Double Team (5 page)

F
our plays: That's all you need to know how the game went. The first happened right after Jammer won the opening tip. He didn't win it by much. Basically, it was the difference between being able to dunk and being able to slam the ball into the rim. Anyway, he tipped it back to a kid named Donyel.

We knew from the game we'd watched that this kid was their main ball handler. He was a little bigger than Deuce but it didn't look like he was as fast. Deuce was on him tight, but here's the thing: Donyel wasn't trying to score. He worked it around until he had a clean passing lane, then fired it in to Jammer.

Jammer gave me a good shoulder fake and then went up for the shot. He had just enough space. The ball cleared my fingers by about a centimeter, rolled around the rim, and dropped: 1–0.

Second play: Deuce took the ball up, and Mike and I battled for position. I finally got open and put my hands up for the ball. But Deuce decided to take it himself. He got around Donyel and rocketed toward the rim. Jammer saw him coming and left me to cut him off. I was thinking:
Good move, Deuce. Way to draw the defense.

But instead of passing it to me now that I was open, Deuce went up with the shot. Jammer jumped to block it, but he didn't really need to. He wound up blocking it with his
elbow
.

“Come on, man, I was wide open,” I said as we dropped back on defense.

“Yeah, that sounds familiar,” he said. He'd said the same thing to me a bunch of times today.

Third play: They worked the ball down low to a kid named Dave. Mike was in good position, but he took his time and backed in toward the basket. I started shading over that way. He gave Mike a little shimmy and turned
to his left with the ball. That was the side I was on, so I shot over to make the block.

But he didn't go up with it. He bounced it to Jammer — who I'd just left. And you can bet he went up with it: 2–0.

Fourth play: Deuce worked it into Mike down low. Now I'm thinking:
Okay, cool, we're going to run the same thing.
So I edge over toward him, but on offense now. If Jammer leaves me to help out, Mike can pass it to me. If Jammer stays on me, Mike can take the shot. So what happened? Mike goes into his move, Jammer jumps out, and Mike takes the shot anyway!

It wasn't a total disaster, but only because we got lucky. There was a scramble for the ball after the block, and I came up with it. Deuce was clapping his hands for the ball, yelling, “Reset! Reset!”

I just looked at him like
you must be trippin'
. I was one-on-one with Jammer, so I brought out one of my best moves. I gave him a quick first step with my right foot and ducked my shoulder, like I was going to try to get by him. He took a quick step back like he believed me. Then I went up as high as I could for a jumper.

He was off-balance and in a bad position to jump, but he did anyway. Now it was my shot that cleared his fingers by a centimeter. Mine didn't rattle in, though.

“Make a wish,” I said as we watched the ball arc through the air.

“Hear the swish,” I added as it dropped cleanly.

He gave me a nod and headed up the court. It was just 2–1, but four plays in, I think we both knew how this was going to go. His team was feeding him the ball at every opportunity. My team was treating the ball the way wolves treat meat: everyone fighting for it. His team was drawing the defense and dishing, and mine was just drawing the defense.

“Workin' nine to five,” said Jammer as his team went up, 9–5.

They were two points away from being tourney champs, and we were two points away from being tourney chumps. As we ran down the court, I just went ahead and said it: “I'm the best player on this team. You've got to get me the ball!”

I'd never said that to them before. I think Mike and Deuce both knew it, and we boasted and talked trash all
the time. But no one had ever just flat-out said it like that. A weird look flashed across Deuce's face, and he nearly lost his dribble.

He didn't lose his dribble, but we definitely lost the game. Jammer's team won 11–7. He'd scored eight of his team's points, and I'd scored five of my team's. They celebrated at midcourt and soaked up some cheers from the crowd. We walked off the court shaking our heads.

I spotted Junior and headed his way. The first thing he said to me was: “Behind you, STAT.”

I turned around and Jammer was right there. He looked really serious, and I had no idea what he wanted. But then he smiled and extended his hand. “Good game, man,” he said. “You got some skills.”

“Thanks. You can fly,” I said. “Sure flew over us.”

He shrugged and looked around. “I had a little more help than you,” he said, quiet enough that only we could hear. Now it was my turn to shrug.

“Anyway, I like that ‘make a wish' thing,” he said. “You come up with that?”

“Yeah,” I said, “on the spot.”

“Mind if I steal it?”

“Nah,” I said, and now I broke into a smile. “Wouldn't be the first thing you stole from me today.”

He laughed. It was too soon after a tough loss for me to manage one of those, but I kept smiling.

“See you around, Amar'e,” he said.

“I'll get you next time,” I said.

“We'll see about that,” he said, and turned to head back to his teammates.

Junior told me I'd played a good game and to keep my head up and, well, all the stuff you'd expect a big brother to say.

“Trophy presentation in five,” said the guy with the clipboard.

“Cool,” I said, searching for Deuce and Mike.

They were on the edge of the court talking to Dougie. As I walked over, I got the weird feeling that they might not want me there right now. It was weird. Back when we were just shooting around and playing for fun on our neighborhood court, it didn't matter if I was a little taller, a little better. But it was getting pretty hard to ignore at these tournaments.

