Free Airball by L.D. Harkrader Page B

his face, he could put it in. Not always. Maybe 50 percent of the time.
    If he had somebody guarding him, he’d get so nervous he’d fire the ball right over the backboard. Still, if he was by himself, facing no pressure, he could score some points. That was a strength. We could do something with that. And as tall as he was, if we could get him to actually jump instead of standing there flat-footed like a tree trunk, he might even pull down a couple of rebounds.
    I drew a little star by Manning’s name.
    Second player: Eddie Poggemeyer. Eddie was quick. Fearless. You could count on Eddie to go for the steal or the loose ball or the rebound. You could count on him to relentlessly dog the guy he was defending.
    Unfortunately, you could also count on him to foul out in two minutes flat. He wasn’t real careful about how he reached in for that steal or loose ball or rebound. He was also a little fuzzy on some of the finer points of the game, like, for instance, how sacking the quarterback is a big achievement in football, but it tends to get you thrown out of basketball games. Plus, he was a complete and total ball hog.
    Still, if we could get Eddie to make moves on the perimeter and draw all the defenders away from the basket, then convince him to lob a high pass to Manning (who’d be set up in the low post all by himself, because seriously, who’d be guarding a guy with no obvious basketball skills?), Manning could put it in. We could sneak in a few points that way. At least till the other team caught on.
    I put two stars by Eddie’s name and another one beside Manning. And made a little note: Make sure Manning knows he can’t just stand in the paint till Eddie throws the pass. We were going to be making enough mistakes through sheer athletic incompetence. We didn’t need to add a three-second violation every time we got the ball.
    Next player: Duncan Webber. Short. Slow. No game to speak of. Surprisingly, though, Duncan was our most consistent free-throw shooter. If we could get him to the line, he might actually score some points. Which meant, of course, that he’d have to take a lot of shots in order to get to the line. Not something we’d encourage under ordinary circumstances, since Duncan’s maybe a worse field-goal shooter than I am.
    But what if Duncan was allowed to shoot only at certain times? Say he’s surrounded by defenders, guys coming at him from all sides, arms everywhere. Duncan could go ahead and shoot, no matter how little chance he had of actually making the bucket. A foul would almost be guaranteed. He’d get a couple of free throws. And Stuckey would get a point or two.
    I put a star by Duncan’s name.
    Next up: Bragger. I thumped my eraser against the page, trying to think of something Bragger did on the court that could be classified as a strength.
    â€œHey.” A wadded sweat sock skidded across the page. “The reason they call it homework is because you’re supposed to do it at home.”
    I looked up, startled. Except for Bragger and me and about fifty soggy gym towels, the locker room was empty. I’d been so focused on strategy, I hadn’t even noticed the other guys had left.
    Bragger ambled over to pick up his sock. “Think maybe you could wash the stink off your body and get dressed so we can go home?”
    I slid my notebook and pencil into my backpack and headed for the showers.
    *   *   *
    When Bragger and I tromped into the kitchen, Grandma was going through the mail. She didn’t look up. Just handed me another newspaper clipping. This one was a lot smaller. And folded only once.
    â€œCousin Mildred?” I said.
    Grandma nodded. “Lucille Zimmer’s letter to the editor made the paper.”
    â€œMrs. Zimmer? Wow.” Bragger dumped his backpack by the door. “Stuckey’s gotten more press this week than it has in all the years since Brett McGrew graduated.”
    I