Джон Гришэм - Sooley

At 2 p.m. Saturday, the gates opened for the three o’clock game and the Arkansas throng was back. They filled the Forum early and made almost as much noise as they did on Thursday. Their love for Sooley had soured quickly and they were hungry for a win. The school had one national title, back in 1994, and, with Duke out of the way, the Razorbacks had a clear path to the next round.

Sooley picked up where he’d left off, and when he drained his second three, the crowd settled down. The Arkansas defense was jittery and panicked every time he touched the ball. It collapsed on him quickly and left plenty of gaps elsewhere. He began driving and dishing off for easy buckets. At half-time, he had nine assists and 16 points. The second half turned into a horse race as both teams tried to outrun each other. But no one could outrun Sooley. He scored 46 with 13 assists, and Central advanced with a 10-point win.

Off to the Sweet Sixteen.

By Monday morning Lonnie Britt was sick of the word “Cinderella.” Every sportscaster and sportswriter used it at least once per sentence. There were no other contenders. Out west, Utah State, a 10th seed, had knocked off UCLA, a number four, in a mild upset, but nothing even remotely close to what happened in Memphis.

Central’s President was waiting, his door wide open, his secretary smiling as she offered pastries and coffee. Lonnie had never been so warmly received. As they settled into wide leather chairs, the AD arrived and the door was closed. Congratulations all around. What a weekend!

They covered the logistics of going to Atlanta for the next round. How many tickets would be allotted? How many big donors would be included? Politicians were calling and wanting in. Alumni Relations had never attracted so much attention. And the press! Hundreds of reporters and journalists were angling for stories and access, and while it was important to take advantage of a unique opportunity to market the school, Lonnie was much more concerned with protecting his players. Especially Sooley.

“Where is he?” asked the President.

“He’s living in Murray Walker’s basement. I think Ida’s guarding the door. He’s been there for a couple of weeks. The dorm got crazy.”

“Is he going to class?”

“Yes, for the most part. But I doubt if many of the players are in class this morning. I’d like to leave for Atlanta tomorrow, after practice, just to get them out of town.”

The AD frowned and said, “And miss a whole week of classes?”

Lonnie laughed and said, “Oh, so you think they’ll study this week? We play Providence at six on Thursday afternoon, and that’s all they’re thinking about. This is too big. The kids are overwhelmed. I’d like to practice tomorrow at noon, then hit the road.”

The AD looked at the President. Both knew the truth. With three wins already in the tournament the money was pouring in. Start with the NCAA-CBS contract, now worth over $500 million annually, and watch the money trickle down to the conferences and game winners. Central had already earned $600,000 that wasn’t expected. And in March Madness, the more you win the more you earn.

Whatever Coach Britt wanted.

Because he felt he had to, the President said, “Okay, fine with me, but please instruct your players to get their assignments and study in their free time.”

“Of course,” Lonnie replied, because he had to. He would not monitor a single laptop. It was only March. The players had plenty of time to catch up in class and he had no plans to nag his guys during the greatest week of their lives.

The AD said, “We have rooms at a new Marriott downtown. Two players per room.”

Lonnie smiled and said, “No thanks. We’ve already scoped out the hotels and I don’t like any of them. I’m hiding my team, okay? There’s a hotel in Athens where no one can find us. Two players per room.”

The AD frowned and said, “But our team headquarters is the Marriott. That’s where all of us, including the fans, will be staying.”

“Have fun there. All the more reason to hide the kids. I don’t want them getting pestered. Murray told me last night that he’s been approached by three runners working for agents. They know he rooms with Sooley and he’s reminded them that contact is illegal at this point. But these guys know how to work the system. You see where this is going. The talking heads have projected the kid going high in the draft. The vultures are circling, which will be fine when the season is over. Right now I don’t want him distracted.”

All three had watched SportsCenter and knew the buzz.

The President asked, “You see him in the draft?”

“No. He’s too young, too raw, too immature.”

But he scored 58 against Duke!

In college basketball, everyone has an agenda. Lonnie was looking for a bigger job and Sooley might help. Sooley would soon be tempted to declare for the draft and explore its options. An agent would whisper wonderful things to him and dangle the cash. Once money was involved, loyalties would begin to shift.

The AD said, “Okay, you want us to reserve the rooms?”

“No, it’s already done.”

“Will you tell us where the team is staying?”

“Only if you promise not to ask Sooley for a selfie.”

The AD laughed and said, “We have a bunch of requests for seats on the plane.”

“Save ’em. We’re taking the bus.”

“The bus? It’s a six-hour drive to Atlanta.”

“Yep. And Sooley prefers the bus. I’m sure he’ll study all the way down there.”

“Come on, Coach,” the President said. “We can’t arrive for the Sweet Sixteen in a bus.”

“What do we know about Sweet Sixteen arrivals?”

“Good point.”

The AD said, “If Sooley wants a bus, then take the bus.”

Miss Ida had them up and eating breakfast by eight. Ernie lingered for a final word.

They were concerned that their two players had shown no interest in their academic pursuits for at least the past week and would probably want to skip Monday’s classes. After Ernie left, Miss Ida made Sooley promise to go to class.

Actually, he wanted to. There were two extremely cute girls in American History. When he walked in five minutes late, the entire class stood and cheered. The professor was a good sport and enjoyed the celebration. Sooley sat behind the girls, in his usual spot, and opened his laptop.

After fifteen minutes, the professor realized that her lecture was not being heard by anyone, especially Sooley, who was online with the girls. The professor walked from behind the lectern and said, “Can I have your attention, please? Thank you. How many of you have younger brothers and sisters at home?”

Almost all of the students raised their hands.

“And how many of you have been asked by your younger siblings to get a photo with Mr. Sooleymon?”

All hands went up.

She smiled and continued: “Thought so. I have a twelve-year-old son, and if I go home without a photo he won’t speak to me. Sooley, please forgive me for disrupting your classwork, but, if you will indulge us, I will excuse all absences from last week and this week. Deal?”

The class cheered again and Sooley ambled down to the front.

The school wanted some sort of glorious send-off, an old-fashioned pep rally, with speeches, cheerleaders, a band, and students packed in the stands. But Lonnie nixed it. More adulation wouldn’t do a damned thing to help win the game against Providence.

He ran them hard Tuesday afternoon, then told them to shower, change, hustle up, and get on the bus.

As they left campus, Roy Tice yelled back: “Say, Sooley, next week when we go to the Final Four can we take a plane? My app says it’s thirty-two hours to Phoenix by car. Straight shot on Interstate Forty.”