Basketball Sparkplug (4 page)

Then, on Friday, his mother let him skip his singing lesson to practice basketball. He hurried eagerly to the gym.

“Look who’s here!” Ron Tikula yelled. “The singing boy from Tim-buck-toy!”

“The future TV star!” Jerry Jordan cried, and began to mock him. “Car-ry me ba-a-ck …”

“All right, boys! Cut it out!” Coach Stickles yelled.

Kim thought about that in church Sunday, just before he began to sing. He thought about it so much an ache grew into a big
ball in his throat. He brushed a tear from his eye and hoped that nobody had seen it.

He didn’t think he’d be able to sing after that. But after Mrs. Kelsey played the introduction, he lifted his voice in song.
It flowed from his lips as easily as a bird taking off in flight. The longer he
sang the less he thought about Ron Tikula, Jerry Jordan, and everything connected with basketball.

The heavy weight in his heart melted away. The hurt in his throat disappeared.

K
IM missed basketball practice Monday night because he had to rehearse with the choir.

After rehearsal Mrs. Kelsey said, “Starting on Thursday, two weeks before Easter Sunday, we will learn some new hymns. I hope
none of you will miss any of those rehearsals. Easter is an extra-special day. We’ll want our choir to sing extra-special
too. Right?”

“Right!” everyone answered almost together.

The following morning thick flakes of
snow dropped lazily from the sky. It was about six inches deep on the sidewalk, and soft as swan’s-down.

Kim met Jane Armbruster on the street corner and they walked to school together. Jane was in his grade.

“What beautiful snow!” she cried happily. “I think I’ll go skiing tonight at the park!”

Her cheeks were almost as red as her snowsuit.

“If I had skis I’d go too,” Kim said.

She turned big dark eyes to him. A snowflake fell on her nose. “You can use mine! We can take turns!”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I can’t ski, anyway.”

“You can learn!”

He didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t want to go because she was a girl. Of course, if Jimmie Burdette or some of
the other boys went he would go. Anyway, he decided, he wouldn’t want to borrow her skis. He would certainly be teased then!

Bang! A snowball hit him on the shoulder!

He heard a laugh behind him. Another snowball brushed his sleeve and buried itself in the snow on the sidewalk.

“All right, Ron!” he yelled.

It was Ron Tikula and Dutchie McBride, grinning like Cheshire cats. They were making more snowballs.

“Let’s run!” Jane said.

“Run, nothing!” cried Kim. “I’ll give
it right back to them! Here—take my books!”

She took his books. He bent over and scooped up a handful of snow, quickly formed it into a hard-packed ball, and threw it
at Ron. Ron tried to dodge, but he couldn’t move fast enough in the deep snow and the snowball hit him.

“Good shot!” Jane said.

The boys threw snowballs back and forth for a minute. Then Ron shouted, “Okay! We’ve had enough!”

He and Dutchie cheerfully came up to Jane and Kim. Ron wore a leather jacket and a hat with ear flaps. Dutchie had on a navy-blue
pea jacket. His hat was somewhat like Ron’s.

“Going to the clinic, Kim?” Ron asked.
He was nice, now. Maybe it was because Jane was with them.

“What clinic?” said Kim.

“The basketball clinic. The Lions are putting it on tomorrow night. Oh, that’s right. You weren’t at our practice last night.
Coach Stickles told us about it.”

Kim’s forehead creased. “What’s a basketball clinic?”

“Don’t you know?” Dutchie said. “It’s where they teach you how to play basketball.”

“Maybe Kim thinks he knows enough about it already.” Ron was poking fun at him.

Kim glared at Ron. He took the books from Jane.

“Thanks, Jane,” he said quietly.

Then he looked at Ron and Dutchie. “Are you guys going?”

“The coach said that everybody should go,” Ron said. “My father’s taking me.”

“I’m going with Ron,” Dutchie said.

“Well—I’d like to go too,” admitted Kim. “I sure would!”

K
IM didn’t have to persuade his father to take him to the clinic. Mr. O’Connor had read about it in the paper, and agreed at
once that it might be good for Kim. Jimmie Burdette went with them.

The clinic was held in the school where most of the Small Fry Basketball games were played. About a thousand boys from seven
to high school age attended it. Most of the smaller boys were with their parents. All the Lion players were there, dressed
in their regular uniforms.

Kim sat in the middle row of seats halfway up one side. He thought he would like to be on the court with the ten or twelve
boys who were receiving personal instruction from the Lion players. But soon he found that he could learn as much just sitting
and watching. Maybe more. For he could look from one small group to another.

The way it was done was simple. Two or three Lion players worked with two or three boys who volunteered from the crowd. The
boys were mostly Small Fry Basketball size. Kim recognized some of them.

Wally Goodrich, Dick Wynn, and Stretch Thompson were showing a group how to make layup shots. It was
easy for the Lions, since the baskets were lower than the height at which they played.

First the Lions would show how to make the shots, then the boys would try to do the same. At the other basket three other
Lion players were showing boys the drive-in play. Kim enjoyed that. It was a hard one. You had to rush in under the basket,
raise your shoulders way up, then your arms, and shoot. In a game a player might easily foul you. If you made the basket you
would be allowed one free throw. If you missed the basket, two free throws.

Many other plays were shown: set shots; hook shots; free throws; how to keep the ball close to the floor when you
dribble; the different ways of passing a ball; how to guard your man; how not to “walk” with the ball.

