FRED BOWEN

Published by PEACHTREE PUBLISHERS1700 Chattahoochee AvenueAtlanta, Georgia 30318-2112

www.peachtree-online.com

Text © 1998 by Fred Bowen

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in aretrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic,mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations inprinted reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Full-court press diagram and text reprinted courtesy of Sports IllustratedMarch 29, 1965. Copyright © 1965, Time Inc. “The Power of the Press” byFrank Deford. All Rights Reserved.

Photos of 1964 NCAA Champions, the UCLA Bruins, and UCLA Coach JohnWooden, copyright © ASUCLA PHOTOGRAPHY.

Cover design by Thomas Gonzalez and Maureen WitheeBook design by Melanie McMahon Ives and Loraine M. Joyner

Printed in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1First Revised Edition

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bowen, Fred.Full court fever / written by Fred Bowen.

p. cm.Summary: With help from a new student and inspiration from an old maga-

zine article, the players on Michael’s seventh-grade basketball team hope toovercome their shortness and win their game against the eighth graders.Includes facts about the UCLA Bruins and their use of the full-court press.

ISBN 978-1-56145-508-9 / 1-56145-508-3[1. Basketball--Fiction. 2. Self-confidence--Fiction. 3. Size--Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.B6724Fu 2009[Fic]--dc22

2009016856

For my parents, for my brothers and sisters,and for all the house championships

lost and won at 42 Leicester Road

Michael Mancino could hear thegame as he approached the parknext to the school. He heard the

ball pounding the pavement and sneakersscraping against the blacktop. He heardvoices rising into the sunlit winter sky andthe distant clanging of a loose metal rim.

After Michael turned the corner of thetan brick school building, he stood for amoment with his basketball on his hip andstudied the court in front of him.

He saw Kelvin Wells, Conor Kilgore, andCharlie Rosenthal, three of his teammatesfrom the Falcons seventh-grade basketballteam, shooting baskets. Their breath andvoices sent small puffs of white mist intothe chilled December air.

One

Suddenly the ball bounced wildly off thecourt. Charlie jogged after it, looked up, andsaw Michael standing at the side of theschool.

“Hey, Michael’s here!” he shouted. “Nowwe’ve got enough for a game of two-on-two.”

Michael trotted onto the court, took a fewquick dribbles with his basketball, andattempted a long shot. Air ball.

“How about Michael and me against youtwo?” Conor suggested, ignoring Michael’sshot.

Kelvin and Charlie eyed each other insilence. “I don’t know,” Kelvin said slowly.

“Come on,” Conor said, sounding annoyed.“We’re all about the same size. Let’s justplay.”

“Hey, let me have a couple of shots, willya?” Michael said, grabbing the boys’ bas-ketball and dribbling around the court.“You guys are all warmed up.”

But Conor was ready to play. “Well, hurryup,” he said impatiently.

“Game to seven. We’ll switch teams aftereach game,” Kelvin said.

2

“All right,” Conor agreed.“I’ll shoot to see who gets the ball first,”

said Kelvin, placing his feet at the foul line.He bounced the ball three times and eyedthe rim.

“Hey, can we play?” a voice sounded fromthe other end of the court. The four friendsturned and squinted into the setting sun.There, standing like a tall picket fence, werefour eighth graders: Jake McClure, JamesBecker, Jerome Dobson, and Johnny Palotta.The four boys walked closer, their long shad-ows stretching black across the court.

“Uh-oh,” Charlie whispered to Michael.“It’s ‘The Four Js’: Jake, James—”

“Jerome and Johnny,” Michael chimed in,finishing the lineup.

“We’re just starting a game,” Kelvin saidto the newcomers, and he turned to lookback at the basket.

“Come on, let’s play four-on-four,” JamesBecker said, dribbling closer to Kelvin andhis teammates.

The seventh-grade Falcons looked ateach other, agreeing in silence.

3

“Okay, what are the teams?” Conorasked.

“Us four against you four,” James saidwith a wide smile.

“No way!” Michael blurted out. “You guysare all eighth graders.”

“Yeah,” Kelvin agreed. “You’re all olderand taller than we are. You’ll kill us.”

“Come on, you guys are just a yearbehind us,” Jerome Dobson said, flipping aneasy jump shot at the basket.

“All right,” Michael said. “The foureighth graders against the four seventhgraders. But Kelvin shoots to see who getsthe ball first.”

Kelvin set his feet once again across thefoul line. He bounced the ball three timesand took a deep breath, then dipped his legsslightly and sent the ball spinning towardthe basket. Swish. Nothing but net.

Jake McClure grabbed the bouncing balland tossed it to Michael. “Your ball,” hesaid. “Game to eleven by ones. I’m coveringMichael.”

The boys darted into action. Michael

4

snapped a quick pass to Kelvin, who passedto Conor for the shot. Swish.

“1–0,” Michael said happily. “Winnersout, right? If a team scores a basket theykeep the ball, right?”

“Winners out,” Jake agreed.Michael passed to Charlie in the corner.

Charlie faked a shot, then dribbled under-neath the basket and spun a shot againstthe backboard and through the net.

“All right. 2–0!”“My man, Charlie!”Then Kelvin made a long jump shot and

the score was 3–0. “Are we playing 7–0 is ashutout?” Kelvin asked with a grin.

Jerome Dobson bounced Kelvin the ball.“You’re a long way from a shutout, wise guy.Just play ball.”

Kelvin’s next jumper bounced off the rim,and James Becker got the rebound. “Let’sgo to work,” he cried.

The older boys did just that. Using crisppasses and their greater height, the eighthgraders worked the ball close to the basketfor easy scores. In no time, the younger

5

Falcons’ lead had vanished and the eighthgraders were ahead.

“What’s the count?” Michael asked,catching his breath.

“6–3, us,” Johnny Palotta replied.“Come on, let’s get some rebounds,”

Conor pleaded.Michael darted out and intercepted the

ball, whirled quickly, and flipped a pass toCharlie. Charlie swished a short jumper.6–4.

But that was the last basket Michaeland his friends could score. The eighthgraders scored five straight baskets. JamesBecker muscled up over Charlie, sendingCharlie’s glasses flying as he scored thefinal basket.

“Game,” James said as the ball fellthrough the net. “Do you guys want to playanother?”

“No, thanks,” Charlie said, leaning overto pick up his glasses.

“Come on, guys,” James said to hisfriends. “Maybe we can find a real game upat the high school.”

6

The older players strutted off. “See youboys at the end of the season,” Johnnycalled back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, good luck in the seventh grade–eighth grade game,” Jerome said.

Michael and his friends milled aroundthe basket, tossing up lazy shots.

“How are your glasses, Charlie?” Michaelasked.

Charlie tilted his glasses. “They’re kindawobbly, but that’s okay,” he said. “Do youguys want to play two-on-two?”

“Nah,” Kelvin said, shaking his head.“Man, they killed us,” Conor said.“We had it going for a while,” Charlie

said bravely. “We were up 3–0.”“Yeah, but we lost 11–4,” Michael said

flatly.Kelvin took a shot. “It’s the same old

problem,” he said. “We got no big guys, sowe get no rebounds.”

“We’re not really small,” Michael said.“We’re just regular.”

Kelvin laughed. “So we get beat regular.”“We’re fast, and we’re good shooters,”

7

Michael insisted. “We hardly missed ashot.”

“Yeah,” Kelvin agreed as the boys eachstarted to head for home. “But before youcan shoot the ball, you gotta get the ball.”

8

Michael dribbled all the way home.First he dribbled with his righthand. Then he switched and drib-

bled with his left. Always keeping his headup, Michael moved easily through the streetsof his hometown.

As he turned the corner onto his street,Michael could see the basketball backboardand rim nailed to the Mancinos’ garageexactly ten feet above the blacktop driveway.

Michael’s father had set up the basketshortly before Michael’s parents haddivorced. That was five years ago.

Good, Mom’s car isn’t here. I can practicemy jump shot, Michael thought as he drib-bled up to the house and noticed the emptydriveway. He pulled off his sweatshirt and

Two

tossed it on the muddy lawn. Then he took aquick dribble and shot a long jumper thatbounced off the rim. He reached up, grabbingthe ball as fiercely as he would in a realgame.

“Mancino snaps down the rebound,”Michael said, pretending to be both theannouncer and the player in a professionalgame. “He dribbles to the corner. Thedefense just can’t stop him. He shoots.”Michael lofted a perfect jump shot thatfloated up to the basket and splashedthrough the net. He threw his hands up incelebration and shouted: “Mancino scores!It’s all over. The Falcons win!” He tried tomake his voice sound like the roar of 10,000screaming fans.

“Hey, Michael Jordan. You know whenMom’s getting home?”

Michael felt the blood rush to his face ashe turned and saw his older brother Danielstanding in the back doorway. “I think she’strying to sell the Schafer house,” Michaelsaid, trying to act as if his face weren’t brightred. “She’ll be back for dinner. Where haveyou been?”

10

“Working at the House of Cards. Hey, aguy brought in a whole bunch of old SportsIllustrateds today. There must be over twohundred. They’re cool. Where have youbeen?”

“Down at the park. I was playing hoops,”Michael said, practicing his between-the-legs dribble.

“Who was there?”“Some of the guys from the team: Kelvin,

Conor, and Charlie. We played a bunch ofeighth graders.”

“How’d you do?”“They killed us, 11–4. We couldn’t get any

rebounds,” Michael said with a frown,remembering the game.

“You gotta keep moving around againstthose big guys,” Daniel said, trying to offersome advice.

“We were moving. But that didn’t do anygood!” Michael snapped back. “Those guysare gonna kill us in the seventh–eighthgrade game at the end of the season.”

Daniel nodded. “The eighth graders alwayswin that one. They’re older and bigger.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

11

Daniel stepped out onto the driveway andheld out his hands for the ball. “Come on,” hesaid, “give me a shot.”

Michael passed the ball to Daniel, whobanked a quick jump shot through the net.

“One-on-one for the house championship,”Daniel suggested, tossing the ball to hisbrother.

Michael groaned. “Man, if I can’t beat aneighth grader, how am I gonna beat a tenthgrader?”

Daniel’s face twisted into a look of disgust.“You’re never gonna beat me if you just keepwhining about it,” he said. “Come on. Gameto seven. Your ball.”

Michael sighed, sensing his second defeatof the day. “Okay,” he said.

On the first play, Michael faked and drovehard to the right. He hooked a shot up overDaniel’s outstretched hand, and the ballnudged off the backboard and through thehoop.

“Lucky shot,” Daniel said, tossing the ballto Michael.

Next Michael tried a quick shot that

12

bounced off the rim. Daniel grabbed therebound and dribbled back to the foul line.He backed his way to the basket, bumpinghis younger brother closer to the hoop. Thenhe tossed in an easy ten-foot jumper.

“1–1,” Daniel said cheerfully.The game continued, hard fought like the

thousand house-championship games before.Michael used his speed and skill to try toovercome Daniel’s size and strength.

“What’s the count?” Michael asked afterscoring on a twisting layup.

“6–4,” Daniel answered. “My way.”“Gotta win by two?” Michael asked.Daniel shook his head. “Nah. Straight

seven. It’s getting dark. First guy to sevenwins.”

Just then, the boys’ mom pulled the familycar into the driveway and honked the horn.

Michael and Daniel waved her back.“Don’t pull the car up, Mom,” Daniel said.

“We’re almost done with the game.”Janine Mancino stuck her head out the

car window. “You kids want to go out forpizza tonight? I sold the Schafer house.”

