Blind Your Ponies Page 44

  “You put us ahead. Now we’re going to win it, don’t give up.”

  Those last three minutes clawed at his stomach. Thomas coolly made the one-and-one, cutting the lead to four. They trapped Rob and got a turnover when Dean lost Rob’s pass. McHenry cut it to two with a jumper near the key, and they tied it with a minute and ten seconds on two free throws by Lapp. All the spectators were on their feet, blistering the arena walls with their roar.

  “Volleyball! Volleyball!” Coach shouted.

  Pete agonized on the bench and kept repeating as though a prayer, “As long as she swims, I will cook. As long as she swims, I will cook.”

  In the face of a press, Rob dribbled into the front court. Olaf came to the high post and Rob lobbed it to him. Oaf faked a pass to Tom and then flipped it behind his back to a surprised Curtis, who was virtually alone on the left side of the court. Forget Me Not dribbled the ball once and lifted his favorite shot from the side. Pete came off the bench as the ball rattled home.

  They were up by two with thirty-six seconds.

  Pete felt helpless, aching to be out there with them. He kept searching for Denise Cutter’s face in the stands as though she could save them. The Black-hawks brought the ball up smartly and ripped it around the zone, down by two. With eleven seconds on the clock they got it to the quick Jay McHenry on Curtis’s side. McHenry faked a shot and got Curtis in the air. The lean kid went around Curtis and pulled up for a short jump shot. Olaf got there too late. The ball was in flight when Olaf chopped McHenry’s arms. The shot was perfect, tying the game, and the arena rocked. The Blackhawk forward would get one free throw with two seconds on the clock.

  “Time out after the shot!” Coach Pickett shouted to Rob.

  The Seely-Swan player accepted the ball from the referee. The Willow Creek fans shook the sports center with their cheers. The boys crouched along the line, arms up. McHenry bounced the ball once, eyed the basket, and shot the ball. Pete held his breath. It was flat, no arch, a brick. But it hit the front rim, hesitated as though it didn’t have the strength to get over, and then rolled into the net softly.

  Damn!

  The Willow Creek crowd groaned, the Seely-Swan fans leaped and cheered.

  Rob shouted at the ref, “Time out, time out!”

  They came to the bench and Pete struggled to muster his enthusiasm. He couldn’t find his voice. He tried to encourage them by offering them water, a towel, helping Scott prepare them for two seconds of life that was no life.

  “We have one chance,” Coach Pickett said to Pete’s stunned teammates. “We’ve practiced this a thousand times. Olaf, set up on the free throw line. Rob, hit him with the high post pattern. Olaf, you’ll only have time to catch it and shoot. They might foul you. Go do it.”

  The referee handed the ball to Rob. Seely-Swan had Thomas waving his arms in Rob’s face and the rest were camped back under the basket. Lapp stood behind Olaf with Cooper crowding in front. The clock wouldn’t start until Olaf touched the ball.

  Rob fired a perfect pass the length of the floor. In one fluid motion Olaf moved to his left, went up above the reaching defenders, caught the ball in stride, and gently lobbed it at the basket as the buzzer detonated. It had a chance! Pete stood, suffering in the suddenly silent building, tracking the softly arcing ball as it hit the backboard, bounced down onto the rim, careened around the front of the iron, and fell to the side.

  They had lost!

  The Seely-Swan team and fans leaped and shouted and smothered one another, a lava flow of wild jubilation. The Willow Creek boys walked numbly toward the bench. Pete had no words for them. They looked at the floor and wiped their eyes. He couldn’t believe it. They could have beat those guys! He kept looking at the blurring scoreboard.

  SEELY-SWAN 64, WILLOW CREEK 63.

  He had lost it for them. Two foolish, stupid goddamn fouls and he would have been in there at the end. He could have buried another two or three, he could have …

  Coach Pickett came to him and put his arm around him. Pete couldn’t look into his face, knowing how much the coach wanted to win. Pete had wanted to win it for him so badly, he should have won it for him, for his team, for the town. The dream was over. Willow Creek would be losers after all. Somehow Pete had believed he was sent here to change that. He didn’t understand what was happening.

