Basketball Sparkplug Read online

  Kim’s mother came into the living room. She had on, a blue quilted house coat. Her hair was in curlers.

  “Well!” she greeted him. “Good morning, young man!”

  “Good morning, Mom.” He smiled.

  “I suppose you’ve got the paper all read?”

  “Just the sports page.” He rose to his feet. “Think I’ll get dressed now.”

  He started to run to his bedroom and almost bumped into his father, who caught him by the shoulders and laughed.

  “Hey! Take it easy!”

  Kim smiled. “Good morning, Dad.”

  “Good morning!” replied Mr. O’Connor. “But it wouldn’t have been so good if we had bumped!”

  After breakfast they all went to church. Kim climbed the rounding staircase to the choir. Mrs. Kelsey was already there. She was a tall, thin woman with glasses and a very pleasant smile.

  “Good morning, Kim,” she greeted him.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Kelsey,” he said, and sat in his regular seat near the front.

  In a little while the whole choir was present. Mrs. Kelsey struck the first note on the organ. The low, deep sound boomed throughout the church. Then the choir began to sing. Boys’ and girls’ voices filled the church.

  Little by little the familiar feeling built up inside Kim. He felt the same every time he sang with the choir. His voice seemed to be reaching out to every wall in the big building, to every person sitting in the pews. When he glanced at the boy beside him, the boy smiled, and Kim smiled back. Some of the people who sat below turned and looked up. They saw him, and smiled as they turned away.

  He loved to sing with the choir. It was fun. People enjoyed his singing too, almost as much as he did.

  When church was over, he was met by friends outside—grown-up friends, who knew him through his mother and father.

  “Your voice is beautiful, Kim,” Mrs. Taylor said.

  “I wish I had a boy with a voice like yours.” Mrs. Osborn smiled. “I’d be real proud of him.”

  “Thank you,” Kim said.

  He caught up with his mother and father, and walked home with them.

  7

  THAT afternoon Jimmie Burdette I phoned.

  “How about coming to Ron Tikula’s place and playing basketball?”

  “Tikula’s?” Kim made a face.

  “He’s got a backboard,” Jimmie said. “Come on, Kim. He’ll let you play.”

  Kim thought about it a minute. “Well—okay,” he answered finally. “I’ll see you there.”

  He told his mother where he was going and changed into his old clothes. Then he ran all the way to Ron Tikula’s house. Five boys were there already.

  “Kim, Jack, and I will stand you guys,” Jimmie Burdette said.

  “We’ll smear you!” laughed Ron.

  As captains, Jimmie and Ron shot fouls to see who would take the ball out first. Jimmie won. He tossed to Jack. Kim broke away from his guard and rushed toward the basket. Jack flung him a hard pass. He caught it and tried a lay-up shot. No good.

  “You’ve got to be better than that, singer!” Ron shouted. He caught the ball and dribbled away from the basket.

  Kim pretended he didn’t hear.

  Ron tried a long shot. It hit the rim and bounded off. Jimmie caught it at the side and banked it in.

  A few seconds later Ron’s team made a basket. Both teams scored half a dozen times.

  Kim was beginning to sweat. It was a cool, wintry day, but he was shifting and running hard.

  Kim sank two more buckets.

  “Hooray for the singer!” yelled Ron.

  Kim’s face reddened. He didn’t like being kidded all the time about his singing.

  “Maybe we ought to tell him this ain’t a game for sissies!” Jerry Jordan said when Kim missed some shots.

  “Or singers!” said Ron.

  Kim stopped running. This was too much. He couldn’t keep playing with Ron and Jerry making fun of him. But he didn’t want to run away, either. He glared at Ron.

  Jerry was dribbling the ball, and Jimmie was guarding him. Suddenly Ron broke for the basket. Jerry bounced the ball to him. But the ball never got to Ron.

  Kim tore in like a shot and caught it. He dribbled once, leaped, and banked the ball off the backboard.

  Down it went—through the net!

  “Thataboy, Kim!” shouted Jimmie.

  Kim looked at Ron. A smile curled his lips.

  Ron didn’t do any name calling after that.