The Lions seemed to be explaining and showing everything about how to play basketball. Kim was sorry the clinic had to end.

“Boy! That was wonderful!” he said to his father as they walked out of the gym with the crowd of boys and parents.

His father grinned. “Did you. like it, Jimmie?”

“Did I? I learned something about dribbling. I always bounced the ball too high. I’m going to practice to keep it down.”

“Thataboy!” said Mr. O’Connor.

K
IM did not forget what he had learned at the clinic. Coach Stickles had taught him a lot too, but he had missed too many practices.

What he had seen at the basketball clinic stayed in his mind better than the things Coach Stickles had told him. When he told
his dad this, Mr. O’Connor smiled and said:

“Maybe it’s because the Seacord Lions were the teachers!”

“Maybe!” laughed Kim.

The Arrows were not doing too well.
They had been in third place for a while. Now they were back in fourth.

Kim felt he wasn’t doing very well either. Oh, he had a lot of hustle, of course. Coach Stickles had said so, and Kim remembered
that all right.

“Well, next Saturday afternoon is our last game,” said Coach Stickles after they had won their second game with the Comets.
“If we win, we’ll be in second place and eligible for the playoffs. If we lose, we’ll be in third or fourth. Depends on how
the other teams make out.”

“What happens if we get in the playoffs?” Dutchie asked. He hadn’t played with the Arrows last year. He didn’t know.

Coach Stickles smiled. “We’ll play the team which comes in first place two out of three games.”

“What does the winner get?” Ron Tikula asked. “A trophy—like last year?”

“That’s right. A trophy,” the coach said. “We’ll put it in the showcase in our clubroom. Also, each boy gets a basketball
pin. So if you fellas want that trophy and those pins real bad, you’ve got to play the best basketball you can! How about
it?”

“We sure will!” they yelled all together.

The Arrows’ last game was against the Rockets. Coach Stickles started Kim at guard position. The coach kept him in
four minutes of the first quarter, then had Bobbie Leonard play the remaining two minutes. Scoring was quite even. It was
18 to 17, in the Rockets’ favor, when the quarter ended.

Kim went back in the second quarter. He watched his man like a hawk. When Kim got the ball, he dribbled close to the floor.
He ran down-court like a fawn chased by a fox. He stopped, faked a throw that put his man off guard, then shot at the basket
from his favorite position.

A bucket!

“Thataboy, singer!” Ron Tikula shouted.

Kim pretended he didn’t hear.

All the way through the game the
lead shifted first to the Arrows, then to the Rockets. Coach Stickles was giving everybody on the team a chance to play. Some
played only a minute. Everybody on the first team was out one time or another.

There were ten seconds left to play when Allan Vargo shot a pass to Kim. Kim dribbled down-court, then passed to Ron. The
score was 53 to 52, in the Rockets’ favor. This Was the Arrows’ last chance to win.

Kim dashed toward the basket. Ron threw the ball to him. Kim caught it, and leaped for a jump shot. Just then a Rocket player
hit his arm. The slap could be heard nearly all through the court.

The whistle shrilled. The referee held up two fingers, which meant that Kim was allowed two shots.

Kim stepped to the free-throw line. The referee waited till both sides were ready, then gave the ball to Kim and moved out
of the way.

Kim held the ball in both his hands, looked at the basket. It seemed so high, so small. He took a deep breath, turned the
ball around in his hands till it felt just right, then threw.

The ball hit the backboard, rolled around the rim, and fell off!

The crowd groaned.

“Come on, Kim!” cried Ron. “Make it this time!”

The referee got the ball, waited till
the teams were ready again, then handed it to Kim.

Kim took another deep breath. He could feel the sweat rolling down his neck. What a moment! Why did it have to be him trying
these foul shots? Why couldn’t it have been Jimmie, who was really good at making them?

Kim brushed the hair back from his forehead. He turned the ball a little in his hands, then bent his knees slightly, straightened
them, and shot the ball toward the basket.

It sailed in a slow, beautiful arch. Right through the basket without touching the rim!

This time the crowd screamed.

The score was tied, 53 to 53!

Then the whistle shrilled. The two referees talked things over. Then one of them called the captains of both teams together
and said that an overtime period of two minutes would be played.

The Rockets took out the ball. They passed upcourt, fumbled. Jimmie Burdette retrieved it. He dribbled a few steps, passed
to Kim. Kim passed to Ron. A Rocket player intercepted, dribbled upcourt, stopped, and passed.

Kim jumped, hit the ball with his hand, bounced it, and shot a long pass to Jimmie, who was running for the Arrows’ basket.

Jimmie caught the ball, raced for the basket, and jumped high for a layup shot.

A bucket!

A few seconds later the game ended. The Arrows won—55 to 53.

Jimmie pounded Kim on the back. “We’re in the play-offs, Kim!”

Kim smiled broadly.

S
UNDAY afternoon Kim received an invitation to Barbara Mae Pletz’s birthday party. Barbara Mae was his cousin. Her- mother
and father, Aunt Carol and Uncle Jim, were favorites of his. They never forgot
his
birthday, either. The party was to be next Saturday afternoon. Aunt Carol would want him to sing.

Kim didn’t like that very much. But he supposed he would sing anyway. Funny how some people made such a fuss about a kid singing.

Later that evening Coach Stickles came to the house. He wore a felt hat and a topcoat. His cheeks were red from the cold.
But he had a happy smile.