Conceived Without Sin (36 page)

"Hey, I was just making conversation," Buzz said, verbally backpedalling. "I don't want to wrestle Mark."

Mark eyed Buzz.
What's Boys Night Out for anyway?
he thought.
"I wouldn't want to embarrass you, man. Don't let these boys goad you."

"Embarrass me? Embarrass me? How good can you be?" Buzz took the bait.

Mark didn't have a large backyard, but it was surrounded by a high, woodslat fence, and private. There was a large area of soft, uncut grass not ten feet off the patio.

Mark didn't answer. A fertile silence ensued.

"No offense, Buzz, but Mark is that good.
I saw him in high school. You might get hurt," Bill added.

"Put your knee brace back on, big guy," Buzz said, putting down his Pepsi. "We'll see if you can hurt me."

"I won't hurt you, Buzz. We need you for the tournament."

This brought a laugh from Joe and Sam. Bill White wasn't laughing at all.

"I'll bet next week's Boys Night Out beers that Buzz will last for three minutes without getting pinned,"
Sam said.

Mark stood up, adjusted his knee brace, then tightened the velcro straps.

"Three minutes? Thanks for the vote of confidence," Buzz quipped.

"No problem."

"I'll take that bet," Bill said.

"So will I," Joe added.

Buzz gave them both a look. When he stood up, he realized how big Mark Johnson was. Mark was touching his toes now, stretching out.

How strong can he be? I'm strong. Maybe I can
last for a long time. Certainly more than three minutes. Nobody's ever floored me.

"I'll time it on my watch," Sam said, pulling the Rolex off his wrist. "You can do it, Buzz. He's only a giant, former all-American football player and FBI agent trained in hand-to-hand combat. You, on the other hand, are Buzz Woodward, wild man from New Jersey."

Buzz was feeling as if he had been sucked into quicksand.
I shoulda kept my mouth shut.

"Mark's from New Jersey, too," Buzz told Sam. "This is childish."

"Aw come on, Buzz," Mark called from the lawn. "You look like you can handle yourself. I've seen you on the courts. It'll be fun."

Buzz walked over to Mark. "Be gentle with me, Agent Johnson," he whispered, looking back at the patio, wishing his three minutes were over.

"Don't worry. Just for fun. Trust
me. Let's go," Mark whispered back.

"Start the clock!" Buzz yelled, crouching down.

"Go!" Sam called back.

Mark pulled himself into a wrestlers crouch, his legs comfortably spread apart, but closer than his basketball crouch; his hands and arms were close to his chest–like a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

As soon as he saw Buzz's stance, Mark knew that Buzz was in big trouble.
He doesn't know how to wrestle.

Mark reached for a grip behind Buzz's neck, but Buzz's neck suddenly wasn't there.
Not bad,
Mark thought, pursing his lips.

He reached again, caught Buzz's shoulder, but Buzz pulled down and away.

He's quick; that's good. Looks strong. This could be fun,
Mark thought without the slightest trepidation.

Buzz smiled weakly.

They slowly circled each other.

"Fifteen seconds!" Sam called out.

Buzz tried
to concentrate.
Ignore the time!
He carefully watched the big man before him.
If he can't get a grip on me, he can't get me down. Play defense!

Mark reached for Buzz's right wrist, purposely a tad more slowly than he was capable. Buzz pulled his arm away with ease…

…then Mark's other hand shot out and locked on Buzz's left wrist.

"Thirty seconds!"

Buzz stopped circling, and tried to pull his wrist
out of Mark's grip by yanking and twisting at the same time.

Mark's grip didn't unglue. Buzz yanked again, harder and more violently. His wrist remained in Mark's grip.

He looked into Mark's eyes. Mark chuckled sadistically.

"Uh oh," Buzz said weakly. "I guess now is the part where I get my butt kicked."

Bill White laughed behind them.