13

“Yeah, one second. Just one more basket,”Daniel answered. “I gotta teach Michaelsome respect for his older brother.”

Michael dribbled right, then spun quicklyto his left. But Daniel reacted quickly andforced Michael to take an off-balance shot.The ball clanged off the rim. Daniel snatchedthe rebound, dribbled to the foul line, andwhirled around, driving hard to the basket.Michael dashed back on defense, trying toblock his brother’s path to the basket. ButDaniel placed the ball high above Michael’shands and laid in the winning basket.

“Game. 7–4,” Daniel said, patting Michaelon the head. “Maybe next time, littlebrother.” Michael stared up at the rim andthen turned to watch his older brother run tothe car and get into the front seat.

“Come on, Michael, hurry up,” his mothercalled.

Michael picked up the ball and tossed onelast shot through the strings. Then hewalked slowly to the car and got in the backseat.

14

All right,” Coach Cummings called,“warm-up drill. Chest passes.” Theseventh-grade Falcons eagerly lined

up in the four corners of the basketballcourt.

“Go!”Michael started dribbling as fast as he

could. Looking up, he snapped a chest passto Gina Brillante, who was standing in themiddle of the court. Gina was a high schooljunior who was Coach Cummings’s assistantcoach. Gina returned the pass to Michael,who caught it, dribbled, and passed to T. J.Burns at the opposite end of the gym. T. J.raced by Michael, who got in line behindKelvin. Soon two lines of flashing Falcons

Three

were streaking up and down the courtthrough the rays of afternoon sunlight thatslanted in from the windows high above thepolished gym floor. The two coaches shoutedinstructions above the echoes of squeakingsneakers and pounding basketballs.

“Head up, T. J. Always look up.”“Come on, Conor. Let’s hustle.”“Snap passes, Kelvin. Nothing sloppy.”“Stretch it out, Bobby. You’re running

like a duck.”“Left hand, Michael, left hand.”Coach Cummings’s whistle pierced the

noise of the gym.“Layups,” he called.Without a word, the Falcons broke into

two lines. Passes flew. Players ran. A steadystream of balls glanced off the glass back-board and into the net. Again the whistlesounded.

“All right, line up along the foul line byheight,” Coach Cummings ordered. “T. J. tomy left, tallest guy to my right.”

The Falcons fell in line, finally settlingon an order after several good-naturedarguments.

16

“There’s no way you’re taller.”“I got you by an inch, Conor.”“I’m taller than you, Bobby, you just got

taller hair.”Coach Cummings, a tall young man with

a whistle dangling from his neck, stood infront of the Falcons and smiled. “There’sour problem,” he said. “You guys are allabout the same size.”

“Except for T. J.,” Kelvin said, laughing.“He’s the smallest.”

“The only thing big about you, Kelvin, isyour mouth,” T. J. shot back.

“Cut it out,” Coach Cummings saidsternly. “Well, we don’t have any big guys sowe better learn to rebound. Come on, Gina.Let’s show ’em.”

The coaches stepped toward the basket.“Listen up,” Coach Cummings called.

“We might have won our first game if wehad gotten more rebounds.”

The team crowded closer, and the coachtossed the ball to Charlie Rosenthal.

“Take a shot, Charlie. Gina, you go forthe rebound and I’ll keep you from gettingit: I’ll box you out.”

17

As the ball left Charlie’s hands and floatedtoward the basket, the coach described whathe was doing. “When the ball goes up, I startboxing out Gina. That means that while I’mlooking for the rebound, I’m keeping Ginabehind me. I’m blocking her so she can’t getthe rebound before I do.”

Charlie’s shot bounced high off the rim,and Coach Cummings kept talking. “Okay,now I keep my eye on the ball, and Gina’sbehind me. She’s trying to get around mebut I get my hands up, jump, and reach forthe rebound.”

Coach Cummings leaped and pulled theball from the air, letting out a loud “Aargh!”His booming voice filled the gym.

The Falcons laughed as the coach landedwith a thud.

“You guys think it’s funny,” he said witha smile. “But rebounding is attitude. Yougotta be aggressive to be a good rebounder.So I want to hear some roars.”

The coach tossed the ball to Charlie.“Take another shot,” he said. “Gina, try toget around me.”

18

Again the ball went up. “Remember, keepyour feet moving. Stay between your manand the basket,” Coach Cummings said.

Another leap. Another roar. Anotherrebound.

The coach rested the ball on his hip. “Ifwe do it right,” he said, “we can getrebounds even without big guys.”

Coach Cummings pointed to the basketat the other end of the floor. “Gina, you takeT. J., Conor, Bobby, Danny, and Jason downthere. Michael, Kelvin, Martin, Walter, andCharlie, stay with me.”

“Okay,” Coach Cummings said to the fiveplayers gathered around him. “One playershoots. Two players box out the other twoplayers for the rebound. Any questions?”

Coach Cummings looked at the Falcons.“Okay. Let’s go, and I want to hear someroars.”

Michael and Kelvin stood under the bas-ket ready to box out their teammates, Mar-tin Estevao and Walter Albee. As CoachCummings watched, Charlie tossed up ajump shot. Michael and Kelvin battled to

19

hold their positions, their sneakers squeak-ing against the polished floor. The ballbounced off the rim and backboard towardKelvin’s side of the basket. Kelvin quicklymoved in front of Walter and set his feet forthe rebound. As he leaped, Kelvin gave outan enormous roar.

“Aargh!”But the ball bounced off Kelvin’s fingers

and trickled out of bounds. Coach Cummings couldn’t keep from

laughing. “You’ve got the roar down,Kelvin,” he said. “Now let’s try to get theball.”

An hour later, after practice, Michaelstood under the same basket, grabbingrebounds and tossing the ball out to Gina,who flipped shot after shot up to the basket.Kelvin sat with his back against the paddedgym wall, his practice shirt dark with sweatand his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Come on, Kelvin,” Michael scolded. “Ithought you were gonna help me reboundfor Gina.”

Kelvin let out a deep breath. “Man, I’mtired from all that roaring.”

20

“You laugh,” Gina said as she swishedanother shot, “but if you do what the coachsays, we’ll get some rebounds and win somegames.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kelvin answered. “But itsure would be a lot easier on my voice if wejust had some big guys.”

21

Come on, guys, box out. We gotta getsome rebounds!” Coach Cummingsyelled, standing above the huddle of

Falcons during the time out. Michael lookedpast his circle of teammates at the score-board. The Woodlin Wizards were up by sixpoints.

Looks like we’re gonna lose another one,Michael thought, shaking his head.

“There’s plenty of time left.” Coach Cum-mings took a deep breath and sounded calmerthan before. “T. J., report in for Walter.”

Four

VISITORVISITORHOMEHOME

PERIOD425 31

05:35

The referee’s whistle blew. Coach Cum-mings put his hand out into the middle ofthe huddle. Michael put his hand on top ofthe coach’s hand, and the players’ handspiled up, one on top of another. “Let’s boxout and get some rebounds!” Coach Cum-mings said firmly.

“DEE-fense!” the Falcons shouted as theyyanked their hands from the pile andheaded back onto the court.

The Wizards stretched the lead to33–25 on a quick basket. But the Falconscame back when Conor hit a long jumper.33–27.

Then Michael darted out and picked off acareless crosscourt pass. He dribbled inalone for an easy layup. 33–29. The Wiz-ards missed their next shot and Kelvingrabbed the rebound with a roar. Hepassed the ball to Michael, who saw T. J.racing downcourt. Michael’s pass was per-fect, and T. J. laid the ball in to make thescore 33–31.

The Wizards coach was up off the bench.“Time out. Time out!” he called.

The Falcons bench was on its feet too.

23

“Good hoop, T. J.”“Great pass, Michael.”“How to roar, Kelvin.”The time out seemed to settle the Wiz-

ards. They came downcourt and worked theball in to their tallest player with a series ofquick passes. Keeping the ball high, the tallplayer turned to the basket and shot theball over Charlie Rosenthal.

Michael heard a hard slap against thetall Wizard’s wrist as the ball left his handand headed for the basket. The referee’swhistle blew as the ball rolled around therim, touched off the backboard, and fellthrough the net.

“The basket is good,” the referee said.Then he pointed to Charlie. “Foul on num-ber 22. One shot,” he said.

The Wizards foul shot hit the back of therim and bounced long. Michael reachedhigh for the rebound, but a taller Wizardforward snapped down the ball.

Michael looked desperately at the score-board. Wizards 35, Falcons 31. Down byfour, their ball, and only a minute and a

24

half left to play, he thought. We gotta get theball back. Coach Cummings stood at theFalcons bench waving his arms. “Pick upmen!” he shouted, ordering the Falcons toplay man-to-man defense.

The Falcons shouted out the players theywere covering.

“I got number twelve.”“Michael, take the blond guy.”“T. J., cover number six.”But in the confusion, the player Michael

was supposed to be covering suddenly cut tothe basket, caught a bullet pass, and laidthe ball in. Michael’s shoulders sank. Man,I never should have let that guy score!Michael thought. The Falcons were down37–31 with less than a minute to play.

The game seemed to drift away afterthat. The teams traded baskets, but theFalcons’ chances for victory had vanished.

After the game, Michael walked over tothe scorer’s table where his brother Danielwas working as the official scorekeeper.

“Good game,” Daniel said. “You guysalmost came back in the fourth quarter.”

25

“Almost,” Michael said. His voice wastired and discouraged.

The two boys studied the scorer’s sheet.

26

12

34

56

78

910

1112

1314

1516

1718

1920

2122

2324

2526

2728

2930

3132

3334

3536

3738

3940

4142

4344

4546

4748

4950

5152

5354

5556

5758

5960

6162

6364

6566

6768

69 7

071

72

7374

7576

7778

7980

8182

8384

8586

8788

8990

9192

9394

95 9

697

9899

100

101

102

103

104

105

106

107

108

109

110

111

112

113

114

115

116

117

118

119

120

OF

FIC

IAL

SC

OR

ER

OF

FIC

IAL

TIM

EK

EE

PE

R

TE

AM

CO

AC

HD

AT

ER

EF

ER

EE

PL

AY

ED

AT

RE

CO

RD

W L

GA

ME

NO

.R

EF

ER

EE

PO

SQ

TS

PL

DN

UM

PL

AY

ER

NA

ME

FIR

ST

HA

LF

SC

OR

ING

SE

CO

ND

HA

LF

SC

OR

ING

FO

UL

S

12

34

5T

1T

22 4

1 3

1ST

QU

AR

TE

RH

V

2ND

QU

AR

TE

RH

V

3RD

QU

AR

TE

RH

V

4TH

QU

AR

TE

RH

V

1ST

OV

ER

TIM

EH

V

2ND

OV

ER

TIM

EH

V

FIN

AL

SC

OR

EH

VO

VE

RT

IME

1ST

2ND

RE

BO

UN

DS

AS

SIS

TS

PO

INT

S

TE

AM

TO

TAL

S

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

2 41 3

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2

12

34

5T

1T

2Daniel Mancino “ FalconsCummings C

. FinkG G CMancino Burns Rosenthal Kilgore FF FDrummer Wells Estevao Black Li AlbeeC F G G// /// // / // / /2 1 1 2 2 1 1 2 22 2 2 2 22 3 2 1111117 12 11 113 10 3 2 2 2 1 1ll 11 11 11 111 11 1 1

1419176338 814 1821 2633 39

33 391-11/ /// // /// // /// // /// // //

/ // /// // /

Daniel circled a number on the sheet.“You guys didn’t get many rebounds,” he

observed. “You gotta box out.”“We were boxing out,” Michael protested.