  8

  THE Arrows played the Bucs on Wednesday, at 6:30. Kim took Dutchie McBride’s place in the second quarter. Dutchie’s man had scored six field goals and three free throws. Coach Stickles told Kim to get in there and stop that kid from shooting any more.

  Kim tried his best. He found out soon that the boy was one of the fastest he had ever guarded.

  At first the boy got away from him twice. But Kim was fast too. He caught up with his man quickly and prevented him from making any baskets.

  The half ended with the Bucs ahead, 18 to 10.

  In the third quarter Jimmie Burdette showed some of his stuff. He made three drives in that boosted the Arrows’ score to 16. Ron sank a long one that tied it up. Then the Bucs rolled for a while and shot their score up to 25.

  In the fourth quarter Allan Vargo caught a long pass from Ron and laid it up for a perfect shot. Dutchie came back in and replaced Kim. He was full of pep. He scored four points in less than two minutes and the crowd went wild.

  The Bucs scored again, but the Arrows kept going strong. When the final whistle shrilled, the Arrows were ahead, 34 to 32.

  On Saturday they beat the Crackerjacks, 52 to 31. But the Crackerjacks were the cellar team, and beating them wasn’t anything to brag about.

  Kim still missed most of the practices. Coach Stickles asked him once why he didn’t come to all of them.

  “I have to stay home and practice singing,” Kim told him. “And twice a week our choir meets in the church for practice.”

  It seemed to Kim that Coach Stickles couldn’t understand why a boy who liked to play basketball would also like to sing.

  “Okay,” the coach said. “But it’s too bad. You’ve got the makings of a good basketball player.”

  Kim knew he would never forget what the coach had said.

  In the game against the Rockets, Kim went in when the Rockets were ahead, 8 to 4. It was the first quarter. Kim thought the coach wanted him to stop that tall, dark-haired Rocket from running the score up any higher. He had scored six of the eight points. He looked very good.

  The Arrows had the ball. Allan passed it to Ron, who ran down the right side line, stopped, and faked a shot for the basket. A Rocket player jumped in front of him and Rod threw to Kim. Kim pivoted as his man tried to hit the ball from his hands. He kept his back to the boy, and no matter how the Rocket player tried he could not get near the ball.

  Kim saw Jimmie break for the basket. Kim leaped off the floor and flung a one-hand pass to him. Jimmie caught it, bounced the ball once, then jumped. A perfect layup!

  Jimmie smiled as he and Kim ran upcourt. They winked at each other.

  Kim ran to cover his man, who was taller than Kim. He seemed to be all legs and arms, but he moved fast. Kim had a tough time keeping between him and the ball.

  All at once a long pass sailed upcourt toward the Rockets’ basket. Kim whirled, and caught his breath. His man had gotten away from him! The tall Rocket player was running to catch the ball, his long white legs pumping up speed.

  Kim rushed after him, but the ball sank into the Rocket’s hands just before Kim got there. The player spun, started to lift the ball above his head to shoot, then stumbled. He fell against Kim, who reached out his hands to stop him from falling.

  The whistle shrilled, Kim whirled. Up the court came the referee holding up two fingers!

  Kim stared. “What did I do?”

  “Tripping!” said the referee.

  “Tripping?” Kim’s mo
uth fell open. “But I didn’t—” He paused. He wouldn’t argue with the referee.

  “Hey! What’s the big idea?” one of the spectators shouted. “The kid tripped himself!”

  “Get the ref out of there!” another yelled. “He’s blind!”

  Kim stepped into his spot behind the white line and waited for the Rocket player to try his two free throws.

  The first sank without touching the rim. The second hit the backboard first, then bounded through.

  It wasn’t my fault, Kim told himself. I hope Coach Stickles knows that.

  9

  THE coach took Kim and Jimmie out in the second quarter. He didn’t say anything to Kim about the personal foul the referee had called on him. It bothered Kim. Maybe the coach thought he had tripped that boy.

  Anyway, those two points were the only ones the Rocket player had scored on Kim, But the Rockets were still ahead, 12 to 8. The Arrows could not seem to get going.

