13.
Barry Hughes, Gettysburg High's head girls’ basketball coach, looked like the coach character often portrayed in young adult sports novels: easily over six feet tall, steely eyed, crew cut, a paramilitary taskmaster in practice sweats. He played his college ball at Shippensburg, the same D-2 school that spawned Stan Reynolds in football. A social studies teacher who spent several years as an assistant with the boys’ basketball team, he’d been a loser with the girls before Bonita’s sophomore year.
As he diagramed plays and explained each player’s role, Coach Hughes reflected on how he executed the play in college. Bonita could hardly suppress a yawn. Jay noticed that Bonita sat by herself, staring at the laces of her Nikes, her legs stretched on the court, her back propped against a basketball cart as she spun a ball between her hands.
Watching Bonita’s casual attitude, Jay looked worried. If she acts like she’s special or doesn’t care, how will that reflect on Stef and the rest of this team? Stefani also sat alone, not far from Bonita, her eyes half closed, softly bouncing a basketball between her folded legs. Other players, presumably friends, clustered in groups of two or three. They also watched Coach Hughes deliver narrative to the bored expressions on their faces.
Jay’s sister, Dana, had always sat up front at team meetings, even when Vince McNally was her coach. She made sure that could never be questioned about what to do or where to be on the court, even when she thought that her coach’s plays and strategies were not the best. Jay wished that Dana found her happy place at Goucher. Her Gophers were consistently over-matched by better opponents, but Coach Dunphy tried to be open to good ideas that would help her players play better and win more games. Dana’s college coach even listened to Jay when he dropped by to visit. Inviting him to sit on the Gophers’ bench. She even had him keep and track statistics whenever the athletic department found no one else to do it. Bonita must be more like Dana if this team can go anywhere. Jay told himself.
Coach Hughes finished his talk, then ordered the girls to calisthenics. He walked over to Jay and offered his hand. The handshake was crushing, a power play. “Bonita raves about you. But that doesn’t mean squat. You’ve never coached,” he said. “Work with the jayvees. Keep ‘em out of my hair. I don’t cut anybody. But most of 'em will never make varsity.”
Immediately after Coach Hughes blew his whistle, varsity and jayvee players ran to the baseline under the south basket and stood at attention. Jay didn’t understand why they lined up in a military formation, but he played along. He lined up behind, diagonally to Coach Hughes’s right, to complete the military-style picture that, at closer glance, appeared less than esprit de coir. The varsity had been issued new uniforms, but the jayvee jerseys and shorts were faded, as if the remnants of seasons past were passed on to Jay’s less talented players.
“Girls, meet Coach Siler, my new assistant,” the head coach announced. He’ll work with the jayvees, starting after drills.” Coach Hughes blew the whistle again.
With nothing to do until jayvee practice, Jay looked around the gym. Banners of Gettysburg High’s past athletic glories lined the walls behind each basket. Gettysburg had not won a state title in any sport. No doubt past teams had tried, judging by the post-season and individual honors hanging on the wall. The girls’ basketball team had played in only a handful of post-season games over the past thirty years.
Gettysburg’s girls’ varsity and jayvees lined up for an agility drill, two rows each; players at the head of each line had a ball. Each girl dribbled and weaved in a serpentine pattern around rows of chairs before she passed the ball to the next teammate at the front of the line. While Bonita hardly broke a sweat, and most of her teammates survived the drill slightly winded, Stefani kept gasping for air. This drill, and the others Coach Hughes ran in practice, had been forced upon Jay in high school and college. No one enjoyed them, but Jay understood their purpose, to build endurance, flexibility and strength over the course of a season. While Bonita executed all of the drills flawlessly, Stefani appeared slower and more awkward at making cuts around the chairs, breathing heavier than her varsity teammates while waiting in line. Jay became more worried about her potential to play longer, more physical games in college. The women’s college game was neither shorter nor less physical than the men’s, although college women played four quarters instead of two halves.
Coach Hughes called the varsity together to practice half-court game action. As his jayvees walked over to the opposite basket, Gettysburg’s girls coach sounded more like a crass football coach while watching practice action, Stefani the primary focus of his ire.
"Baker, your feet stick like cement. Do they ever leave the floor for a rebound?"
"Baker, you play so soft, I swear you wanna kiss her under the post."
And the worst: "Baker, c’mon take a seat. Megan will show you how it's done."
