Lucky Shot

Welcome to the inaugural edition of Tomes and Topics.

First, a short poem that I included in my second book, a story and poem collection called “State of Georgia . . . and Other Writings.” This poem introduces a novella called “Quitter” about a man who returns to his small hometown to quit quitting the things he loves. He volunteers to help coach the basketball team because he began his quitting streak when he was in high school and he quit the basketball team.

I decided that a poem I’d written about my son playing basketball on the driveway was a fitting introduction to a story about a man who ends up coaching basketball, and that ends up turning his life around.

Here is the poem:

Driveway NBA

Dribble, dribble, fake a move,
Shift and run -- dribbling still
-- sudden stop, feet planted.
One fluid motion of arms, hands
And ball rushing upward.
Release, follow through,
Perfect arc.
        	Silence . . . . . . . . .
Swish!
        	“Oh, yeah!”
A celebratory jerk backward
Of fist and elbow, waist high.
 
The crowd of one -- mom on the porch
-- cheers enthusiastically, knowing
That no pro game her son dreams
Of playing in can ever match
This one on the driveway.
 

I wrote that poem a long time ago. My son loved to shoot hoops on the driveway and at school on the basketball team. He was a very good player. Unfortunately, his team never had the success that I would have liked to see them have, but that’s the thing about sports — someone wins and someone loses.

Fortunately, he ended up as an assistant coach at Ponca High School while he was attending college in Wayne. He coached there for four years, culminating in a trip to the Nebraska state contest in his fourth year which was 2017. That was also the year in which the boys’ basketball team from Neligh-Oakdale qualified for state.

Why does that matter, you ask? Well, I was a teacher at Neligh-Oakdale, my son graduated from there, and my daughter was a senior that year. Additionally, Neligh-Oakdale and Ponca were in the same class, but they were on opposite sides of the bracket, so there was no way they’d end up playing each other unless they happened to both make it to the championship game.

The odds were against that, but you probably see where this is going. Yep, Ponca and Neligh-Oakdale both advanced to the state championship game, and I was left in a quandary.

How to cheer for both teams?

I compromised and sat near the Neligh-Oakdale fan side while wearing a Ponca shirt. It was a very surreal experience and the only game in which I literally cheered for every basket, no matter who made it. I’d been teaching the Neligh-Oakdale boys for four years, and I’d been cheering on the Ponca boys for the same amount of time.

Compounding things, though, was the fact that the Neligh-Oakdale senior boys were classmates of my daughter, so I’d known many of them since their preschool years!

My son, though, not only was coaching against players from his alma mater, but he was also coaching against his former coaches because the head and assistant coaches at Neligh-Oakdale in 2017 had been his basketball coaches during his senior year of high school in 2012.

So, who won the game? Ponca did, and I got to see my son become a state-winning coach while he was still in college. I was happier for him than I was for his boys, and watching him in action during the state championship game of 2017 is one of my happiest memories.

Between all the basketball games he played in while growing up to all the basketball games he’s coached since then, I’ve attended a LOT of games, and I plan to keep going to them as long as he keeps coaching them. He loves it, and I love him.

I did play basketball myself when I was younger, but I stopped after junior high because I went to a large high school, and I was not talented enough to ever be anything more than a bench warmer. In retrospect, though, I do wish I’d kept it up because I wasn’t horrible at it, and during my senior year, all the starters ended up injured in some way, so I probably would have had some playing time after all!

In junior high, though, my only real basketball memory was the time the refs had to stop the game because my contact lens had popped out, so we spent a few minutes searching the playing floor for it. Fortunately, it was light blue, so we found it quickly. Unfortunately, it chipped, and I had to get a replacement. It wouldn’t have chipped if I hadn’t been forced to wear those horrible semi-hard contact lenses, but that’s a topic for another day.

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I’ll sign off now, but I hope you’ll keep reading and enjoy the short story included below called “Lucky Shot.”

