Free Three-Point Play by Todd Hafer Page B

and jogged to the Eagle bench and plucked another ball from the stainless-steel rack on wheels. The rest of the team followed suit.
    Cody had just missed his fifth straight shot from the left wing when the buzzer sounded, meaning it was game time. Woulda been nice to make at least one shot , he complained to himself. Just to prove I can still shoot. Of course, I woulda sunk at least two or three if Gannon hadn’t shot at the same time and messed up my shots. What does it matter anyway? I’ll probably spend half the game on the bench. I can’t believe Coach didn’t make me a starter right away. Has he forgotten I made all-tournament team last year?
    Cody slumped at the end of the bench and watched Holy Family go on a 13–0 run to start the game. Keenan Jones took Bart to school on the first three Saint possessions, and, despite Coach Clayton’s pregame admonitions, Young dominated Slaven on the low post. If it had been Pork Chop at center, the story would have been different. But Pork Chop was playing JV ball. It had taken only three practices for the JV coach to wrest him from Coach Clayton’s clutches. He had notched eighteen points and fifteen boards (and four personal fouls and a warning for a technical foul) in his first junior varsity game. By midseason, Cody estimated, Chop would join Alston on the varsity.
    As the Eagle frosh jogged off the court at the end of the first quarter, Cody stared at Coach Clayton, whose narrow face was etched in a frown. “Just dandy, kiddies,” the coach said. “We’re down 16–2— to a team we whupped by 14 last year. Now, math never was my strong suit, but I do believe that makes us about 28 points worse. Did you guys forget everything I taught you last season? This is the most disgusting thing I’ve seen since my ex-mother-in-law donned a two-piece bathing suit at a family reunion. All y’all so-called starters can take a seat. I’m clearing my bench; second five in, now!”
    As Cody headed to the scorer’s table to check into the game, Coach Clayton hooked him by the elbow. “Dawg,” he whispered loudly, “how ‘bout stopping with the sulking, getting your head in the game, and starting with some leadership?”
    The words stung Cody. For a moment, he thought about protesting his coach’s sarcasm. Then he saw his four teammates wandering onto the court looking like immigrants stepping on US soil for the first time.
    â€œListen up,” Cody said, approaching them. “Jones is all mine. Hooper, you take Young. And don’t be afraid to front him. Wright, you help Hoop if he gets beaten down low. Lang, overplay Mack to his right. He’s got no left hand. Berringer, it looks like they’re putting in a new guy at two-guard—you got him. C’mon, let’s get back in this!”
    Almost as one, Cody’s four teammates stared at him and shrugged . They’re probably wondering who died and made me boss , he reasoned. But that’s okay. I’m not having us go out and get spanked like the starters— in our house! This is downright embarrassing!
    Holy Family got the ball to start the quarter. Mack drove right, then looked to lob to Young on the low block. Hooper fought his way in front of the much larger center and, after tipping the pass once, gained control of the ball.
    â€œOutlet, Hoop!” Cody barked at the backup center, holding his hands out. Hooper fired a chest pass to Cody, who immediately looked downcourt and spotted a streaking Berringer. Cody cocked his right arm and hurled a football-style pass—right over Berringer’s head.
    â€œWell, John Elway I am not,” Cody scolded himself, punctuating his remark with a slap across his thigh.
    As he backpedaled into defensive position, he heard Coach Clayton yelling, “That’s the right idea, fellas! Keep it up! Keep it up!”
    On the Saints’ next possession, Mack was successful