Racing the Rain (19 page)

Dewey had been a lineman in college but had also managed one year of freshman basketball, thanks to his six-foot-five-inch frame and the school's lack of scholarship money for any sport that didn't involve an oblong ball.

He was given his marching orders daily by Coach Cinnamon, and the practices ran smoothly enough, though they hardly seemed strenuous to Cassidy, accustomed as he was to his self-inflicted daily annihilations at the base gym. In fact, once he got a good sense of what would be expected of them, Cassidy took to dressing out early and running laps around the practice court. Sometimes, if the varsity was scrimmaging full court, he would put on his old gym shoes and do his laps outside on the asphalt track. He had promised Trapper Nelson he would keep up running as best he could through basketball, and in truth he was happy to have a way to burn off excess energy.

It was obvious right away that Stiggs and Randleman would be starters. Kent Stewart wasn't as maneuverable or as good a shot, but he was nearly six seven and strong as an ox, so he was clearly the third member of the starting front court.

The guards were Drake Osgood and Carroll Morgan, good ball handlers though erratic shooters. The first replacement guard was Stan Jenson, a tough little terrier of a player who liked nothing better than diving on the floor for loose balls. He also had a deadly accurate set shot, if he could ever get open enough to use it. Cassidy figured he was next in line after Stan, should some series of catastrophes incapacitate everyone else. Even then it was not a sure thing, as Dewey would sometimes take out one of the guards and put in Phil Jones, another big man, leaving either Drake or Carroll as a point guard.

Cassidy was still mostly a spectator. But at least he was in high school, he had left Bob Bickerstaff behind, and he was a certified basketball player. To make his joy nearly complete, Edgewater had hired Mr. Kamrad away from Glenridge to coach crew and teach psychology and sociology.

The varsity rolled over their first three opponents, Belle Glade, Pahokee, and Okeechobee, and the junior varsity won, though more modestly. In sheer size, the juniors' starting five actually averaged about an inch taller than the varsity, which was much commented on by sportswriters and the peanut gallery. Some were already making giddy predictions about future state rankings and possible tournament prospects.

Then came the Riviera Beach game, a local powerhouse, played at their little cracker box gym. The Riviera jayvees looked big and confident in the warm-ups. So much so that Stiggs and Randleman tried to loosen everyone up during their own drills by making wisecracks about “showing the big boys how it's done.” It worked to some extent, but the mood was still pretty somber as they went back into the dressing room before the tip-off.

“All right, you probably already know what I know about these guys,” said Dewey, studying his clipboard. “They're bigger than their size indicates. And they're undefeated with no losses, like we are. They've got this kid Stansfield, who's six four and pretty tough in the key. Randleman, I want you to take him, but Stiggs be ready to help out. Don't double-team him all the time, but both of you be ready to get all over him like a prom dress.”

Stiggs and Randleman sat, sweating already, towels around their necks, staring down at their shoe tops. They both nodded solemnly.

“This guy Genchi at forward is six two and he can jump. He's also a decent shot. Stewart, you take him so Stiggs can take the weaker guy and help Randleman out with Stansfield. Drake, Houldsworth is a pretty good guard, I hear. He's yours. He's not afraid to shoot and he can get hot. He's averaging ten a game, second to Stansfield, so you can't lay off him too much. This other guy, Garret, is a good ball handler but that's all. Carroll, he's yours. See if you can slough off of him a bit and jam up the middle, make it tougher for Stansfield in there. Okay, I think everyone knows we've got our work cut out for us out there tonight, but Coach Cinnamon and I both feel like you guys can handle it. Just remember how lucky we are, boys, to be living in the greatest country in America! Let's get out there and show 'em what we can do!”

They all gathered up and did a hands-in huddle, breaking with a cheer and rushing to the door. Cassidy was at the back, waiting for the jam at the door to clear, when he heard his name.

“Hang back a sec, Quenton,” said Dewey.

Cassidy was puzzled. He'd never been singled out by Dewey for anything before.

“Yes, sir?”

Dewey waited until everyone left.

