Boot Camp (9 page)

“Two inches,” she said.

I looked at Jamal. He nodded.

They went back and forth, asking and answering each other's questions. It was starting to look like they both knew
all
the rules. I had to admit that I was starting to gain respect for both of them. I wondered if they were feeling the same thing?

“Are free throws awarded on double personal fouls?” Kia asked.

“Nope,” Jamal said. “Do double persons count against team fouls?”

Kia didn't answer right away. “Ummm…no,” she said, but she didn't sound very confident.

Jamal reluctantly nodded.

Kia breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, let's stick with fouls. How many team fouls are allowed per
period before a non-shooting foul becomes a free-throw?”

“Four allowed. Fifth is where the team gets to take—”

“Five minutes until we start to play!” Jerome yelled out. “Five minutes!”

The way these two were going we'd still be sitting here in five minutes, listening to them ask questions.

“I think Jamal has proven he knows the rules—as well as you know them—so I say let's make him captain and you can be the
assistant
captain,” I suggested.

Neither answered.

“Come on, we don't have time for this to go on. All those in favor of Jamal becoming the captain raise your hands.”

My hand went up, as did Jamal's and then another player's and another and another, until everybody except Kia's hand was raised.

“Might as well make it unanimous,” Kia said and raised her hand as well.

“Now we need a team name,” I said.

“My favorite team is the Pistons,” Troy suggested. “How about the Pistons?”

“I like the Spurs,” another guy said, “and they're a better team than the Pistons.”

“We ain't no NBA team,” Jamal said. “How about if we just think of our own name…something that is us and not somebody else.”

“You got any suggestions?”

He smiled. “I was thinking the Zebras.”

“Zebras?” a few people questioned.

He nodded his head. “Black,” he said, gesturing to himself and the other four teammates who were black. “And white,” he said, pointing at Kia and then me.

“But that's stupid. We could be the Pianos or the Penguins if that's what counts,” Kia said.

“Now those names would just be plain stupid,” Jamal said.

“And Zebras isn't?” she asked.

“Zebras are at least fast and powerful,” another kid said.

“And the basic food group of lions and leopards,” Kia countered. “Do we really want to be named after an animal that other animals eat?”

“They can only eat them if they catch them,” I said. “If zebras run fast enough, maybe they can avoid being anybody's meal. Maybe that's what we have to do. If we run and gun, we can win.”

“So are we the Zebras?” Jamal asked.

“Why not?” Brandon said. “I like it.”

“It's better than the Pianos,” I said.

“Whose side are you on?” Kia asked.

“I'm on the same side as everybody,” I replied. “We're all on the
same
side, the
same
team…the Zebras.”

“Two minutes until we get started!” Jerome yelled.

“Let's just go with the name…the name doesn't matter, anyway. We better just go with that name,” Kia said. “Let's talk about who plays what position.”

“I'm tall,” Brandon said, “so I could be the center.”

He was the tallest on the team—and, from what I'd seen, just about the most uncoordinated kid in the gym.

“I guess that makes you center,” Jamal said.

“I usually play four—power forward,” I said.

“I'm a shooter,” Troy said. “Usually I'm a three.”

“And I can play three or four,” one of the other kids said.

“Good,” Jamal said. “The four of you can alternate in those three spots. Nick, you start at four,
and…what is your name?” he asked the new kid. Jamal hadn't been there for the introductions.

“I'm Brandon.”

“Okay, Brandon. You start on the bench,” he said, pointing to the new kid. “Maybe you can play a little bit of chess or something.”

Brandon looked sheepish but didn't argue. I had the feeling he'd spent a lot more time playing chess than he had playing ball.

“I usually play the one spot,” Kia said.

“That's where I play,” Jamal said. “Can you play two as well?”

“I can shoot.”

“Anybody can shoot. The question is if you can score.”

“She can score,” I said, jumping in to defend Kia before she could jump in and start a fight. “What do you play?” I asked the last player.

“Either guard spot.”

“Good. Then the three of you can play the two guard spots.”

“Everybody assemble up at the front!” Jerome yelled out.

I was grateful there wasn't time to argue. Once we got out on the court, working together, I hoped whatever problems we had would fade away.

All the teams walked to the front and sat on the floor in front of Jerome.

“We are going to be doing nothing but playing games today,” Jerome said, and a cheer went up from the players.

“Each game will last twenty-five minutes, and then we'll rotate teams,” Sergeant Push-up announced.

I looked down the line at the other teams. Some of the teams looked like they had a lot of talent. I didn't know if we could take some of them. Actually I didn't know if we could take any of them.

“Since each team has seven players there will have to be two members sitting off. We're going to make sure there are no arguments about playing time,” Jerome said.

“And here's how were going to be doing it,” Sergeant Push-up said. “We're going to have you number off—one through seven—and we will switch players at a given signal guaranteeing everybody gets the same amount of playing time.”

“As well,” Jerome said, “we'll be keeping score in every game and the games will count in the standings.”

“We have standings?” somebody else asked.

He nodded. “We're gonna be playing a lot of games all day today and tomorrow morning. Then Friday afternoon will be the play-offs to decide on a champion.”

“Does the championship team get anything?” Jamal asked.

Jerome smiled. He turned slightly around. “Show ‘em JY.”

