Road Trip (15 page)

We grabbed our things from behind the bench and stuffed them in our bags as we walked toward the door of the gym. Waiting there was the reporter.

“Congratulations, everybody! Finishes like that just keep making my story better and better!” she gushed. “Do you think that maybe I could have a few minutes to — ”

“We don't have any time right now,” Coach said as he kept walking. “I admire your persistence, but we have to go to a meeting.”

“But you did promise me you'd let me interview everybody after the finals,” she said.

Coach shook his head. “Sure, right after the finals.”

“It'll be a great story if you win,” she yelled after him as he continued to walk out of the gym.

“We can't win if we don't get to play in the finals,” I mumbled as I passed by her.

“Of course you'll play in the finals,” she said. “You won your game.”

“But we still have to win the appeal,” Kia explained.

“Appeal? What appeal? What are you talking about?' she asked.

“I thought reporters knew everything,” Kia said.

“We only know what people tell us. Could you please explain?” she pleaded. “Why wouldn't you be playing in the finals?”

Kia quickly explained about her being disqualified because she was a girl and how the whole team could be kicked out if we didn't win the appeal.

“And that's happening right now?” the reporter asked.

“In a couple of minutes. That's where we're going,” I explained.

“Good. Then all I have to do is follow right behind you and I'll be right there.”

“You're going to the meeting?” I questioned.

She smiled. “This story just keeps getting better and better. I'd like to see somebody try to stop me.”

We hurried out the door to catch up with everybody else, and the reporter, followed by her cameraman weighed down with his equipment, trailed behind us. The corridor was still packed with people exiting the game, and the going was very slow. A couple of times I lost sight of the heads of Coach and my father bobbing up and down in the crowd. Moving quickly, we caught up to them just as they walked through a door. We followed in behind them.

The room wasn't very big. There were desks and phones and a couple of bags filled with basketballs, and on the wall was a gigantic board listing all the games and scores. At the top of the board, each game leading up to the top of a pyramid, was the word “Finals”, and the name of the New York Wild Cats was already waiting for the winner to be declared from our semifinal.

“We're here for the appeal,” Coach said loudly.

Up at the front were the mayor and the two other men I recognized from the previous meet-ings. They all looked like they wanted to be someplace else.

“Yes… the appeal,” one of them said.

“Let's clear the room and we can — ”

“Excuse me!” called out the reporter as she pushed her way into the room, cutting off the mayor.

“I'm afraid this is a closed meeting!” the mayor said. “You'll have to leave, Ms. Parris.”

“And I'm afraid I can't do that,” she replied. “I was told – by you, in fact, Your Honor – that I had free range to go anywhere and film anything during the entire tournament. Did you not say that?”

“Well… I may have said that, but — ”

“Before you go on with your statement,” Ms. Parris interrupted, “let me get the camera rolling.
I want to be able to show this response to the original guarantee you gave me, which is also on film.”

The mayor looked like he'd suddenly swallowed his tongue. He repeatedly opened and closed his mouth but no words were spoken. The bright lights of the camera were switched on and aimed at him. He continued to try to speak, but the only things he could produce were beads of sweat rolling off his forehead.

“Please continue,” Ms. Parris said.

“I… just think that… perhaps… ”

“So I'm assuming that you have no further objections to my staying and witnessing the proceedings?” Ms. Parris asked.

The mayor nodded his head.

“Excellent!” she beamed.

The mayor turned to Coach. “It would have been better if you hadn't invited her along.”

“I didn't invite anybody along except my team.”

“And do you think that that is wise?” asked another one of the officials. “Having your players here?”

“It's about them, so why shouldn't they be here?” my father said.

“We're not going anywhere!” Kia said, stepping forward.

“Fine… fine… then please,” the mayor said, “could you explain on what basis you are
appealing our ruling that your player is ineligible to play?”

“On the basis that it's wrong,” Coach said.

“There's nothing wrong about it,” he replied. “This is the
Boys'
International Invitational Tournament.”

“Not on any of the material that I received. Not on the application or brochures or your web-site information or the hand-outs you gave us when we registered.”

“But it is officially listed in our founding charter as a boys' tournament,” he argued.

“And as such, your player, being a girl, is not eligible to participate in this tournament,” added one of the other officials.

“Then why didn't somebody mention that earlier? Like when I registered and included her birth certificate, which listed her as female, or at the reception, when I not only introduced her, but she was wearing a dress. Why wasn't it brought up then?”

It looked like none of the three men really wanted to deal with that one. Nobody stepped forward to offer an answer.

