The Squared Circle (19 page)

“Why don't you tell us about that aspect of it, then?” asked Brosky.

“That's what I'm trying to do. My cousin hates basketball almost as much as she hates football. If she had her way, the only college teams would be debate teams or scholastic bowl.”

“This is too funny,” said Gardner, who was trying not to laugh. “Too, too funny.” He asked Yates and Brosky, “Do you honestly think Erika Neil had something to do with recruiting a basketball player for the SIU program?” But Gardner couldn't go on; he was laughing too hard.

The Bradley game was when it first happened. Round one of the Missouri Valley Conference tournament in the St. Louis Arena, a game in which the Salukis coasted by the Braves by 30 points. At the ten-minute mark of the first half, Sonny was floating again. A cold, clammy sweat in his palms was followed by shortness of breath. His legs went wobbly like he just missed a head-on collision on the highway. He went to the locker room, light in the head and with a towel draped over his shoulders. Daley, the team trainer, walked beside him.

Before the rest of the team came in at the half, there was time for Dr. Kelso to take his temperature and use the small flashlight to look in his eyes, ears, nose, and throat. No apparent abnormalities, so the doctor told him to rest up and get ready for the second half. Sonny lay flat on his back, listening to the distant, muffled roars of the crowd above. He thought to himself,
This is all in my head
. The most mysterious part seemed to be found in having knowledge of something so unfamiliar.

He felt strong enough at the start of the second half to swish a pair of quick three-pointers, but with 16 minutes showing, his legs were suddenly full of sand again. He was drained of color and drenched in sweat. For precautionary reasons, Gentry took him out of the game; it was a blowout in any case.

Sonny slumped on the bench with towels draped and his head in his hands. Workman took the seat next to him and said, “What's the matter, Sonny?”

This is all in my head
, Sonny thought again. But instead of answering, he simply shook his head.

“You're not out of shape, are you?”

“Are you serious? You see me in practice every day, how could I be out of shape?”

“Okay, okay, I take it back.”

The next night Sonny sucked it up as best he could. Tulsa played a 1-2-2 zone, so there were open shots on the wing, especially off Otis's quick penetrations. Sonny's jump shots were true as crosshairs, but they were only the stationary type; against a man-to-man, he wouldn't have had the strength to
get
a shot.

His defense was enervated. During time-outs and free throws, he clutched at his shorts and fought for breath. Mopped his sweat while trying to conceal his low-level case of the shakes. Sonny had 20 points, but only because the Tulsa defense was tailor-made for a series of undemanding jump shots. He breathed relief when the lead reached 30 points and Gentry began clearing the bench. After the game, Sonny threw up in one of the stalls, but nobody saw him.

Getting two days of rest seemed to help. By Monday night, when the Salukis played Creighton in the conference championship game, Sonny felt stronger. It seemed providential to be renewed in front of the 12,000 noisy fans and a national television audience.

He was quick to the basket against Creighton's overplay man defense, although he did pick up two charging fouls. They ran the double stack for a while, which freed him up for 15-footers near the free throw line. By halftime, when the lead was ten, Sonny had 21 points. He felt like he was all the way back.

But then came the second half, when the inexplicable weariness invaded his limbs. It was as if all his bodily fluids were much too heavy. He was about to get the shakes again, and he had some minor vertigo. His slow-motion defense led to two more fouls, which forced Gentry to sit him on the bench.

The lead was safe, although Creighton made a couple of runs late in the game. Sonny sat in his impotent cell of frustration and bewilderment, broken in a cold sweat. His legs shaky as pudding, a towel across his lap, and another around his shoulders. Grateful, as his teammates put the game away at the free throw line, that Gentry wouldn't send him back into the game.

During the post-game celebration, while his teammates cut down the nets, Sonny held the ladder. Or it held him. There would be no postgame interviews, in compliance with Gentry's current policy that made the players off-limits to reporters.

