Full Court Press (13 page)

Alston entered the third quarter the way a starving man enters an all-you-can-eat buffet. He scored twelve points in eight minutes, six on fast breaks in which he simply outran the other nine players on the court.

Grant began the final quarter with a two-point lead. The margin grew to six after an Alston jumper from the foul line, then a reverse layup. Clay answered the latter with a fall-away jumper, but then Alston hit Dylan with a perfect behind-the-back pass on a two-on- one fast break.

Macy didn't even get to sniff the ball until two and a half minutes elapsed. He snared a high lob pass on the low post, but as he tried to back Cody under the backboard, he dribbled the ball off his foot.

At the quarter mid-point, the Raiders walked onto the court after a time-out.

“Man,” said Brett Evans, staring at the scoreboard, which read Central 42, Visitor 48, “we might actually win this thing.”

Dylan nodded in agreement. Cody wouldn't allow himself to nod, but he shared Dylan's hope.

Then Alston's game went up in smoke. Cody knew his teammate was in trouble when he saw him bent over, hands on knees, as he waited to shoot two free throws. Alston left both shots short.

Clay, noting Alston's fatigue, called for the ball. With a quick first step, he beat Alston to the baseline and hit an easy lay-in.

The next time down, Clay faked Alston into the air and earned a three-point play when he got slapped across the elbow on a jump shot.

As Alston jogged the ball upcourt, he raised his left hand like a surrender flag, signaling Coach Clayton to take him out of the game.

The coach called time-out and sent Gannon to the scorer's table. Alston collapsed on the bench, coughing like an old man.

“I'm sorry, Coach,” he said, gasping for air. “I am worked!”

Coach Clayton nodded. “I take it you haven't stopped supporting the tobacco industry?”

Alston gave a guilty nod. “Well, I did think I was off the team. But I'll tell you right now—I'd like to find that Marlboro Man and Joe Camel and kick their sorry butts—no pun intended.”

Coach Clayton smiled. “It's okay, TA. You've given us a chance to win—a chance we wouldn't have without you.”

Then the coach addressed his team, “Okay, gentlemen. We're up three. We can win this. Sharp passes. Good shots. Tough defense. Martin, keep pressuring Macy full-court. If you keep taking him out of the offense, they are hurtin'. And Pork Chop, you keep gobbling up rebounds like the Cookie Monster gobbles up cookies, okay?”

Pork Chop nodded, his eyes meeting Cody's. The Raiders stacked their hands on Coach Clayton's.

“Let's hear ‘defense' on three,” he said.

“Defense!” the team called in near-perfect unison. Before moving on court, Cody looked up in the stands, behind the team bench, and found Blake and his dad. Dad nodded. Blake made a fist with his right hand and pounded it against his chest.

Robyn, who was sitting with Greta, behind Blake, simply pointed at Cody and smiled. He wasn't sure what she meant, but he felt energized nonetheless.

Dylan inbounded the ball to Cody. He turned and saw Macy giving him room. He squared up and launched a jump shot from eighteen feet, barely in his range. He thought he had left the shot short, but the ball nudged the side of the rim and then crept over for two.

As he sprinted back on defense, Cody risked a look to the stands. He saw Blake pounding Dad's back as both stood to roar their approval.

Cody's moment of inattention allowed Macy to get free for a jumper from the left baseline. Fortunately, Macy lost control of the ball as he went up and had to adjust his shot in midair. The hesitation was all Cody needed to recover. He charged, not directly at Macy, but to a spot two feet in front of him. As he propelled his body upward, he knew he was finally going to get a real block, not just a deflection.

Macy followed his shot to the basket, but the ball wasn't going to make it to the basket. Cody redirected it back over Macy's head and right to Bart Evans.

Grant got a good shot on their next offensive set, but Goddard missed a five-foot bank shot in the lane. Macy out-jumped Pork Chop for the rebound and caught Clay streaking downcourt for an uncontested layup.

After a Brett Evans miss, Clay pulled Central even with Grant as he hit a layup, drew a foul on Goddard, and converted the three-point play.

With thirty seconds left in the game, Gannon walked the ball up court. As he crossed the midcourt stripe, Clay and Macy trapped him. Gannon tried a desperation baseball pass across court to Goddard but threw it over his head.

Cody thought Central would call time-out, but Clay quickly inbounded the ball to Macy, who gave it right back to his teammate. Cody clenched his teeth as he saw Central isolate Clay against Goddard. Clay had three inches on Goddard—and probably three seconds in the 100-yard dash. He thought about leaving Macy to help out his teammate, but he couldn't risk leaving the league's best clutch shooter open.

Goddard did everything he could to stay with Clay, but when the latter drove hard to the hoop, stopped abruptly, and elevated for a fallaway jumpshot, there was nothing to do but watch as Central pulled ahead by two, with nine seconds left in the game.

“No time-outs! No time-outs left,” Coach Clayton bellowed from the sidelines.

Gannon nodded as he looked to inbound the ball. Clay pressured Goddard as he tried to free himself in the backcourt.

Cody could see Gannon straining to find an open man. Dylan dashed into the backcourt, Macy on his heels. Gannon's eyes locked on Dylan as he fired a chest pass in his direction.