								 
Lucky Shot

by: Tammy Marshall

	The Bobcats were down by two with five seconds left in the game. It was their ball, and it was in the hands of their best player, Ty Sanderson.
	Ty dribbled down court, deftly side-stepping each defender in the full-court press. Just outside of the three-point line, he stopped and launched the ball.
	The buzzer sounded. Everyone froze. The only movement in the packed gym was that of the ball arcing toward the basket. Coach Mann dropped to his knees and prayed to the God of Basketball to please let him have one win this season.
	Swoosh! The ball soared through the basket, touching only the net.
	The crowd erupted in cheers. The announcer shouted into the microphone. “The losing streak is over! The losing streak is over thanks to Ty Sanderson!”
	Ty’s teammates carried him around the gymnasium on their shoulders while Coach Mann sat on the floor, looking upward and mouthing “Thank you” over and over. He was crying.
	Suddenly, someone yelled, “Ty, get up and shake the other teams’ hands!”
	Ty blinked and looked around. He’d been daydreaming again. Quickly he ran to the end of the line where he slapped the other team members’ hands and repeatedly mumbled, “Good game.”
	He shot a glance at the scoreboard. 64-28. Ouch. His team had lost – again. Nothing surprising there. They were the worst basketball team in the entire state of Nebraska, he was sure of that.
	Coach Mann’s overall record was 4-75. He was a very nice man, but a really bad coach.  The school board didn’t replace him because he came cheap, and it couldn’t afford to pay for a talented coach. Also, he was an ordained, yet non-practicing, minister. They couldn’t fire a minister, practicing or not. It was best simply to hope he’d improve as a coach; yet after five years as the Bobcats’ coach, he hadn’t improved a bit.
	He followed Ty through the line and congratulated the opposing coach, who smugly told him, “Better luck next time, Coach.”
	As they walked off the court, Ty said, “In my head we won, Coach.”
	Coach Mann smiled weakly at his youngest player. “Thanks, Ty, but you know, you’ve got to stop daydreaming and focus on the game. I’m never going to play you if you don’t.”
	“Okay, Coach. Mind if I shoot around for a while?”
	Coach Mann looked at the rapidly dwindling crowd, comprised mostly of people from the visiting town, and at the backs of his dejected players as they headed to the locker room. Ty’s was the only smiling, familiar face he saw.
	He shrugged. “Sure, kid. I’ll be back in a bit to lock up.”
	“Thanks, Coach.” Ty trotted off, picked up a ball, and began bouncing it erratically.
	Coach Mann shook his head. “The only player with enthusiasm I have, and he’s the worst player on the team.” He followed his players toward the locker room.
	Alone on the court, Ty became the star of the game. He fake-pumped, he spun, he dunked, he hooked, he sprinted, and he tripped over his shoelaces and fell face down near the bleachers.
	Someone snickered. Ty looked up and saw the new student, Josh Bowers, shaking his head at him.
	“Man, you’re pathetic.”
	Ty quickly began to tie his shoe, so Josh wouldn’t see the redness spreading across his face. “I don’t see you playing,” he mumbled.
	“Why would I want to play with a bunch of losers like you?” Josh came down the bleacher steps.
	Ty stood and faced the older boy. “I’m not a loser.”
	Josh laughed. “Yeah, I guess not. You’re not to blame for tonight’s loss since you didn’t even play.”
	Ty narrowed his eyes. “I’m only a freshman.”
	“Big deal. If you were any good, your coach would play you.” Josh began to walk away.
	“Bet I could beat you,” Ty said under his breath.
	Josh stopped and slowly turned. “What did you say?”
	Ty casually tried to dribble the ball, but it got away from him and drifted toward center court. Squaring his shoulders, he repeated, “I bet I could beat you.”
	Josh laughed. “You’re on.” He took off his jacket and threw it on the bottom bleacher seat.
	Ty swallowed audibly. “Okay.” He retrieved the ball.
	“First person to ten,” Josh said as he rolled up his sleeves.
	“No problem,” Ty replied with false bravado. Inwardly he hoped Coach Mann would return and throw them out.
	“You can have the ball first, like a head start,” Josh smirked.
	Ty took the ball out. “What am I doing?” he asked himself.
	“Come on! Quit stalling,” Josh barked at him.
	Ty narrowed his eyes and focused on the basket at the other end of the court. He ran toward it, dribbling as he went. He felt Josh’s breath upon him as he tried to steal the ball, but he eluded Josh’s reaches and managed to get to his basket. He drove in for a lay-up. Just as the ball left his hand, Josh leaped up and smacked it away.
	“Nice try,” he scoffed.
	Before Ty realized what was happening, Josh scooped up the ball and took off for his basket. Ty watched as Josh expertly executed a lay-up.
	He trotted to the other end.  “Nice shot.”
	Josh tossed him the ball. “Thanks. It might help if you actually try to play a little defense.”
	“See if you can defend this,” he yelled as he ran off.
	Josh rushed after him and deftly knocked the ball away. Ty stumbled as he tried to recover the ball. His efforts were in vain as Josh dribbled away and scored another two points.
	Ty once again took the ball out.  
	“I’ll go easy on you this time. We’ll see if you can even make a basket.”
	Ty glared at him. “I can make a basket, and I don’t need you going easy on me to do it.”