“They just reached over us.”Michael’s mother joined the two boys and

put her arm around her younger son. “That was a great game,” she said. “You

really played hard.”Michael smiled a weak smile.“You ready to go home?” his mother asked.“Sure.”As the Mancinos drove through town,

Michael sat in the back seat staring out thewindow at the lightly falling snow and thepassing Christmas lights. Daniel and hismother sat in the front seat talking aboutthe holiday, but Michael wasn’t listening.He was still thinking about the game.

“Oh!” his mother exclaimed. “Let’s go bythe town Christmas tree.”

Janine Mancino drove the family carcarefully through the town’s narrow streets.The snow crunched beneath the tires as theMancinos pulled to a stop in front of the

27

small park where the tree stood tall andbright.

The family stood together under the treeand watched as the colored lights playfullytwinkled on and off.

“Do you remember when you boys werelittle and I brought you down here to seeSanta Claus?”

“Sure,” Daniel laughed. “Michael was soscared, he burst into tears.”

“Of course I was scared,” Michael said,remembering. “He was huge!”

The boys inched closer to their mother,leaning against her for warmth from thebiting cold. For a few moments, no one saidanything. They were happy just to be look-ing up at the tree and breathing in the scentof fresh evergreen.

“What are you boys wishing for thisChristmas?” Michael’s mother finally asked.

Michael kept looking up into the fallingsnow, the dark green tree, and the multicol-ored lights. He knew just what he wantedfor Christmas.

I wish our team could get a big guy.

28

On the first day back from Christmasvacation, Michael and Kelvin stoodstudying the basketball schedule

posted on the wall outside the gym.

7th Grade Boys BasketballDec 14 1:00 P.M. at St. Johns L 35–30Dec 21 4:00 P.M. Woodlin L 39–33Jan 11 2:00 P.M. at EasternJan 18 4:00 P.M. at BurtonsvilleJan 25 1:00 P.M. Rock Creek ValleyFeb 1 3:00 P.M. StrathmoreFeb 8 1:00 P.M. at CresthavenFeb 15 4:00 P.M. RiverdaleFeb 22 3:00 P.M. at Bell

Mar 1 2:00 P.M. 7th Grade Boys vs. 8th Grade Boys

Five

“Looking at the schedule won’t changethe scores,” Theresa Scott said, sneaking upbehind her classmates. “You guys will stillbe 0–2.”

Michael sighed. “We’ve got seven gamesto turn the season around,” he said, sound-ing determined.

“Yeah, before we get waxed by the eighthgraders,” Kelvin said, pointing at anotherschedule on the wall. “Look, they’re 2–0.”

“We can beat them,” Michael said.“At what?” Kelvin laughed.Just then, Conor, Charlie, and T. J. came

running down the hall.“Have you seen him?” Conor asked

breathlessly. Charlie and T. J. stood wide-eyed beside him.

“Who?” Michael asked.“The new kid,” Charlie said.“What about the new kid?” Kelvin asked.“He’s huge!” Conor blurted out. “He’s

gotta be six feet, easy.”“He’s head and shoulders above me,” T. J.

said.“So what?” Theresa laughed. “I’m head

and shoulders above you, T. J.”

30

“Where’s he from?” Michael asked.“Nigeria,” Conor answered. Michael and Kelvin looked at each other.

“Wasn’t there some great pro player whocame from Nigeria?” Michael asked.

“Hakeem Olajuwon,” Kelvin answered.“They used to call him ‘Hakeem the Dream’”

“That’s right!” Theresa exclaimed. “Ola-juwon was from Nigeria too. My dad saidhe was one of the best big men ever in probasketball.”

The bell rang for first period. Michaeland Kelvin almost danced down the hall tomath class.

After everybody took their seats, the newstudent came in, his large frame swallow-ing up most of the doorway. He handed anote to the teacher, Mr. Petty.

Kelvin leaned over and whispered toMichael, “It’s him. And look, he’s taller thanMr. Petty!”

The new student spoke briefly with Mr.Petty, then walked down the row andsqueezed into an empty desk next toMichael. His knees bumped against the bot-tom of the desk.

31

Michael smiled. “Hi,” he said. “I’mMichael Mancino.”

“Hello,” the new student answered. “I amDikembe Obiku.”

“All right, class. Let’s get started,” Mr.Petty called from the front of the room.

Michael opened his book. “Hey,” he whis-pered to Dikembe. “Do you play ball?”

“Yes.” Dikembe smiled. “I like to playball,” he said slowly and carefully.

“Really, what position?” Michael asked,becoming more excited.

“I like to play forward.”“Gee, I thought you would be a center.”“Yes,” Dikembe said, smiling and nod-

ding. “Center. Forward.”“Mr. Mancino,” Mr. Petty interrupted.

“Would you take the next problem?”Michael’s eyes moved swiftly back to his

book. “Yeah…sure,” he faltered. “Uh…Ikinda lost my place…what problem are weon?”

“If you were paying attention, you wouldknow,” Mr. Petty said sternly. “Problemthree.”

32

The class continued but Michael justcouldn’t keep his mind on math. He keptlooking over at Dikembe. The new boy satup straight at his desk, his posture makinghim appear even taller. The pencil he heldseemed tiny in his large hands.

Man, look at those hands, Michaelthought. This guy will be a great rebounder.He’s just what the team needs.

After class, Michael asked Dikembe, “Doyou know where your next class is?”

“Physical Education,” Dikembe said,studying a computer printout of his classschedule.

“That’s our next class too,” Kelvin said.“Yeah, come on,” Michael said, already

halfway out the door. “We’ll introduce you toCoach Cummings.”

When they got to the gym, the three boyswalked straight to the coach.

Michael talked so quickly that his wordsalmost tumbled over each other. “Coach,this is Dikembe. He’s a new seventh graderfrom Nigeria. You know, like Hakeem Ola-juwon. He plays center and forward.”

33

“Yes.” Dikembe said. “Center. Forward.”“Really?” Coach Cummings asked, sud-

denly interested. “Well, let’s see what youcan do.”

Coach Cummings tossed Dikembe a bas-ketball as Michael and Kelvin stood off tothe side, twitching with excitement.

“Let’s see you dribble, Dikembe,” CoachCummings said.

“Dribble?” Dikembe asked, looking downat the basketball in his hands.

“You know, bounce the ball up and down,”the coach said, motioning with his hand.

Dikembe began to dribble, slapping atthe ball awkwardly.

Michael shrugged. “He’s a big guy,” hewhispered to Kelvin. “He doesn’t have tohandle the ball that well.”

“Okay, let’s see you shoot,” Coach Cum-mings said, flipping a perfect jump shotthrough the hoop. He nodded to Dikembe.

Dikembe bent at the knees almostmechanically and pushed his basketball inthe direction of the basket. The ballsmacked against the backboard with a loud

34

thwack that caused Michael and Kelvin’sheads to snap back with surprise.

“Did you play much basketball over inNigeria, Dikembe?” Coach Cummingsasked gently.

“No, I play football.”“Football?” Michael cried with dismay.“Yes. No…not American football. I play

what you call soccer.”“I thought you said you played center and

forward,” Michael said, feeling his dreamslip away.

“Yes, I play center-forward,” Dikembesaid proudly. “I score many goals.”

Michael and Kelvin groaned. CoachCummings put a friendly arm on Dikembe’sshoulder. “If you would like to learn somebasketball, you can come to our practices.”

Dikembe nodded agreeably. “I would liketo learn basketball.”

“I can’t put you on the team. But—hey, Iknow,” Coach Cummings said, stumblingupon an idea. “Dikembe, maybe you couldbe the team’s manager. That way you couldmeet some friends, help out at practice, and

35

learn some basketball. What do you think,guys?”

Michael and Kelvin did not answer. Theystill could not believe that Dikembe onlyplayed soccer.

“I would like that.” Dikembe smiled. Hewalked away, practicing his dribbling as hewent.

Coach Cummings turned to Michael andKelvin, almost laughing. “I don’t think he’sgoing to be Hakeem the Dream. At least notthis year. I guess you guys will just have tolearn to rebound.”

36

Michael, Kelvin, and Conor walkedswiftly through the town. Theirhands were thrust deep into their

coat pockets, their shoulders hunched tightagainst the cold. The snow, ice, and sandcrunched under their heavy boots.

“Where are we going?” Kelvin asked. “I’mfreezing.”

“The House of Cards, that sports shopwhere my brother Daniel works,” Michaelanswered.

“Why are we going there?” Conor asked.“My Uncle Dave gave me a $15 gift certifi-

cate from the shop for Christmas,” Michaelexplained.

“What are you gonna get?”Michael shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Six

The three boys entered the store, the coldwinter wind whisking in behind them.Michael waved at Daniel, who was workingbehind a counter filled with sports cardsand other collectors’ items.

“Hey, you could get an Albert Pujolscard,” Conor said, pointing at a displaycase.

“Yeah, but I’d blow the whole fifteenbucks on one card,” Michael said, shakinghis head.

“How about a David Wright or maybe aCC Sabathia?” Conor persisted.

“Nah,” said Michael, moving toward theback of the small store. “I don’t know if Iwant to get a card. I’ve got lots of them.”

In a back corner, Michael discoveredwhat he was looking for. “Hey,” he called tohis friends. “Here are the old Sports Illus-trateds Daniel told me about. They lookpretty cool.”

Conor and Kelvin made their way to theback of the store. The boys stood at theracks, leafing through the old magazines.

“Man, these things are really old,” Kelvinsaid. “Here’s one from 1963.”

38

“How much are they?” Michael asked.“Five bucks,” Conor answered.“Wow, they used to be a quarter,” Michael

said, looking at a cover.“Man, look at this one,” Kelvin laughed,

holding up a magazine and reading aloud.“December 9, 1963. ‘Smart Moves thatScore Points.’ Look at these guys,” he said,showing off a magazine with two basketballplayers drawn on the cover. “They don’teven look like basketball players.”

“Can you believe those shoes?” Conorlaughed, pointing at the magazine cover.“They look more like slippers than basket-ball shoes.”

Kelvin looked through the magazine.“The magazine predicts the top twenty incollege basketball for the 1963–64 season.Guess what school they picked for NumberOne.”

“North Carolina?”“Nope.”“Kentucky?”Kelvin shook his head.“Kansas?”“Nope. NYU,” Kelvin said.

39

“Who?”“New York University,” Kelvin explained.

“The Violets.”Michael pulled the magazine out of

Kelvin’s hands. “No way!” he exclaimed.“NYU doesn’t even have a team anymore.”

Daniel came up in back of the three boys.“Hey, guys, cut it out,” he warned. “If yourip a magazine, Mr. Mondore will make youbuy it.”

“Hey, Daniel, who won the NCAA basket-ball championship in 1964?” Michael asked,still looking at the top twenty.

“How should I know? I’m 15, not 65.”Daniel grabbed a thick book off the shelfand handed it to Michael. “Look it up in thissports almanac.”

“What exactly is the NCAA, anyway?”Conor asked.

“That’s the big tournament for collegeteams,” Michael said, looking down a longcolumn of school names in the sportsalmanac.

“Oh yeah, I knew that,” said Conor.“Hey, the UCLA Bruins won in 1964,”

40

Michael said. “What does the article sayabout them, Kelvin?”

“They aren’t even in the top twenty,”Kelvin said. “Here they are. Listen to this.”Kelvin began to read slowly. “‘Except forguard Fred Goss, who has quit to concen-trate on studies, the whole Bruin team thatwon its conference last year is back. UCLAcould repeat, but its lack of height againwill make things tough.’”

