Read Online Blind Your Ponies by Stanley Gordon West - Free Book Online
Authors: Stanley Gordon West
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sunlight filtered weakly through the narrow frosted windows. The aroma of sweat and floor wax blended with faint flavors from lunch hour.
Tom stood in his diamondback boots and his black hat, his hands were at his hips. The coach walked to the bleachers and took off his sport coat.
“Why don’t you take off your jacket, Tom? We can shoot a few baskets.” “You got me in here to shoot baskets?” He pulled off his Levi jacket and threw it on a bench.
Big deal.
Coach Pickett picked up a basketball and tossed it to him.
“You’ve seen me shoot before,” Tom said. He dribbled several times and lifted a halfhearted shot at the basket. The ball hit the rim and came back toward him. Tom caught it.
“How’d that feel?”
“I missed. Did you get me in here just to see how it would
feel
?”
“Yes! But I also brought you here because we’ll need you if we’re going to win this year.”
The coach turned toward the boys’ locker room and hollered.
“Olaf!”
Tom glanced at the doorway as Olaf appeared, all knees and elbows, a scrawny scarecrow with long, lean arms, spindly legs, wearing gunboat Adidases, economy-size boxer shorts, and a T-shirt that read party animal.
“What are you doing?” Tom said.
“Hi, Tom,” the Norwegian said with a smile plastered on his face. Olaf began skipping a spliced rope. He had mastered it enough to jump rapidly for almost half a minute before hitting a snag. When he untangled himself, he looked as though he was imitating a plucked flamingo.
“Son of a bitch, is he going to
play
?” Tom said, tipping his hat back.
“All right, Olaf, that’s enough for now,” the coach said. “Let’s use the ball.”
Olaf tossed the rope aside; his straw-colored hair was tousled and his chest heaved from the exertion. Tom flipped him the ball. Olaf snapped atwo-handed pass to Mr. Pickett. While they tossed the ball around, Tom fumed.
“You turkey, you told us you didn’t
know how
to play!” He turned to the grinning English teacher. “That was the first thing we all asked him.”
“That’s the secret. He’s learning and he needs lots of help. He has a long way to go in a short time, but he’s willing to work hard, and that’s what it will take from all of us, gut-wrenching hard work.”
The coach caught the ball and kept it.
“I can’t promise you anything, Tom, and Olaf can’t promise you anything. But I think we’ve got one of those extraordinary opportunities you have to grab before it slips away forever. If Olaf keeps working the way he has and improving as much as he has, we’ll have four players, including you.”
Mr. Pickett nodded, and Olaf moved into the paint just in front of the basket. The teacher lobbed a high pass to him. Without a dribble, Olaf jumped, turned in the air, and slammed the ball down through the net. He looked at Tom with a big grin on his face.
“That is allowed.”
Tom stared in disbelief and the upcoming season loomed in his mind, how he’d watch the opposing teams swallow their tongues and piss their pants when the Jolly Green Giant in a jockstrap lumbered into view.
“You can jam it,” Tom finally said.
“Yam it? Ya, yam it,” Olaf said.
“No—
J
am!
J
am!” Tom shouted.
Mr. Pickett picked up the ball and tossed it to Tom.
“You try it.”
Olaf moved into the paint and Tom fed him a high pass. The awkward kid turned and hammered the ball down through the netting and left a hollow echo booming off the gym walls. Then, smiling as though they’d just won the lottery, Olaf and Mr. Pickett turned to Tom for his response.
“Now, do you think any player from Twin Bridges could prevent Olaf from doing that?” the coach asked.
“
Hell
no,” Tom said.
“Could anyone from Gardiner stop Olaf from doing that?”
“
Nooo
way!”
“Do you think you would enjoy helping Olaf rain basketball leather down upon the brows of those opposing teams?”
Tom held his breath for a beat and he stared at the other two grinning
Tom stood in his diamondback boots and his black hat, his hands were at his hips. The coach walked to the bleachers and took off his sport coat.
“Why don’t you take off your jacket, Tom? We can shoot a few baskets.” “You got me in here to shoot baskets?” He pulled off his Levi jacket and threw it on a bench.
Big deal.
Coach Pickett picked up a basketball and tossed it to him.
“You’ve seen me shoot before,” Tom said. He dribbled several times and lifted a halfhearted shot at the basket. The ball hit the rim and came back toward him. Tom caught it.
“How’d that feel?”
“I missed. Did you get me in here just to see how it would
feel
?”
“Yes! But I also brought you here because we’ll need you if we’re going to win this year.”
The coach turned toward the boys’ locker room and hollered.
“Olaf!”
Tom glanced at the doorway as Olaf appeared, all knees and elbows, a scrawny scarecrow with long, lean arms, spindly legs, wearing gunboat Adidases, economy-size boxer shorts, and a T-shirt that read party animal.
“What are you doing?” Tom said.
“Hi, Tom,” the Norwegian said with a smile plastered on his face. Olaf began skipping a spliced rope. He had mastered it enough to jump rapidly for almost half a minute before hitting a snag. When he untangled himself, he looked as though he was imitating a plucked flamingo.
“Son of a bitch, is he going to
play
?” Tom said, tipping his hat back.
“All right, Olaf, that’s enough for now,” the coach said. “Let’s use the ball.”
Olaf tossed the rope aside; his straw-colored hair was tousled and his chest heaved from the exertion. Tom flipped him the ball. Olaf snapped atwo-handed pass to Mr. Pickett. While they tossed the ball around, Tom fumed.
“You turkey, you told us you didn’t
know how
to play!” He turned to the grinning English teacher. “That was the first thing we all asked him.”
“That’s the secret. He’s learning and he needs lots of help. He has a long way to go in a short time, but he’s willing to work hard, and that’s what it will take from all of us, gut-wrenching hard work.”
The coach caught the ball and kept it.
“I can’t promise you anything, Tom, and Olaf can’t promise you anything. But I think we’ve got one of those extraordinary opportunities you have to grab before it slips away forever. If Olaf keeps working the way he has and improving as much as he has, we’ll have four players, including you.”
Mr. Pickett nodded, and Olaf moved into the paint just in front of the basket. The teacher lobbed a high pass to him. Without a dribble, Olaf jumped, turned in the air, and slammed the ball down through the net. He looked at Tom with a big grin on his face.
“That is allowed.”
Tom stared in disbelief and the upcoming season loomed in his mind, how he’d watch the opposing teams swallow their tongues and piss their pants when the Jolly Green Giant in a jockstrap lumbered into view.
“You can jam it,” Tom finally said.
“Yam it? Ya, yam it,” Olaf said.
“No—
J
am!
J
am!” Tom shouted.
Mr. Pickett picked up the ball and tossed it to Tom.
“You try it.”
Olaf moved into the paint and Tom fed him a high pass. The awkward kid turned and hammered the ball down through the netting and left a hollow echo booming off the gym walls. Then, smiling as though they’d just won the lottery, Olaf and Mr. Pickett turned to Tom for his response.
“Now, do you think any player from Twin Bridges could prevent Olaf from doing that?” the coach asked.
“
Hell
no,” Tom said.
“Could anyone from Gardiner stop Olaf from doing that?”
“
Nooo
way!”
“Do you think you would enjoy helping Olaf rain basketball leather down upon the brows of those opposing teams?”
Tom held his breath for a beat and he stared at the other two grinning
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