Long Shot - Mike Lupica [1]
Today the kids had the gym all to themselves, school having been dismissed early because of teacher conferences. But Mr. Lucchino, the principal, had offered to stick around and let them use the gym, knowing that the first practice for the town team was the following Wednesday night, now that the players had been selected.
“Last day of spring training,” Mr. Lucchino had said before rolling out the cart with the balls on it.
Pedro, a point guard, was on Ned’s team today. Ned had picked him first even though he could have gone for a bigger guy. Ned liked playing with Pedro, too, because Pedro could pass. Not as well as Ned could. Nobody their age in Vernon could do anything in basketball as well as Ned could.
But Ned always wanted guys around him who knew how to pass. Even though he was only eleven years old, it was as if he already knew exactly how basketball was meant to be played. And that started with moving the ball.
Pedro felt the same way. Playing with Ned, going back to last year when they were old enough to play on their first town team together, reminded him why he loved basketball so much, loved it the way his father, who had been a star soccer player as a boy in Mexico, had always wanted him to love soccer.
Now the game Pedro and the rest of his friends were playing—first to ten baskets, didn’t have to win by two—was tied at 9-all. Pedro’s team had the ball. As they were taking it out under their basket, Ned said to Pedro, “Let’s do this.”
Ned was serious. It wasn’t a pickup game to him now. If they were keeping score, he wanted to win. Even though they all knew there would be another game after this, and another game after that, until Mr. Lucchino finally told them to go wait out front for their parents.
When it was game point, Ned Hancock always played like he was playing for the championship of something, even if it was just the next time down the court.
Ned was a small forward, even though he wasn’t small. He was tall enough to play center and a good enough shooter to play shooting guard. If he wanted to play point guard, he would have been better at handling and distributing the ball than Pedro was.
But he played forward. Point forward—that’s the way Pedro thought of him, like they had two point guards in the game at the same time when they were on the same team.
Ned was a point everything, really.
Mr. Everything, that’s what he was in basketball, and in their school, where he was the best student among the boys. He was even about to get elected president of Vernon Middle.
Forget about president of Vernon Middle, it was as if Ned was the mayor of all the kids their age in Vernon.
Before Ned inbounded the ball, he bent down to tie his sneakers, just as a way of buying a little time. As he did, he said to Pedro, “Let’s run a high pick-and-roll. You and me. Just without the roll.”
“Could you try that again in plain English?” Pedro said.
Ned did.
Pedro smiled as he began dribbling up the court.
Joe Sutter, the best rebounder in their grade and Pedro’s best bud, was also on their team. Pedro wasn’t worried about Joe getting in the way, because even though Joe didn’t say much, he also didn’t miss much. Sometimes he had a way of reading Pedro’s mind, in a basketball game, a soccer game, or even in a video game.
Jeff Harmon—Ned’s best bud—was guarding Pedro.
“Watch out for a trick play,” Jeff called out. “I saw them talking down there.”
Pedro was past half-court now, holding up a fist, which everybody on both teams knew meant absolutely nothing.
“Very funny,” Jeff said.
No, Pedro thought, just plain fun.
This was always the best of it for him, in any sport, when he could see a play inside his head and was about to make it happen.
As soon as he began dribbling to his right, Joe cleared out of there and ran to the other side of the court. Like he just knew it was going to be a two-man game now—Ned and Pedro—the same way it had been so many times last season on