Kelvin laughed. “‘Lack of height’! TheUCLA Bruins sound like our team!”

“Yeah, but they won the NCAA tourna-ment that year. How did they do that?”Michael wondered out loud.

“Probably found a big guy,” Kelvin saidwith a shrug.

“Hey, here’s another magazine about col-lege basketball,” Conor said, holding up aSports Illustrated issue and reading.“March 29, 1965. ‘How UCLA Won Again.’”

“Let me see that,” Michael said, pullingthe magazine away from Conor and read-ing. “It says here that UCLA won the NCAAChampionship for the second straight year.

41

They beat Michigan even though the Michi-gan players were a lot taller.”

“Really? How’d they do that?” Conorasked.

Michael kept reading. “It says UCLAused a full-court zone press the whole gameand just out-quicked them,” Michaelexplained. “There’s a diagram of the full-court press printed in the magazine.”

Conor and Kelvin stood behind Michael.The three friends studied the diagram.They looked at each other, the samethought bubbling up in their minds.

Kelvin shook his head. “It won’t work,” he said.

“Why not?” Michael asked. “We’re allsmall and quick just like the UCLA Bruins.”

“If it’s so great, why don’t teams use itnow?” Kelvin asked, almost daring Michaelto answer.

“Lots of teams press, just not all thetime,” Michael explained.

“Wait a minute,” Conor said, eyeinganother issue on the rack and pointing tothe cover.

42

“December 6, 1965,” Conor read. “‘TheUCLA Press: How to Beat It.’”

Michael snapped the Sports Illustratedissue out of the rack and placed it with thetwo others in his hand.

“I’m getting all of these magazines,” hesaid, marching up to the cash register.

“What are you gonna do with them?”Kelvin asked as he and Conor followed.

“Just wait,” Michael said over his shoul-der. “You’ll see.”

43

The next afternoon, a group of six boysstood on the cold, barren blacktop ofthe Hobbs Park basketball court.

“Come on, Michael, let’s get going,”Kelvin complained. “We’re freezing ourbutts off.”

“Okay, okay. I’m expecting more kids toshow up. They’re just a little late,” Michaelsaid to the boys. They stood in their wintercoats and gloves, rubbing their handstogether and shuffling their feet to staywarm.

“I thought you said Bobby, Danny, andWalter couldn’t make it,” T. J. said, clappinghis gloved hands together in the cold. “Howare we gonna get more players?”

Seven

“You didn’t ask the eighth graders, didyou?” Kelvin asked.

Michael shook his head. “I don’t wantthem to know.”

“Know what?” Martin asked.“You’ll see.”Just then, Dikembe and three girls,

Theresa Scott, Nikki Lawrence, and ElizaHelyar, rounded the corner of the school. Allof them were dressed in brightly coloredparkas and hats, and Dikembe’s bright redhat bobbed along far above the others.

“Here are our players,” Michael said,smiling and dribbling toward the school.“Thanks for coming.”

Theresa smiled back. “Anything to helpyou guys finally win a game.”

“What gives, Michael?” Kelvin asked.“What are we doing out here?”

“I thought you played basketball inside,”Dikembe said, sounding a bit confused.

“We can only play inside when the teamcan get into the gym for practice,” Michaelexplained. “So we’ve got to play here, okay?”He reached into his jacket, pulled out some

45

papers, and gave one to each of the boys onhis team.

“Hey, this is that Sports Illustrated pagethat shows the UCLA full-court press,”Conor said, looking down at the copy heheld in his gloved hands.

“What about us?” Theresa asked. “Howabout giving us a copy?”

“You three girls and Dikembe will try tobeat the press,” Michael said.

Dikembe stood off to the side kicking thebasketball between his feet like a soccerball. “You want me to play?” he asked, a bitsurprised.

“You bet,” Michael answered. “But wewant you to play basketball.”

“I am not very good yet, but I have beenpracticing,” Dikembe said with a smile.

“Hey, wait a second, Michael. There areonly four of us and six of you,” Nikkiobserved. “That’s not fair.”

“And so what if we can stop them withthe press? That doesn’t prove anything,”Kelvin argued. “Will it work against realballplayers?”

46

“What do you mean, real ballplayers?”Theresa protested. “At least we’ve won ourtwo games.”

“How’s this,” Conor suggested. “We’ll giveyou Kelvin.”

“Yeah, Kelvin.” T. J. smiled. “If you don’tthink the press will work, let’s see you try tobeat it.”

Michael held up his hands. “Come on, Ididn’t bring everyone down here to fight,”he said. “Let’s take our coats off and get towork.”

“Take our coats off!” Kelvin yelped, asthough in pain. “No way. I’m freezing withmine on!”

The other kids put their coats, gloves,and scarves in a pile on the frozen earth atthe edge of the court. Michael huddled withhis teammates. Pointing to his paper, hecalled out instructions. “The idea of thepress is that we play defense all over thecourt and drive the other team crazy.”

Michael’s teammates stared intently atthe diagram and Michael kept talking.“When the other team has the ball, two of

47

our players cover the guy with the ball andforce him to pass. Our three other playersthen move in and try to intercept the pass.That’s the full-court press.”

“Sounds cool,” Conor said, and the othersnodded their heads. “What positions shouldwe play in the press?”

Michael pointed at the names of theUCLA players on the diagram.

“T. J., Martin, and I will be Goodrich,McIntosh, and Goss, the three guys at the

48

23

GOSS GOSS

GOSS

McINTOSH

LAC EY LACEYLACEY

ERICKSONERICKSON

ERICKSON

GOODRICH

Mc INTOSH

Mc INTOSH

GOODRICH

G OO DR I C H

UCLA'S STIFLING PRESS often takes the course shown in the diagrams below. It begins (left) after the Bruins have scored and the other team takes the ball out of bounds. McIntosh harasses the man with the ball, while Goodrich and Goss move to guard against the easy inbounds pass. Because a longer pass is always risky, this occasionally leads to a failure to put the ball into play within five seconds, and UCLA gets possession. When

the inbounds pass is successful (center) McIntosh joins Goodrich to double-team the receiver, either to tie him up or force him into a bad pass. Meanwhile, Lacey and Erickson shade over to the side where the ball is. This action frequently induces a long pass to the free man upcourt, but because Goodrich and McIntosh have their hands up and are jumping, the pass must be a soft lob. This allows Erickson time to change direction (right) and intercept the ball.

were ahead in rebounds 19-17 and con- tinued to control the playing style of the game throughout the second half, as Goodrich put on a superb display of ball handling. (“That little devil,” Mich- igan Coach Dave Strack called him, ad- miringly.) Time and again Goodrich slithered through a maze of tall Wol- verines to score with twisting hooks and layups. He hit long one-hand jumpers. He led the UCLA fast break. And with

the UCLA players.") UCLA's win over Michigan was especially impressive because Erickson's contribution was relatively minor. Erickson has often been described as the most valuable man in the press because of his size and mobility. Last Wednesday, however, he apparently pulled a muscle in his left leg, and aggravated it on Thursday and in pregame drills Friday. He scored only two points in the Wichita game (as

score 26 points. This year he scored only 17 (seven for nine from the floor), but he grabbed five rebounds and did a good job of harassing Cazzie Russell. Russell made 28 points and played well as always, but the Wolverines had a hard time getting the ball to him in close. As in the previous night’s semifinal game against Princeton, there seemed no pattern at all to the Michigan offense. Only once in each game did Michigan

continued

top of the press. Charlie, you play Lacey, theman in the middle. And Conor, you playback like Erickson.”

Michael looked around. The Falconsseemed ready. “Okay,” he said, clapping hishands. “Let’s try it.”

On the first play, Nikki passed the ball toTheresa. Michael and T. J. immediatelypounced like cats, surrounding her with aswarming defense.

“Downcourt!” Kelvin yelled. “Theresa,I’m open.” But when Theresa tried to pass,T. J. and Michael waved their arms wildlyin front of her. Theresa tossed a high passthat Charlie stopped in front of Kelvin.

“All right, Charlie.”“Good defense, T. J.”Kelvin walked over to the side of the

court and placed his jacket on the pile ofclothes.

“Kelvin’s really getting serious now,” T. J.teased. “Watch out!”

This time Nikki passed to Kelvin, whowas quickly surrounded by two defenders.

“Move!” Kelvin shouted, looking aroundthe court. Finally he lofted a long, desperate

49

pass toward Dikembe. But Conor leaped upand intercepted it.

Kelvin looked at Michael. A small smilepassed like a shadow over Kelvin’s face.“This may be trickier than I thought,”Kelvin admitted.

The game continued as the team workedout the secrets of the UCLA full-court press.After more than an hour, the kids quit play-ing and started to put on their jackets.

“You do not have to let the other playersdribble down the court, do you?” Dikembeasked.

“Right.” Michael nodded. “With the full-court press we try to steal the ball beforethe other team shoots, instead of alwaystrying to get rebounds after they shoot.”

“I like that.” Dikembe smiled. “That ismore like soccer.”

Michael turned to the others. “What doyou think about the press?”

“I think it’s cool,” said Conor. “I just wishwe had time to show it to Coach Cummingsin a practice before our next game.”

50

“Yeah, it’s working. We should keep prac-ticing it,” T. J. agreed. “I never get anyrebounds anyway.”

Theresa laughed. “The press might actu-ally help you guys win a game,” she said.

Finally, the group turned to Kelvin.“What do you think, Kelvin?” Michael

asked.Kelvin eyed the group and smiled. “I still

think I’m freezing my butt off,” he said.

51

Phweeet! The referee’s whistle blewjust as the ball left Michael’s hand.“Foul. Green. Number 14. On the

arm.” The referee signaled as he spoke.“Two shots.”

The horn at the scorer’s table sounded.The scorekeeper waved his arms and called,“The quarter is over.” The referee noddedand declared, “The foul occurred before thebuzzer. White ball, two.”

Michael stayed at the foul line as theteams left the court. He glanced up at thescoreboard: Eastern was ahead by ten.

Eight

VISITORVISITORHOMEHOME

PERIOD331 21

00:00

“Two shots,” the referee repeated as hehanded Michael the ball.

Michael set his feet at the foul line andbounced the ball three times. Use your legsand follow through, he reminded himself.He shot. Swish. The first shot was good.But the second shot fell short and Michaelwas kicking himself as he joined the Fal-cons huddle around Coach Cummings.We’re gonna need every single point if we’regonna come back, Michael thought.

“All right. We’re down nine, but we stillhave eight minutes to play,” Coach Cum-mings said, trying to rally the team. “Wegotta play good defense and take goodshots.”

“Who’s playing the fourth quarter?” Mar-tin asked.

Coach Cummings looked around the hud-dle. “Let’s have Charlie, Conor, and Michaelup front,” he decided. “T. J. and Martin inthe backcourt.”

Coach Cummings reached his hand intothe team’s circle and all the hands piled ontop of his. “Let’s try to get some rebounds,”he said wearily.

53

“DEE-fense!” the Falcons shouted in uni-son. The five fourth-quarter players joggedonto the court.

Michael called them into a huddle in themiddle of the floor. “Come on, guys, we cando it,” he implored.

Conor looked around the huddle. “Youknow, Michael, we’re down by nine. Sincewe’re the five guys who practiced the UCLApress, why don’t we try it?”

Michael shrugged. “You want to?” heasked his teammates.

The Falcons nodded.“Yeah, let’s do it,” Martin said firmly. “We

have nothing to lose.”“Okay,” Michael said, leaning into the

huddle. “We’ll press any time we score abasket. I’ll yell ‘Bruin’ to remind us.”

