THE RIVALRY
Phil Wohl
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2004 Phil Wohl
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Dedication
To Danielle,
My love, my life.
To Harry Guy,
For believing in me.
To Key, BooBerry, Wheels, Deano, Space Man, Zitty, JG, Nip, Dacka, Abe, Syl, Pirks, Gordo, Booker, Middy, Goldie, Nick, Vye, Mikey, Proke, Debo, Gabe, Bushwacker, Munzy, Mr. Tarps, and The Dr. Of Dissection...
JETS for life!
CHAPTER ONE
Pete Berman sized up his competition like a predator lining up its prey. Gerry Williams dribbled once with his left hand, stopped on a dime, and nailed an open 15-footer. He had played on the Fellingwood Varsity Basketball Team since his freshman year, and was now a 16 year-old boy in a man's body. Pete sat on a board of the old splinter-ridden, wooden stands fixed on Gerry, but he was unable to defend his turf. His team was losing badly again, and the waiting was pure agony.
Pete’s athletic life was put on hold for an entire year while his mind caught up with his body. The school's principal, a former major college basketball player, suggested that he repeat the tenth grade in order to graduate at age 18 instead of 17. He had been advanced at an early age, but was slow to mature with his older classmates. The tenth grade would be repeated, from Geometry to Biology, although he carried a solid but mediocre C average from the previous year. Principal Berry felt that Pete had an average chance to play basketball in college if he stayed on course, but was sure that Pete would be highly coveted by many colleges if his mind was given a chance to catch up to his growing body.
By the middle of his second tour of duty in the tenth grade, Pete had sprouted from 6'1" to 6'5", and was now the same height as Gerry Williams. He was on the sidelines for the year in order to comply with county rules, which specified that he must compete in successive years. This would be a time of learning, of sizing up the competition and, last but not least, growing socially.
The year turned 180 degrees from a complete waste of time to a clear view of things to come. Sections of Pete's brain might have been underdeveloped, but his memory and ability to analyze and break down opponents was quite advanced. Years of going over positioning with his father had paid off, as they watched games together and always spotted the same flaws in a defense or potential opportunities on offense.
While he sat and observed, Pete realized how simple the game was. Actually, it was love at first shot. The immediate gratification of a rippling net opened his eyes wider than a hot fudge sundae. The calming sound of a basketball thumping against the ground... dribble, dribble, dribble. The trajectory of a ball floating toward the basket, spinning in the opposite direction of its target... swish! A marriage between basketball and fingertips was arranged at an early age. Without this bond there would be no gratification, just a hard rubber ball clanking violently against a metal rim.
As a child, the basket seemed as far away to Pete as the moon. It was difficult to maintain any sense of form while heaving the ball in the general direction of the basket. Pete’s father, the form specialist, would repeatedly say, “Make pretend your arms are a wheel by moving them around in a circular motion between your waist and your chin.” The natural clockwise motion, combined with following the shot through by raising his arm skyward and curling his wrist after release, caused the ball spin backwards. The target was the front of the rim, and the backspin gave even a marginal attempt a chance of being successful.
The year marked the first time in years that Pete was among people of his own age. Always pushed ahead because his physical ability, the pace had finally slowed enough for him to blink, to see situations for what they actually were not what he thought they would be. Now at 6’ 5”, Pete was the B.M.O.C. (Biggest Man on Campus), although most people did not know him by site, much less his name. In high school reputations are mostly earned, although many are often fabricated at the expense of the innocent. Pete’s dream was not to be popular, just to be someone that no one would ever forget.
In Pete’s off year, the West Valley Basketball Team would endure an endless 4-16 season. The Rockets lacked leadership, and Coach Terry Andrews was at the helm for the first year following a year with the junior varsity. He had been Pete’s coach the previous season, a year in which Pete had been promoted to the varsity team before the end of the year. Coach Andrews’ junior varsity team had won only a handful of games but Pete, even at 6’1”, averaged 18 points per game. He became only the third junior varsity player in the school’s history to be advanced to the varsity, with the other two players being the ex-varsity coach's sons.
Lou Berman, Pete’s dad, was no stranger to Harry Silverman, the former West Valley Varsity Basketball coach. The two were hardened hoop warriors that had battled it out many evenings in local pick-up games. Square-jawed Harry was about 6’2” and a solid 215 pounds, while steely-eyed Lou stood at 6’4”, weighed 225 pounds and was about as wide as a sequoia tree. Harry wasn’t half as skilled as Lou, but nearly made up for it with a general indifference toward mankind, better disguised as sheer strength and intensity. The two men squared off many times as a result of heated exchanges, but had grown to respect each other somewhat over the years. Coach Silverman liked Pete’s game and figured that any son of Lou’s must be a tough kid who had a real feel the game.
During Pete’s first practice with the varsity team the previous year, he discovered what a “suicide” was and why it would make his life miserable for the foreseeable future. Players ran from the baseline to the foul line, then back to the baseline, then to center court, then back to the baseline, then to the opposite foul line, then back to the baseline, then to the opposite baseline, then back to where it all started. After three of these feet scorchers, the air made Pete’s lungs burn like a four-alarm fire. He normally hated practice and this would only serve to enhance his dislike of these monotonous two-hour sessions.
The prominent members of the team were the two forwards, Rich Silverman and Jim Scala. Silverman, the coach’s elder son, was a tough player like his dad and, at 6’4”, had an excellent shooting touch. Earlier in the season he broke the school scoring record with 42 points in a game. Pete, being the eternal pessimist, was never impressed with Silverman’s game and thought that he got by with brute strength: like father, like son. The other forward was Jim Scala, a gangly 6’5” left-hander who had unlimited shooting range. Pete observed that if you could combine the two stars into one player you would have a complete player that shot from long range and was also a fierce rebounder: a profile that he hoped to complete.
