Advantage Disadvantage (17 page)

Jamal heard the small studio audience applause as he
walked onto the TV set. Elizabeth beamed with pride as she watched
her son on television. Frank was a little surprised because per his
instructions, high school players normally walked on the set
wearing the top of their school’s away uniforms. Jamal had a cotton
shirt on.

“Hi Jamal. Welcome to the show,” Frank said.

“Thank you, sir,” Jamal responded.

“I’ve had a chance to visit you this summer, and
talk to your dad – he’s a great guy, by the way.”

“He is.”

This made Elizabeth sad. She clenched Scott’s hand
and squeezed it hard, feeling left out.

“So how you think your team is going to do this
year?”

“We’re going to be improved. We are starting three
seniors, and we’ve worked pretty hard this past summer.”

“I know that’s right. Several nights, during the
heat of summer, I watched your team sweating up and down the court
at the Olgesby summer league.”

“Mr. Worrell, I also think that we have a great
experienced coach who had a game plan for each match in the
summertime.” Jamal said to throw a compliment toward Coach
Venturi.

“You play in a good conference in the suburbs. There
are five or six good teams scheduled to play East End twice. How is
your team going to fare?”

“If you want to be the best, you’ve got to beat the
best of the rest.”

“Wow, you’re saying all of the right things –
flattery to your coach, paying homage to your opponents, you like
your teammates. Anybody else?” he asked with a laugh.

“Yes. I would like to thank my mom and dad for each
of their sacrifices that allowed me to learn how to play basketball
on travelling teams, and stuff like that. They almost never missed
my games.”

‘What a great kid you are! Your parents must be
extraordinarily proud of you.”

“I hope they are,” Jamal said.

“Believe me kid, they are! We are going to take a
quick break. When we come back, we will ask Jamal about his college
plans.”

The commercial rolled. The production assistant came
over, wiped Jamal’s brow, and gave him a sip of water. Frank
reassured Jamal that he was doing great. Elizabeth felt much better
after Jamal gave her a “shout out” as well. Scott was happy that
the player spoke well of his summer preparations too. After sixty
seconds, Frank’s show came back on.

“Before we end the program, I want to ask our guest,
Jamal Imari of East End High School, if he’s close to making any
decisions as far as his college plans go ... where are you? Can you
tell the viewers which colleges you are considering?”

“Mr. Worrell, I can do better than that.”

“Oh shit!” Scott screamed at the TV. “Don’t do it,
Jamal.”

“Mr. Worrell, with the help of my dad I’ve made my
decision …”

Jamal unbuttoned his cotton shirt and pulled it off,
fully exposing his EPSU jersey. “I will be attending Eastern
Pennsylvania State University! I signed the letter of intent
today.”

“Tell us why you picked EPSU, Jamal.”

“Well, the athletic director is committed to
rebuilding into a powerhouse in its conference. Yet, I will have
the chance to get serious playing time during my first year. It’s a
great school, too.”

“OK, folks. You heard another exclusive here. We had
another scoop tonight! One of the last unsigned top area players
beats the NCAA freeze date and Jamal Imari commits to Eastern Penn
State University tonight on our show. Wow. Read about Jamal Imari
and other high school stars every day in the Windy City Daily. Good
night everybody…I’m Frank Worrell and I’ll see you in a high school
gym near you” closed out Frank.

Scott Venturi sat in shock. Elizabeth did not
understand the impact of what just happened. She was feeling
maternally fulfilled that her son did such a great job on
television. To her, his announcement was exciting, but Scott knew
what it really meant.

“Didn’t he do a great job…for his first TV
appearance, Scott?”

“Yes” Scott said quietly. “Jamal was good.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

“I think Marcus got his revenge. Don’t you get it?
Jamal and Marcus promised me that they would wait until after the
season to commit to EPSU. It was my best chance to get the coaching
job – forcing a package. Your husband and Jamal just screwed me out
of that job. I’m finished – my last chance at a college job,
completely fucked.”

“You can’t blame Marcus. In his eyes, you ended all
chances of him and me getting back together. Maybe this is a little
payback,” Elizabeth surmised.