“Why ‘Bruin’?” Conor asked.“For the UCLA Bruins,” Michael said.“White ball,” the referee called to begin

the final quarter.The Falcons got off to a quick start. T. J.

passed to Michael in the corner, who fakedleft, drove right, and canned a quick jumpshot.

54

“Bruin!”Instantly, the Falcons set up the press.

Their shouts and squeaking sneakersechoed in the gym. Michael waved hishands wildly in front of the Eastern playertrying to pass the ball inbounds.

Surprised, the Eastern player tried abounce pass toward the corner. Martinstepped in front and stole the ball. Now onoffense, Martin flipped a quick pass toCharlie, who was calling for the ball. Char-lie tossed a high jump shot that droppedthrough the net. The score was 31–26.

“Bruin!” yelled Michael.This time the Eastern player tried a long

pass. But Conor alertly jumped in front andintercepted. He dribbled downcourt, faked ashot, and passed to Martin for an easylayup.

The Eastern coach was on his feet.“Time out!” he yelled, his hands forming

the letter T.The Falcon bench was on its feet and

fired up.“Great play, Conor.”“Way to go, Martin.”

55

But Coach Cummings looked confused.“What are you guys doing?” he asked.

“It’s the UCLA full-court press,” Michaelexplained, a bit out of breath.

“Yeah…but…but…,” Coach Cummingsstammered.

“Looks like it’s working, Coach,” Ginasaid. “We’re only down three. 31–28.”

The Falcons looked at their coach andwaited.

“Come on, Coach,” Conor pleaded. “LikeGina said, it’s working.”

“Okay, okay,” Coach Cummings decided.“Since it’s working, let’s stay with it.Remember, keep hustling.”

On the next possession, an Easternplayer dribbled past the first three Falconsin his path. But Martin kept hustling andtipped the ball loose from behind. Charliegrabbed the ball and tossed a pass toMichael, who dribbled in for an easy layup.

“Bruin!”The press continued to work its magic no

matter what the Eastern team tried and nomatter which Falcons were in the game.

56

The speedy Falcons turned Eastern passesinto loose balls, loose balls into intercep-tions, and interceptions into Falcon bas-kets. The Falcons had pulled ahead, 41–35.

At the end of the game, Martin dribbledout the final seconds as the Falcon benchshouted the countdown: “Three…two…one!”

Coach Cummings stood on the sidelineswith his hands on his hips and a slightlypuzzled look on his face. The happy Falconscame off the court and formed a celebrationhuddle.

“Well, Coach, what do you think of thepress?” Michael asked.

Coach Cummings paused as if he werestill collecting his thoughts, then broke intoa smile.

“I think it will be even better after wepractice it.”

57

Michael hurried down the schoolhall. “No running in the corridors,”Mr. Petty called above the noise of

voices and slamming lockers.Michael saw a familiar head towering

above a clump of students. “Hey, Dikembe,”he called. “Are you going to practice?”

Dikembe turned and smiled. “You bet. Iwant to see you practice your new play.”

Michael and Dikembe fell in steptogether. Michael had to double his pace tokeep up with Dikembe’s long stride. “Howare the basketball drills that Coach Cum-mings taught you coming along?” Michaelasked.

“They are okay,” Dikembe answered with

Nine

another smile. “I am learning to dribblewith my hands. But I still wish I could usemy feet.”

Minutes later, Michael and his Falconteammates were running their warm-updrills in the gym. The Falcons seemed hap-pier and more upbeat now that they had avictory behind them. They were feeling soconfident that they could tease each otherand no one’s feelings got hurt.

“You call that a pass, Conor? That is solame!”

“We’re running, not jogging, Kelvin.”Following layups, Coach Cummings blew

his whistle.“Sit down on the stands, guys,” the coach

said. “Get the chalkboard, Gina.”Gina rolled over a large blackboard filled

with basketball formations and set it infront of the stands.

Coach Cummings picked up a piece ofchalk and said, “I’ve decided that we shouldplay the full-court press all of the time.”

The team eyed each other as theysquirmed on the hard wooden benches.

59

Coach Cummings continued and begandrawing arrows on the blackboard acrossthe formations as he spoke. “The idea of thepress is to speed up the game,” he said.“When a guy on the other team gets theball, I want two Falcons on him. Don’t lethim get anywhere. Make him pass.”

“We’re gonna play defense on the wholecourt?” Bobby asked in disbelief.

“All 94 feet,” Coach Cummings saidfirmly. He kept talking and drawing. “We’llforce the other team to make long passesthat we can intercept and turn into easybaskets.”

Conor raised his hand. “What if the otherteam gets by the press, Coach?” he asked.

“We’ll have to hustle back,” the coachanswered. “We can get plenty of steals bysneaking up in back of the dribbler andknocking the ball loose.”

“Aren’t we gonna get awful tired pressingthe whole game?” Kelvin asked, his tonguedangling out comically.

“Sure.” Coach Cummings smiled. “That’swhy we’re gonna need all the guys on the

60

team to be in top condition and ready toplay.”

The coach paused and looked into thefaces of his Falcons. “John Wooden, thegreat coach at UCLA who used this pressyears ago, said that three things are impor-tant for success in basketball: physical con-dition, fundamentals, and working togetheras a team.” The Falcons nodded their headsin unison. “If we’re in better condition thanthe other team, they’ll get tired a lot soonerthan we will. And the press will work muchbetter.”

Coach Cummings glanced at Kelvin.“Don’t worry. If you or anybody else getstired, just signal the bench by bending overand pulling at the bottom of your basketballshorts. Gina or I will see you and get youout of there. Okay?”

The coach clapped his hands togetherand shouted, “We’re not getting in conditionby sitting here talking. Let’s play ball!”

The Falcons bounded off the woodenstands with shouts and clapping hands.They were ready to go full court.

61

Michael stood along the foul lanewaiting for the Burtonsville Ben-gals player to shoot his two foul

shots.Michael’s heart was pounding. His lungs

burned from the wild, full-court fury of thegame. I really don’t want to come out of thegame, Michael thought, but I’m too tired todo the team any good right now.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned over andtugged at the edge of his basketball shorts.

The buzzer sounded. Michael looked upand saw his teammate Walter Albee at thescorer’s table pointing at him. Michaelslapped hands along the bench.

“Good hustle.” Gina grabbed Michael and

Ten

pointed to the basket. “Remember, look upand use the bounce pass to get it in to Char-lie in the middle.”

Michael nodded and took a seat on thebench between T. J. and Dikembe. ThenMichael looked at the scoreboard as hegulped down some water. Down by threepoints.

“These guys are tough,” Michael whis-pered to T. J. “The press isn’t botheringthem much.”

“They’re getting tired,” T. J. whisperedback confidently.

Michael hung his head and stared at thefloor. So am I, he thought.

When Michael looked up, he saw thepoint guard for the Bengals dribble aroundthe pressing Falcons as the last seconds ofthe third quarter ticked away. Outside thethree-point line, the Bengals guard stopped

63

VISITORVISITORHOMEHOME

PERIOD334 31

01:25

and let fly a long jump shot. The basketballbanked off the backboard and in just beforethe buzzer went off.

Three points! The Falcons trailed 37–31.Coach Cummings shouted above the noisyFalcons huddle as the team prepared forthe fourth and final quarter. “Stay with thepress, guys! You’re wearing them down. Wejust need a couple of turnovers. Let’s not letthat kid get another lucky shot.”

The Falcons put their hands into thehuddle. “DEE-fense!” they yelled.

The final quarter started with the teamstrading baskets. Conor and Bobby sanklong jumpers to keep the Falcons close,41–35.

“Good shooting, guys!” Michael shoutedfrom the bench. “Comeback time!”

Michael leaned forward and looked downthe bench to Coach Cummings. Come on,Coach, he thought, put me back in. I’mready.

Moments later, Coach Cummings wavedhis hand toward the end of the bench andcalled, “Michael, go in for Bobby. Remem-ber, keep the pressure on.”

64

On the next Falcon possession, Martinpassed to Michael on the right. Facing thebasket, Michael faked a shot and bouncedthe ball in to Charlie, who laid it up and in.

Phweeeeeeet!“Foul. Red. Number 12. The basket is

good. One shot,” the referee said, signaling.Charlie’s foul shot rolled around the rim

and in to make the score 41–38.Michael shouted “Bruin!” He stepped in

front of a Bengals player and interceptedthe inbound pass. He turned and shot aquick jumper.

Swish! The Falcons now trailed by justone point, 41–40.

“Bruin!”This time the Bengals point guard drib-

bled by the pressing Falcons. But Michaelhustled back and tipped the ball loose. Acrush of bodies scrambled across the floor,diving and scraping for the loose ball. Conorgrabbed the ball out of the tangle andtossed a pass to Michael. Looking down thecourt, Michael whipped a perfect pass toWalter, who scored on the easy layup.

“Time out!” the Bengals coach shouted.

65

The Falcons bench was shouting too.“Great hustle, Conor.”“My main man, Michael.”“Turn up the press!”Coach Cummings held up his hands.

“The game’s not over, guys,” he warned hiscelebrating team. “We’re only up by one,42–41, and there are almost two minutes togo.” The coach pointed at Kelvin and said,“Kelvin is in for Walter. Let’s keep the pres-sure on!”

The Falcons almost flew back onto thecourt. The Burtonsville Bengals came backonto the court more slowly and quietly. Asthe Bengals set up to pass the ball in,Michael could sense that the press hadworked its magic. The Falcons were wavingtheir arms, moving their feet, and shouting.The Bengals seemed tired and defeated.The Falcons were only up by one point withalmost two minutes to go, but Michael knewin his heart that the game was over. They’redone, Michael thought, we got ’em.

Sure enough, two steals, two baskets,two free throws, and two minutes later, the

66

Falcons were really celebrating. Theirvoices echoed in the Burtonsville school hallas they shouted all the way to the lockerroom.

“48–41! Big win!”“Let’s go, Falcons!”“Don’t mess with the press!”Coach Cummings entered the locker

room with a smile as big as a basketball.“What do you think of the press now,

Coach?” Michael asked.“It’s getting better every game,” Coach

Cummings said.

67

Several weeks later, after five moregames, ten more practices, and fourinches of snow, Michael, Kelvin,

Conor, and Dikembe stood outside theentrance to the gymnasium studying theseventh-grade boys basketball schedule.

7th Grade Boys Basketball

Dec 14 1:00 P.M. at St. Johns L 35–30Dec 21 4:00 P.M. Woodlin L 39–33Jan 11 2:00 P.M. at Eastern W 41–35Jan 18 4:00 P.M. at Burtonsville W 48–41Jan 25 1:00 P.M. Rock Creek Valley W 48–29Feb 1 3:00 P.M. at Strathmore W 51–35Feb 8 1:00 P.M. at Cresthaven L 44–42Feb 15 4:00 P.M. Riverdale W 41–38Feb 22 3:00 P.M. at Bell W 53–29

Mar 1 2:00 P.M. 7th Grade Boys vs. 8th Grade Boys

Eleven

“Once we started pressing full court, westarted scoring a lot more,” Conor observed,tapping the schedule.

“And winning a lot more,” Michael added.“Yeah, but we couldn’t beat Cresthaven,”

Kelvin said, slouching against the wall. “Andanyway, that’s against seventh graders.Check out what the eighth-grade team didagainst eighth graders. They were 7–2.”

“They lost by ten to Burtonsville,”Michael noted.