"That's right. Nothing personal, Buzz," Mark said as he pulled
Buzz toward himself. Buzz resisted, but had the terrifying feeling of losing his balance. Buzz's entire sports philosophy was predicated on keeping his balance. He had, in fact, never been thrown to the ground in his life.
When in doubt, go on offense,
Buzz thought dejectedly.

"Aaayeeehhh!" Buzz cried out, dropping his butt backwards to the ground, swinging to lunge under Mark at the same time,
trying to grab one of Mark's legs with his free hand.

Within a second, Mark, still standing in a crouch, had both arms in a lock under Buzz's armpits. Buzz, holding nothing in reserve, mightily resisted Mark's attempt to flip him on his back, and slithered out of Mark's hold, and found himself on his stomach on the ground.

Mark's full weight fell on top of him. Buzz felt an arm lock onto his thigh,
and another slip effortlessly under his shoulder. Mark started to lift him.

"Time?!" Buzz called out desperately.
Why am I out of breath already?

"Minute, five seconds," Sam called less loudly.
Buzz is like a toy in his hands. And Buzz is a naturally strong man. He could whip my butt in a heartbeat.

Sam, who was much better than Mark on the courts from the viewpoint of refined skills, was just
beginning to realize that Mark was a unique athlete.

Bill leaned over to Sam and said softly, "When you buy the beers next week, make mine a Bud Light."

"It's not over yet," Sam said with little hope. "Hang in there Buzz! You can hold out! Minute and a half!"

Mark pulled Buzz over and came extremely close to pinning him.

"You're a strong sonufabitch, aren't you?" he whispered in Buzz's ear, trying
to soften the defeat before it came, knowing that the result of the contest was a foregone conclusion.

Buzz gurgled something incomprehensible.

"Two minutes!" Sam announced. "One more minute Buzz. Hang tough, Buddy Boy!"

Buzz, humiliated and claustrophobic beneath Mark's weight, struggled to find a way to slither from out beneath the experienced wrestler.

I'm a bear covered with grease,
Buzz told
himself.
Relax, then slip away…

Buzz relaxed his muscles, hoping to lull Mark into letting up on his grip slightly, into thinking that he had given up.

There,
Buzz thought,
he's loosening up.

But a moment later, when Buzz tried to writhe, he realized that his strength had ebbed away. He was locked in, unable to move or leverage his weight. Mark expertly used Buzz's shift in weight against him,
and flipped him like a pancake.

The contest ended with forty seconds left on the Rolex.

Buzz slowly rose to his feet, smiling at Mark, putting his hands on his knees, winded worse than after any of the basketball games earlier in the evening.

"Wow," Buzz rasped in awe between breaths.

"You're not so bad," Mark said genuinely. "You're strong, and you have good instincts."

"You're just sayin' that
to make me feel good," Buzz replied. "But thanks for saying it anyway."

Bill came over with Buzz's Pepsi, and patted Buzz on the back. "You almost did it."

"Naw," Buzz said, straightening up. "He coulda pinned me in the first thirty seconds if he wanted to."

Mark knew Buzz was right. He was only slightly winded.

Then Buzz put a tired arm around Mark, and asked with the same impish smile that had
started the whole contest in the first place: "Could you teach me to do better next time?"

Next time!
Bill White thought.
The guy is nuts.

"Sure," Mark said kindly. "I'll give you a few pointers. It's hard to find someone who's even willing to practice with me."

That soothed Buzz's ego even as it boosted it.
This is what Ali's sparring partners must have felt like.
Buzz realized that it was an
accomplishment to last one minute against a guy like Mark Johnson.

I lasted over two minutes. Maybe I could last for three if Mark taught me a few moves.

Chapter Fifteen

1

It was Saturday, the morning of the semifinal game. Sam and Buzz were practicing the day before the championship game of the Revco Ten Thousand. If they won tonight, they would play in the final tomorrow afternoon. The Scaps had won their first six games of the tournament rather easily. There had been only one close game, the last one, but Bill White had caught fire, hitting three
two-pointers to put the game away. (In the Revco Ten Thousand, as in pick-up games, a basket counted for one point. A shot made from beyond the "three point line" counted for two points).