The comments gave Jay cold chills, though Coach Hughes was right. Stefani appeared to avoid contact and close physical battles for the ball as she did on the tarmac with him and Bonita. Coach Hughes’ comments reminded Jay of Vince McNally and how he tried to run off Dana and her closest friends on their high school team—but Jay expected a head coach to offer more polite instruction. While Megan, a five-eleven, well-muscled, White brunette, nailed the fundamentals down solidly, she showed nothing close to Stefani’s eye for the basket from any realistic shooting spot. At this moment Jay felt that the ball should be in Bonita’s or Stefani’s hands whenever a deuce or trey was desperately needed.
“Why do you shout at Stef like that?” Jay asked Coach Hughes, as he watched his jayvees shed their warmup sweats on the other side of the gym.
“She’s lazy. Never listens. At least Megan’s got a handle on the game,” Hughes said “I could always count on her for rebounds and assists. We got six to eight points, sometimes a little more, from Stefani when we set her up to shoot. But all she does is demand the ball and chuck it. Doesn’t bother to see who’s got a better shot, never gathers rebounds, or helps out on ‘D’,” Megan’s a far more complete player. This game is about more than scoring points.”
“She’ll do whatever you want if you talk to her right.”
Hughes poked Jay's chest with a long finger, not enough to hurt, but hard enough to annoy. “This is my team. I decide who plays. Got it? She’ll get her varsity letter. All seniors do”
“Barry, I’m sure she’d rather earn it by playing,” Jay replied.
“We’ll see. By the way, my friends call me Barry. You can call me ‘Coach’ or 'Coach Hughes.'”
Jay stepped back. “Ok, Coach, but you’ve got to know how to get inside her head.”
“All right, head doctor, you work with her. Put her in practice with the jayvees and coach her all you want. I don’t care,” Hughes said. The coach blew his whistle, pointed to Stefani and motioned her to come over.
“Anything I should go through with the jayvees?" He had worked long enough to know when to bite his lip when dealing with an unpleasant boss. This boss didn't care if he quit.
"Whatever your heart desires," Hughes said. "Put 'em in a spelling bee or a sewing circle for all I care. Baker, too." The coach then pointed to the opposite basket to give Stefani the message. Stefani walked over, ignoring the jayvee squad and took a seat at the top of the bleachers.
“Good luck,” Coach Hughes said, patting Jay’s shoulder gently as they watched Stefani sit down and pout.
Grumbling as he walked away from Coach Hughes and the varsity, Jay climbed the bleachers above the opposite basket to speak with Stefani, her head buried in a towel in stony silence. There was little time to console her, since it was time to lead the jayvee practice. "Maybe some good will come from this," he said.
She turned to him, a tear trickling down her cheeks, towel well balanced on her head. "Like what?"
"You'll get more coaching and less yelling. The only way Hughes will notice you is if you work harder. Otherwise, you’ll sit." He folded his arms and waited for her decision.
"Then I'll sit," she said.
Jay shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, suit yourself. I’ve got a job to do.”
The jayvees clustered around the bottom row of the bleachers. "When do we practice, Coach?" asked Amanda Buford, a five-five, dirty-blonde, freshman guard.
"Right now." Jay climbed down and split the ten jayvee players into two teams for a half-court game. He asked them to call out their names, number of years they had played, and the position they expected to play. Only two, Amanda and Danielle Gregory, a five-eleven sophomore center-forward, the only Black player on varsity or jayvee besides Bonita, had serious game experience dating back to middle school. So, Jay put them on different teams. Then he matched player against player based on physical size, since he knew nothing else about them.
Jay tossed a ball underhand to Amanda and asked her to begin play from the free-throw line. “Amanda has the floor. She finds a shot or an open man. If you’re on her team, help her. If you’re not, try to stop her.”
Alyssa Donohue, a spindly five-three freshman, quickly put her hands in front of Amanda’s face. Amanda faked a move left and dribbled right, softly tossing a pass to Katy Howard, a five-ten White sophomore, paired against Danielle. Amanda ran towards the basket. Katy spotted her and passed immediately. Amanda drove around Alyssa for two points.
At least two of these girls were better than Hughes probably believed. “Very good, Amanda takes it out again.”
Amanda and Alyssa checked the ball. This time Amanda took the shot herself, and the ball swished through the net.
Jay turned towards Stefani in the bleachers, not budging from her seat. Then he turned back to his team. “Okay, it’s Amanda’s show, again.”
Amanda impressed for the rest of practice. Danielle showed strong skills, too. The rest seemed coachable, including Alyssa, but she was outwitted and overpowered by everyone else during practice.
Jay blew the whistle and ordered the girls to run five laps around the gym.
“Why are we running?” asked Alyssa.