“So what?” Kelvin exclaimed. “Burtons-ville’s got that kid Bonner. He’s huge. Hecan practically jam it.”

“I’m big,” Dikembe said from above thegroup. “That does not mean I’m good.”

“That’s different,” Kelvin said. “You’rejust starting. And anyway, you’re gettingbetter every day.”

“Hey, did you hear that Coach Cummingsis going to let Dikembe play for a few min-utes in the game tomorrow?” Michaelannounced, smiling.

“But how can Dikembe play?” Kelvinasked. “He’s not on the team. He’s just themanager.”

69

“The game is between the seventh- andeighth-grade boys,” Michael reminded him.“Coach Cummings usually plays the regu-lar team, but he doesn’t have to. He canplay any seventh grader he wants.”

Michael turned to his tall friend and asked,“Are you ready to show us what you got?”

A sad look crossed Dikembe’s face. “Idon’t know if I will be able to play tomor-row,” he said.

“What? Why not?” Michael asked.“My uncle from Nigeria is coming in and

my family is having a party.”“Yeah, but…” Michael couldn’t help

showing his disappointment.“My mother says that family is more

important than basketball.”“Mothers always say things like that, but

this isn’t just any old game,” Michaelexplained. “This is the seventh gradersagainst the eighth graders.”

“Don’t worry, your press will beat theeighth graders.”

Kelvin waved a hand at his two friends.“Fat chance,” he said. “Every one of theirstarters is bigger than we are.”

70

“So what?” Michael said, beginning to getangry. “Remember that NCAA Champi-onship game between UCLA and Michigan?All of Michigan’s starters were bigger thanUCLA’s and UCLA still won, 91–80.”

“They’re not just bigger, they’re older.Heck, half their team is shaving!”

“We’re playing basketball, not going tothe barbershop!” Michael shouted, throwingup his hands.

“All I’m saying is that the seventh gradenever beats the eighth grade!” Kelvinshouted back.

“The girls did once,” said Theresa, stand-ing in her uniform in back of the boys witha basketball on her hip.

“You probably won’t today,” Kelvin said,pointing to the schedule. “Those eighthgraders are tough.”

Theresa looked at the eighth-grade girls’schedule. “Somebody beat them, so they canbe beat,” she said with a sniff.

“Come on, Theresa,” Nikki said. “Wegotta warm up.” Theresa, Nikki, and therest of the girls’ team raced out onto thefloor. The crowd of students and parents

71

that filled the gymnasium for the yearlygame burst into cheers. The four boyswalked into the gym behind the girls’ team.

“Hey, there’s T. J. and Bobby,” Conor said,pointing to the stands. “Let’s go sit withthem.”

The boys traded high fives as they settledinto their seats. Kelvin and Michael stoodup and started chanting and clapping.

“Let’s go, seventh grade. Let’s go.”“Let’s go, seventh grade. Let’s go.”When the chant died down, James

Becker yelled through cupped hands from afew rows away.

“Yeah, maybe your grade will win onegame this year,” he teased. “The girls’ game.”

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Kelvincalled back.

“If you guys show up,” Jerome Dobsonanswered with a laugh.

“We’ll be there!” Kelvin yelled backbravely and then sat down. “We may getbeat,” he whispered to his friends. “Butwe’ll be there.”

The boys shared a laugh and turned their

72

attention to the game. The seventh-gradegirls battled hard to keep it close. Theresaand Nikki hit long shots near the end of thehalf to cut the eighth-grade lead down totwo points, 16–14.

At halftime, Michael and his friends ledthe cheers for the seventh-grade girls.

“Two bits, four bits, six bits, a dollar; allfor the seventh grade stand up and holler!”

But the boys’ cheers were not enough.The eighth-grade girls pulled away in thesecond half. When the buzzer sounded, theeighth grade had won again, 35–26.

Michael stepped down from the standsand joined the crowd of players, students,and parents milling around the court afterthe game.

“Hey, Theresa, good game,” he said to hisdisappointed friend. “You almost hadthem.”

“They were too good for us,” Theresasaid, shaking her head. Her brown hair wasmatted with sweat. She took one more tiredlook at the scoreboard. “They were just toogood, too big, and too old,” she said.

73

Michael took the key from his pocket,slipped it into the Mancinos’ backdoor, and went inside. The house

was quiet and still. He spied a note on thekitchen table.

Daniel and Michael—

I’ve gone to show the Papas’ house. Ishould be back by 6:30. There areleftovers in the fridge.

Love, Mom

“Daniel,” Michael called. No answer.Michael opened up the refrigerator and

took a swig of juice from an open carton, putit back, and closed the door. He grabbed a

Twelve

basketball from among several that werepiled in a plastic laundry basket in the cor-ner of the kitchen and stepped outside.

The early spring sun was setting behindthe houses, turning the sky into brilliantstreaks of pink and red. As Michael prac-ticed his shots in the empty driveway, hismind wandered to the next day’s game withthe eighth graders. He stood at a linescratched in the driveway, fifteen feet fromthe basket.

If I hit this foul shot, he told himself, theseventh-grade boys will beat the eighth-grade boys for the first time ever in schoolhistory.

Michael bounced the ball three times.Thump, thump, thump. He took a deepbreath and sent the ball up toward the bas-ket. The ball hit the back of the rim andbounced straight back. Michael grabbed theball and set up for another free throw. Okay,he thought, determined, if I hit this foulshot, the seventh grade wins. This time, theball sailed straight and true. The netdanced in the fading sunlight.

75

“Hey, I’m open,” Daniel called from theend of the driveway. Michael turned,smiled, and passed the ball to his brother.The boys started moving about the drive-way, trading shots and passes as theytalked.

“How did the girls’ game go?”“The seventh grade lost, 35–26.”“That’s pretty close. How’d Theresa do?”“She scored around ten. Hey Daniel, are

you gonna be at the scorer’s table for ourgame tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Think you guys got a chance towin?”

“Our full-court press gives us a chance.”“Yeah, I guess. What about that big kid

from Nigeria? What’s his name?”“Dikembe Obiku.” “That’s a weird name. How do you spell

it?”“D-I-K-E-M-B-E O-B-I-K-U.”“Well, what about him?” Daniel contin-

ued. “Is he gonna play tomorrow? You knowyou don’t have to be on the team to play inthe seventh- and eighth-grade game.”

76

“Yeah, I know. But he’s got some familyparty or something he has to go to,” Michaelanswered as he passed the ball to Daniel. “Ihope he can still make it.”

Daniel tossed up a high jump shot.Swish.

“Give me another, Michael,” Daniel said,his hands open to the ball. Michael keptpassing and Daniel kept shooting, makingbasket after basket. Daniel became moreexcited with every basket that rippedthrough the net.

“I can’t miss!”Swish.“The man is on fire!”Swish.Michael followed the next pass out to

Daniel.“Let’s see you make one with somebody

guarding you,” he challenged his olderbrother.

“Okay.” Daniel grinned. “I guess your bigbrother will have to teach you to respectyour elders.”

Daniel spun quickly and sent up a jump

77

shot over Michael’s tight defense. The ballbounced off the rim and Michael snared therebound.

Michael dribbled to the end of the drive-way, turned to face the basket, and lookedstraight at Daniel.

“Come on,” he said. “One on one. Game toseven. House championship.”

“Okay, little brother.” Daniel smiled. “Butno whining when I beat you. Your ball.”

Michael dribbled quickly to the left tostart the game, stopped, and put up a fade-away jump shot. Sensing the shot was toolong, Michael quickly followed the ball tothe basket. He grabbed the rebound andlaid the ball up and in for the first basket.

1–0.Michael faked a long shot and drove hard

to the right. He flipped a running right-hander over his brother that banked off thebackboard and in.

2–0.Michael then stretched his lead to 3–0

with a scoop shot under Daniel’s arm thatspun off the edge of the backboard andthrough the net.

78

“Nice shot,” Daniel admitted.“Sorry, that was disrespectful,” Michael

said cheerily.“Game’s to seven,” Daniel said as he

flipped the ball to Michael. “You only gotthree.”

“Gotta win by two?” Michael asked.Daniel shook his head. “Nah, straight

sevens. First guy with seven baskets wins.”Michael faked right and drove left and

tried another fadeaway jumper. The ballglanced off the rim and Daniel grabbed therebound.

“I think it’s time to get my respect, littlebrother,” he said as he dribbled back.Daniel stopped for a long jump shot.

Swish. 3–1.The brothers continued to battle as

evening fell. Two lights at the Mancinos’back door cast a dim yellow glow on thedriveway and the two boys playing there.Michael tossed up a twisting jumper thatbounced around the rim and in.

“It’s 6–5, my lead,” Michael said, stand-ing twenty feet from the basket with his

79

hands out, his breath heavy with effort.“Straight sevens, right?” he asked.

Daniel nodded, bent at the waist with hishands on his knees. Michael grabbed theball and the boys snapped into action.

Michael dribbled right and tried his bestrunning right-handed shot, but it was just atouch too hard. The ball bounced off thebackboard, teetered on the edge of the rim,and rolled off.

Daniel grabbed the rebound, dribbledback, and drove hard to the hoop. Michaelreached high, hoping to block his shot.

“Foul. My ball,” Daniel called.“Foul?” Michael cried. “I barely touched

you.”“You got my wrist.”“That’s a wimp call.”“My call, my ball,” Daniel said fiercely.

Then he took the ball, faked a quick move,and feathered a long shot to the hoop.

Swish.6–6.“Next basket wins,” Daniel said. He spun

the ball between his hands. “This is for thehouse championship.”

80

Michael’s eyes narrowed. He took a deepbreath through his nose.

“Next basket wins,” he repeated. “Housechampionship.”

Daniel drove left and stopped for hisfavorite fadeaway jump shot. Knowing hehad no chance to block his big brother’sshot, Michael rushed toward the basket,hoping for a rebound.

The ball knocked off the back of the bas-ket, touched the backboard, and then wob-bled on the edge of the rim. As Michaellooked up helplessly, the ball finally fellthrough the net.

“Yes!” Daniel shouted, punching the airwith both fists. “Better luck tomorrow,” hecalled as he dashed into the house. “Butyour big brother is just too good for you.”

Michael stood under the basket in thechilled quiet of the gathering night. Heslammed the basketball into the drivewaywith both hands.

Too good, he thought. Too good, too big,and too old.

81

The cheers of the packed crowd greetedthe seventh-grade Falcons as they ranout onto the court for warm-ups.

“Man, look at the crowd,” Conor whis-pered to Michael in the layup line. “It’s big.”

Michael nodded nervously as he lookedaround. His mother sat in the last row amongsome of the other parents. Daniel stood at thescorer’s table, watching the seconds clickdown before the start of the seventh-and-eighth-grade-boys basketball game.

When the last second ticked away, Danielsounded the horn and the teams huddledaround their coaches. Coach Cummingsshouted above the noise in the gym.

“All right, guys, we gotta play hard andsmart. We’re in better shape than they are,

Thirteen

so the press will wear them down. Samestarters. Martin and T. J. at guards. Michael,Charlie, and Conor in the frontcourt.”

Coach Cummings put his hand out. Theplayers piled their hands on his. “You canbeat these guys,” Coach Cummings said.

“DEE-fense!” the Falcons team shouted.The starters ran onto the court.

As the teams’ starters shook hands,Michael noticed that each eighth-gradestarter was several inches taller than theseventh graders. Just like it was in theUCLA-Michigan game, Michael thought. Ihope we can win just like the Bruins.

