Full Court Press
FULL-COURT PRESS
BOOK 2
Other books in the
Spirit of the Game series
Goal Line Stand
(Book 1)
Second Wind
(Book 3)
Stealing Home
(Book 4)
Three-Point Play
(Book 5)
Cody's Varsity Rush
(Book 6)
Split Decision
(Book 7)
Ultimate Challenge
(Book 8)
This book is dedicated to the life and memory
of Tim Hanson, a true athlete, a true friend.
ZONDERVAN
FULL-COURT PRESS
Copyright © 2004 by Todd Hafer
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.
ePub Edition August 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-86618-3
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hafer, Todd.
   Full-court press / Todd Hafer.â 1st ed.
     p. cm. â (The spirit of the game sports fiction series)
   Summary: An eighth-grade basketball player finds his training, both
physical and spiritual, put to the test too soon after his mother's death.
   ISBN-13: 978-0-310-70668-7
 [1. BasketballâFiction. 2. GriefâFiction. 3. Christian lifeâFiction.]
I. Title. II. Series.
   PZ7.H11975Fu 2005
   [Fic]--dc22
2004000186
All Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible, New International Version
® (NIV®). Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any otherâexcept for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Editor: Bruce Nuffer
Cover design by Alan Close
Photos by Synergy Photographic
06 07 08 09 10 11 12 ⢠10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
Contents
Foreword
I
love sports. I have always loved sports. I have competed in various sports at various levels, right through college. And today, even though my official competitive days are behind me, you can still find me on the golf course, working on my game, or on a basketball court, playing a game of pick-up.
Sports have also helped me learn some of life's important lessonsâlessons about humility, risk, dedication, teamwork, friendship. Cody Martin, the central character in “The Spirit of the Game” series, learns these lessons too. Some of them, the hard way. I think you'll enjoy following Cody in his athletic endeavors.
Like most of us, he doesn't win every game or every race. He's not the best athlete in his school, not by a long shot. But he does taste victory, because, as you'll see, he comes to understand that life's greatest victories aren't reflected on a scoreboard. They are the times when you rely on a strength beyond your own âa spiritual strengthâto carry you through. They are the times when you put the needs of someone else before your own. They are the times when sports become a way to celebrate the life God has given you.
So read on, and may you always possess the true Spirit of the Game.
Toby McKeehan
I
t's time to attempt suicide!” barked Coach Clayton.
“Everyone on the line!”
“AwwâI hate suicides,” Alston groaned. Cody looked at the star point guard, who was bent over beside him, hands on his knees. Terry Alston's neck gleamed with perspiration. The back of his sweat-soaked gray practice T-shirt clung tightly to his back. Cody studied the sweat stain, noting that its shape looked like the continent of Africa.
“Here's the deal,” Coach Clayton said with a smile. “Whoever wins the first suicide gets to shower. The rest of youâah, I pity the rest of you. Because I'm going to work you like government mules. Now, let's see who's quick enough to escape the pain.”
“The first day of tryouts wasn't like this last year,” Alston whispered. “This new coachâI don't like him.”
“I heard he coached at Holmes last year.” said Pork Chop, who, sitting to Cody's left, was frantically lacing up a size-ten Nike. “I saw him shooting before practice. He's got game.”
“Whatever,” Alston snorted. “And don't worry about your shoelaces, Chop. You're not gonna win this suicide anyway. It takes you too long to get all of that beef moving.”
“You never know,” Pork Chop replied, smiling grimly. “When I get all this beef moving, the momentum is something to behold. I might win. Even Cody here might take it. At least neither of us smokes Marlboros, like you do.”
Alston arched his eyebrows. “Martin? Win? He's got no wheels. Do you, Martin?”
Cody stared at his worn-out Adidas. He felt anger rising inside him. Then he thought of the words his youth pastor, Blake Randall, spoke on Sundayâ“When words are many, sin is not absent.”
Cody felt too tired to say anything sinful, but he decided it was best to take no chances. He stared straight ahead and stayed silent.
Pork Chop finished double-lacing his shoe and rose slowly to his feet.
“Well,” said Pork Chop, “they say this Colorado air is thinner than in other places. That ought to give us nonsmokers an edge.”
Instantly, Coach Clayton blew a shrill blast on his whistle. Alston swore under his breath and exploded off the baseline at the south end of the court.
Alston had the fastest feet Cody had ever seen. He touched the near free throw line with his left foot, then changed direction like a ricochet. He reached the south end line againâtwo strides ahead of Codyâthen sprinted for half court. Cody struggled to keep up. He stayed low, he ran straight, and he didn't look around. He focused on each line. The squeaking shoes, panting, and occasional swearing swirled around him in another dimension.
He wasn't gaining any ground on Alston, but he wasn't losing any either. On the long last sprint, from end line to end line, Alston slowed noticeably
. Must be the cigarettes,
Cody thought. He pumped his arms furiously and focused on driving his knees forward. As he crossed half court, he was only a step behind Alston. Cody lengthened his stride, straining to devour the distance between himself and the fastest athlete in the school.
As they hit the south free throw line, Cody saw Alston glance over his shoulder. They were almost stride for stride now. As they crossed the end line, Alston's track experience saved him. He leaned forward, edging Cody by inches. Victorious, Alston slammed into the slice of crimson wrestling mat that hung on the wall under the basket. Then he slumped to the floor and coughed like a barking seal.
Cody kicked the wall in disgust. Pork Chop finished third, two strides behind Cody. He sunk to his hands and knees, his caramel skin wet with sweat, and began panting as if he were trying to blow out birthday candlesâlots of them.
Meanwhile, Alston had staggered to the gym's south doors. He stood under the green exit sign, smiling. “Have a nice run, boys!” he laughed before erupting into another coughing fit.
Coach Clayton glared at Alston. “I suggest you shut up, Slick. Save your air. And I suggest you learn to do without the cigarettes this season. I don't allow 'em.”
Alston gave the coach a startled look, then exited the gym as if it were on fire.
Pork Chop shook his head. “Man, how does Coach know Alston smokes? Does he have ESP or something?”
“How many eighth graders cough like coal miners?” Cody asked.
“Alston's been smoking since he was twelve,” noted Brett Evans, the better of the Evans twinsâalthough both had made the starting five the previous season.
“It's not fair that he won,” Bart Evans said. “He cheats. He never touches all the lines!”
Coach Clayton's whistle pierced Cody's eardrums again. As he planted his foot on the free throw line, he felt a blister forming on his right instep. He tried to keep his weight on the outside of his foot, but then his calf started to cramp. He finished suicide number two just behind Brett. Pork Chop was third again.
Midway through the third suicide, Cody felt the chili-dog and thirty-two-ounce soda he had for lunch rising in his throat. He finished running, dropping to fourth place this time, then dashed from the gym, through the small foyer between the gym and the locker room. Once outside, he doubled over and relinquished his lunch on a knee-high pile of snow that had been cleared from the entryway at the school's south end.
He straightened and watched his breath vaporize in front of his face as he exhaled heavily. His throat burned, and his stomach muscles ached, as if he had been gut-punched. He turned and jogged back to the gym.
