John Sayles - The Anarchist's Convention and Other Stories

"You listen to the jockey," the old man would say, "that's very sound advice he's giving you. Opportunity will rise up but you have to take advantage of it. I missed my main chance and I'll regret it as long as I live." The old man would have his work jacket on, the one he had worn when he ran the day crew at the switching yard. He still wore it to keep the night watch over the deserted tracks.

"Op-por-tunity," Slim Teeter would declare from the pinball machine. "A-men." The pinball machine in the Hibernian was called the Riverboat Minstrel. Blackfaced jigdancers goggled and grinned pink smiles full of watermelon seeds. Slim was a terrible machine player but liked the lights and the balls and the exercise. Slim said a man could drink all day as long as he got his exercise.

"You keep your eyes open, boy, opportunity is everywhere. Everywhere." The old man never turned, but talked to Brian by way of the mirror over the bar. "Twenty years on the railroad and never once did I ask myself where those loads, those trains, were heading. That's where it was, and I never went after it. Right under my nose and there I was, too blind to smell it."

"What your father means, Sport, is you go where the action is. You settle for what you got and life passes you by." Seventen combination, side pocket. "Right under your nose."

"Wasted my youth on a dead-end job. And youth, youth you never get back. Never."

"You were never wrong, McNeil," Slim would say, opening his eyes wide to signal a joke, "you were born with one foot on that rail and a beer bottle in your chubby little hand."

The old man would nod. "There's truth in that," he would say, and motion Sweeny for another cold one.

Brian shot from where he stood, shot easily as if throwing the ball away, and didn't blink when it swished.

Time was when he'd have called out "Goodwood!" or "Doosh!" or slapped himself five. Asphalt and chain-net days, pre-Coach days, when Hoop was the language you spoke, the language you thought in. When if. you popped the chain it was a word on your tongue and you gave it voice.

Brian shot from where he stood and his tongue ached to call the swish in midair, ached for the days of Rudy and Fatback and Waterbug, for the games they put on. Rudy got rabbit legs, it would start. From his balls up he's all Rudy, but those pins got to come off some bunny. Brian would start it, Hoop-talking, Hoop-thinking, all of them would start it, playing their stories on tongue and asphalt. Rudy got rabbit legs, all thick an bulgy above the knee and stringy-like below it. And he pump the mothers mile-a-minute, hippity-hop, zippin round you ankles (Rudy short) and pushin that roundball up front, ball's a rabbit too. Rudy hop after it, fastest thing going cept maybe Humminbird White from down 13th Street Park and of course Waterbug. I mean Waterbug is Waterbug, you don't get faster. Rudy come bumpin and slidin up the middle, then jump out from the brier patch an lay it over the edge. Rudy go up. Little bit of a thing, no biggern a minute, up pawin round the rim. It was Rit, Big Wop, that got burned so he got to get back when his side gots the ball. Rudy start it back of the line and flip to Ernie. Ernie turns ass to the board and throw up that worthless hook he does, ball get lucky an hit high off the board stead of clearing the fence and go rolling down the street. Preston bring it down, throwin out his skinny arms and butt like somethin big gonna fall on him. Gets it back to Waterbug and we into it. Bug begins to work his show, hundred moves a second, talking to the asphalt with the ball, playin sounds down there and dancing to em. Brian flash open for a second but Waterbug busy, still working, he pass off when he get good an ready. Sees you when even you don't know you're open, got to be ready. The Bug he got eyes in his ears, back his head, man see you when you sleepin an know when you awake. Bug come down the right side till he throw one on a bounce to Rit, Big Wop put his underhand shitshot in. Ghinny is all ass and a yard wide, don't nobody get front of him when he's cuttin hard.

Screamin Winnie Wills starts in, his old high voice is always being coach and spectators, "Move the baw, move the baw, move the bawl" he go on like some old farm bird. Just a thing he does, like Preston wear that cross. Waterbug throw it to Winnie, shut him up for a second. Man can't talk with his mouth an the ball at the same time, he dribble hisself caught in the corner an heave it back out to Brian. Brian go left on Fatback, Back gives him that first step (Back like to rest on defense). B. push hard down the left baseline, slow a bit where it's sandy so he don't slide out, go up switch it to the right an let it go — Ching! "Goodwood!" Old rusty-red net singin his song. Preston got it now, start in with his old back-up basketball, closin in slow, lookin back over his shoulder at the rim nown then, oh them nuns is done a number on this child's style. There's FUCK You in blue spray paint on the backboard from last Halloween, you puts the ball gainst the Y for a right-hand hook and gainst the c for lefty. Press put a right-hander smack on that Y but too hard, bound gets kicked out to Ernie at his spot, left corner the foul circle and it's in. Can't let the fat boy shoot from his spot, turn into a machine there. Rudy get halfway through the middle but Bug is tight with him so he dump it back to Fatback coolin his heels at the center line (Back like to get his rest on offense, too). That round middle-age gut bouncin once every two dribbles, he commence to workin on Brian. Stares at the ground under the man's feet, plays by the landmarks the ants leaves him. Halfway through a dribble he throw it up, straight up. Back's shot always got to make its mind whether to come down or go into orbit. Falls through the net without a sound. Shit a pickle. "Nice," he says. Back always say that when he hits one, nice. Ernie dribble in slow, the only speed he got, when Waterbug cop it right from under his legs. Man steal the pennies off a dead man's eyes he needed two cents. Bug zigs and zags till he got Rudy goin one way an hisself goin the other to ram in a jumper. But Winnie Wills fall down and cut hisself on the bottle glass, aint no big thing and he want to run home for surgery or somethin, can't but touch the dude an he fall apart. So Dukey Holcolmb come over from where he been foolin by the eight-foot basket an it starts up again, playin our show -

Rudy — Hoppin to the ball, rock forward then back then forward then ba- then shoot forward pickin Bug off to lay up a scoop but -

Rit — "Void l" say the Big Wop, waitin all along to cram that Wilson sandwich down the man's throat -

Bug — Work a lightnin show past three men, offer Preston a stuff but dump it back to Rit on a lay-up, good.

Rudy — Swipe the inbound pass, sees Ernie where Ernie should be -

Ernie — Spotshot, good.

Back — No move, no dribble, just look at Brian's laces for a second then let loose a skyball, freezes with his arm pointin up -

Ball — Check out the stratosphere, gets lonely an come down like a mortar shell off the rim, climb again, come down to Brian -

Brian — Got the floor now, dribble an look around for where to put in his two points' worth, walkin, talkin, signifying in Hoop -

Brian shot and didn't blink when it swished. "Thirteensixteen, my ball." He could see every step to his winning. Businesslike, just push where Preston was weak and execute. Execution, that was Coach's favorite word.

"Five of us there were, and only my poor brokenhearted mother to take charge." The old man would be on his fifth or sixth beer. It was usually somewhere in there that he'd get sentimental and start being Irish.

"We were so poor I had to wear my brother's shoes for a year when they were a full size too big for me. Stuffed with newspaper."

Slim would wait a moment for the bells to quiet, for the steel ball to run off the table. "We were so poor we had to patch the soles of our shoes with cardboard."