“Hey, there he is!” said Dougie when he saw me.

He had a big smile and I got the handshake right this time.

“Good game, Amar'e,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “You had some nice moves.”

That kind of surprised me. I thought maybe he'd still be upset about not getting the ball as much as he wanted today. And maybe he was, but it was cool of him to say that, either way.

“Definitely did your part,” said Deuce with a little shrug.

That was cool, too. It reminded me of how we were walking around together like we owned the place before the game started.

“We all played hard,” I said. “All day.”

“Yeah,” said Deuce. “We'll do better next time.”

“When's that next tourney, again?” said Mike.

“The fourteenth,” said Deuce. He turned to me: “You're in, right?”

It caught me off guard. The fourteenth was next Saturday. Before I really had a chance to think about it
I heard myself saying: “Sure. Okay. We're gonna win that one.”

The guy with the clipboard was back. “Trophy time, guys,” he said, pointing to the court. There was a little table set up with some paper streamers and stuff like that. On top, there were three trophies, each one larger than the one before it.

“I guess ours is the one in the middle,” said Mike as we headed toward the table.

“The Mama Bear,” I said.

Big Man and the shoelace twins were headed for the table, too. I was glad they won the third-place game. We said hi to them, and then stood around waiting for Jammer and his crew to make their way to the court. They were busy being congratulated by just about everyone. Finally they appeared. They collected a few last high fives at the edge of the court and jogged out to us.

The guy who'd been sitting at the scorer's table started speaking into a microphone. He said a lot of nice things, about the organizers and volunteers and teams and “outstanding young athletes.” I guess they'd
raised a bunch of money for charity, which was cool. Then he started handing out the trophies. He had some nice things to say to us, too. I appreciated it, but basically what it came down to was this: better luck next time.

“It's pretty nice, though,” I said as we walked off the court with our Mama Bear trophy.

“Definitely the nicest one yet,” said Mike, who was holding it. “Here, you carry it,” he said to Deuce. “It'll look bigger that way!”

Mike and I started laughing. Deuce, not so much.

“Yeah, ha-ha-ha,” he said. “Our next one will look bigger because it will have a big ‘First Place' on the top.”

“Great, we'll hold you up so you can see it!” I said.

Even he laughed at that one.

“Seriously, though,” he said. “We've got to get some good practices in before the fourteenth.”

“Maybe we can get Dougie to go, so we can run some two-on-two again,” said Mike.

That was a good idea, but someone called my name before I could say so.

“Yo, Amar'e,” I heard.

I thought maybe Dad had showed up a little late, but when I looked up, it was Overtime.

“Whoa,” said Deuce. “He knows your name?”

“Guess so,” I said, trying not to smile too wide.

I jogged over to where he was standing.

“Overtime, uh, Mr. Tanner,” I said. “It's really an honor to meet you.”

“You can call me Omar,” he said, smiling.

I wasn't sure I could. I'd been raised on
sirs
and
ma'ams
,
misters
and
misses
.

“Sorry about the, well, the score,” I said.

“You did your part,” he said.

“Thanks, that's what people keep saying.”

“Doesn't sound like you believe 'em.”

I thought about that for a second. “I guess I just don't like to lose,” I said.

“Neither did I,” he said.

That made me feel a little better.

“Listen,” he said, “I have a tournament of my own every year. It's invitation-only, and this is the part where I invite you.”

He handed me a postcard. It had a sweet photo of
Overtime, back in his prime, soaring through the air for a monster jam. Underneath it said:
Fifth Annual Overtime Invitational: Florida's Best, Put to the Test!

Wow
, I thought. Actually, I might have said it out loud.

“You interested?” said Overtime.

“Of course,” I said, still looking at the slick-looking card. I turned it over and there was an address in Polk County and some other information. “Absolutely!”

I turned the card back over and looked at his picture one more time. Then I flipped it back again. “Oh, wait,” I said, reading a little more. “What about my team?”

“Well, like I said, it's invitation-only,” he said. “But one of the guys I invited has already asked about you.”

“Really?” I said. “Who?”

He pointed back out to the court. Jammer was still standing next to the table. He wasn't holding a trophy over his head like the last time I saw him. He had something else in his hand: the same postcard I had in mine.

“Whoa,” I said.

Overtime gave a little laugh. “All right, I'll see you there, Amar'e,” he said. “It was real nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yes, sir. And thanks!”

My smile was so wide as he walked away that I felt it pushing my ears higher on my head. If I was going to be on the same court as Jammer again, I was glad it would be as his teammate. And it was cool to know he felt the same way.

Then I finished reading the card, and my ears fell right back to where they started. When I heard sneakers slapping the ground behind me, I slipped the card in my pocket and turned around.

“What did he say?” said Deuce.

“Yeah, what?” said Mike.

“He said, uh, it was nice to meet me,” I said.

“Really?” said Deuce. “Wow.”

“Cool,” said Mike.

And it was true: He did say that. It wasn't all he said, of course, but I wasn't sure how to tell them about that part yet. I wasn't even sure what I was going to do about it. I just kept picturing the last line on the back of the card. It was the date of the invitational:
Join us on the 14th.