  Numbly he shuffled through the line, shaking hands with the happy Seely-Swan players, accepting their crummy compliments. Then they huddled on the floor. They grasped hands in the center of their circle but no one could speak. He crossed the court with his eyes on the floor. He was glad Grandma wasn’t here to see this. He wanted to tell her that he had tried to bring his teammates hot coffee in this terrible storm, but he couldn’t get a fire going. The stove had been dumped over and it was under water. He hurried to the locker room to hide his face in the howling waves of shame.

  CHAPTER 68

  In the locker room, each endured his solitary grief. They showered and dressed, cadavers impersonating the living. Somehow the celebrating Seely-Swan team could be heard through heating ducts and false ceiling, echoing through floor drains and shower heads, the dragon’s voice laughing heinously, jabbing a bony finger into their open wounds.

  Fans hung around outside the locker-room door with the redeyed cheerleaders as though waiting in a hospital corridor for the doctor’s word that their relative had died. Sam was shattered. Had it all been a cruel hoax, this dream of his? He was a loser after all. He could not raise his voice in the face of their utterly devastating defeat, staggering around in a daze, picking up bloody bandages, amputated arms, detached eyeballs in a dispensary for those who had been mutilated by loss. He offered an ice pack to Tom but the thrown cowboy only said, “What for?”

  When Sam, afflicted beyond recognition, couldn’t come up with a thought, Diana took over. She found her direction when the rest of them had been blasted into disorientation. She hurried ahead of them to the motel with Andrew and the three girls. Sam and the boys followed a half hour later, catatonic and straggling out of the sports center while the other game raged on in the arena.

  Diana was magnificent under fire, magnificent when Sam went flat-footed in any attempt to glue things together. With Miss Murphy’s menu and Andrew Wainwright’s wallet, a quiet private room awaited the Dirty Half-Dozen when they limped into the Colonial Inn. In the lobby, well-meaning fans threw wilted verbal bouquets …

  “You did the best you could.”

  “You boys played hard.”

  “You came a long way, further than anyone expected.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  … cliches that touched nerve endings with the subtleties of a dentist’s drill. When the twelve of them were seated in the cozy and softly lit room, two waitresses began hauling in food. The clinking of silverware and the tinkle of glass dominated the glum silence, and they passed spaghetti, ravioli, macaroni, and salad.

  The calm atmosphere and wholesome food helped them all slowly find their voice.

  “No sense eatin’ any more pasta. We’re dead,” Tom said.

  “You got that right,” Rob said. “We should’ve beat those guys by ten points.”

  Peter didn’t lift his head. He picked at his food, unable to look at his teammates.

  “They are having so many players,” Olaf said, shaking his head slowly.

  “Eat lots of pasta, boys. You’ll need it tomorrow,” Miss Murphy said.

  “Yeah, for the losers’ bracket,” Tom said.

  They ate in silence as if no one could think of anything to say.

  “You know, elephants are the only animal that can’t jump,” Curtis said.

  The boys groaned and Sam laughed. He felt his feet touching ground again. One of the waitresses brought Sam a note. He didn’t open the folded white paper, setting it beside his plate. He cleared his throat and all eyes swept down the table toward him.

  “Men, despite what you might feel right now, this is not the Last Supper. We
lost a crucial ball game. We lost with all of you giving everything you had, no one can do more. I’m proud of you.”

  Sam’s voice cracked and he paused a moment. He glanced at their despairing faces.

  “I know how much you’re hurting, how much we’re all hurting, but there is something to be done, together, by all of us. We lost control of our own destiny tonight, but maybe it never was in our hands. All we can ever do is give our best and see where it leads. You did that tonight, and let me tell you something while your heads are hanging. We scared the hell out of every team up here. They didn’t want to play us. The four teams in the other bracket were dancing because they didn’t have to face us.”

  Sam took a drink of water and no one moved, no one blinked.