JY, the mascot, walked onto the stage wearing a New York Knicks jersey. He turned around and it had Jerome's name and number on the back.

“During the year I wear more than one jersey. Each member of the winning team gets a genuine, game-worn NBA jersey.”

“Wow,” I heard Kia say under her breath as there was a collective gasp from everybody there.

“First things first. We have to list all the teams up on the board. What's your team's name?” Jerome asked the first team.

“We're the Thunder!” a kid yelled out proudly and the rest of the team cheered loudly.

Johnnie wrote the team's name down on a big white board—the standings.

He went from team to team—the usual names were given: Spurs, The Storm, Tigers, The Cobras… how could a bunch of snakes play basketball?

“And the final team?” Jerome asked.

Nobody answered right away. “Um…we're the Zebras,” I finally said.

There was no cheer from our team, but there were a whole bunch of questioning looks.

“That's certainly a unique name,” Jerome said. He turned to his brother. “I don't think I've ever heard that used as a team name before, have you?”

“It's a first for me too, but I like it,” Johnnie said, nodding his head. “Strong, fast, a proud African animal.”

“You made a good choice,” Jerome said. “Let's give it up for them for making such an original choice!”

Jerome and the other coaches, joined by the other kids started to clap. That was just like Jerome, putting a positive spin on something. I didn't really think the kids thought it was such a great name, but they weren't going to argue—if Jerome Junk Yard Dog Williams thought it was good, it was good.

“Okay, let's play some ball!”

We'd drawn for numbers. Kia got number two, which meant she was going to sit on the bench for the first two shifts. I got three. Jamal got four.

I walked over to the bench. “If you want we can trade numbers, and I'll sit out to start,” I said to Kia.

She shook her head. “I'm not a power forward, and we're going to need you to play hard because our center isn't going to be much good.”

I had to agree. Brandon handled the ball like it was a hand grenade—a hand grenade covered in butter.

“You start,” Kia said. “Besides, I wouldn't want to separate you and your new best friend.”

“I didn't think I needed a new best friend.”

“You might have to think again if you keep acting like a jerk.”

“I'm just trying to make things work. Let's just try to get along.”

“I'm not the one causing the problems.”

“Come on, Nick, let's get going!” Jamal yelled.

I turned around. “I'm coming!” I yelled. I turned back to Kia. “If we play as a team, we might surprise a few people.”

“With Jamal on our side, if we play as a team, there would definitely be one person who will be surprised—me.”

I was hoping she was wrong, but I wouldn't want to bet any money on it. “We'll see.”

As soon as the game started it became clear that Jamal was good—very good—even better than I thought he was going to be from watching him run drills. Maybe he was the best player on the whole court. He had a great jump shot and could drive the hoop and dribble equally well with either hand.

What was equally clear was that I had no idea what sort of passer he was because he hadn't attempted one. Whoever was on the court with him just ran up and down the floor. The only
way any of us would do more than just see the ball was when he shot and missed. Once I realized that, I started to hope he'd miss.

Maybe I didn't come to a basketball camp to just do drills, but running back and forth down the court without any hope of touching the ball wasn't much more fun than running laps. In fact, it was more frustrating.

Jerome turned up the music, signaling it was time for a line change. I walked over and took a seat on the bench beside Kia.

“You want to just save us both a lot of time and tell me I was right,” she said almost before my bottom hit the bench.

“He can play,” I said, not wanting to agree but knowing she was right.

“He's good,” she said, “although that isn't helping us much on the scoreboard.”

There was a flip board for each game. We were already down twelve to eight. Jamal had scored six of those points.

“Assuming either of us ever gets the ball, let's try to pass it around, work it down low. We have height on this team,” Kia said.

Kia had been doing what I knew she'd do—she had been using her time on the bench to scout
the other team, figure out their strengths and weaknesses. That was the secret to basketball, thinking through how you could use your strengths against their weaknesses because every team—even NBA champions—had weaknesses.

“I'm pretty sure I can take my man down low,” I said. “I've been getting position on him on the inside.”

“Now all you need is the ball.”

“Jamal comes off next and I go on. Talk to him, try to get it through his thick head that he's not the only one on the team…talk to him…okay?”

I nodded. “I'll try.”

“Good. Once you get back on, I'll make sure you get the ball. We'll work the ball around, play like a team…the way a team is supposed to play. We'll show him the things you will have talked to him about.”

We sat back and watched the game. Jamal was practically running a one-man show. As soon as he got the ball, he started dribbling without even thinking about passing. The other team had figured things out quickly, and they had a constant double team on him.

“Look for the open man!” Kia yelled.

If Jamal heard her, he didn't acknowledge it— he didn't even look our way…but then again he didn't really notice his teammates on the court, so why would he pay attention to those
off
the court?

A third man came over to pressure him, and he was trapped in the corner. There were two open men—one of them standing right under the hoop, waving his arms and yelling. Jamal tried to dribble out and lost his handle on the ball—turning it over. The other team rushed down the court. Nobody on our team went back on defense, and they had a three on none break for an easy lay-up.

“I can't believe this,” Kia said. “You gotta talk to him.”

“I said I would so I—”

The music came on, cutting me off and signaling a line change.

“Just do it,” Kia said as she got up and walked onto the court.