Ball. Now free of his man, Mike took the ball to the hoop and laid it in for two more points.
“Mi-i-i-ke Gru-u-u-ber!” Dick drawled in perfect imitation of a professional announcer, eliciting laughter from the audience.
Back and forth the play went, with the score mounting steadily on both sides of the board. Yet try as they might, Chickasaw couldn’t gain the lead. By halftime, they were eight points in the hole to Wickasaukee.
Tim had contributed two of his team’s 32 points and had stolen the ball twice. He’d played most of the entire first half, too, and so wasn’t too disappointed when Tito put Sam in to start the second half.
Mike, on the other hand, protested when Tito subbed Elijah for him. “Pipe down, Gruber,” Tito snapped. “If you look closely, you’ll see every starter’s been replaced.”
“But if we want to win—”
“Then we’ll do it as a team,” Jody interjected. “A whole team, not just a handful of players.”
Mike looked as if he wanted to argue more. But Tito and Jody simply ignored him.
Tim couldn’t believe it. Mike Gruber was their golden boy. What, he wondered, had happened to change that?
15
T he players coming off the bench for Wickasaukee were fired up from watching their teammates take control of the game. Maybe they weren’t quite as skilled as the starting five, but they were every bit as determined to give their team the win.
Unfortunately, their determination wasn’t good enough to keep them on top. Tito sent the starters back in when the score turned in Chickasaw’s favor, 49–45.
“I knew it,” Mike spat. “All our hard work—gone!”
Tim glanced at the other players to see whom Mike was talking to. But as far as he could tell, none of them agreed with Mike’s comment. And when Jody replaced Mike with Sam after five minutes, none of them seemed too upset.
“He got yanked because he was hogging the ball instead of setting up plays,” Sam informed Tim during a time-out. “So if we want to stay in—”
“We better make something happen!” Tim finished. They bumped fists and got ready for play to resume.
Chickasaw had put in a new guard, a lefty who dribbled only with his dominant hand. Tim was so focused on staying with the guard that he didn’t see the pick until it was almost too late. But he did see him, and so instead of colliding, he slipped behind the forward and picked up his man on the other side.
Brian Kelly was there, too. He and Tim slapped on the double-team, forcing the guard to pass. Sam anticipated the move, intercepted the ball, and took off all alone toward the other end of the court.
“Go, Sam! Go!” Tim shouted as he followed. If Sam got into trouble, he needed to be there to help.
But Sam didn’t need any help. Cool as a cucumber, he banked in a soft layup.
“Sammy Sam,” Cue Ball yelled, “you just earned yourself a ticket on the wahoo train! Wa- hooooooo! Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a!”
Wickasaukee was still down by two points, 57–55, when Brian made one of two foul shots. Then Chickasaw’s lefty guard tossed in a three-pointer that swished the strings and drew cries of admiration from the fans from both camps.
Chickasaw, 60, Wickasaukee, 56.
Tito called a time-out to break their opponent’s momentum and to urge his players to take more shots. “You’re playing good D,” he said, “but to win, you need to put the ball through the hoop. It’s as simple as that.”
It might have been simple, but it wasn’t easy. Chickasaw subbed in fresh players but kept their hot-handed guard on the floor. Tim was so busy defending him that he had little time to think about shooting.
Meanwhile, the game clock ticked down and the score ticked up until with only two minutes remaining, it was knotted at 65 points apiece. Mike came back into the game. Now all five starters were playing.
“Full court man-to-man!” Jody ordered from the sideline. “Shut ’em down out there!”
Tim inbounded the ball to Mike from the
“Mi-i-i-ke Gru-u-u-ber!” Dick drawled in perfect imitation of a professional announcer, eliciting laughter from the audience.
Back and forth the play went, with the score mounting steadily on both sides of the board. Yet try as they might, Chickasaw couldn’t gain the lead. By halftime, they were eight points in the hole to Wickasaukee.
Tim had contributed two of his team’s 32 points and had stolen the ball twice. He’d played most of the entire first half, too, and so wasn’t too disappointed when Tito put Sam in to start the second half.
Mike, on the other hand, protested when Tito subbed Elijah for him. “Pipe down, Gruber,” Tito snapped. “If you look closely, you’ll see every starter’s been replaced.”
“But if we want to win—”
“Then we’ll do it as a team,” Jody interjected. “A whole team, not just a handful of players.”
Mike looked as if he wanted to argue more. But Tito and Jody simply ignored him.
Tim couldn’t believe it. Mike Gruber was their golden boy. What, he wondered, had happened to change that?
15
T he players coming off the bench for Wickasaukee were fired up from watching their teammates take control of the game. Maybe they weren’t quite as skilled as the starting five, but they were every bit as determined to give their team the win.
Unfortunately, their determination wasn’t good enough to keep them on top. Tito sent the starters back in when the score turned in Chickasaw’s favor, 49–45.
“I knew it,” Mike spat. “All our hard work—gone!”
Tim glanced at the other players to see whom Mike was talking to. But as far as he could tell, none of them agreed with Mike’s comment. And when Jody replaced Mike with Sam after five minutes, none of them seemed too upset.
“He got yanked because he was hogging the ball instead of setting up plays,” Sam informed Tim during a time-out. “So if we want to stay in—”
“We better make something happen!” Tim finished. They bumped fists and got ready for play to resume.
Chickasaw had put in a new guard, a lefty who dribbled only with his dominant hand. Tim was so focused on staying with the guard that he didn’t see the pick until it was almost too late. But he did see him, and so instead of colliding, he slipped behind the forward and picked up his man on the other side.
Brian Kelly was there, too. He and Tim slapped on the double-team, forcing the guard to pass. Sam anticipated the move, intercepted the ball, and took off all alone toward the other end of the court.
“Go, Sam! Go!” Tim shouted as he followed. If Sam got into trouble, he needed to be there to help.
But Sam didn’t need any help. Cool as a cucumber, he banked in a soft layup.
“Sammy Sam,” Cue Ball yelled, “you just earned yourself a ticket on the wahoo train! Wa- hooooooo! Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a!”
Wickasaukee was still down by two points, 57–55, when Brian made one of two foul shots. Then Chickasaw’s lefty guard tossed in a three-pointer that swished the strings and drew cries of admiration from the fans from both camps.
Chickasaw, 60, Wickasaukee, 56.
Tito called a time-out to break their opponent’s momentum and to urge his players to take more shots. “You’re playing good D,” he said, “but to win, you need to put the ball through the hoop. It’s as simple as that.”
It might have been simple, but it wasn’t easy. Chickasaw subbed in fresh players but kept their hot-handed guard on the floor. Tim was so busy defending him that he had little time to think about shooting.
Meanwhile, the game clock ticked down and the score ticked up until with only two minutes remaining, it was knotted at 65 points apiece. Mike came back into the game. Now all five starters were playing.
“Full court man-to-man!” Jody ordered from the sideline. “Shut ’em down out there!”
Tim inbounded the ball to Mike from the
Similar Books