Pete attended every varsity game during his off year, and both doubted his own ability and knew he would make the difference during each encounter. There was a fine line between cockiness and modesty, with his moods changing with each lead change, missed shot, and dive for a loose ball.
On the occasions that Pete scrimmaged against the varsity team, he showed much of the form that his teammates would eventually come to rely on. He had a knack for stepping up and taking the big shot. He simply wanted ball when the game was on the line.
One Saturday afternoon he was paired with a group of alumni against the varsity's starting team. Many of the older players knew Pete as the little kid that trailed his father each weekend as they played basketball at the local park. They knew his father as a bloodthirsty competitor, but reputations stay with the man and each must be earned. Pete never thought about earning respect, he just played and everything else seemed to fall into place.
The eleven point game was over as quickly as Coach Andrews could yell in disgust, “Okay, everybody on the line!" When a coach has his players run suicides in the middle of practice, odds are he didn’t like was he saw. Pete and the alumni moved the ball like the Boston Celtics and ran the break like the Los Angeles Lakers. The varsity managed to scratch a single point off them on a fluke bank shot from the foul line.
One of the defining moments in Pete’s off-year then took place. Jimmy Flaherty, a multi-sport star of the previous decade, shouted out, “You guys ready for another beating?"
Coach Andrews quickly turned and looked at Pete, who returned his plea for help with a confident nod. The teams would be slightly adjusted. Pete would play with the varsity team and the graduates would add another big stiff from the Labrea Tar Pit of alumni. The coach knew he was building for the future because the present was about as bright as a blackout. The adrenaline in Pete’s body was shooting around like a bullet in a steel tunnel. This was his moment to get his team back, and feel that he was part of something gain.
The extra four inches Pete added over the year would come in handy this day. His opponent would be 6’ 7” John Curry, a boney specimen that had played some Division II basketball before resting more comfortably in Division III. At 28, Curry had been around the block a few times and thought he could show the young hot-shot a thing or two. The game would once again be to 11, counting by one’s with no foul shots or overtime. Six people in the gym were 100% sure of victory. Now all Pete had to do was convince the other four West Valley players that they could win again.
Pete’s teammates had played with and against him since they were 10 years old. They knew each other’s games real well. In fact, before Mr. Flaherty could close his mouth, Pete was completing the end of a pick-and-roll with longtime friend Dino Rizzo. The cloud had been lifted from the top of the Rockets’ gym, affectionately called The Launching Pad. Following a bunch of give-and-go’s and a picture-perfect back-door play executed by Steve Fuller on a bounce pass from Pete, the alumni decided to call time out to gather their composure and collective breaths. Anger and denial filled their huddle, as Curry suggested they play a two-three zone defense. The Rockets’ huddle was filled with more five’s than the Federal Reserve Bank. Coach Andrews had a twinkle in his eye when he told the team to be patient and make the older legs play defense.
After another miss by the alumni and a rebound by Pete, Garry Edmonson, the team’s point guard, slowly brought the ball up the court. Pete looked down the court then jogged by and said the words, “They’re in a zone, let’s press them after the ball goes in.” Just as the alumni settled into the defense of the aged, Pete positioned himself on the right wing, with Dino on the other wing, Big Arnie Schueller on the foul line, and Steve Fuller running the baseline. The team moved the ball around a few times until Pete had an open 15-footer. The ball had just barely tickled the twine when Garry yelled out “21!,” which signaled a 2-2-1 full court zone press. Pete knew he was the one in the back and raced back to the opposite foul line. He caught the court-long pass in stride, like he was playing touch football on the street, and handed it off to Gerry, who was back to being the consummate point guard. The alumni backpedaled into the zone and then watched Pete back up to 18 feet and drill another jumper.
The next three times down he connected on shots from 20, 22, and 24 feet, and the final shot was as close to out-of-bounds as you could legally be. The team had thrown a shut-out, but not a word was said. In a span of ten minutes, Pete had successfully convinced his other four teammates that they should once again expect to win. They had rediscovered the simplicity of the game and played the way they did as kids. Youth has a way of being recaptured when you least expect it, but these Rockets grew up beyond their years on that icy-cold January day.
CHAPTER TWO
Fellingwood High School was a basketball power that not only had the largest student body in the county, but also was a perennial favorite to win the county championship. The Rams had beaten West Valley by 33 in their only meeting the previous year. Left unchecked, their star Gerry Williams scored 30 points and grabbed 13 rebounds.
During his off year, Pete was solely focused on Williams. Pete's father had never seen his easygoing son so intense. For years, Lou Berman warned Pete that he would have to get tougher, and often doubted that his son would be able to overcome such a fearsome obstacle.
Pete Berman's interest in Gerry Williams had quite a deep-rooted history. He and Gerry attended the same basketball camp during the summer between their sophomore years, prior to the realignment of the conferences. At the time, Fellingwood was not in West Valley's league because of the relatively long distance between the towns. The new conference alignment was based on student population, pitting such powerhouses as Fellingwood, East Shores, Lakeview, and Pikesville. West Valley was hardly a sports juggernaut, as their only basketball championship had come decades earlier when canvas high-tops and Ford Mustangs were all the rage.