Buzz had talked a security guard into letting them into the Cleveland State Arena. The guard was a big fan of the Revco Ten Thousand.

"Take some rebounds for me," Buzz said, having shot twenty times from just
beyond the foul line to warm up. He backed up several steps, to ten feet beyond the three point line.

"That's out of your range," Sam said, stating the obvious.

"You never know when Bill is going to lose his touch. He's been carrying us on offense. I'm going to take a hundred shots from way out here, where nobody will think of guarding me. If we need a two pointer, I'm going to be ready."

"If
you say so, Buzz." Sam flicked him the ball.

Buzz missed his first seven attempts from thirty feet. Then he swished one.

"Just getting warmed up. You watch. By the ninetieth shot, I'm going to be hitting half of these bombs."

By the fortieth shot, Buzz was hitting every third jumper. He had to really heave the ball to reach the basket, and concentrated on extending his follow-through completely.

"You see," Buzz explained, breathing heavily as Sam zipped another ball at him, "it's like Pavlov's dogs. If I repeat the stimulus, my arm and body do all the work, deciding for themselves how much force to use."

Buzz canned another shot. Three in a row. Then two misses. Then a swish. Then a miss.

"You're getting it down. Why don't you move to another spot?" Sam asked.

"That would screw things
up. I've got to be in this spot, on this court, for my theory to work. I read somewhere that Larry Bird does the same thing, practicing the same shot, alone, hour after hour, day after day, until it's unconscious, until he can do it with his eyes closed."

"Interesting theory, Buzzman, but you don't have days and days to practice."

The semifinal game was tonight. Sam's 'ringer' had fallen through
so the Scaps were playing with only five men. Great defense and Bill White's radar jumper had gotten them this far. He was the shortest man on the team, but could jump high and shoot with an opponent hanging in his jockstrap, especially coming off a pick from Mark Johnson.

"We have a few hours. We'll take turns. You practice the same hook shot from the same spot, and I'll keep practicing this
long-range jumper. After we win the game tonight with either shot, we'll send the tape to the Birdman."

Buzz drained another jumper.

Sam really wanted to win the contest. The prize money mattered little to him. It was watching Ellie's growing excitement that spurred him on. In all his life, even in little league, he had never been on a championship team. This was the first Saturday in more than
six months he had not gone into the office.

"You've already got us winning the whole thing, don't you, Buzz?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I've already got my two grand spent, though. I'm going to Fatima, and I'm gonna take Donna along with me."

"Fatima, you mean where the Mother of God appeared to those two little kids? You're on shot number seventy-five, by the way."

"Three little kids. 1917. Has
Donna told you about it? Oh crap!" Buzz shot an air ball.

"Just stroke, Buzz, just stroke. Don't think. And yes, Donna's told me about it. I don't get it, really."

Buzz hit the next four in a row.

"You should read a book about it. There were some bona fide miracles," Buzz paused to thump in his fifth in a row. "Now I've got the range."

"Like your signal graces?" Sam asked, half-convinced that
Buzz's Pavlov-Bird theory had some merit. Buzz was hitting more than half his shots now.

"No, well, yes. Real miracles. Like, after the sun did its power dive, all the rain and mud and water around those seventy thousand witnesses was gone. Completely dry. There!" Buzz put an extra oomph on the last shot. It clanged off the back rim. "Speaking of signal graces, have you been getting any more of
them yourself?"

"Not really, not since your Hail Mary shot. There was one thing, though…"

Buzz sank another basket while he waited for Sam to finish his thought.

"What was it?" Buzz stopped shooting when he realized that Sam was not planning to explain further.

"Don't stop," Sam ordered.

Buzz took a dribble and drained another basket.
I've got it down.

"Nothing."

"Don't hold out on me, baby,"
Buzz teased.

"Forget it. Keep shooting. My turn in ten shots."

Sam didn't really remember the details of the dream where he entered the tabernacle. But the emotions from the dream had stayed with him. Until the sun went down the day he woke up, the world around him seemed…more real.

