“Chocolate chip. Beautiful.”
Calvin looked at Jessie now—black soccer shirt, pink hair band, mischievous smile. “Thanks,” he said. “These won’t last long.”
Jessie nodded. “Gotta warm up now.”
“Who you playing?”
“The flower shop. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Maybe we’ll watch,” Calvin said. “And eat our cookies.”
“You better watch,” Jessie said. “Could be you and us in the finals, you know.... I think you guys still need some education.”
“Maybe so,” Calvin answered. “But we did the educating tonight. We shut those guys down and came back.”
Jessie nodded as she trotted onto the field. “Not bad,” she said, looking back. “Not bad at all.”
11
The Playoffs
G ood job on the lawn,” Mr. Tait said as Calvin came in for lunch.
Calvin just nodded. He’d been in a sour mood all morning, edgy about that night’s game. Besides, the mower did the work; all he did was push it around.
Mr. Tait opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. “Big one tonight, huh?”
Calvin felt a chill in his gut. He’d been trying not to think about it.
Wins over Luigi’s and Villa Roma had clinched the division title for Little Italy and set them up for a first-round playoff game against Hector’s Garage. They’d lost the regular season match to Hector’s, 3-2.
“Those guys are fast,” Calvin said. He blew out his breath. “It’s do or die tonight. Playoffs.”
Mr. Tait looked at his nails, which were perfectly trimmed and clean. “Nobody faster than you, from what I’ve seen.” The Taits had only been to a couple of games, but Calvin had played well both times.
Calvin stared at the chicken sandwich on his plate. He didn’t feel very hungry. “I’m just one guy.”
“You’ve got some good players.” Mr. Tait took a seat and looked closely at his son. “The pressure is always worse before a playoff game,” he said. “The intensity’s higher. And an athlete always thinks he’s going to blow it in the hours before a big match. The good ones simply keep focusing more and more intently as the game gets closer. Visualizing success. By game time, you’re in such a strong emotional zone that nothing can break through and deter you.”
Calvin looked his dad in the eyes and nodded. He’d been through things like that before, especially at track meets when the entire burden of winning or losing was on him. Dad was right—he had teammates to share the load with tonight. There was some comfort in that.
“Think positive thoughts, and I guarantee you’ll have your best game ever,” Mr. Tait said. “You’re primed for this. You’ve been working for it all summer.”
“That’s true.”
“And eat. I know how you’re feeling—like that sandwich is going to sit in your stomach all day like a rock—but you need fuel.”
Calvin took a bite and chewed about a hundred times. Then he swallowed hard. He set the sandwich on the plate and stared at it.
Six more hours until game time.
Calvin and Zero tried to make the afternoon go quickly, but it dragged. They went to the middle school and shot baskets on the blacktop court, playing a few games of O-U-T instead of going one-on-one, which would have drained too much energy.
Then they went down to the high school, crossing the parking lot and through an opening in the chain-link fence behind the football field and the track. There was a thick cluster of trees beyond the fence for about twenty yards, then a steep, sudden drop. The cliffs.
The cliffs ran for much of the length of Hudson City, dropping at a sharp angle to the flat area along the Hudson River. Only four streets ran down to the flats—First and Sixteenth at the opposite ends of town, and Franklin and Ninth, more or less at either end of Hamilton Park along the river.
From this point above the cliff, the boys had a clear view across to New York City. The cliffs weren’t steep enough to be dangerous, but most of the mile-long
Calvin looked at Jessie now—black soccer shirt, pink hair band, mischievous smile. “Thanks,” he said. “These won’t last long.”
Jessie nodded. “Gotta warm up now.”
“Who you playing?”
“The flower shop. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Maybe we’ll watch,” Calvin said. “And eat our cookies.”
“You better watch,” Jessie said. “Could be you and us in the finals, you know.... I think you guys still need some education.”
“Maybe so,” Calvin answered. “But we did the educating tonight. We shut those guys down and came back.”
Jessie nodded as she trotted onto the field. “Not bad,” she said, looking back. “Not bad at all.”
11
The Playoffs
G ood job on the lawn,” Mr. Tait said as Calvin came in for lunch.
Calvin just nodded. He’d been in a sour mood all morning, edgy about that night’s game. Besides, the mower did the work; all he did was push it around.
Mr. Tait opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. “Big one tonight, huh?”
Calvin felt a chill in his gut. He’d been trying not to think about it.
Wins over Luigi’s and Villa Roma had clinched the division title for Little Italy and set them up for a first-round playoff game against Hector’s Garage. They’d lost the regular season match to Hector’s, 3-2.
“Those guys are fast,” Calvin said. He blew out his breath. “It’s do or die tonight. Playoffs.”
Mr. Tait looked at his nails, which were perfectly trimmed and clean. “Nobody faster than you, from what I’ve seen.” The Taits had only been to a couple of games, but Calvin had played well both times.
Calvin stared at the chicken sandwich on his plate. He didn’t feel very hungry. “I’m just one guy.”
“You’ve got some good players.” Mr. Tait took a seat and looked closely at his son. “The pressure is always worse before a playoff game,” he said. “The intensity’s higher. And an athlete always thinks he’s going to blow it in the hours before a big match. The good ones simply keep focusing more and more intently as the game gets closer. Visualizing success. By game time, you’re in such a strong emotional zone that nothing can break through and deter you.”
Calvin looked his dad in the eyes and nodded. He’d been through things like that before, especially at track meets when the entire burden of winning or losing was on him. Dad was right—he had teammates to share the load with tonight. There was some comfort in that.
“Think positive thoughts, and I guarantee you’ll have your best game ever,” Mr. Tait said. “You’re primed for this. You’ve been working for it all summer.”
“That’s true.”
“And eat. I know how you’re feeling—like that sandwich is going to sit in your stomach all day like a rock—but you need fuel.”
Calvin took a bite and chewed about a hundred times. Then he swallowed hard. He set the sandwich on the plate and stared at it.
Six more hours until game time.
Calvin and Zero tried to make the afternoon go quickly, but it dragged. They went to the middle school and shot baskets on the blacktop court, playing a few games of O-U-T instead of going one-on-one, which would have drained too much energy.
Then they went down to the high school, crossing the parking lot and through an opening in the chain-link fence behind the football field and the track. There was a thick cluster of trees beyond the fence for about twenty yards, then a steep, sudden drop. The cliffs.
The cliffs ran for much of the length of Hudson City, dropping at a sharp angle to the flat area along the Hudson River. Only four streets ran down to the flats—First and Sixteenth at the opposite ends of town, and Franklin and Ninth, more or less at either end of Hamilton Park along the river.
From this point above the cliff, the boys had a clear view across to New York City. The cliffs weren’t steep enough to be dangerous, but most of the mile-long
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