In their locker room, the players watched Gentry's press conference on closed-circuit TV. It didn't take long for the reporters to raise the issue of the NCAA investigation, but Gentry turned it aside with a crisp, firm disclaimer. “I don't intend to answer questions about that subject. Even if I wanted to talk about it, I'm not allowed to. I'll be happy to answer questions about the game, or about our team.”

After that, it didn't take the press very long to resurrect the strength-of-schedule agenda. A reporter wanted to know if SIU's “soft” schedule would hurt the team's chances in the NCAA tournament.

His struggle for patience clearly visible, Gentry answered in monotones. “Okay, let's do this one more time. ‘Soft' is your word. We won the Big Apple NIT, the Memphis Invitational, and the regular-season Missouri Valley championship. Now we've won the MVC tournament. We're the only undefeated major in the country and we've been number one in all the polls for nearly three weeks. Now you people tell me: Who votes in the polls? You do. If you don't think we're that good, then I suggest you exercise your ballot-box rights and vote us lower.”

“Tell 'em, Coach,” said Robert Lee, who was seated next to Sonny. “These fucking writers. What the hell did they ever play except maybe a few games of pocket pool?”

Sonny didn't say a word. He watched the monitor as one of the reporters asked the coach, “Can you tell us anything about Youngblood's condition?”

“He may have a touch of the flu. Our team physician is working with him. He'll have a few days of rest now, to get ready for the first round of the tournament.”

“If he were unable to play, how would that affect your team's chances in the tournament?”

Gentry smiled for the first time. “How much would it help any team to lose a key player? But we don't expect anything like that. A little rest and Sonny should be just fine.”

A writer wanted to know if Gentry thought it was important to be seeded number one by the NCAA selection committee.

“Only because our fans would benefit. It would mean they'd put us in the Indianapolis regional,” the coach replied. “It's close to home, so our fans would be able to watch us play.”

Robert Lee was wearing an uneven necklace of nylon net. When the press conference was over he asked Sonny, “Are you okay, man?”

Sonny didn't feel the shakes anymore, and there was no floating. But he was still cold and clammy. “I'll be fine,” he said. Most of the players, having lost interest in the press conference, were in the showers. The steam crept like fog to permeate the locker-room area, but Sonny felt like the real fog was wrapped around his brain.

“Come on,” said Robert Lee. “Let's hit the showers.”

“Go ahead. I'll be there in a minute.”

“He knows, Sonny.”

Sonny switched off the radio and lifted his turn signal lever before he made an answer. “You mean Uncle Seth.”

He used his side mirror to merge while Aunt Jane said, “Yes.”

Before he said anything, Sonny got the car into the left lane flow of traffic. “He was bound to find out. Nobody's been trying to hide anything.” At the edge of the highway, some dirty residual slush clung to its position, but the pavement itself was merely wet. The wipers were on intermittent.

“I didn't tell him, Sonny. He found out on his own.”

“Like I said, nobody tried to hide anything. Is he pissed?”

Aunt Jane popped a Life Saver before offering him one, “Of course he's upset. Of all times for you to be spending time with Sissy, the worst would be right in the middle of all this SIU basketball glory. At least that's how it would seem to him.”

“You'd think it might make him happy. Me and his own daughter getting to know one another.” Not that he believed his own words for a minute.

“It makes me very happy,” Aunt Jane said, “but it will only make Seth angry.”

“Why does he hate her so much?”

“It isn't hate, Sonny. It's rejection.”

“Okay then, why does he reject her so much?”

“Once upon a time there was a condition known as the generation gap.”

“I've heard of it. You're talking about that Vietnamera protest stuff from the sixties.”

“You've heard of it, but you never lived through it. He just can't forgive her for rejecting his way of life.”

Sonny turned the heater fan up to the next number. “That's a lot of grudge for a long time just over a different view of life.”

“You can say that again.”

When they got back, the part of the driveway nearest the road, where the lindens were clustered, was a partly frozen, treacherous surface, covered by an inch of water. Further back, by the house and shed, the gravel was simply wet. It was starting to rain again.