Gannon's pass sailed toward midcourt. Dylan and Macy both lunged for it. Dylan got his fingertips on the ball, but he couldn't control it. It glanced off his right hand and went out of bounds.

“White ball!” the lead referee yelled.

Quickly, Clay moved to the referee's side and waited for the ball. Cody nodded grimly.

No time-out again, eh? Good strategy, with only six seconds remaining, but this time I'm ready.

He attached himself to Macy like a barnacle. He felt certain Clay would go to the player with the best hands. Then again, that would be predictable. Maybe Macy would just be a decoy.
What was Clay thinking
?

Cody knew the answer when he felt Macy push him hard in the back. It should have been a foul, but that was okay. This was almost as good. Clay and Macy had tipped their hand. They probably practiced this stunt a thousand times. Push the defender to get separation, and then catch the high-lob pass.

Cody pretended to stumble forward as Macy sprinted away from him. Clay unleashed a high, arcing pass.

Cody regained the balance that he had never really lost and closed the gap between himself and Macy.

As Cody spring-loaded himself to leap and intercept the ball, he tried to calculate how much time the Raiders would have to score—probably five seconds, if he could snag Clay's pass.

The “if” quickly became reality. Cody snared the ball with his right hand. He took two dribbles upcourt.

Five, four
. . . he counted to himself.

He saw Pork Chop break free at center court. He rocketed a chest pass to him. Pork Chop turned and dribbled toward the top of the key. Cody broke for the basket. He wasn't sure there would even be time for a rebound and a put-back, but this wasn't something you left to chance.

Three, two . . .

Pork Chop stopped just inside the top of the key and went up for a jumper. Macy was right on him, and Clay charged in at the last second to get a hand in his face too.

Pork Chop's shot hit the back of the rim and bounced high into the air. Goddard tipped the rebound away from Macy and controlled the ball along the left perimeter of the lane. He had just elevated for a jump shot when the final buzzer blared.

Cody saw the lead ref waving off the shot before Goddard released and swished it.

Goddard must have seen the ref, too, because he collapsed to his knees, covering his face with both hands. Pork Chop knelt beside him, wrapping a sweaty arm around his teammate.

Cody stood before Goddard and Pork Chop. It looked as if they were both crying. But Pork Chop was sweating so profusely that it was hard to tell.

Cody extended both hands. “It's okay, guys. We gave it all we had.”

Goddard and Pork Chop each took a hand, and Cody yanked them to their feet. Where he found the strength to do it, he wasn't sure. As the threesome walked to the bench, Cody surveyed the bleachers. Nearly everyone was standing, and they were all applauding.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the public address announcer said, “we ask that you stay in your seats for the presentation of the trophies and the announcement of the all-district tournament team—and this year's tournament MVP.”

When the Raiders went to center court to accept the runner-up trophy, Central's athletic director handed it to Pork Chop.

“You are a warrior, big man,” he said.

“We
all
are, sir,” Pork Chop said, handing the trophy to Goddard.

After watching Central accept the championship trophy, Cody leaned toward Pork Chop.

“I hope you made all-tourney, Chop. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Pork Chop said, finishing off a cup of Gatorade and belching.

The first two all-tournament selections were no surprise. Mike Riley was a hard-nosed player who made few mistakes. And Bobby Cabrera had been spectacular, even though he couldn't carry his team to the finals. He scored twenty-five in the opening game.

“R-r-r-r-r-r-rick Macy!” the PA announcer called, drawing whoops of approval from the hometown crowd. Macy walked slowly to center court, where he accepted his medal and shook hands with Cabrera and Riley.

Come on
, Cody said to himself.
Call Chop's name. Come on!

“Cody Martin, of the Grant Raiders!” said the announcer, with about half the gusto and volume that he gave Macy.

Cody sat stunned on the Raider bench. He looked to Coach Clayton, who said, “Every dawg has his day!” Cody felt hands pounding on his back as he rose slowly to his feet. He heard ferocious barking and knew it was coming from Pork Chop and the Evans twins.

Riley offered his hand as Cody stood beside him, and Macy leaned in his direction and shouted over the applause, “Good tournament, Martin. I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot of each other in high school.”

Cody nodded. He looked down the line at Cabrera, who was staring straight ahead.

“Whatever,” Cody said quietly.

When one of Central's cheerleaders placed the medal around his neck, Cody closed his eyes for a moment. Then he tilted his head up and pointed both index fingers to the sky.

In the stands, Greta tapped Robyn on the shoulder, tears gleaming in her eyes. “Do you think he's pointing up at his mom, or at God?” she asked.

Robyn smiled, “Probably at both of them. They're up there together—you know? And I have a feeling they're both smiling big-time right now.”

There wasn't much mystery about all-star number five. Antwan Clay was clearly the best player in the tournament, and now he had a medal and an MVP trophy to prove it.

Clay chest-bumped Macy and then took his place beside Cody as the quintet smiled for pictures. Between shots, Clay leaned in to Cody.

“Nice defense, dawg. If it weren't for you, Macy might be holding this trophy right now.”