While he had been walking with Ellie that evening on Huntington Beach in Bay Village, after work, he had a sudden
urge to stop. He turned to face her and put his hands on her shoulders, searching into her eyes. The sun was setting behind her, framing her blond hair, which was pulled back in a pony tail. She was so beautiful at that moment that Sam felt like melting, and wondered for the thousandth time why she loved him, and not a more handsome man.

"Sam, what is it?" she had said, concern in her voice.

"I can see your soul," he whispered, seeing something that did and did not seem to be there at the same time. There it was, behind her eyes…
life.

Ellie laughed nervously. "The eyes are the windows to the soul," she heard herself saying.

She felt uncomfortable.
What does he see inside me?

Sam had blinked and whatever it was he saw in her eyes was gone. They were only her brown eyes again.

"Sam?
Sam?" Buzz called his friend. The ball was bouncing at Sam's feet.

Sam shook his head. "What?"

"Didn't you see? I made my last ten in row! I can't miss, man. I thought you were speechless because of my shooting."

Buzz trotted to the paint and picked up the bouncing ball.

"Yeah, oh yeah. Yes! Ten in a row. Great," Sam said with feigned enthusiasm. "I'm next. Where should I shoot from?"

"Pick a
spot you don't normally shoot from. How about here, on the left post? You prefer the right post. I'll stand here with my arms up, to simulate a defender, but I won't move except to get the rebound."

Sam lined up with his back to Buzz. Buzz stood upright, with his arms straight up in the air. Sam shot and made it.

"There's one. Ninety-nine more to go," Buzz encouraged.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam
finished with twelve straight swishes.

Buzz retrieved a bottle of Gatorade from a small cooler he had carried in.

"What do we do next?" Sam asked.

It felt good to practice. Donna had scouted the opponent, missing the Scaps last game. She reported that they were a balanced team that almost matched up to the Scaps, but were not as disciplined on defense. They had only one big man, a six-foot-eight
monster and former college football player. He would probably cover Mark Johnson. That meant that Sam would be taller than the man guarding him. The mismatch.

"We do it all over again," Buzz said with a mischievous smile.

"Whatever you say, coach," Sam called after him as Buzz ran to pick up the ball, then dribbled over to his unlikely spot.

+  +  +

That evening, the opponent proved worthy of
the Scaps. The name of the other team was Maury's Boogies. Almost two thousand fans watched the game. The Boogies were led by a talented guard, a former Cleveland State player who had been a back-up on the cinderella team that went to the Sweet Sixteen. He matched Bill White jumper-for-jumper during the first blistering half of the game.

Then, as happens with all shooters, Bill went cold, for
the first time in the tournament. He missed four straight jumpers. The Scaps found themselves trailing by two baskets, 17 to 15. The game would end at 21. Buzz called time out.

Unlike the earlier rounds, this game had referees, and Mark Johnson had gotten into foul trouble covering the other team's monster football player, who was clunky but effective. Mark was forced to lay off the physical game,
and the monster dumped in four late baskets.

During the time out, Buzz yelled at his teammates, more out of desperation than anger. "Let's go to Sam! Buckle down on defense."

"You can do it, Sam," Donna said from the bench. Ellie clasped her hand. "You can take your man."

"Let's go to Sam," Bill agreed. "I'll only shoot if I'm open. Kick it out to me or Buzz if they double down on you."

Mark nodded,
wiping his face with a towel.

"And tighten up on defense," the Man added. "Mark, you stay on the baseline, or flash up to the foul line. Let's make some room for Fisk."

As they walked onto the court, Buzz asked Bill to switch men. "I'm fresh. I can shut down your man. He's not quick. He's only a shooter. I'll shut him down, deny him. If he does get the ball, I'll force him to beat me with his
dribble, and you can help out."

Bill looked at his sneakers. He did not have an ego. "Just watch out for the change of possessions. We don't want to give up any easy baskets if they don't switch up on defense like we will."

Buzz nodded grimly. There was no way to know if last-second decisions would work in this kind of game.