Jay glared. He gave the answer that his high school coach always had for times like these. “Because I say so,” he said calmly.
That was enough to get Alyssa going, though she struggled to keep up with her teammates.
As his jayvees finished running their laps, picked up their sweats and headed to the locker room, Jay looked at Stefani, still sulking. “You know, Stef, your dad, and Bonita’s, asked me to do this job. They thought I could help you. But you’ve got to decide what you want to do. I can let you practice with us, but seniors can’t play in jayvee games. Outside of practice, no one will see you play.”
“Well, that sucks.”
“Yep. You’ll be really unhappy knowing that you won’t get into a game. But…work with me, help me shape up the jayvees, I’ll do everything I can to help get you varsity minutes. Amanda and Danielle look pretty good, but the rest of this squad needs help to develop.” Jay stuck out his hand. “So, what’ll it be? Do we help each other?”
Stefani shook his hand, but her grip was weak again.
“See you here, half an hour before practice tomorrow, we’ll go over strategy.”
14.
After only three practices, Jay saw that Alben might have given him a good hint about his daughter. Gently pressed into a leadership role, Stefani took well to helping the jayvee players, as she did with elementary schoolers at the rec center, careful to praise them when they did well, and also became better at being coached. Since no jayvee player had close to Stefani’s size, shooting touch, or supposed strength, Jay used practice as an opportunity to help Stefani improve her game while hopefully prepping Amanda and Danielle for promotion to the varsity. On the receiving end of pinpoint passes from Amanda, Danielle dared Stefani, the bigger, supposedly more experienced, player to stop her drives to the basket and work harder to pull rebounds. At first, Danielle easily won these battles.
Jay had no assistant coaches, but he gained much welcome help. He offered Alyssa Donohue a job as team manager, a more important role than being a struggling back-up who might rarely play. Alyssa jumped at the chance, anxious to show her math and photography skills. After Alyssa took photos with her phone that showed how silly Stefani looked while trying ro rebound while challenged under the basket by Danielle, a slightly smaller, less experienced player, Jay thanked his new manager and encouraged her to note everything that she observed on the court. By the fifth day of practice after seeing Alyssa’s photos and notes, and offering more coaching suggestions, Stefani kept Danielle from garnering rebounds and boxed her out from taking close shots. She even swatted a few of Amanda’s passes, dribbling away to find her best spots to take shots from the corners or the foul line. She was starting to become the more complete player that Jay hoped she would be.
After a week and a half of practice, pleased with the jayvee’s progress, and Stefani’s, Jay approached Coach Hughes about a jayvee-varsity scrimmage. At worst, the jayvees got a better challenge they might not face during their season and learn that they had more to learn. At best, a scrimmage would put Amanda on the varsity where she belonged and showcase why Stefani deserved to start over Megan.
Coach Hughes burst into belly laughs. "Why would I waste my girls on these slackers? They can’t do anything. Stefani? C’mon, man. Are you serious?”
“What have you got to lose? If you’re right, you’re right. Either way we put the best team on the court.”
“Tell you what,” he said. "We’ll play one-on-one. You win; we play the scrimmage. I win, I forget I ever heard about it.”
Jay could not resist a chance to make Barry Hughes swallow his pride. He stuck out a hand to accept the challenge, but the challenger ignored it.
Coach Hughes tossed a coin and called ‘heads.’ He won. “Okay, its show time.”
Ready to defend, Jay extended his arms and wiggled his fingers. Coach Hughes made a head fake, but Jay stuck out a hand and stole the ball. He dribbled to the free throw line and hit his shot unguarded. Then, frustrating the taller man with crossover moves, he scored six more unanswered points.
Down eight-zero, Coach Hughes played rough. He shoved Jay in the chest as he drove for a lay-up for two. Then he threw a shoulder block to knock him down on a drive to close the gap to eight-six. On the next drive, Jay swatted the ball. But Coach Hughes re-took it to tie the game.
Two of Coach Hughes’s drives would have resulted in fouls in a real game, but here the rules of street ball applied. The key rule: never let the other guy know you’re hurting. Jay absorbed the blows without complaint. He made his shots off steals and errant volleys off the backboard −until he hit the winning basket.
Frustrated, Coach Hughes picked up the ball, aimed and spun it hard underhand at Jay’s stomach. After he stuck out his hands to catch it, Jay felt the ball smack hard against his palms. The impact and resultant redness stung so much he needed to wear gloves on the drive home. His hands were in too much pain to grip the steering wheel without them.
But that didn’t matter. Alben Baker would be happy. So would Stefani, Bonita, and maybe Amanda.