Read Online The Squared Circle by JAMES W. BENNETT - Free Book Online Page B

shaky, Sonny took deep breaths. The only sliver of consolation was knowing Rice wouldn’t get on your case unless he decided you were worth it. The next time an Egyptian player got trapped on his side, Sonny went straight at the guy and raked the ball loose with both hands. But he also bodied him out-of-bounds and got whistled for a foul. Sonny quickly looked at Rice, but there was no reason to be shook; the coach was grinning the crooked grin and giving him the thumbs-up.
    One Gram, who was seated next to the coach, shouted encouragement: “In his face, Sonny, in his face!”
    While they were lined up to shoot the free throws, Sonny watched as the Egyptian coach, Barnes, walked over to Rice. Barnes wanted to know why Rice was putting on the press with a 30-point lead.
    â€œKiss my ass,” was all Rice said to him, without even looking in his direction.
    On offense, Sonny turned down several jump-shot opportunities. It felt safer just to make quick passes; it got him into the flow of the game and over feeling stressed. Twice in the fourth quarter he anticipated the path of the pass that the trapped Egyptian player would have to make. Both times he stepped up easily to intercept, and with two quick strides and a single dribble, made the soft layup. Both times it all happened so fast there was no time to think, like it was instinct, like it was inner .
    What was not inner was the air turbulence over Cleveland. Sonny sat up straight in his seat, along with several of the other players. There was some low-level murmuring and grumbling. He was surprised to find Coach Workman sitting beside him, but maybe he shouldn’t have been; of Gentry’s three assistants, it was Workman whose emotional bond with players was most secure. “You okay, Youngblood?”
    â€œYeah, why not? Is this okay?”
    â€œIt’s just a pocket of turbulence, nothing unusual. Have you done much flying?”
    â€œNo. Only when I made a visit to UCLA. That, and the flight back.”
    â€œYou want something?”
    â€œHave you got something?”
    â€œJust these. They help sometimes.”
    Sonny looked at the two tiny white pills. “What is this, Dramamine?”
    â€œSomething like that. You were talking in your sleep. Are you havin’ bad dreams?”
    â€œNot exactly,” he laughed. “I was back in the ninth grade playing against Egyptian.”
    â€œYou played for Brother Rice, didn’t you?” Workman asked him.
    Sonny was surprised. He downed the pills and rubbed his eyes before he said, “You know about him?”
    â€œOh yeah. I never met him, but I sure heard about him. He’s got a reputation, or at least he had one when he was still coaching.”
    â€œHe’s in a nursing home now.”
    â€œHe was one corncob sonofabitch, from everything I ever heard.”
    â€œYeah,” said Sonny. “I guess maybe. I’m never sure. I never would have been a player without him, though.”
    More turbulence made the aircraft drop again, but Workman just smiled. “So why don’t you tell me about Rice?”
    â€œThat would be a long story.”
    â€œOkay, come up with a short version.”
    Sonny had to think for a moment. He knew Coach Workman was trying to calm him. “I always remember the Anna–Jonesboro game,” he said. “I was a starter by then, scoring lots of points, etcetera. My uncle Seth was already introducing me to businessmen and other people who were supposed to be important. The high school coaches were always at our games, even college coaches. Uncle Seth said they were primarily there to watch me, to see if I would be a starter in my sophomore year.”
    â€œSo what about the Anna–Jonesboro game?”
    â€œIt wasn’t the game itself, we probably blew ’em out.” But the rest, Sonny remembered crystal clear. After the game, in the milling around near the scorers’ bench, Barb told him what