Pete's coach that summer was none other than Sal Pagnozzi, the head coach of the Fellingwood Rams. Sal was a large man, tipping the scales in excess of 350 pounds on a low carbohydrate day. Sal was a sly dog, requesting three of his lesser players along with Pete, while he placed Gerry Williams on one of the better teams. Sal was going to make sure Pete would not present a threat to his team, by breaking his confidence into little pieces before the season even began.
There was only one problem with Pagnozzi's plan: Pete didn't know politics, he knew basketball. The first time the two teams met, Sal refused to play Pete against Gerry. Coach Pagnozzi was looking for the element of surprise but Pete was ready. After this initial game, Pete was anxious and Sal knew it. The teams met three other times and Sal repeated the same strategy, although his team lost each game. Pete came off the bench and scored at will, but was exiled to the sideline when the game was on the line.
When the all-star teams were picked, Pete's name was conspicuously omitted. Sal had stacked the deck with three of his own mediocre players instead. Pete was inwardly furious but soon became aware of Sal's master plan. Instead of sulking, he went right back on the court for a lunchtime pick-up game. The sides were picked and as fate would have it, he was paired against his much-coveted buddy Gerry Williams. As Pete ran down court next to Gerry, he noticed that the 6'5" Williams ran completely upright and wasn't particularly blessed with strong legs. The 195-pound wonder-boy had a decent upper body, but he was as stiff as a person undergoing an x-ray.
The domination was quick and unmistakable. First a jumper from the right hand side, then a hook shot in the lane. Pete was always a team player first and foremost, but on this day he found himself with only one opponent. Gerry tried his patented up-and-under move, but Pete had seen that one a few times and stripped the ball out of Gerry's hands. The next time down, Pete anticipated a crossover move and forced Gerry into an errant shot.
By the time the one-sided game ended, Pete had both outrebounded and outscored Gerry 5-0. Coach Sal was at a staff meeting and could not save his star pupil. Gerry had no idea who Pete was and wrote the game off without a further thought. For Pete, the rivalry had begun the moment he first saw Gerry that previous winter. Without even knowing who Gerry was, he sensed an air of arrogance from the blond-haired All-American boy. He thought to himself after the game, that no player would ever walk on his team in their house again. The rivalry had begun, yet only one side was aware of it.
Pete's sophomore year ended with a unique and unexpected twist. It was a lazy mid-May afternoon and he was walking through the hallway between periods, when Annie Landros brushed by him. The six-foot tall, powerfully built Landros, had seen Pete in the gym before while playing on the basketball and volleyball teams. He said, "Hi, Annie." She smiled, nodded, and the kept walking down the hall without breaking stride.
Later that day, the phone rang at Pete's house. He ran down the hall and picked the call up.
"Hello."
"Is Pete there?" a female voice asked.
"Yeah, this is Pete."
"Oh. Hi, Pete, it's Annie."
Pete thought for a moment and then the light suddenly was lit.
"Oh, Annie. How are you?"
"I'm fine," she replied then quickly transitioned from the small talk to the thrust of her call.
"I just wanted to know if you would go to the Junior Prom with me?"
Pete temporarily lost consciousness and the simply replied, "Ugh, okay."
"Oh, that's so nice of you! Okay, I'll see you at school tomorrow, she beamed.
Pete grunts, "Bye" and hangs up the phone. He thinks to himself, "What the hell was that all about? Why is she asking me to the Junior Prom? And why did I say yes? I don't even know this girl. I just said "hello" to her in the hallway once. I mean, I know who she is, but I don't really know her."
Once word got around that Annie and Pete were going to the prom together, his friends went for the jugular. Being a sophomore, even if it was for the second time, Pete was not ready for such an onslaught. His immaturity was the main reason he stayed back the extra year. Steve Constantine, the twelfth man on the basketball team, was especially graphic and brutal. He would say things like, "Man, she's going to eat you up," or "Just don't let her take you to the beach. Before you know your clothes will be off and sand will be everywhere.”
Pete was petrified. He had never seen a live girl naked, choosing instead to get his education only from movies and gentlemen's magazines. He had never really even kissed a girl before, aside from a quick peck on the lips with a girl when he was 12 at summer camp. Putting his experience in baseball terms, Pete hadn't even stepped out of the dugout. To make matters even worse, Annie was being real nice to him. She didn't seem to be the ruthless hooker the guys were building her up to be. Pete's imagination was once again getting the best of him, just as it did when he went to Randy Aaronson's sixth grade sleep-over party. Jared Berg was recounting the story of the Cropsy Monster when one thing led to another, and Pete called his dad to go home and sleep in his own bed.
The prom night finally arrived after few more long, agonizing weeks. It was a warm June night, not that Pete needed any help opening his sweat glands. Pete’s friend Nicky Villano drove up to his house to pick him up. Nicky was a long 6'4", which was a height he had reached when he was only 13 years old. Nicky was no stranger to the Berman's, as he had played against Pete many times when they were growing up. Pete would usually foul the clumsy Nicky out of every game, and Lou Berman would implore Nicky to jump rope and do other drills to improve his coordination and agility.
Nicky was a sweet, personable guy who was hard on the outside and very soft on the inside to people he liked. Pete was glad he was liked. The guys drove to Nicky's date house, Hillary Dumbrowsky, first and then went over to Annie's house next to take pictures. Throughout the evening, Pete felt as if he was living a life that was not his own. The out-of-body experience got even weirder when Nicky wipped out a joint for all to smoke on the ride to the prom. Pete thought, "Who am I, and what am I doing here?"