“Elizabeth. You are so matter of fact about this. I
have dreamed of becoming a college coach for more than ten years. I
left a wonderful job in Tolono to put up with so much Chicago
crap…and I have nothing. I knew there was something wrong when the
EPSU recruiter stopped returning my calls last week.”

“I guess we can’t make plans to move to EPSU, right.
This was my dream too! What will we do? What does this mean for
us?” Elizabeth asked.

“Your dream … this is your dream? It is always all
about Elizabeth, isn’t it? I’m disgusted and I gotta go,” Scott
said as he stormed out of Elizabeth’s house.

On a night when her son did so well, she felt lonely
and abandoned. Her dreams of moving out of town with Scott
evaporated. She lay down on the couch and cried herself to
sleep.

Chapter Twenty-five. The Bridge

“Red,” Bobby G. said on the phone, “do you know
about Calumet Fisheries?”

“Yeah Jack. I’ve been there” he replied.

“Let’s have dinner tonight, and review the progress
of our plan.”

Calumet Fisheries was a largely undiscovered dive on
the southeast side of Chicago. It had been serving deep-fried
seafood delicacies and freshly smoked fish to its patrons since
1928. Located along the banks of the Calumet River, it had a unique
ambiance. This carryout only restaurant included two buildings on
the side of the 95
^th
Street Bridge over the Calumet
River. There was a phone booth on the corner, a relic of the
pre-cell phone world of the past. In the main building, customers
selected from many high-quality deep-fried options or pieces of
smoked fish such as sable, white fish, and trout. The seafood was
breaded, uncooked and pre-measured in Chinese take-out containers
waiting to be deep-fried. Other fish occupied a deli-style glass
showcase. They sold weird, off-brand cans of pop. A take-out only
place like this could hold about fifteen people at a time,
insufficient for the Friday night dinner crowds. The smoke house
was down near the funky water of the Calumet River. Every Tuesday,
they hung hundreds of pounds of fish on huge hooks to be smoked. A
hot bonfire was set ablaze inside this building of mixed wood to
add a wonderful taste to the fish. The door sealed the room as the
fire raged inside the small building. Workers went in a day later
and carted the freshly cooked fish back to the main carryout
building.

Boats towing barges rolled-by every twenty minutes
shuttling the rust belt steel industry of southeast Chicago and
Hammond, Indiana. Sometimes, the water quality was so bad on the
river that it actually spewed more smoke than the fish smokehouse.
The view of the river was dull green water rushing past rusted
steel reinforcements on the embankments. It was funky. Fish had not
lived in the filthy river in at least fifty years. Occasionally,
the towboat captains tied down near Calumet Fisheries and walked
past the smoke house to get some fried shrimp or scallops. It could
have been a very competitive entry in “The Best Food in the Worst
Setting” contest. Cars parked uphill, ascending toward the huge
bridge going over the water. Large garbage barrels occupied every
two-car lengths accommodating about ten automobiles. Those who
could not wait until they got this food home would eat in their
cars overlooking the ulta-polluted Calumet River.

Bobby G. waited for his partner in his
Advantage/Disadvantage plot to arrive. This was one of his favorite
places on the south side of Chicago to eat. He smelled the
wooden-laced smoked fish as he left his car. The ugly, green river
and the broken rocks serving as landscaping from the carryout
building disgusted him. Bobby G. was getting antsy because his
partner had been late. Suddenly, Frank Worrell walked into the
place locals called “the Bridge”.

“I didn’t know that reporters get down with real
peeps in a place like ‘the bridge’,” Bobby G. said.

“After losing all that moolah to you betting on
those lousy Bears, I can’t even afford to eat here,” he
quipped.

“You are a terrible football gambler, I must
agree.”

“Ha! Fuck you, you asshole” replied Frank. “Last
year, I should have made a killing. I should have known that the
Bears still did not have a good starting quarterback. What was I
thinking?”