  “Well, they’ve got us hanging by a thread, like a spider, and they’re going to try to smash us between their hands. I only want to say one thing to you tonight because I know you, I know how far you’ve come and how much you’ve given, and I know how tough you are.”

  Sam opened the note from Andrew. It read: “Twin Bridges 71, Alberton 46.” The curiosity around the table was nearly audible.

  “Twin Bridges beat Alberton,” Sam said.

  “Aaawwww.”

  “Damn.”

  “I knew they would.”

  “This is what I want to say to you, this only. If you think you feel bad now, think how you’ll feel if we lose either game tomorrow and Seely-Swan beats Twin Bridges tomorrow night. Think how we’ll feel if the opportunity is there to challenge Twin Bridges and we’re not around to do it!”

  They were silent, thinking, allowing his words to sink in.

  “Seely-Swan has a great front line,” Rob said with some enthusiasm. “They could snuff Stone and Harkin.”

  Tom nodded slowly and Pete lifted his head, casting his pleading eyes on Sam.

  “Rob’s right. They’ll match up well with Twin Bridges,” Sam said, pushing his chair back from the table. “Men, it is very possible we will catch up to Twin Bridges on Monday night, but only if we win tomorrow. Should we go for it?”

  “Yeeaaahhhh!”

  “Should we let Twin Bridges know all day that we’re coming up their tailpipe, that if they so much as blink on Saturday night, we’ll put tire tracks on their butts come Monday?”

  “Yeeaaahhhh!” they shouted louder.

  “We’ll never quit!”

  “Yeeaaahhhh!”

  “We’ll never give in!”

  “Yeeaaahhhh!”

  “And each time he falls—” Diana shouted.

  “—he will rise again!” they chorused with a rekindled fire.

  “Okay!” Sam pulled his chair up to the table. “Let’s finish eating and then Miss Murphy has a surprise for us.”

  Pete looked at all of them with fire in his eyes. “Pass the ravioli!” he said.

  WITH THEIR SHOES off and their stomachs full, they flopped on the two queen-size beds—which Diana had shoved together—or on the thick carpet and watched It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, a video Andrew had run down at the third place he tried. It was also part of Diana’s menu. Some sat on the bed with their backs against the headboard, Tom stretched out with an ice pack on his knee, some sprawled on their stomachs with their elbows propping up their heads, and some lounged on the floor in front of the beds. Diana wanted them close, touching, a big family having fun together. And they had fun.

  Sam, sitting in a cushioned chair beside the beds, watched their faces as the movie progressed. Halfway through, where Sid Caesar and his movie wife were trying to blast their way out of a hardware store where they’d been locked in, all of them were laughing so hard they were falling off the bed. Near the end of the movie, where the dozen zany characters were being catapulted through fifth-story windows by a fire truck’s ladder that had gone berserk, they were all gripped in seizures of laughter, tears in their eyes.

  When the movie was over, Sam smiled at Diana with a tinge of reverence. She had waved her magic wand and healed them. For over two hours they had forgotten all about their loss, they had laughed together until they were sore, and they’d never had a thought about basketball. It was almost midnight.

  “Okay, men. Get a good night’s sleep,” Sam said, prying himself out of the chair. “I’ll wake you at seven. We want to eat a good breakfast and then loosen up. The game is at nine. We will win it.”

  The kids stood around for a minute, hesitating to leave for their rooms, hesitating to leave the warmth of this fellowship. Dean started it, or Tom. The squeaky freshman looked up at the bull rider he admired.

  “Good night, Tom.”

  Tom appeared to be about to pat the kid on the head, but at the last moment, wrapped his arms around him and hugged him.

  “Good night, Dean.”

  That did it. Spontaneously, Tom turned and hugged Curtis. Dean turned and hugged Miss Murphy, and then the whole bunch went at it like repatriated prisoners of war coming off the plane. They hugged Olaf’s waist, Dean’s head, Carter stooped to hug Scott and Mary went up on tiptoe to hug Peter Strong. They hugged each other with affection, with an honest, open compassion that touched them all and mended their broken hearts. The feeling of belonging was the glue. Sam had to clear his throat before daring to speak.

