“I sure ain’t taking it sitting on the bench,” I said.

“There he is, third row,” Cal said. “You see him over there?”

I looked over to where Cal was looking and saw Tyrone sitting with Juno and another one of his boys. The other cat had a bandage around his head.

“You do that?” I asked.

“That’s right,” Cal said. “And if your team can keep the score close, that’s going to be some light stuff.”

The coach from Manhattan called time-out and complained to the referee that Jo-Jo was mauling Tomkins. The refs told Cal to have Jo-Jo ease up. He called Jo-Jo to the bench and told him to keep up the good work.

The score was 26–18, their favor, and we couldn’t seem to get any closer.

“Keep an eye on those guys up there,” Cal said.

Paul got hot, and we brought the score within three points. Cal called time-out and got the team over to the bench.

“It’s almost half time,” Cal said. “I want to go into the locker room either tied or ahead. Go out and get the ball. Take a chance if you have to, but get the ball!”

The whistle blew, and they went back out on the court. It didn’t make much sense to me. The refs were blowing the whistle against us so much that half the game seemed to be them on the foul line racking up points. The score was close, but we had so many fouls that they could walk on us in the second half. They inbounded, and the ball went to Tomkins. Jo-Jo had held him to fifteen points, seven of them from the foul line. He was still getting his stuff off, but he was looking raggedy doing it. He came down with the ball and put one of the sweetest moves on Jo-Jo that I had ever seen. He started right and then faked a pass. Jo-Jo went for the fake, and Tomkins got the step. Jo-Jo fouled him as he went by. The whistle blew, and the buzzer sounded from the scorer’s bench. We were in a three-for-two situation. Tomkins didn’t need it; he hit the first two, and it was half time. We were down by five points.

The locker room was death valley. Everybody was out there playing their hearts out. Paul was playing his best game ever. We were still down by five points, and we had a mountain of fouls against us.

Cal went from guy to guy, saying how good they were playing. Nobody thought that we had a chance. They didn’t ask again why I wasn’t playing—they knew something was up. When they went out at the beginning of the second half, Tomkins didn’t start. They started McDade instead.

“Okay!” Cal said. “Okay!”

“What you ‘okaying’ for?” I asked. “They just figure that they don’t need Tomkins to beat us.”

“No, that’s not what they’re thinking,” Cal said. “They’re thinking McDade is going to foul out Jo-Jo. They see you sitting here with that towel wrapped around your legs, and they think you can’t play. So when McDade fouls Jo-Jo out, Tomkins is going to have a field day. Keep your eyes on those dudes over there, Lonnie. If one of them makes a move, let me know.”