“Stan hurt his ankle yesterday screwing around like an idiot with his brothers. Dr. Parr has given him a cortisone injection and Stan says it feels okay, but doc don't want him playing tonight. I know you haven't played much yet, but it looks like you're the first guard in if we need to substitute. If we stick to a two-guard front, that is,” he said.

Cassidy nodded.

“It may not come up at all, but I just wanted you to be ready if you need to go in. Keep your head in the game and be prepared, okay? All right, get out there.”

Cassidy was almost dizzy as he went back out for the last bit of limbering up before the tip-off. He could hardly believe he might actually get a chance to play in a game when it still mattered, and not just after the regulars had run up the score.

He jogged back on the court and started taking free throws. Stiggs and Randleman kept eyeballing him, obviously dying of curiosity. Finally Stiggs joined him on the foul line.

“So what's up? What did he want?” he asked.

Cassidy struggled to keep his voice casual. “Nothing, really. Stan's not full speed, is all. I might get in.”

“No kidding? Really? Hey, Randleman, get a load of—”

“Shhhhh.” Cassidy grabbed his arm. “Keep it down! Nobody is supposed to know.”

The klaxon sounded for the opening tip-off.

After the last huddle, Cassidy returned to the bench without the usual resigned expression of a perennial sub. He would actually be paying attention to a game that he might be in.

Stansfield was for real. He outjumped Stiggs on the tip-off, tapping it to Genchi who immediately flipped it to Houldsworth streaking toward the rim. In an instant it was 2–0.

Cassidy glanced down at Dewey, who sat with his mouth agape. The play did not resemble any JV play he had seen before.

Carroll Morgan brought the ball down the floor and took it to the right side of Riviera's zone, holding up one finger to indicate the wheel offense. Stiggs cleared out along the baseline, and Randleman came up to the high post. Morgan faked him a bounce pass, then flipped it over to Osgood so he could whip it back around the horn to Stewart and then to Stiggs, who was setting up on the baseline for the shot.

But Houldsworth was anticipating the pass to Osgood, and he jumped out and deflected it over to the other guard, Garret, who picked it up at full stride and went the length of the floor with no one remotely close to him. In fact, he slowed down at the foul line and casually jogged the last few steps before laying the ball gently against the backboard. It was 4–0 and the game was less than a minute old.

Edgewater recovered somewhat and tried to adjust to Riviera's quickness and aggressiveness, but halfway through the eight-minute period, it was 12–4, and two of the four points had been free throws. They had a single bucket, and that was an amazing hook shot Stiggs managed to launch over Stansfield.

Dewey called time-out and made small adjustments to their offensive positions. He switched Morgan and Osgood's men on defense, and put Stiggs on their big man. It seemed to Cassidy almost beside the point, more like window dressing.

Sure enough, as the horn sounded at the end of the period, the scoreboard read 22–8. When Riviera grabbed a defensive rebound, Cassidy caught himself actually admiring the Riviera Beach style of play. It was fast, efficient, and aggressive, with little time or attention devoted to setting up elaborate plays or making multiple passes. When they grabbed a defensive rebound, they cleared it out to a guard and brought it up fast, looking for an open man. If a shot presented itself, they took it.

Even after Edgewater had scored on one play, Garret quickly took the ball out of the net and inbounded it to Houldsworth, who brought it straight up the sidelines, beating most of the Eagles back down the floor. Stiggs, the only one left between him and the basket, moved out to cover him, leaving the key completely open to Stansfield coming in from the right wing to make the easy layup.

Although he was disturbed at the bludgeoning his team was taking, Cassidy was also fascinated. There was something familiar in Riviera's style of play, something he recognized though it had little to do with anything his team had ever practiced. When Garret casually flipped Stansfield a no-look behind-the-back pass in the key, it struck Cassidy: these guys played like the guys at the base gym! They didn't need elaborate plays or meticulous passing to work their way around to a decent shot, they just made a quick pass, set up a screen, took a dribble, and then took the shot. They shot with confidence bordering on arrogance. They shot like they expected to make every single one of them, and they weren't far wrong.

Cassidy's reverie was interrupted by Phil Jones's nudging. Carroll Morgan had bumped knees with Houldsworth on a fast break and was limping toward the bench in obvious pain. Cassidy started to pull his warm-up over his head, but when Dewey barked out a name, it was not his.