As each person inhaled some lethal relaxation. Pete looked out the window and was wondering when life had become so complicated. He thought that maybe it was a good idea that his parents shielded him from the harshness of everyday life. He respectfully said, "No thanks" when Annie offered the joint to him. He didn't even feel bad when he turned her down. After all, he figured that she better get used to it.
The night started slow because Pete was able to stay out of striking distance. Then fate dealt him a losing hand when the thumping dance music switched to a slow love song. Before he could turn and run, he was pulled into the bosom of the girl they called The Amazon. Pete tried to avoid eye contact from the eleventh grade Medusa, but his body was instantly turned to stone when she moved in and kissed him. She put her tongue in his mouth, like a crowbar prying open a trunk, and he was now defenseless to her oral advances.
Pete was so inexperienced that he stood straight up and moved his tongue around a bit almost out of necessity. His hands remained on her lower back and he had stopped shuffling his feet back and forth. The three-minute kissing session failed to get him excited, but it did get his friends off his back for a while. Pete was even more confused about girls than before. He thought there must be something wrong, because he didn't experience any extreme feelings such as passion or nausea. Numbness swept through his body like a warm breeze, and the night could not be over soon enough. Like a blind man suddenly regaining his sight, Pete was not able to process all of the events going on around him.
With desert already being served, Annie leaned over to Pete and purred in his ear, "Nicky and Hillary are going to the beach. They want us to go with them." The alarms sounded in Pete's head, as his brain had been pushed to capacity overload. He replied, "I'll think about," as he walked straight out of the catering hall and to the sidewalk. He felt safer outside, and it also gave him time to think about how he could end the month-long nightmare. His first instinct was to call his father... his mother always told him that he should always trust his first instinct.
About 20 minutes later, Annie looked for Pete and finally found him outside.
"Are you all right?" she questioned.
"Yeah, I'll be fine."
"We're going to the beach in a few minutes. Are you okay with that?"
"I don't think so."
"Why not? I'm won't do anything to you," Annie said in her more innocent voice.
But Pete had already left the event, "I'm sorry, but I don't want to go."
"Was it something I did?"
"No."
"Are you sure you won't go?" she asked, trying to appeal to his sensitivity.
"Yeah. I think I'll call my dad to pick us up."
Annie shook her head in disappointment, "If that's what you want."
Annie walked back inside to tell her friends of her impending departure. They were as confused as she was about his seemingly hasty decision. Pete couldn't get to the phone fast enough, and he quickly dialed for safety. Ten minutes later, Annie walked outside and Lou Berman drove up in his light blue Chevy Impala. Pete and Annie sat in the back seat, but not a word was said on the five-minute drive to Annie's house. She thanked Lou and then Pete walked her to the door.
"I had a good time," Annie says.
"Yeah, right. I'm sorry about not going to the beach."
"You don't have to be sorry, I did have a good time."
Pete nodded in disbelief and gave Annie a kiss goodnight on the lips. She walked into her house and disappeared from sight, prompting a huge sigh of relief from Pete. On his way back to the car, Pete started to realize that he had to grow up sooner or later, but later seemed a lot more comfortable than sooner. He opened the passenger side car door and sat in the front seat. Lou Berman started the car and Pete looked over at him as the two broke out in laughter. As Lou pulled away from the curb, he shook his head and said, "Fag!" Annie was just in the wrong place at her right time - on her way to being pregnant at 18 - while Pete was on a slower track and taking baby steps toward becoming a man.
CHAPTER THREE
After another summer at Martin Luther High School Basketball Camp, Pete was relieved to finally proceed to the eleventh grade. The excitement in West Valley about the basketball team was limited only to the team’s players and coaches. The town rarely had a good enough basketball team to support, although the school had produced superior lacrosse and wrestling teams that were well followed.
Pete eyed the team's schedule and focused on December 17 and February 12 as the main games to focus on. These games were against Fellingwood, with the February 12 game being the last home game of the season. He envisioned the now-empty gym full with screaming fans urging the team on. The previous year, only 50 or so fans attended each home game. It got so desolate that the janitors would only open one side of the bleachers for each game, as the average-sized high school gym fit about 650 fans. Pete couldn't imagine where all of these people would come from, but he was sure it would turn into the hottest ticket in town.
West Valley entered the first meeting with Fellingwood sporting a surprising 3-2 record, following a season in which they had started 0-5. Fellingwood, as expected, was 5-0 and in first place in the conference ahead of West Valley and East Shores, which had just beaten West Valley with a last-second heave at the buzzer.
Pete and Gerry entered the game with identical scoring averages of 22 points a game, but Pete bettered Gerry in per-game rebounds 12 to 10. Fellingwood had not lost a home game in over two years, and West Valley had lost every away game the previous year. West Valley's first loss of the year was at home in overtime to Pikesville, as Coach Andrews made the mistake of calling time out at the end of regulation when Pikesville had no time outs left. Down two, the Broncos were afforded the opportunity to set up a last second shot and they tied the game. A stunned West Valley squad was unable to recover in overtime and lost by four points.
During the two days leading up to the Fellingwood-West Valley matchup, Sal Pagnozzi repeatedly told his team that they would have to stop Pete Berman in order to win. His team always played hard regardless of the opponent. They were schooled in the fundamentals of the game, which stemmed from the town's top-flight, junior basketball system. West Valley, by comparison, had a smaller junior basketball league that was utilized to fill the winter months between the fall and spring sports seasons.
The game would come down to a clash of the titans even though Fellingwood had destroyed West Valley the previous year. During warm-ups, Pete’s teammates picked up on his icy stare. This was a hard look they had not seen before from the usually mild-mannered Berman.