The whistle blew. Play started.

For the remainder of the game, the Man
and Bill concentrated on dumping the ball into Sam Fisk, who hit five hooks in a row. Mark's Boogie monster continued to score, but missed two short jump-hooks.

Buzz played such intense denial defense that the shooter didn't touch the ball on offense for the rest of the game.

The Scaps were leading 20 to 19 when Bill White canned a jumper to win it.

Donna and Ellie ran out onto the court. Mark's
girls came down from the stands and jumped up to him. He lifted the two youngest into his arms, then looked to Maggie, who had remained in the stands. She smiled knowingly. She expected nothing less than victory from her king. He gave her a wink.

The Scaps took a few moments to shake the hands of their opponents.

"We're going to the final!" Mark Johnson yelled, holding a fist in the air, then
high-fiving the Man, who promptly walked to the stands, where he took off his brown jersey, replacing it with a fresh T-shirt.

Buzz ran up to the Man. "Where you going? We won!"

"We didn't win nothin' yet, Buzz. I'm going home to get some sleep. You should too."

The Man's demeanor had a sobering effect on Buzz.

"Gotcha."

Sam walked up to Buzz, Ellie under his arm, beaming. She had brown lipstick
painted in streaks on her cheeks. Bucky had come down from the stands, and was happily chomping an unlit cigar behind her.

"How come you didn't shoot from your spot?" Sam asked Buzz.

"I'm saving it for the final, my man."

"Great game, Buzz. I'm glad you pushed to dump it into Sam down the stretch," Donna said, clipboard in hand.

"You scouted the mismatch," Buzz said with perfect seriousness.

"I'm staying to scout the next game, too," Donna said. Her demeanor was no different than the Man's.

"Can I tag along?" Ellie asked.

"Sure!" Donna replied, surprised. This tournament was turning out to be the best thing for her relationship with Ellie.

"Then Sam and I will go shower, then come out to sit with our crack scouting team," Buzz said happily. He turned to Mark. "Staying for the next
game?"

"No can do, tough guy," Mark said, climbing up the stands to help Maggie gather her things. "Maggie and I have a date."

Couch time,
they thought in unison. They shared a look, then kissed.

Bill bowed out from staying for the second game.

"Just tell me whether or not their guards can cover me, Donna. No wait, tell me they can't cover me either way. I'm going home to watch television commercials
and pray myself to sleep. My back is killing me."

He winked at her. "You don't do massages, do you, coach?" He knew Donna loved to be called
coach.

"Geeze, Bill. I'm just a lowly manager."

Ellie smiled, and said the kindest words that Donna had ever heard from her lips: "Don't say that. You're more than just a manager, Donna. Your scouting won the game for us. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam nodded,
and smiled a toothy smile. "You're our ringer, Donna."

Then Sam turned to Buzz. "Let's sneak in again tomorrow morning and practice our Pavlov-Birds again."

"Sure thing, Kareem. I'll pick you up after I go to Mass."

"I'm going to Mass with Ellie tomorrow."

Buzz gave Ellie a look.
I see.

"Okay, I'll pick you up after you go to Mass with Ellie. Saint Chris?"

"Yes," Ellie said. "I'm driving over
from the East Side. Again."

2

That night, Buzz was so excited that he didn't fall asleep until four in the morning. To pass the time, he took mental shot after shot from his spot, praying a
Hail Mary
with each one.

+  +  +

After couch time, Mark and Maggie Johnson conceived their first son.

+  +  +

Donna Beck, having scouted their next and final opponent, Dantes Infernos, went to bed worried that
she and Buzz might never get to see Fatima in person.

Infernos? I thought Dante only had one inferno. This Dante has four.
There was only one weak player on the Infernos, who had demolished a very talented challenger.

The Infernos were a team with four polished players. They played stifling man-to-man and zone defense, and had been together as a team for five years. Their weakest player was almost
as good as Buzz. Their best player, Dante Curry, had been on the Revco Ten Thousand championship team three years running.