Джон Гришэм - Sooley

On the other side of the world, the village of Lotta was packed around the television hanging below the cross of Our Lady’s Chapel and roared with every good play.

When Samuel hit his first, and only, three-pointer, his people screamed, yelled, gave glory to God, jumped up and down, and pounded Ayak on the shoulders. There were some chairs scattered about but no one could sit.

South Sudan led by 11 at the end of the first period. Ecko put in C Squad, his best in his opinion, with Dak Marial and Quinton Majok at the forwards. Gold went with a smaller lineup and fresher legs, and the coach slowed down the game. The highlight reel shooting stopped and its offense began to click. After the second period South Sudan was up by 9.

The third period belonged to Benjie Boone, a 6'5" shooting guard who had committed to play at Kentucky but was rumored to be reconsidering and thinking about the NBA draft. He hit three straight bombs and tied the score. There were six lead changes down the stretch as both teams fought and clawed. Gold kept substituting. Ecko did not. He had promised his players equal time on the court and would stick to his word regardless of the score. He rotated Samuel and Bol at the point, but only because he had to. Alek Garang was suited up but couldn’t play.

And he was greatly missed. Neither Samuel nor Bol could buy a basket late in the game, and with no threat outside, the defense smothered Dak Marial and Quinton Majok in the paint. Gold pulled away and won by six.

In the locker room, Ecko took responsibility for the loss, said he’d been outcoached and had decided to try something different. After five games his goal of equal playing time wasn’t working and he and Frankie would start substituting more. More hustle, scoring, and defense would mean more playing time.

The boys were crushed and understood what Ecko was saying. He reminded them that last year’s team lost two games but qualified for the national showcase, then almost won it. They were still alive with two games to go but they could not afford another loss.

Samuel stood and said, “Say, Coach. We got the rest of the day. How about we find a high school gym and have a good practice?”

Ecko replied, “I don’t know. You play tomorrow.”

“Come on, Coach,” said Dak Marial, the unofficial captain. Others chimed in and the request quickly became unanimous.

In Lotta, the villagers were much quieter as they drifted away from the church and returned home. The loss stung but the thrill of seeing Samuel playing in America had not dissipated. Tomorrow’s game would not begin until 10 p.m. their time, and everyone would be back at the church to watch their hero.

Late Sunday night, after the players were in their rooms and all lights were off, Ecko went down to the hotel bar and met Lonnie Britt for a beer. They had shared many in their younger days when coaching at Northern Iowa and they treasured these little reunions. In a dark corner they replayed the day’s game, with Lonnie full of wisdom about what his friend did wrong.

Ecko listened and agreed with most of the criticism. He would have done the same if Lonnie had lost.

Lonnie said, “But you’re not supposed to beat those guys, Ecko. They’re cherry-picked and treated like pros. They dressed out twelve today. Twelve seventeen-year-old kids who are still in high school and who’ll sign with big schools. It’s a pretty amazing program. A lot of talent.”

“We should’ve beat them,” Ecko said, sipping his beer. “I’m worried about advancing. My guys are not ready to go home.”

“You’ll win the next two.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You know the greatest play I saw today?” Lonnie asked with a smile.

“The block?”

“The block. That kid came out of nowhere and looked eight feet tall.”

“I told you.”

With four minutes to go and South Sudan up by one, Benjie Boone bounced off a screen at the top of the key and pulled up wide open from 25 feet. Samuel, who was guarding him, was nowhere to be seen, until the last possible second. Boone, smooth as silk, lifted high with his perfect and uncontested jump shot. Samuel launched himself from the free throw line and slapped the ball hard just as it left Boone’s right hand. The ball landed in the third row of seats.

The All-American was so rattled he did not make another shot.

Lonnie shook his head and said, “He looked ten feet off the ground.”

“Well, his standing vertical leap is thirty-four inches. Forty-five when he’s moving. Give him a running start and he can jump over the backboard.”

“But he can’t shoot and he can’t dribble.”

“He’s coming around, okay? He works incredibly hard and he’s still growing.”

“Who else is looking at him?”

Ecko smiled and shook his head. “Truthfully, no one right now. If I were you I’d take a chance.”

A waitress brought a bowl of pretzels and inquired about another round. No thanks. Maybe later.

Lonnie frowned and glanced around. “I got a problem, Ecko. A new one.”

“What is it?”

“Two of my players were arrested last night in Durham.”

“For what?”

“Armed robbery.”

“Oh, come on, Lonnie. You serious?”

“As a heart attack. A couple of real blockheads. They’re in summer school, most of my kids are, and they went out on Saturday night and found some serious trouble.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know all the facts but I’ve been on the phone all day. My AD. The President. The police. But they ain’t saying much. Looks like the boys went to a party, smoked some pot, and got in the car with the wrong guy. They had plenty of pot but ran out of beer. The driver stopped at a convenience store, and for some reason decided it would be smart to pull a gun and rob the cashier. Fortunately he didn’t pull the trigger. All three are charged with armed robbery. AD says they gotta go. Now.”

“Good kids?”

Lonnie took a sip of beer and kept frowning. “Good guys, I love ’em, but both come from bad homes. One, Clancy, has a brother in prison. He was my number seven last season, played 15 minutes a game. A junior with little time for classwork. The other, Fonzo we call him, will be a sophomore and is pretty lazy. I have great kids, Ecko, for the most part.”

“But the kids are not armed robbers. Sounds like little more than a dumb mistake.”

“Yeah, but they’re facing serious charges.”

“You gotta replace them?”

“Yep, for this season anyway. I have to meet the AD and the lawyers tomorrow and they’ll try to work a deal. But the kids are out of the program for at least a year.”

“Sooleymon?”

“I’m thinking, okay? Be honest with me, Ecko.”

“When have I ever been dishonest?”

“Never. But you do love your players.”

“Same as you.”

“Sure, most of the time.”

“Lonnie, Samuel could be the steal of the tournament. He’s not getting looks because he’s not scoring. But he will. When I first saw him back in April he had the worst jump shot in Africa. He’s come a long way and he’s still working hard. And growing.”

“He’ll never be a point guard.”

“No. Forget the point. He’ll be at least six six by Christmas.”

“What about classwork?”

“He’s from the bush, okay? He just finished secondary school in his village so you gotta figure he’ll need some help. Surely you can get him in.”

“Probably so. Central is not exactly like the other school in Durham.”

“Oh, so you think Duke worries about SAT scores?”

They shared a laugh and ordered another beer. Ecko was excited by the possibility and pushed even harder. At midnight, Lonnie glanced at his watch and said, “I need to go. I can’t stick around for the game tomorrow. I have an early flight to Durham and meet with the AD at noon. Then, I have the pleasure of going to the jail.”