“Phil!”

Jones, blinking in surprise, pulled off his warm-up and checked in with the scorer. They were going to go with one point guard. Dewey called an additional time-out to get them organized.

Cassidy, deflated, listened from the outer ring of the huddle.

“All right, we're going to a one-three-one. Stiggs, you move to the low post. Phil, you take his wing. Any questions?”

It was a disaster.

The Riviera coach had anticipated the change, and as soon as Edgewater brought the ball in, they ran into a full-court zone press. Osgood tried to dribble against it and was herded to the sideline, where he was trapped. Edgewater's big men had little experience handling the ball and they panicked. Osgood tried to throw a soft looping pass over the trapping guards to Jones, but it was easily intercepted by Houldsworth and laid up on the backboard for an easy basket.

This happened twice more before Dewey called time-out.

“Cassidy!” he called down the bench.

They went back to two guards. Dewey gave them all kinds of contradictory advice in the huddle, trying to diagram the way the trap worked on his green board. It occurred to Cassidy that their coach was essentially guessing.

“Take it toward the sidelines but kick it back to me before they put the trap on,” Cassidy told Osgood as they walked back onto the court. “Then take off down the sidelines as fast as you can go. If someone comes to cover you after you get a pass back, look to the middle of the court for Stiggs.”

Osgood wasn't accustomed to taking directions from a benchwarmer, but Cassidy could see from the look on his face that he was scared enough to pay attention to anyone who sounded confident.

Cassidy took the ball out-of-bounds and tossed it in to Osgood, who turned to face the three defenders spread across the court at the foul line. It was a classic 3-1-1 zone trap and almost impossible to dribble against if the defenders were good.

But Cassidy had the benefit of the advice of First Lieutenant Ron Lefaro, USAF, who had played ball at little Colby College, an undersized, scrappy, full-court-press terror of NCAA Division II basketball. He had shown Cassidy how easy it was to break the press with two guards and one halfway agile big man. Cassidy grabbed the front of Stiggs's jersey and told him to loiter at center court and break toward the ball if someone got trapped with it.

Osgood started to dribble upcourt and was immediately cut off and herded toward the sideline by the middle guard, Garret. Before the other guard, Houldsworth, could spring the trap, Osgood turned and flipped the ball back to Cassidy, who had not advanced at all. He was still very near the baseline and thus had not attracted any attention from the third man in the three-man front.

As Osgood took off down the sideline, and Houldsworth turned to herd Cassidy toward the opposite sideline, Cassidy took one dribble and lifted into the air off one foot. He hit Osgood with a leading baseball pass that the guard caught at full stride. Riviera was well coached, however, and Osgood was immediately picked up by the first 1 in the 3-1-1, who had left his spot at center court where he had been shadowing Stiggs. Osgood saw that Stiggs was now open at center court, and he hit him immediately. Stiggs turned and was amazed to see one lone Riviera defender at the foul line and two Edgewater forwards spread on the baseline. And Cassidy had been sprinting down the right sideline after his initial pass. They had gone from having a guard in a two-man trap to a four-on-one fast break. Suddenly the press didn't look so invulnerable.

Stiggs took the ball straight toward the hoop, pulling up just inside the foul line. When the lone Riviera defender came out to pick him up, he dumped it off to Randleman underneath, who took it up for the bunny shot, getting so high up he slapped the backboard on the way down.

The small crowd of Edgewater fans who had come early for the JV game erupted. It was the first thing they'd had to cheer about in a long while.

Just as they were quieting down, a shaken-looking Riviera guard was inbounding the ball to the other guard, Houldsworth, who casually waited for it just inside the foul line. Cassidy, appearing to keep his eyes downcourt, was actually watching them in his peripheral vision. He was more or less jogging in place, giving the appearance of heading upcourt with his teammates but without actually going anywhere. As soon as the inbounding pass left the guard's hands, Cassidy whirled around and stepped in front of Houldsworth and took the ball waist high. He tapped it once for a single dribble and laid it up high on the left side of the backboard with his left hand and, like Randleman, got so high up on the backboard that he lightly slapped the glass on the way down.