As the players lined up on the sideline and the National Anthem blared over the loud speaker, Pete thought that this was the reward for all of those years of hard work. It wasn’t just his night, it was to be shared with his parents for all of the years... the years of driving him to games, the years without vacation, the money spent on camp after camp. The sweat, the scrapes, the bruises.
Pete remembered the most down he ever felt after a loss. He was eight years old and in his first year of Little League Baseball. He pitched and played shortstop, but on this day he was filling in at third base for a teammate that was at the dentist. Pete had pitched and won a key game two days earlier and, under league rules, was unavailable to pitch in the final game. Chris Davis, the hard-throwing left-hander was on the mound that day. Pete’s team, sponsored by N&C Deli, was ahead of Plummer’s Photography 3-2 going into the bottom of the sixth (and last) inning. He was two-for-three with two RBI’s, with both hits being run-scoring singles. With two outs and runners on second and third, Davis was clearly running out of gas. With Pete unable to pitch, Davis had to finish the game.
With a two-and-two count, Davis threw a fat pitch, affectionately called a meatball, over the heart of the plate. The righty batter pulled the ball straight to third base. Pete bent over to catch the ball, but it went straight through his legs before he had a chance to put his glove on the ground. Both runners scored and the game was over. Pete's father was ready to deliver another lecture, but the embarrassed and shocked Pete walked straight off the field and around the corner to his house. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and onto his soiled uniform. He didn’t like the responsibility of losing the game for his team. He sat on the sidewalk in front of his house as darkness fell over the neighborhood. He then walked into the backyard and looked through the fence at the field, which was barely visible in the distance. His father finally walked outside, haven given his son ample time to cool off. They both looked off into the distance as Pete said, “I couldn’t get my glove down in time. I’m sorry I lost the game.”
“Don’t apologize to me. Mistakes happen. Third base is a reaction position and you’re used to playing shortstop.”
Pete gave his dad a “C’mon!” look.
Lou Berman said, “No, it wasn’t pretty. Just don’t make a habit of it.”
“No way. It won’t happen again.”
Great games featuring bad losses and exciting wins are never forgotten. They still sting and send chills down your spine years later. The hope is that the last one is a good memory, not a nightmare.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Fellingwood and West Valley players walked out for the opening tap and exchanged handshakes. Pete went over to four of the Fellingwood starters but wanted Gerry Williams to approach him. Williams made his way around the jump circle until he walked in front of Pete. Pete stared directly into his eyes, looking deep into his soul. Gerry opened his mouth as if ready to say something coy, but continued to walk into position. He knew that a player named Pete Berman had been scoring some points, but didn’t realize he was the same guy that lit him up in camp the past summer. Pete knew Gerry was a competitor, but he was confident that his team would win the game.
In a tight game, West Valley was up two at halftime. Pete had a solid first half, finishing with 14 points. Gerry, still looking stunned, got a tongue lashing from Coach Pagnozzi at the end of the first quarter and finished the half strong with 10 points.
Pagnozzi was furious at halftime, throwing towels and chairs and basically reading the riot act to his team. “How can we be down by two points to this team? Isn’t this the same team we crushed last year?” Gerry didn’t like the trend that was developing and was determined to change the tide for good in the second half. Pagnozzi was counting on it - nobody had gotten the best of his star player yet, and he would be damned if a lowly West Valley player would be able to break the string.
West Valley’s locker room was much more subdued. Coach Andrews spent the majority of the halftime break reviewing ways to beat Fellingwood’s full-court press. The team had turned the ball over a few times before the end of the half and would most likely be seeing the pressure again when play resumed. Pete couldn’t wait to get back on the floor, but he stopped to take a quick drink from the aged water fountain. Coach Andrews followed, put has arm around Pete’s shoulder and said, “Don’t rush it, the game will come to you.” Sage words from a second year coach. Pete thought his father couldn’t have said it any better.
During the third quarter, the two teams acted like heavyweight prize fighters loading up for the big punch. The score was tied at the end of the period - Pete and Gerry hit a couple of hoops apiece and had 18 and 14 points, respectively. It was anybody’s ballgame, and the first official meeting of the rivalry would be decided in the next eight minutes.
About 50 West Valley fans traveled the 25 minutes to the game, as interest in the team had been growing steadily. Home crowds were now in the hundreds, with all of the bleachers being available for seating. The players had become the best form of promotion, as they were a likable bunch of guys and the school was aching to support a winner.
Fellingwood started the fourth quarter with two unanswered baskets, but Pete responded with a long jumper and a three-point play. He head-faked Gerry into the air, absorbed the contact, and then banked the ball in with his left hand. The foul was Gerry’s fourth, prompting Coach Pagnozzi to abruptly replace him with one of Pete’s all-star teammates from the basketball camp.
The teams traded baskets for the next three minutes and, with three minutes left, West Valley clung to a one-point lead. Pagnozzi then reinserted Williams into the lineup. This move seemed to have an adverse effect on his team and ignited West Valley, which went on a 4-0 run over the next minute-and-a-half. Time out Fellingwood. After the short break, they immediately responded by scoring with about 45 seconds left, cutting the deficit to three. Then, just as Dino Rizzo had seemingly broken the press and crossed half court, Darrell Wallace came from behind and stole the ball. He then raced down the court and fed Williams for an open 15-footer. He missed, but the ball was batted out to Melvin Atkins, who hit a 12-footer.