The referee tossed the ball up and thebattle began. The eighth grade controlledthe tap and passed the ball around the sev-enth grade’s swarming defense. JamesBecker, the eighth-grade center, caught aquick pass inside and was about to scorewhen Charlie Rosenthal knocked the ballout of bounds.

“Blue ball,” the referee called.“Stack it up!” Jerome Dobson shouted.

The eighth graders stood in a straight lineto the left side of the basket.

83

“Break!” Jerome called.All the players except James scattered.

Jerome lofted the ball to James, who caughtit and laid it in off the backboard for an easybasket.

As Michael ran downcourt, Jeromesmiled and teased, “That was easy.”

But Michael and his teammates did notgive up easily. The two teams battled backand forth. The eighth-grade players usedtheir height and strength to muscle close tothe basket for easy scores. The seventh-grade players used their quickness and full-court press to steal passes and race down thefloor for layups. The first half ended with theeighth grade clinging to a 21–18 lead.

During halftime, the seventh-grade Fal-cons shot practice shots from a semicirclearound the basket. Gina rebounded for themunderneath.

“Come on, we’re in this one!” Michaelyelled to his teammates.

“We can beat ’em!” Conor agreed. “Let’skeep it up.”

“I still wish we had a big guy,” Kelvin said,practicing a foul shot.

84

“Shut up!” Conor snapped. “We can beatthem without one. The press will beat them.”

“You guys are doing great,” Gina encour-aged the team as she passed the ball toMichael.

Michael swished a long jump shot just asthe horn sounded for the beginning of thesecond half. Maybe that’s a good sign, hethought.

The second half settled into a familiar pat-tern. The eighth grade scored whenever theycould get the ball close to their basket. Butthe seventh grade’s full-court press createdjust enough turnovers and steals to keep thegame close.

As the fourth quarter wound down,Michael came out of the game. He took a longgulp of water and a seat on the bench. Thenhe looked at the scoreboard. Down by five.

85

VISITORVISITORHOMEHOME

PERIOD438 33

02:50

“Come on, seventh grade!” he shouted.“Need a hoop.”

Just then, Dikembe, dressed in sneakers,jeans, and a white seventh-grade practicejersey, slipped onto the end of the bench.

“How are we doing?” he asked Michael.“Hey, you made it,” Michael said, sur-

prised to see his friend. “We’re only down byfive, with about three minutes to go. I don’tthink the coach will put you in the gamethis close to the end.”

“That’s okay,” Dikembe said. “I just wantto see us win.”

Dikembe stood up at the end of the bench.“Come on, seventh grade!” he shouted. “Needa hoop!”

T. J. dribbled the ball down the left sideof the court. The eighth-grade defense sur-rounded the little guard. T. J. flipped aquick pass over to Charlie Rosenthal, theseventh-grade center, who was standingtwo feet beyond the three-point line.

Charlie looked from side to side, trying tofind a teammate to pass the ball to. FinallyCharlie lofted a long one-hand push shottoward the basket.

86

“No!” cried Michael from the bench as theball sailed toward the basket.

Swish!“Yes!” Michael cried, jumping up and

down in front of the bench. “Three-pointer!”“Bruin!”The eighth grade tried a long pass down-

court. But Kelvin intercepted and passed toConor for a wide-open three-pointer.

Swish!In a matter of seconds, the seventh grade

had grabbed the lead: 39–38!“Time out!” Mr. Pickman, the eight

graders’ coach, called from the stunnedeighth-grade bench. “Time out,” he saidagain as he kept stabbing the palm of onehand with the fingertips of his other handto form a T.

The seventh-grade bench was a mobscene. The whole team, along with Gina andDikembe, were pounding Conor on theback.

“All right, Conor!”“Clutch hoop!”Coach Cummings’s voice cut through the

huddle’s happy chaos.

87

“Listen up!” he shouted. He began bark-ing instructions. “There’s over a minute left.Michael, check back in for Bobby. Gina, howmany time outs does each team have left?”

The coach’s voice seemed to settle theseventh graders. Coach Cummings lookedaround the suddenly silent huddle. “Thisgame is not over yet,” he warned. “Let’skeep the pressure on.”

The coach was right. The eighth gradersmoved the ball slowly downcourt andworked the ball to James Becker. The tallcenter faked left and tossed up a soft hookshot.

The shot was good! The eighth gradershad grabbed back the lead, 40–39.

The seventh graders rushed downcourt,trying to beat the clock that was windingdown. Charlie snapped a pass out to Conor,who was standing beyond the three-pointline. Conor looked ready to try the longshot, but at the last instant, Michael cut tothe basket. Conor drilled a pass to Michael,who scored on a twisting layup. The sev-enth grade led, 41–40!

88

“Bruin!”The seventh graders instantly set up the

press. Michael stretched and deflected abounce pass. The ball bounced wildly to theleft. Michael darted over, grabbed the spin-ning ball, and started dribbling, hoping torun out the clock.

Jerome Dobson chased Michael, slappingwildly at the ball.

Phweeeet! the whistle shrieked.“Foul. Blue 25,” the referee called, point-

ing to Jerome. “White ball.”The horn sounded. Daniel sat at the

scorer’s table, waving the index finger ofeach hand high above his head. “One andone,” he called.

One and one, Michael thought, justbeginning to panic. I’m going to shoot foulshots to win the game!

89

Michael could barely feel his feet ashe walked to the foul line. His mindraced over the game situation.

Twelve seconds to go. We’re up by one, 41–40.I’m shooting one and one. If I make the firstfoul shot, I get a chance for another. If Imiss, the eighth grade will probably get ashot at winning the game.

Michael felt his heart pound and his fin-gertips tingle as the referee held the ballout to him.

“One and one. The ball’s live,” the refereesaid. “Hold your positions until he releasesthe ball.”

Michael wiped his damp palms againsthis shirt before taking the ball. He spread

Fourteen

his feet out behind the foul line andbounced the ball three times. Thump,thump, thump. He took a deep breath andfocused on the front edge of the rim.

Just like last night, he thought. The sec-ond shot last night.

The moment he shot the ball, Michaelsensed it was not high enough.

“Short!” he screamed. The ball bounced off the front rim. James

Becker snatched the rebound with twohands and passed to Jake McClure.

Michael, disappointed, scrambled downthe court, racing to get back on defense.

Jake dribbled down the right side of thecourt as the crowd counted down the finalseconds.

“Ten…nine…eight…”Michael saw a blue-shirted eighth grader

streaking to the basket a few steps ahead ofhim. Jake also spied his teammate andflicked a quick bounce pass to him. Michaeldove forward, tapped the ball away with hisfingertips, and skidded across the polishedfloor on his chest.

91

“Blue ball!” the referee called.“Time out. Time out!” Mr. Pickman cried,

waving his hands in front of the eighth-grade bench.

Michael picked himself off the floor andlooked at the clock. Four seconds to go.Coach Cummings was off the bench.

“Great hustle, Michael,” he said. Hepointed out to the floor. “Gina, ask the ref-eree where the eighth grade will take theball out.”

Gina returned in a flash. “Left side of thebasket, right underneath,” she said excit-edly. “They’ll try that play they used thefirst quarter where they pass to JamesBecker for an easy layup.”

Kelvin groaned. “Man, we don’t haveanyone tall enough to cover Becker,” hesaid.

“How about Dikembe?” Michael said,pointing to the towering seventh graderstanding at the edge of the team huddle.

“When did Dikembe get here?” CoachCummings asked.

“He came in a couple of minutes ago,”

92

Michael blurted out. “He’s tall enough tocover Becker.”

“You got sneakers on?” the coach asked.Dikembe’s face lit up. “Yes,” he said,

pointing to his feet.“Okay,” Coach Cummings decided.

“Dikembe, report in for Charlie.”Dressed in his white practice T-shirt and

jeans, Dikembe started to the scorer’s table.Mr. Pickman stopped him before he

reached the table. “Hey, he can’t play,” Mr.Pickman said, looking straight at the ref-eree. “He’s not on the team.”

Coach Cummings stepped out onto thefloor. “The game is the seventh-grade boysagainst the eighth-grade boys,” he explained.“He is a seventh-grade boy.”

The referee stood between the coaches, abit confused. “Well…,” the referee started,scratching his head.

“He may be a seventh grader,” Mr. Pick-man protested, “but he can’t play becausehe’s not listed in the official score book.”

The referee walked over to the scorer’stable. Coach Cummings turned to Michael

93

with a pained look. “I didn’t put his name inthe book,” Coach Cummings whispered toMichael.

“What’s his name?” the referee asked,looking down at the score book.

“Dikembe Obiku,” Coach Cummingssaid, with a hint of despair in his voice. “O-B-I-K-U.”

“He’s here. He’s in the score book,” thereferee declared. “Come on, let’s play ball.”

Michael’s jaw dropped and he staredwide-eyed at Daniel sitting at the scorer’stable.

Coach Cummings didn’t waste any time.“Everybody get a man!” he yelled as the Fal-cons ran back out onto the floor. “Dikembe,you take Becker. Number fifteen.”

The eighth graders lined up in a straightrow to the left of the basket. Jerome Dobsonheld the ball and called “Break!”

Just as at the beginning of the game, allthe eighth graders scattered except forJames Becker. Jerome lofted a high passtoward James. But Dikembe jumped withhim, his right hand tapping the ball to thecorner.

94

Michael raced over and caught the looseball. He flung it high into the air. Thebuzzer sounded before the ball hit the floor.

The seventh grade had won!The team surrounded Coach Cummings

and Dikembe in a wild backslapping cele-bration. In the middle of the happy circle,Kelvin tossed his head back and screamedabove the noise, “I told you we needed a bigguy!”

After the teams shook hands and thecrowd drifted away, Michael stood at thecenter of the floor, still in his uniform. Hedid not want to leave the magic of themoment.

“Come on, Michael,” Daniel called fromthe doorway at the corner of the gym. “Mom’sgetting the car.” Michael walked slowlyacross the floor and stood next to Daniel.

“How come Dikembe’s name was in thescore book?” he asked, looking up at his bigbrother.

A small smile creased Daniel’s face. “I fig-ured it was about time the younger guys gota chance to win one,” he said. “Come on,Mom’s waiting.”

95

Michael took one last look at the gym.The stands were empty now. The score-board was blank. The school janitor pusheda wide mop silently across the gym floor.

Final score, 41–40, Michael rememberedwith silent satisfaction. Then he turned andwalked outside.

“Yes!” he screamed at the top of his lungsto the silent winter sky.

96

The next day, Michael stretched out onthe warm grass next to the basket-ball court at Hobbs Park, propping

up his head with a basketball for a pillow.The sun of a suddenly springlike Saturdayafternoon warmed him.

On the court, Conor, Kelvin, Charlie, andDikembe shot baskets lazily in the brightsunshine. After a while, Conor and Kelvinjoined Michael on the grass. They sat withtheir legs stretched out and their backsagainst the brick school building.

“Hey, where’s T. J. and Bobby?” Kelvinasked, looking around the park. “I thoughtthey were coming down to play some hoop.”

Conor shook his head. “Nah, T. J. said

Fifteen

they were gonna go down to Green Street toplay baseball.”

Michael shielded his eyes against thesun. “It still feels too early for baseball,” hesaid.

“Where are the eighth graders?” Kelvinasked with a chuckle, still looking aroundthe park. “I guess they went up to the highschool to get some tougher competition.”

The boys all laughed, remembering theprevious day’s upset.

“You know, I was just thinking about thegame,” Michael said, pulling himself up.

Kelvin laughed. “So what. That’s all anyof us have been thinking or talking aboutsince yesterday.”