  “One more thing. I know you’ll all want to know that Denise Cutter will be here for the morning game.”

  They cheered and applauded.

  “And my grandma will probably be here too,” Pete said.

  They cheered again, and Sam had a knot in his chest. He clapped his hands. “All right, off to bed.”

  They sauntered down the hall and into their rooms, but before they closed the door, Dean called shrilly, “Good night, Miss Murphy!”

  “Good night, Dean!”

  That did it.

  “Good night, Carter!”

  “Good night, Oaf!”

  “Good night, Tom!”

  “Good night, Mary!”

  “Good night, Curtis!”

  “Good night, Louella!”

  Sam walked along the corridor, shutting doors, still hearing behind him, “Good night, Coach. Good night, Rob.”

  Sam and Diana were alone in his room for a minute before she went to join her girls.

  “How did you do that, getting Denise Cutter here before nine?” she asked.

  “Andrew. He called the Cutters while we were eating, they said she could come, he drove back tonight.”

  “If we go much further, I think we ought to designate him an assistant coach and have him sit on the bench,” Diana said.

  “Good idea, and I know someone else that ought to sit there.”

  “Who?”

  “Grandma Chapman.”

  “Good idea.”

  She put her arms around him and held him tightly. She kissed him with an intensity he hadn’t felt before. He wrapped his arms around her and they held on for a minute.

  “Are you all right?” she said.

  “Yes, now I am. You did it tonight. I would have never thought of that. I’d have been looking at gloomy basketball videos and planning strategy.”

  “I got lucky,” she said. “Sleep well, we’re all still together.”

  “For another day,” he whispered in her ear.

  “For another day.”

  CHAPTER 69

  By seven-fifteen the twelve of them were present around the table in their private dining room, eating a light breakfast and chattering. Sam nodded across the long table at Diana and then cleared his throat.

  “Miss Murphy would like to say something.”

  Their eyes shifted from Sam to Diana, who was seated in the middle of the table, between Curtis and Carter.

  “How come we aren’t having ravioli for breakfast, Miss Murphy?” Tom asked.

  “I didn’t want you massacring Ennis, just beating them. You’ll thank me when they sputter out of gas and you guys will be zipping up and down the court in overdrive. And that’s what I want to talk to you about. Some of you
may recall seeing my video on the wild dogs of Africa.”

  The Willow Creek seniors nodded.

  “It documents how the wild dogs hunt. They run a herd of wildebeests until they spot a slower calf with its mother. Then they cut the pair out like cowboys and let the rest of the herd run off. Circling the cow and calf, they take turns dashing in and grabbing the calf by the neck or a leg. While the mother tries to fight them off by lowering her head and chasing a dog away, another springs in behind her and takes a stab at the calf.”

  The team went on with their breakfast as she talked.

  “This would be repeated over and over for five, six, seven minutes, wearing the cow out. Three or four wild dogs lunged and retreated, until the cow could hardly stand. Then, time after time, for its own survival, the cow gives up and runs off as the dogs drag down the calf and kill it.”

  “I remember that,” Carter said. “You showed it to us last year.”

  “Well, remember later on, where quite by accident they filmed the pack hunting one day, thinking it would be another routine killing. But this time was different. Four wild dogs worked their game, darting in, grabbing at the calf, retreating from the charging cow, wearing her down. Over and over, one after the other, four against one. But this mother wouldn’t quit. On and on the struggle went, the dogs dashing in from all directions, the cow chasing them off.”

  Sam noticed no one was eating.

  “The naturalists doing the filming were astounded. For five minutes, ten, fifteen, the cow, though outflanked and outmanned, wouldn’t give in and leave her calf. The dogs were exhausted, their tongues hanging out, their bodies panting for breath. And still the cow stood, gasping, played out, mouth frothing, her head and horns down, waiting their next charge. It never came. To the amazement of the film crew, the dogs slunk off, giving up. The wildebeest mother watched them go for a minute and then turned and stumbled away with her calf.”

  “I remember that,” Louella said. “I was really glad when the wild dogs didn’t get that calf.”