The lead was down to one with 17 seconds remaining. Fellingwood would have to foul. West Valley was looking for Pete, who was the team's best foul shooter. The inbound’s pass came into Dino Rizzo, who immediately hit Pete at half court as if the ball was a red hot potato. Pete saw Big Artie Schueller, out of the corner of his eye ahead of the pack. He instinctively passed the ball to Artie instead of waiting to be fouled.
The ball floated into Artie’s large, thick hands as if he was participating in an egg toss contest. There was no way that the Fellingwood players could do anything to stop him - all he had to do was put the ball in the basket. Artie gathered himself, put his head down, and promptly dribbled the ball off his size 14 right sneaker. As the ball rolled out of bounds, Sal Pagnozzi exhaled along with he home crowd and then signaled for a time out.
The crowd was buzzing during the one-minute break, with the West Valley supporters laboring over the missed opportunity and the Fellingwood faithful optimistic about their chance to win another game. Everyone in the gym knew the play would be designed for Gerry Williams. Pagnozzi didn’t like the idea of a full court rush, so he had the ball thrown to half court and called his last time out. There were three seconds showing on the new digital scoreboard.
Darrell Wallace held the ball and immediately looked for Williams, who was being double-teamed. With four seconds elapsed on the five second count, Wallace spotted Melvin Atkins open on the right side of the court. Atkins turned, faded and threw a high arching shot over the outstretched arms of Steve Fuller. Melvin fell backwards onto the shiny wood surface as Pete turned and put a body on Gerry Williams so he wouldn’t get the rebound.
Pete watched helplessly as the ball made a dull thud against the backboard and gently descended through the net as time expired. He caught the ball but let it ball drop out of his hands as the Fellingwood players and fans mobbed Melvin Atkins. Pete and his dejected teammates slinked into the locker room, saving themselves from the sights and sounds of the raucous celebration. Fellingwood had again found a way to survive and, true to form, West Valley was unable to win the big game.
The West Valley players sat motionless in front of their lockers, numb from the crushing defeat. Coach Andrews concluded an interview with a reporter from The Daily Journal and then exchanged a few words with Assistant Coach Kowalski before entering the dead silent room.
“That was one of the best played games I have ever seen in all my days as a player, coach, or fan. You guys have a lot to be proud of... last year these guys killed us. Look how far we’ve come in such a short time. Keep your heads up, we’ll get these guys at home on the last day of the season.” He then said, “Does anybody else have anything to add?”
Pete stood up achingly, sweat drenching the wood bench beneath him. His face turned from a frown to a sneer as he slowly opened the empty locker to his left. He then slammed it furiously with one flick of his wrist and said in a soft, yet firm tone, “We don’t lose again.” The team followed his lead and started slamming lockers and shouting expletives about their new rival Fellingwood. One team was celebrating what was supposed to be a sure victory, while the other decided to leave behind the memory of a missed opportunity.
Not a word was mentioned to Artie Schueller during the first practice following the Fellingwood loss. The team worked extra hard in the two and-a-half hour session, and Coach Andrews was convinced that they had left the bitterness of the defeat in the visitor's locker room. Pete was tired, but decided to stay after a few minutes to take some foul shots. Artie, still looking a bit depressed from his fatal error, walked slowly off the floor with his head down. Pete rolled the ball in his direction - Artie picked it up and turned to look at Pete who motioned at him to come over. Although Artie was older than Pete, his basketball experience was limited to one year of junior varsity and one year of varsity. He started playing ball when he was 15 because he was 6’5” and weighed 225 pounds. Coach Andrews molded him into a adequate center who had become a decent defender and rebounder. Pete looked him square in the eyes and said, “Try taking one power dribble to the hoop by putting the ball ahead of you so those boats don’t get in the way. Here, let me throw you a pass.”
Pete backed up to the mid-court line, next to the huge rocket in the center of the floor, and threw the ball to Artie on the foul line. Artie bounced the ball a good three feet in front of him, gathered the ball and dropped it gently in the basket. Both players smiled and exchanged a high-five as they walked off the court. Coach Andrews, peaking through the curtains of his office window, knew this kid and team were special. His team was starting to gel going into the second half of the season. He hoped they would peak when it was time for Fellingwood to visit, and knew that his two and-a-half hour practices would only serve as constant reminder to remain focused.
The players showered and left the gym with their heads held high. Pete and Adam Baum usually got a ride home from the team’s coolest guy, Tony Daynor. Tony was the school’s John Travolta, back when John Travolta was young, good looking, and dancing his way to fame. Pete and Adam marveled at Tony brushing his still-wet hair in the icy conditions of the car. The white bristles of the brush gliding through Tony’s jet black hair as the water quickly tuned into ice. Pete looked at Tony and wished he could be as cool as him off the court. Tony glance back at Pete and marveled at how focused a kid could be with the weight of a town squarely on his shoulders.
CHAPTER FIVE
West Valley avenged an earlier overtime loss to Pikesville by easily beating the Broncos in a 25-point romp to start the second half of the season. In the next three games, the team had double-digit leads in the third quarter only to see those advantages widdled down to a few points near the end of the game. In two of these games, at home, Pete made shots to put the game away - in the first he hit six straight foul shots and in the second he hit two foul shots and a basket.
Coach Andrews was worried about the team’s inability to put their opponents away but gained comfort in the fact that Pete always delivered with the game on the line. However, the team had not heeded his warnings. They were looking ahead to the last games of the season at home against East Shores and Fellingwood, two of the teams that had beaten them previously.
East Shores and West Valley entered their match-up with identical 7-3 records. The Eagles had lost twice to Fellingwood and once to Bernaqua. This was the battle for second place because Fellingwood’s record had remained unblemished following an easy win over Pikesville the night before.