Michael sat between his two friends, hisback pressed against the warm bricks of theschool building.

“No, really,” he continued, “I was think-ing, you know who won that game for us?”

“Dikembe,” Conor answered. “He tippedthe ball away from Becker.”

“Nope,” Michael said, shaking his head.“Your brother,” Kelvin said. “He put

Dikembe’s name in the score book.”

98

“No. My Uncle Dave.”“Who?” Conor and Kelvin said together.“My Uncle Dave,” Michael repeated. “You

remember? He gave me that $15 gift certifi-cate to the House of Cards. Without that,we never would have known about theUCLA full-court press.”

“Bruin!” Kelvin shouted, throwing hishands in the air and laughing.

Conor took a long breath of spring air.“You know, you’re right,” he said. “The full-court press really saved us.”

“Hey, what happened to UCLA afterthat?” Kelvin asked. “Did they win theNCAA tournament again?”

“Oh yeah,” Michael said. “The year afterthe two years that they won the NCAAswith the press, they didn’t even get in thetournament. Then they won the NCAAseight of the next nine years.”

“Wow!” Conor exclaimed. “Did they usethe press?”

Michael nodded and placed a long bladeof grass between his teeth. “They still usedthe press sometimes,” he said. “But alsothey recruited some big guys.”

99

“Like who?” Kelvin asked.“Well, the year after they didn’t make the

tournament, they got Lew Alcindor.”Kelvin looked surprised. “Lew Alcindor?

I’ve never heard of him.”“He changed his name after college to

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.”“They got Kareem!” Conor shouted.

“Man, he was the best.”The three boys looked at the basketball

court where Dikembe and Charlie wereplaying one-on-one. Just then Dikembefaked left, turned right, and flipped a grace-ful hook shot to the basket. As the ballswished softly through the net, the threefriends shared the same thought.

Michael looked at Conor, then at Kelvin,and smiled.

“I think we’re gonna be really good nextyear,” he said.

The End

100

Early in the first half of the 1964National Collegiate Athletic Associa-tion (NCAA) championship game, the

University of California at Los Angeles(UCLA) Bruins were trailing the Duke BlueDevils. The Bruins coach, John Wooden,could see his team losing control, so he didsomething he almost never did: He calledtime out early in the game.

Wooden sat his nervous team down. Hetold his players not to lose confidence inthemselves or the full-court pressing defense.Remember, stay with press and always havetwo Bruins covering the Blue Devil who hasthe ball, he told them.

Wooden knew that the press would forcethe Blue Devils to make bad passes and

The UCLA BruinsThe Real Story

speed up the game. The Bruins were thequicker team, so they would have an advan-tage in a fast-paced game.

Wooden also figured the press wouldwear the Blue Devils down, and he wasright. Within a few minutes, the Bruins hadcut the Blue Devils lead to three points,30–27. Then the Bruins press really gotrolling. In the next 2 minutes and 40 sec-onds, the Bruins scored 16 points and theBlue Devils scored none. The final score ofthe game was 98–83. The UCLA Bruins andJohn Wooden had won their first NCAAchampionship!

It would not be theirlast. In the twelve sea-sons from 1964 through1975, Wooden’s UCLABruins won an amazingten NCAA champion-ships. No other collegecoach or team has evercome close to matchingthat winning streak.

Coach John Wooden

102

John Wooden may be the greatest coachin the history of college basketball. He wassuccessful with many different teams andplayers. Some of his championship teamswere led by such legendary big men asKareem Abdul-Jabbar and Bill Walton. ButWooden’s first NCAA championship team,the team that beat the Duke Blue Devilsand were 30–0 for the 1963–64 season, hadno big men. In fact, the Bruins did not havea single starter that season who was over 6 feet 5 inches tall. (That’s an inch shorterthan Kobe Bryant!) But the Bruins made upfor their lack of height with speed, hustle,and the full-court zone press, designed byCoach Wooden.

Like lots of coaches, John Wooden firstlearned about basketball by playing basket-ball. Wooden was a star in high school whowent on to be a three-time all-American atPurdue University from 1930 to 1932.Wooden was such a great player that he isthe only person inducted into the NationalBasketball Hall of Fame in Springfield,Massachusetts, as both a player and a coach.

103

Wooden first learned about the idea of afull-court defense from his coach at Purdue,Ward “Piggy” Lambert. After leaving Pur-due, Wooden played semipro basketball onthe weekends to make extra money, but hedid not play in a professional basketballleague as college stars do today. TheNational Basketball Association, the NBA,did not start until years later, in 1946.Instead, Wooden coached high school bas-ketball (and taught high school English).His teams’ record over eleven years was out-standig: 218 wins and only 42 losses.

Wooden moved on to coach collegebasketball, first at Indiana State and thenat UCLA. Each of Wooden’s teams used thefull-court zone press in certain situations,but never for an entire game. That changedin the 1963–64 season, when Woodendecided to use the full-court press all thetime. That season, the Bruins’ full-courtpress blew away opposing teams. The fast-breaking Bruins went undefeated and wonall but seven of their thirty games by tenpoints or more.

104

Wooden didn’t have any big men thatseason, but he had players who were perfectfor the press. Walt Hazzard and GailGoodrich were a pair of all-American ball-hawking guards, and Keith Erickson was aquick-thinking forward who played the lastline of defense in the press. Erickson had anuncanny sense of when to move up for asteal and when to stay back and guard thebasket.

The next season (1964–65), the Bruinswere still not big, and they kept the full-court pressure on. Despite a pair of early-season losses, UCLA streaked through theNCAA tournament averaging 100 points agame and defeating the favored and muchbigger University of Michigan Wolverines91–80. In the championship game, GailGoodrich, the smallest player on the court,led UCLA to victory with 42 points.

Gail Goodrich, Walt Hazzard, and KeithErickson went on to have long NBA careers,and Gail Goodrich made it into the NationalBasketball Hall of Fame.

105

There were more championships to come after the 1964–65 season. But with theirfirst two championship victories, JohnWooden and the UCLA Bruins proved youdo not have to be big to play big. You justneed to have good players, a lot of heart,and the willingness to go full-court.

106

UCLA Bruins 1963–1964NCAA championship team

Acknowledgments

The author would like to thank Mr. BillBennett, the Associate Sports InformationDirector at UCLA, for providing informa-tion on the UCLA basketball program andespecially the championship teams of 1964and 1965. Much of the information aboutJohn Wooden and the UCLA championshipteams in The Real Story chapter is fromJohn Wooden’s book THEY CALL ME COACH.

About the Author

One of the biggest disap-pointments of Fred Bowen’slife was that he did not makehis high school varsity bas-ketball team in Marblehead,Massachusetts. But he didnot stop playing. Mr. Bowenplayed pickup basketballand in recreational leaguesfor twenty-five years. Heplayed on the same team, theCourt Jesters, for eighteen straight seasons.

Mr. Bowen has also coached more than a dozenkids’ basketball teams.

Mr. Bowen is the author of a number of sports nov-els for young readers. He lives in Silver Spring, Mary-land with his wife Peggy Jackson. His daughter is acollege student and his son is a college baseball coach.

Mr. Bowen writes a sports column for kids in theWashington Post.

Visit his website at www.fredbowen.com.

Fred Bowen Sports Story seriesDon’t miss all the action-packed books by Fred Bowen. Check out www.SportsStorySeries.com for more info.

Soccer Team Upset PB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-495-2 / 1-56145-495-8

Tyler is angry when his team’s star player leaves to join an elite travel team. Just as Tyler expected, the Cougars’ season goes straight downhill. Can he make a difference before it’s too late?

Touchdown Trouble PB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-497-6 / 1-56145-497-4

Thanks to a major play by Sam, the Cowboys beat their arch rivals to remain undefeated. But the celebration ends when Sam and his teammates make an unexpected discovery. Is their perfect season in jeopardy?

Dugout Rivals PB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-515-7 / 1-56145-515-6

Last year Jake was one of his team’s best players. But this season it looks like a new kid is going to take Jake’s place as team leader. Can Jake settle for second-best?

Hardcourt Comeback PB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-516-4 / 1-56145-516-4

Brett blew a key play in an important game. Now he feels like a loser for letting his teammates down—and he keeps making mistakes. How can Brett become a “winner” again?

Hey, sports fans!

All-Star Sports Story series

Full Court FeverPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-508-9 / 1-56145-508-3

The Falcons have the skill but not the height to win their games. Will the full-court zone press

be the solution to their problem?

Off the RimPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-509-6 / 1-56145-509-1

Hoping to be more than a benchwarmer, Chris learns that defense is just as important as offense.

The Final CutPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-510-2 / 1-56145-510-5

Four friends realize that they may not all make the team and that the tryouts are a test—not only of their athletic skills, but of their friendship as well.

On the LinePB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-511-9 / 1-56145-511-3

Marcus is the highest scorer and the best rebounder, but he’s not so great at free throws—until the school

custodian helps him overcome his fear of failure.

Want more?

Series

All-Star Sports Story series

T. J.’s Secret PitchPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-504-1 / 1-56145-504-0

T. J.’s pitches just don’t pack the power they need to strike out the batters, but the story of 1940s baseball hero Rip Sewell and his legendary eephus pitch may help him find a solution.

The Golden GlovePB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-505-8 / 1-56145-505-9

Without his lucky glove, Jamie doesn’t believe in his ability to lead his baseball team to victory. How will he learn that faith in oneself is the most important equipment for any game?

The Kid CoachPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-506-5 / 1-56145-506-7

Scott and his teammates can’t find an adult to coach their team, so they must find a leader among themselves.

Playoff DreamsPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-507-2 / 1-56145-507-5

Brendan is one of the best players in the league, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his team win.

Winners Take AllPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-512-6 / 1-56145-512-1

Kyle makes a poor decision to cheat in a big game. Someone discovers the truth and threatens to reveal it. What can Kyle do now?

Series

Want more?

All-Star Sports Story seriesFull Court Fever

PB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-508-9 / 1-56145-508-3

The Falcons have the skill but not the height to win their games. Will the full-court zone press

be the solution to their problem?

Off the RimPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-509-6 / 1-56145-509-1

Hoping to be more than a benchwarmer, Chris learns that defense is just as important as offense.

The Final CutPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-510-2 / 1-56145-510-5

Four friends realize that they may not all make the team and that the tryouts are a test—not only of their athletic skills, but of their friendship as well.

On the LinePB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-511-9 / 1-56145-511-3

Marcus is the highest scorer and the best rebounder, but he’s not so great at free throws—until the school

custodian helps him overcome his fear of failure.

Want more?

Series

All-Star Sports Story series

T. J.’s Secret PitchPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-504-1 / 1-56145-504-0

T. J.’s pitches just don’t pack the power they need to strike out the batters, but the story of 1940s baseball hero Rip Sewell and his legendary eephus pitch may help him find a solution.

The Golden GlovePB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-505-8 / 1-56145-505-9

Without his lucky glove, Jamie doesn’t believe in his ability to lead his baseball team to victory. How will he learn that faith in oneself is the most important equipment for any game?

The Kid CoachPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-506-5 / 1-56145-506-7

Scott and his teammates can’t find an adult to coach their team, so they must find a leader among themselves.

Playoff DreamsPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-507-2 / 1-56145-507-5

Brendan is one of the best players in the league, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his team win.

Winners Take AllPB: $5.95 / 978-1-56145-512-6 / 1-56145-512-1

Kyle makes a poor decision to cheat in a big game. Someone discovers the truth and threatens to reveal it. What can Kyle do now?

Series

Want more?