The blue Olds was parked beside the back porch. “He's back home,” his aunt observed. “Are you coming inside?”

“Hell, yes. I'm not gonna start hiding from my uncle just because he might be pissed.”

They were only at the kitchen table long enough for Aunt Jane to get the pot boiling when his uncle lumbered in. He slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, only half recovered from his nap on the den couch. Seth fished a cigarette from his shirt pocket before he said, “Just tell me why, Sonny. Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“You know what. I mean, why Sissy?” Seth was rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fists. Trying to flatten down his scattered, thinning hair.

“I like Sissy, Uncle Seth.”

“Oh, God. You have no idea.”

“No idea of what?”

“No idea the trouble you're askin' for. You know what a ball-buster is, Sonny?”

Aunt Jane at the stove had tears in her eyes. “That's enough of that kind of talk.”

“You're talking about your own daughter, Uncle Seth.”

“I know goddamn good and well who I'm talking about!” He lifted his eyes for the first time to look Sonny in the face. “The thing is, Sonny, she just doesn't have regular values.”

“Let's say she has different values. Isn't that a right people have?”

“What are you,
living
with her?”

“No, I'm not living with her. I spend time at her house, but I'm not living with her.”

“Don't you know what we're talking about here? My God, you guys are on target for a national championship! You can't let people like Sissy distract you from something this big!”

Sonny was losing patience with this. It felt like another NCAA grilling. “When we lose a game, we can worry about it. You better think about this, Uncle Seth: If it wasn't for Sissy, I probably wouldn't even be eligible.”

This reminder gave Uncle Seth reason to pause. He got a beer from the fridge before he said, “Are you going to tell me that Sissy cares about SIU basketball all of a sudden? She's been an anti-sports fanatic for twenty years.”

“No,” answered Sonny evenly. “I'm telling you that Sissy cares about me.”

“Aaaaach!” his uncle exclaimed. Stood up abruptly to put both hands on top of his head and begin pacing. “I have to take a piss. Don't go away.”

“Why should I go away?” While Seth was gone, Aunt Jane brushed her eyes once or twice, then poured two cups of steaming cocoa. It looked like Seth would be drinking beer. Sonny warmed his fingers by wrapping them around the ceramic blue mug, but he didn't say anything.

When Seth returned, the first thing Sonny said to him was, “Do you want to hear about my mom?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“We just got back from visiting her in the hospital. Don't you want to hear how it went?”

“Is there somethin' to tell? I'm trying to help you out of a situation that could be a lot worse than you realize.”

“I'd say it's my mom who's got a situation. She's in the loony bin.”

Uncle Seth looked embarrassed. He lit up another cigarette and played with his lighter by adjusting the flame up and down. “So what's to tell?”

“She's taken up smoking.”

“What are you saying to me?” So tortured was his body language that his to-and-fro shifting nearly thrashed his chair. On his face was an infinitely pained expression. “How can she smoke? Does she have enough wits about her to light a cigarette and smoke it?”

Aunt Jane said, “Not really. You remember the blue cashmere sweater we got her for Christmas?”

“Let's say I do. What about it?”

“She's burned some holes in it. Apparently, when the cigarette burns her fingers, she lets it drop on her clothing.”

Seth was holding his head again. “Are we going nuts here? Why would they let her have cigarettes in the hospital, or something to light them with?”

“That's what we said,” Sonny answered. “It was like they didn't even know she had them or where she got them. Someone probably smuggled them in. They promised it wouldn't happen again.”

“Okay, then it's taken care of.”

Finished with his cocoa, Sonny stood up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Carbondale,” Sonny replied.

“Just like that? I thought this was your spring break.”

“It is, but I'm going to spend it on campus. We've got practice, don't forget.”

“Are you gonna be with Sissy? Is that the part you're not telling me?”

“That, too,” Sonny admitted. He was zipping his coat. “We've only got two more fresco panels to bring up from Makanda, and then we should be done.”