converged.
Hunting
the rhythm. Viane was caught by surprise as the big Wainui forward put
the ball on the floor and drove past him. Adam crossed over to contest
the shot but as he hit the player hard and the whistle blew he knew he’d
been too late. The ball rolled around the rim and dropped through, two
points and a free throw for Wainui and another foul against Adam’s
total.
Another
shot dropped through. Two more points. Whistle for a time out and they
were at the sideline, Damon hauling them in. ‘We’re getting the crap
beaten out of us! Weren’t you listening before? Out of position, not
moving right, like you don’t even know who’s out there with you! Get
balanced! Get moving!’ The scoreboard showed a margin of seven. Lio put
his hand in and the others followed, Richard last and hardest.
The
game continued, calming it down into the second half, driving tenacity
from the guards bringing them back in touch, Richard stepping up to put
the team on his shoulders. Lio fouled out and Damon got a final warning
from the refs. Richard, Chris, Scott, Kelvin and Ray, all panting
furiously, collapsed into seats as the others gave them room. The crowd
kept going despite the time-out, clapping and cheering and yelling. A
chant of ‘Wai-nu-i’ was opposed by Shane’s solo but enthusiastic cry of
‘Francis uber alles!’
Taylor
pointed at Adam. ‘You’re back on, Adam. Viane, you’re on for Kelvin.’
Kelvin nodded thankfully, he’d put in long minutes with Viane in foul
trouble.
‘Who am I on for?’ Adam asked.
‘Richard, come off.’
There was silence in the huddle.
Richard nodded and leaned back but Scott couldn’t stay quiet. ‘You’ve got to be kidding! Richard’s keeping us in this game!’
Ray agreed. ‘Leave him on, coach!’
Damon
looked fierce. ‘Listen. Richard isn’t going to be here forever. He’s
not going to be here for the post-season. If you want to get to the
finals, then prove you can play in them. Clear?’ The referee whistled to
restart play. Damon’s eyes found Adam and held there. ‘Go do it.’
Scott
planted his body as a Wainui player cannoned into him. Adam cut past
Scott’s screen to get free along the baseline. Viane looked at him but
dished to Ray instead. The big shot rimmed out and Wainui grabbed the
rebound.
Francis
was down three, thirty-three seconds the clock. Wainui slowed down the
play, using up as many of those seconds as they could. Scott grabbed
Adam’s arm, shouted into his ear, ‘cover my back!’, sprinted out to
defend. Scott had never been patient. Adam found his ground and dug in,
his opposite trying to shove past but Adam wouldn’t give an inch, his
feet went down into the earth. Scott was on the wing, stepping up to the
guard with the ball, tempting him, and the Wainui player ate it up,
switching directions and driving towards the baseline. Scott got there
faster. He forced the player further down until he was stuck along the
bottom edge of the court, and Adam loomed out of nowhere to complete the
trap. Desperate, the Wainui player threw the ball past him, but it was
Ray who picked it up. He didn’t wait.
Fifteen
seconds left and Adam powered up the court. He’d known the trap was
good and had taken off so fast he was beating Scott, beating his
defender, but he hadn’t needed to hold back, he knew Ray was going to
move in and he knew where he was going now. He drove right into the lane
through two hustling defenders, and Ray just nodded once. The ball
shifted through space, unnerving quickness, point to point, heavy like
stone, and Adam leapt through bodies. The rim came to him like a halo,
hands and arms were knocked away, he swung the sun above his head and
stuffed it down, and through.
The crowd erupted on all sides, and the whistle blew.
Adam
stepped up to the free throw line. Both teams’ coaches were screaming
but the referee swept them aside and gave him the ball. He wasn’t
smiling. He hadn’t when Ray and Scott and Chris and Viane had converged
on him, exuberant, and he hadn’t when the time-out Wainui called had
been spent by Damon yelling at the ref, and he hadn’t when Richard
nodded approvingly at him.
The
rebounders lined up as he readied his single shot. Eight seconds left,
down by one. This would tie it up. Beneath the backboard and a bit to
the left was the doorway. There was a figure there, watching. Adam
looked harder.
It was just Mr Sheldon.
He
released the ball and missed. Wainui’s power forward seized the
rebound. With three seconds left a Wainui guard scorched into the lane.
Viane cut off the drive but the guard stopped and lifted and poured in a
jumpshot. He came down screaming and the buzzer sounded. Adam watched,
and something hardened inside him, and he knew there’d be no more
excuses.
‘Wai-nu-i! Wai-nu-i!’ shouted the winning team.
Adam
subsided on to the bench. Damon went to shake the other coach’s hand.
Lio started talking. He demanded that they all put their hands in and
one by one they did, Adam last. ‘Right to the wire, sure this feels like
shit and it should but next week we win, next week we fix it, and then
we plan to see these guys at finals time, so let’s give them one hell of
a cheer, all right, one hell of a cheer so they recognise us when we
meet again…’