“Last year, Holmes? And the year before, and the
prior year, and the one before, and the one before that – pick your
losses. You could not pick your nose if your face hosted a football
game! But I do appreciate your bets, like all the other
patsies…”

Frank despised the bookie that gobbled up his money.
He certainly was mad that he ever got involved betting on pro
football games, but even more than the losses, he hated the
condescending tone of Bobby G.

“Hey I didn’t come down here to get insulted by a
lowlife like you,” replied the irritated sportswriter. Frank was
outwardly joking but inside the rage was burning.

“Don’t be sore. Your fortunes might change soon. I
am going to help you win your money back,” Bobby G. told Frank
trying to lower his temperature. “You had a nice scoop, by the way,
getting the Imari kid to commit to college on your show.”

“He’s a damn good kid. He’s gonna surprise a lot of
college coaches next year. He should have gone to a big program.
The Illini were sleeping on this one, he should be playing in
Champaign.”

“Did you know that I am partially responsible for
helping him,” Bobby G. asked.

“Just like you helped me bet on football games?”
Frank sarcastically shot back, not forgetting about his betting
losses.

“I owed a favor to Jamal Imari’s dad. So, I
introduced him to his first NAU coach, Detective Battle. That’s
where the kid learned his game.”

“Detective T.J. Battle?” Frank wondered.

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s developed so many decent
area players through his NAU team,” said Bobby.

“Anyway about Calumet Fisheries, I love this place.
My parents started coming here when they lived on the southeast
side of Chicago,” Frank replied.

“That’s funny. I always thought that Jews and
Muslims aren’t supposed to eat seafood and pork.”

“Well, I guess the religious ones came here for the
smoked fish. You know what movie was filmed here?”

Bobby G. was stumped.

“Next time you see the “Blues Brothers” you’ll see
them jump this bridge as the road splits to let a boat through. It
is early in the film. It took them one week to film it. The owner
served food to the production crew the entire time.”

“Frankie,” Bobby G. inquired, “how’d you know so
much bullshit about stuff?”

“In this case the original owner, Leonard, was my
dad’s best friend. How do you know so much about your shit?”

Just to agitate Frank one more time Bobby G. said,
“I know more about trivia bullshit than you know about the National
Football League.”

“You are a dick! Are you here to meet anyone
else?”

“Just you, Red”

“Ok Jack, let’s get some shrimp and scallops and
make sure we are on the same page.”

Frank Worrell agreed to go along with Bobby the
Greek’s plan to get back his gambling losses. They reviewed the
plan sitting on the hood of Frank’s car while they munched down the
Calumet Fisheries delights. The Advantage/Disadvantage Plan had the
following elements:

Frank would use his Windy City column to
underestimate the East End Team in the pre-season and half way
through the regular schedule.

Bobby G. would make lots of money betting on the
underrated East End team early in the season. Frank would wrongly
keep the team off his area “Top Twenty” teams. Unlike other bets,
Bobby G. would not lay these bets off to the gangbangers. Other
teams’ action booked, but not any East End action.

As the season progressed, Bobby G. would start to
bet against East End because the point spread would swing against
them as they win more and more games. Again, he would take only
“homers” bets on East End games. Frank would support this effort by
moving East End up in the polls with a sharp ascent to convince
everyone that East End was better than they really were.

At the end of the season, Bobby G. would select a
game that a then-over-rated East End team could not cover the point
spread. On this game, Bobby G. would make his killing by betting
against the gangs as well as the homers. Prior to the game Frank
would support this effort by writing articles extolling the
greatness of East End, making everyone believe that the team could
go all the way to the state championship.

“Bobby G. or Jack or whatever the hell I’m supposed
to call you - wait until you see my preseason issue. This year the
paper wanted a huge pullout section, more thorough than anything we
have produced before. As we discussed, East End is absent from my
Top Twenty list. I do not even list them as a team to watch. There
are pages upon pages of specific team coverage listed by
conference. I am forecasting East End finishing fifth out of eight
teams. My credibility on this one is going to take a hit – but I’ll
be right on most of the other ones.”

“When you and I split the bounty, you are not going
to give a shit about your credibility. Cold cash gives your street
cred, bro’.”

“How much do you think we’ll make in the end?” asked
Frank.