	“Okay, have it your way.” Josh readied himself in a defensive position.
	Ty faked to the left and then broke right, running as fast as he could. He sensed Josh behind him trying to steal the ball again. He stopped running and quickly side-stepped. Josh ran a couple of steps past him, and that was all the time Ty needed. He squared up with the basket, aimed and shot. The ball arced through the air, bounced off the back of the rim, and went in.
	“Two for me,” he smugly said to Josh’s back.
	Josh turned. “Two? Are you crazy? We should count that as a four.”
	“What?” Ty looked around, noticing his position for the first time. His mouth dropped open. He was well beyond the three-point line. He was, in fact, beyond the half-court line.
	“That’s what I’d call a nice shot,” Josh said, smiling broadly at Ty.
	“Me too,” a voice called from the doorway. The boys turned to see Coach Mann walking toward them, a never-before-seen bounce in his step. He scooped up the ball and passed it to Ty.  “Can you do it again?”
	Ty looked at the ball in his hands, searching it as if it were a crystal ball that could provide the answer to that question. “It was just a lucky shot,” he mumbled.
	“Try,” Josh urged.
	Seeing the encouragement in the older boy’s face, Ty slowly dribbled the ball as he scrutinized the basket. Before the ball could get away from him, he picked it up, aimed, and shot.
	The ball soared toward the basket and fell short by about ten feet. He watched the ball bounce toward the wall, and then he looked down at his shoes.
	Coach Mann patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, Ty. I saw the first one. That was a great shot.”
	He toed the half-court line. “Naw, Coach, it was just a lucky shot.”
	Josh trotted to the ball and picked it up. “Let’s finish our game. It’s 4-3 now. We said first one to ten, right?”
	Ty began to shake his head, but Coach Mann interrupted him. “Finish the game, Ty. I’ll wait to lock up.”
	“You sure, Coach?”
	“Yes, but there’s a condition.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “If Josh wins, you’ll owe me forty free-throws at every practice. If you win, I’ll start you at the next game.”
	Ty’s eyes widened. “Really? You’d start me?”
	Coach Mann nodded. “You win, you start.”
	“We going to play or what?” Josh yelled from the end of the court.
	Ty smiled. “It’s a deal, Coach.” He grabbed the older man’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. Then he ran toward Josh. “Let’s play!”
	Coach Mann faded into the semi-darkness of the doorway to watch the boys. He grimaced as Josh scored again on Ty. He was the better player, but there was a lot of raw talent in Ty. “Come on, Ty, you can do it!” He shook his head as Josh scored twice more in quick succession.
  	Ty ran over to him and handed him the ball. Even though he was in good spirits, disappointment was clearly etched across his face. “Well, Coach, I lost. Forty free-throws at every practice.”
	Coach Mann cleared his throat. “Yes, Ty, you lost, but I saw some good stuff. I’ll play you at the next game.”
	Ty’s face lit up. “Really, Coach?”
	“Yes, but no daydreaming on the court.”
	Josh joined them and slapped Ty on the back. “Good game.”
	“Thanks. Coach says he’s going to play me at the next game.”
	“Well, it can’t hurt.” Josh turned to leave. “I’ll see you around, freshman.”
	“Wait,” Coach Mann said. “You interested in being on the team? You’re a good player.”
	Josh looked at the coach’s hopeful face and sighed. “I can’t, Coach.”
	“Why not?” Ty asked.
	“I just can’t. Sorry.” He walked away, grabbed his jacket, and left the gym.
	“That’s strange,” Ty said.
	“Not really,” Coach Mann said quietly. “His father played for UCLA and was destined for the pros, but he got injured and became an abusive drunk instead. Josh has talent, but he despises his father, and basketball represents his father.”
	“How do you know all that?”
	“Well, even though I’m not a practicing minister anymore, I do volunteer work for Social Services. I hear things.”
	“Oh, I see.” Ty looked sadly to where the older boy had been a moment ago.
	Coach Mann put a hand on Ty’s shoulder. “You know, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” He shook his head and grimaced. 
	“Yeah, but thanks for doing it.  I won’t tell anyone.”
	“I know. Let’s go, Ty. It’s late. I’ll give you a ride.”
	The two shut off the remaining lights and left the gym together.
	A week and two hundred free-throws later, Ty found himself checking into his first high school game. It was the fourth quarter, and the Bobcats were down by thirty, but Ty didn’t care. He was getting to play. 
	He ran onto the court and heard a few comments of surprise from people in the stands. He tuned them out. The whistle sounded. He moved to an open position. Surprisingly, the point guard actually threw him the ball. He blinked in astonishment as two taller boys charged up to him, wildly waving their arms.
	“Dribble the ball, Ty!” someone yelled at him. He dribbled around the defenders and drove in for a lay-up.  Suddenly, another boy reared up in front of him and smacked the ball away, striking Ty’s arm as he did so.
	A whistle sounded and the referee called, “Foul. Two shots.”
	Ty dazedly walked to the free-throw line. He took his first penalty shot. Swish! Light applause. He took his second shot. Swish! Louder applause this time, followed by a familiar voice. “Good job, Ty.”
	As he headed down court, Ty took a quick glance at the crowd.  There was Josh, thumb raised, smiling at him.