West Valley was a different team this time around against East Shores. Pete scored 31 points, for his third game over 30 in the past five. The Rockets were ahead five points with four minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. The team gathered closely in a huddle at the tail end of a time out when Tom Sullivan screamed, “Let’s finish this one for coach!” The team quickly went on a 10-0 run in the next three minutes to put the game away for good. The East Shores players looked stunned. After the game, East Shores’ center David Levine came up to Pete and said, “You guys are ready to beat them.” To which Pete replied, “We were ready the first time.”
The East Shores game was played on Tuesday night and the Fellingwood game would take place on Friday night. The school was abuzz with excitement all week. This would be one of the biggest games at the school in decades. Not only was the basketball team looking for respect, but so was the entire school. West Valley’s sports teams rarely beat Fellingwood’s, so every athlete in the school was looking for revenge and did their best to pump up the team.
On the other side of the fence, Fellingwood’s practices were business as usual. No one at their school even mentioned the game. Sal Pagnozzi sat in his office for hours reviewing tape of the first game. Although his team had secured another division title and would be one of the top seeds in the county tournament, he felt his players still had something to prove.
West Valley’s practice on Thursday afternoon was their best effort of the year. The school was sky high. Students were hanging banners throughout the hallway in support of the team, and school spirit was exploding from the classrooms. Even the honor students, who usually didn’t pay much attention to sports, knew the gym would be the only place to be on Friday night at seven o’clock. Pete’s mind had been waiting in the gym since Melvin Atkins’ off-balance shot burst West Valley's bubble earlier in the year. Losing would not be acceptable no matter how well Pete played. Deep down inside he knew that if he played well, the team would win. It was that simple in his mind.
Coach Andrews, wearing one of his many hats, carefully taped Pete’s ankles before the big game. Ankles were taped as a precautionary measure against sprains, and most of the players opted for the added protection. Out of superstition, Pete was always the last one to get taped. He would sit in a blue plastic chair with his leg stretched to an adjacent bench. Beads of sweat formed on Pete’s face, as the Varsity Basketball Team’s locker room was next to the boiler room in the school’s basement. From his early days of Little League to the sweltering heat of the locker room and gymnasium, Pete was always at his best in above-average temperatures. His mind briefly drifted back to the 100 degree-plus day he pitched a one hitter while his mother passed out in the stands. The hopes of an entire town would be on his shoulders, with the previous dormant year feeling like another lifetime now... it was time to take care of business.
A near-capacity crowd attended the prior game against East Shores and made the playing conditions quite ideal for Pete. Coach Andrews, seeing the sweat pouring off Pete, knew that Gerry Williams would be in for a long night.
The team charged out for its initial warm-up with its staple song Who Are You by The Who blaring over the public address system. Pete was in the zone coming out of the locker room. His first trip on the lay-up line ended with a one handed dunk. As a rule, technical fouls were called on players dunking in warm-ups, so many teams liked to get on the floor early before the referees arrived. Pete, not known for his jumping ability, was pumping his teammates up with his high flying jams.
He had always been a big game player growing up, preferring the big stage to the little one act play. On this night, another side of Pete’s personality was unveiled. The introverted boy was about to become a man in front of the entire school.
With seven minutes to go before game-time, the team went back in the locker room for one last word from Coach Andrews.
“This is the biggest game we all have ever played in. Play it like it's your last game! Protect the ball at all costs. Fight for loose balls like they’re trying to steel something that’s yours! We won’t let this one get away. And, as Pete said, we don’t lose again!”
The team came roaring out of the locking room to a rousing standing ovation from the overflow crowd. “Celebration” by Kool & the Gang was drowned out by the noise. The team, which was extra-pumped to begin with, was even further boosted by the deafening noise from the stands. People that couldn’t fit in the bleachers were standing in the exits runways. Even if you didn’t have a full view, this was an event that the town and the school could not pass up. The crowd was pushing about 700 people, with the rowdiest and most inebriated fans located in the upper left corner of the gym. These fans repeatedly banged on an oversized radiator that was loosely fixed to the wall, and flashed a huge whammy sign (a huge paper hand with only pinkie and index finger extended), ready to jinx the opposition’s free throws.
This was what Pete had dreamed of the season before. But, as much as he appreciated the crowd, his sole mission on this night was to slay the giant.
“One, two, three, DEFENSE!” West Valley broke its huddle with its usual starting five heading toward the jump circle. The crowd was in a frenzy chanting “Here we go Valley, here we go!” while the cheerleaders screamed “Jump up high, jump up a little bit, get that jump ball!" It was quite the scene. Pete controlled the opening tap by sticking his right elbow into Gerry’s ribs. Dino Rizzo handed the ball to Tom Sullivan, who walked the ball up the court and surveyed the defense. Fellingwood was in their traditional man-to-man defense. Sal Pagnozzi decided to challenge Gerry Williams by assigning him to guard Pete, hoping it would get him in the game early.
Tom made sure Gerry was immediately involved as he passed the ball to Pete along the left sideline. Pete turned, faced the basket, head-faked Gerry in the air, took one dribble to his left, and drilled a 20-footer. The crowd exploded and threw streamers and confetti on the court, a new tradition following the first West Valley basket of the game. The debris was cleared off quickly and West Valley settled back into its active 2-3 zone, with Dino and Tom up top, Big Artie in the middle and Pete and Steve anchoring the back.
All five players were bouncing on the balls of their feet, waiving their arms as if they were doing jumping jacks. The crowd screamed “D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E... D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E... D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E,” making The Launching Pad sound like the inside of Madison Square Garden.
