The Squared Circle by JAMES W. BENNETT Page A

majors who could help once the semester is over, but I can’t wait that long to get started. Besides that, I have the go-ahead from my doctor to start working on the project. Give me a day or two to see if I can lock my conscience up in the closet.”
    â€œOkay,” said Sonny. He chose to see this as extremely hopeful.
    She searched his eyes again. “It might be nice to get acquainted, huh?”
    â€œYeah, that would be nice.”
    â€œNo promises,” she reminded him. She was taking a small spiral notebook and a ballpoint from her large canvas bag. “I’ll need your phone number,” she said.

3
    It was Robert Lee’s opinion that there were better ways to spend Thanksgiving Day than sitting on a charter flight, but Sonny knew they were headed for New York City and the Big Apple NIT. “No, there aren’t,” was his terse reply.
    Luther announced with contempt that the Salukis were ranked 21st in the country in USA Today’s preseason poll. It seemed like a pretty high honor to Sonny, but Luther threw the paper aside. “Shit, man, say twenty teams better than us? No way.”
    On the trip, Sonny would be rooming with Robert Lee. Snell was left at home because only 12 could make the traveling squad. When they reached their midtown Manhattan hotel, Robert Lee flopped himself on one of the two queen-size beds and wallowed in the luxurious spread. “I could get used to this, man.”
    Sonny laughed, but his interest in their accomodations was minimal; standing at the threshold of his collegiate career, he was too much on edge. His interest in the sights and sounds of Manhattan was only slightly higher. This was just a town for playing basketball, like Mounds, Illinois, or Cobden.
    Madison Square Garden, however, was a different matter, an awe-inspiring shrine permanent on the pilgrimage of basketball holies. “Jesus Christ,” said Robert Lee. “I thought our arena was big.”
    â€œThe Assembly Hall at the U of I is as big as this,” said Sonny. But that fact didn’t mitigate the reverence he felt. He spent so much time gawking worshipfully at the height and breadth of this basketball mecca that Workman, one of Gentry’s assistants, told him, “Time to get in your game head, Sonny. This is just another gym.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œBaskets here are ten feet, free throw line is fifteen. This is the same as the playground.”
    â€œRight.” Sonny began pouring in three-point arcers. The photographers and the Minicams seemed to grow out of the floor like crops.
    A free copy of The New York Times was perched on each table in the hotel dining room. Tournament coverage in the sports section included pictures of Sonny and Luther, as well as high profile players from some of the other teams. When they were finished eating, Sonny folded the page to take home for Aunt Jane’s scrapbook.
    The game against Miami was an easy 95–77 win, but the crowd was small. Even though the Salukis had some substantial preseason recognition, Miami had none at all, and neither team was likely to spark a great deal of interest in this east-coast setting.
    Nervous during the first half, Sonny relaxed later on and nailed a few threes. He finished with 19 points, but late in the game, a Miami jumping jack named Jerome Williams blocked his shot. It was a breakaway, which Sonny nonchalanted in a finger roll, but Williams swooped from the side to swat it off the court.
    Luther Cobb was a monster on the boards. At six feet seven inches and 235 pounds, he pounded out a performance to match his image. After the game, he and Coach Gentry were the postgame interview for ESPN. Coach Gentry observed that “It was gratifying for an opening game. The rough spots were to be expected.”
    When asked about the large margin of victory, Luther told the interviewer, “Ain’t no big thing.”
    The 88-channel capability of the cable TV in their