“I imagine you could say it was just an over-sight,” one of them finally answered.

“But one we did catch. And am I to understand that despite our ruling you chose to play your ineligible player?” questioned the third official.

“That's what my team decided, and I agreed with their decision one hundred percent!” Coach said.

“With that admission I'm afraid that we have no choice but to disqualify your entire team and — ”

“Excuse me!” a voice piped in from behind me.

I turned around. It was the New York Wild Cats' coach. Coming in behind him was his team.

“Would anybody care to hear the opinion of another coach?” he asked. “The coach of the other team that's in the finals?”

Great, didn't he think that getting tossed out was enough? What did he want to do, kick us when we were down? Did they all need to crowd in here to gloat over us leaving?

“Certainly, Coach Barton, your opinion is always most welcome!” beamed the mayor.

“Thank you,” he said as he walked to the front.

His team sauntered in. Most were still wearing their sunglasses. Those without shades looked at us like we were beneath them.

“I've been coming here for a long time now. My teams have been more successful than just about any team in the history of this tournament… as I'm sure you gentlemen are aware,” Coach Barton said.

There was a nodding of heads from the officials. “In fact, if your team wins today you will
become the winningest coach in the history of this tournament.” the mayor added.

“
When
we win,” one of his kids said under his breath.

“Yeah,
when
we win, not
if
we win,” another added, and a teammate gave him a low-five.

“And the reason we keep coming back,” their coach continued, “is because we have a chance to play against the very best teams.”

“We certainly do our best to ensure that through the invitations,” agreed one of the officials.

“So that's what's so confusing about this decision you've made,” Coach Barton said. “You're on the verge of eliminating one of the top two teams in this tournament.”

“Rules must be followed, Coach.”

“You wouldn't think that if you'd just witnessed the game between this team and the Mumford team,” Coach Barton said.

“Those refs were the worst,” I said, much louder than I thought.

“I agree,” Coach Barton said. “As I was saying, I brought my team here to play against the best. So before you make your final decision, I think you need to be aware that if you disqualify the Mississauga team, I will be pulling my team from the tournament.”

“You can't be serious!” exclaimed the mayor.

“I'm serious. My team and I came to that
decision together.”

Members of his team nodded their heads.

“Either we play the team that won that game, or we forfeit the finals. Is that how you want the local team to win?”

“Coach Barton, you need to be aware that if you withdraw, you risk not receiving an invitation to next year's tournament,” one of the officials warned.

“If I withdraw, I wouldn't
accept
an invitation to your tournament, and I'll make sure everybody — and I mean everybody — on the tournament circuit knows what happened here this weekend!”

“Not to mention what the whole world is going to be seeing on the evening news tonight,” my father added as he gestured to the camera in the back corner.

“So what's it going to be, gentlemen?” our coach asked.

“Um… it's… it's… we need a few minutes to discuss our final ruling,” one of them stammered.

The three officials got up from their seats and moved to the far corner of the room.

“Thank you,” Coach said as he walked over and shook Coach Barton's hand.

“That's not a problem. We came here to prove that we were the best team and we can't do that if
we don't play your team.”

“We may make you regret that decision,” Coach said.

“Not a chance,” he said.

“You don't think we have a chance to beat your team?” I exclaimed.

“I didn't say that,” he replied. “I said there's not a chance I'll regret playing your team. Win or lose, the important thing is that we played.” He stopped and smiled. “But I'm positive I know which team is going to walk away with the gold and which is going home with — ”

“Gentlemen!” announced the head official. “We have come to a decision.”

The entire room fell completely quiet. Was he going to reverse the decision? Would we be able to play?

“The finals will be held in the main gym at five o'clock,” he began. “And will be played between the New York City Wild Cats and — the Mississauga Ma — ”

He was cut off by the screaming and yelling that exploded in the room. We all went crazy! I grabbed Kia and gave her a big hug.

“We're in! We're in!”

Over her shoulder I saw that it wasn't just our team cheering, but the members of the Wild Cats. They seemed to be almost as excited as we were.

“Thank you, thank you for everything!” Coach beamed as he shook Coach Barton's hand again.

“It's my pleasure,” he said. “Besides, it's not every day you get to beat the team of a legend.”

“I'm no legend… and besides, who said anything about beating us?”

The two men broke into laugher, and Coach gave him a big pat on the back.

“Dad?” I asked. “Do you think we can beat them?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I guess we'll find out in an hour or so. But you know, either way, we've already won.”