Williams traveled with the ball on Fellingwood’s first possession and missed an open 10-footer on the next. Meanwhile, West Valley had extended to a 6-0 lead on the strength of a hook shot in the lane and bank shot from the right side of the lane by Pete. The crowd was officially out of control, seemingly awakening a town in an extended slumber.
It took Fellingwood over three minutes to finally get on the board, as Gerry followed up a Melvin Atkins miss with an uncontested lay-up. The score was 10-2. At the end of the first quarter, West Valley had an 18-8 lead, with Pete piling up 12 points on 6-8 shooting. He also grabbed four rebounds and blocked a shot. Gerry had two points and one rebound, as the star and his team looked lost. Fellingwood had walked blindly into an ocean looking for a calm surf and was now face-to-face with a tidal wave.
CHAPTER SIX
The game became more of a see-saw battle by halftime, but West Valley maintained its ten point lead at 32-22. Pete outscored Gerry 20-8, and was outrebounding him 9-3, continuing his superior play. For the first time in his life, someone was getting the best of Gerry Williams on the court and he seemed stunned.
Pete took no pleasure in this domination. It was only half-a-game and he was more worried about his team finishing the game strong. He knew that Fellingwood would make a run in the second half. As he took a quick look around the locker room, he saw celebration not concentration.
Coach Andrews entered the pungent room and saw Pete in one corner, sweat dripping from his body, eyes burning a hole in the floor, and the rest of the team cackling like a bunch of hens. The coach picked up a piece of chalk and wrote down the final score of the first meeting between the two teams. The room grew quiet as the coach noticed that Pete had the only remaining smiling face in the room. The coach shot Pete a wink and then started reviewing how to break the Fellingwood press. He ended the halftime chat by saying, “This is our house. Nobody comes in our house, in front of our fans, and beats us!” The team understood the lofty task at hand and was ready to climb to the next level, but Pete knew that good things never came easy.
Sal Pagnozzi was relatively calm in hallway leading up to the Fellingwood locker room. He almost didn’t give his players a halftime speech, but entered the room with only three minutes left before the second half began. The room was totally quiet when he strolled in with his hands in his pockets.
“I was afraid the last time we beat these guys that it was a fluke,” he muttered in a low, almost defeated tone. “Now I know the truth. Maybe I gave you guys too much credit by treating you like champions. The players in the next locker room are beating you in every aspect of the game!
He then turned his attention to his star.
Gerry, I’m taking you off Berman. it’s obvious you can’t handle him. If you guys want to win this game, they will have to lose it."
He then regained his composure. "Let’s start with a man-to-man press, Melvin on Berman, Williams on Fuller. Gentleman, this team is hungry, this crowd wants blood. Let’s take it two points at a time and play Fellingwood basketball.”
The Fellingwood team started the second half like a wounded dog, fighting for every inch of hardwood. The lead, once 10, was quickly reduced to four. Just as Coach Andrews was signaling for a time out, Pete spotted Steve Fuller open for a lay-up. By the end of the third quarter, West Valley had built the lead back up to eight points, 44-36. Pete and Gerry both had four points in the quarter, although their battle was still one-sided, with Pete scoring 24 to Gerry’s 12 points. Pete was looking for his second wind and Gerry was hurting from the stinging halftime words of his overbearing, win at all costs coach.
The crowd remained loud throughout the third quarter and was starting to smell an upset. The lead was still eight with three minutes to go in the game. For the next two minutes Gerry and Pete cleared the table and showed why the rivalry was so special. First Gerry hit a baseline jumper. Then Pete, with Gerry guarding him again, hit a fall-away from the left baseline. Gerry then answered with two free throws after a foul by Artie Schueller. Pete then tipped in a missed eight-footer by Schueller. Gerry then hit a bank shot from the right side of the foul line. Pete then dialed long distance with a jumper from the right hash mark. Gerry flashed Pete a Give me a break look, and Pete responded with a smirk that said, That’s my shot. The two players never talked during the game, as the language they were speaking went far beyond words.
Down seven with a minute to go, Sal called his last time out. His team would have to take one more shot at pulling this one out of the fire.
Darrell Wallace hit a quick hoop following the break, and a scrappy sub named Mark Banino stole the ball from Tom Sullivan and converted an open 12-footer to lower the deficit to three with twenty-five seconds left. Fellingwood double-teamed Pete on the inbounds pass and Tom Sullivan got the ball and was fouled. With twenty seconds left, Sullivan strolled to the foul line for a one-plus-one (make the first shot, get the second). Pete told him to take a deep breath and bend his knees. Tom did neither, as the ball clanked off the front rim and into the hands of Darrell Wallace.
No time-outs left for the Rams, West Valley up three. Fellingwood worked quickly for a good shot and eventually got an open 15-footer for Melvin Atkins who missed but Darrell Wallace was there to tip it in. Eight seconds left, and counting. Steve Fuller inbounded the ball. Gerry and Melvin Atkins had lost Pete in the confusion and Steve threw the ball to him at the foul line. Pete turned, looked down court at an open Artie Schueller (who was shaking his head “no”) and held the ball until Darrell Wallace knocked him to the floor. Before Pete got up he tossed the ball off Melvin’s butt, out of sight of the referee. One point game, five seconds left. The game was in Pete’s hands. Pete had thoroughly outplayed Gerry, scoring 30 points and grabbing 19 rebounds to Gerry’s 20 points and nine rebounds. The only way he would be satisfied was if the 30 became 32.
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