  A personal foul was called on Ron when he tried to stop a player from making a drive-in shot. The Rocket player made the first free throw. He missed the second. Ron caught the ball and dribbled down-court to the halfway line. He passed to Jordan, who tried a set shot. The ball banked off the board. Bobbie Leonard caught it. He shot, but missed. A Rocket player got the ball and heaved it upcourt.

  Kim saw the coach shake his head and strike his fist against his knee. “We’re just not lucky today!” he said.

  The half ended. ROCKETS—17, ARROWS—8.

  During the ten-minute intermission Coach Stickles told his boys to stay close to their men when they were on the defensive; not to get rough; to get long shots only when they had to. Pass, pass, pass. Work the ball close to the basket, then shoot.

  “Never argue with the referee,” he added, “even when he is wrong, as he was when he called that personal on Kim. Sometimes he doesn’t see the play from a proper angle, but he has to call it as he sees it.”

  The words stuck with Kim. No matter if they did lose some of their games, Coach Stickles was a good, smart coach.

  Jimmie Burdette started in the second half. He made two baskets, both long shots, but the tall Rocket player with the long arms and legs was dumping them in like marbles into a tomato can.

  “It looks as if nobody can stop him but you, Kim!” the coach said. “Get in there!”

  Kim got in there. He didn’t stop the tall boy altogether from making baskets. The boy sank two for four points. But that was all. And Kim had scored three points. All in all, it wasn’t bad for eight minutes of play—two in the third quarter, six in the last.

  The Arrows finished on the short end, 36 to 28.

  10

  THE line-up was in the paper the next day. Kim clipped it out as another treasure for his scrapbook.

  One sentence was in fine print about a Rocket player who had scored the most points. Another sentence told about Allan and Jimmie both scoring eight points for the Arrows. Kim read every word, hoping there might be something written about him. But there wasn’t.

  He looked at the clipping again.

  fg ft tp

  Tikula f 2 3 7

  Burdette f 3 2 8

  Vargo c 3 2 8

  Leonard g 1 0 2

  O’Connor g 1 1 3

  Jordan f 0 0 0

  * * *

  10

  * * *

  8

  * * *

  28

  Well, at least he was playing as much as the others, even though he didn’t practice as often.

  If he could only practice more he’d make more baskets. Maybe Coach Stickles would put him in as forward.

  But he—he had to attend choir practice, and practice singing at home. That was what took his time. Suppose he did not sing. He could attend all the basketball practices then. He could develop a good eye for shots. You don’t have to be tall to be a good shot. Jimmie Burdette wasn’t tall, was he?

  Kim’s mother came into the room. She had on a dark blue dress with a black patent-leather belt around the waist, and the new blue shoes Daddy had bought her for Christmas.

  Kim thought of how much she loved to hear him sing. He remembered how she looked when she sat at the piano playing for him. She looked as happy as on her birthday when Daddy gave her a gift. Kim knew that no matter what happened, he would never give up singing.

  His mother asked, “Don’t you think you’d better get dressed?”

  His eyes widened. “Where are we going?”

  She smiled. “It’s a surprise,” she said. “Get dressed. We’ll tell you later.”

  He didn’t like to be teased. It made him excited.

  “Oh, Mom!” he cried. “Please tell me!”

  Then his dad came in. He had on a white shirt and a flashy yellow necktie. He was holding three tickets in his hand.

  Kim’s heart jumped. Now he knew!

  “We’re going to the Lions-Philadelphia game!” he cried.

  “Right!” laughed his father.

  11

  KIM watched the big gymnasium fill up with people. Music blared from loud-speakers. Boys sold programs. Kim’s dad bought one for him.

  “I’ll keep score!” Kim said breathlessly. “Got a pencil, Dad?”

  His father gave him a pencil.

  The Philadelphia Ravens trotted out onto the floor. They were dressed in yellow jackets and long yellow pants. They had four basketballs which they began to throw at the basket. Kim watched excitedly. There must be a dozen men on that team!

  After a while the Seacord Lions trotted in. They were in bright green. Everybody cheered and whistled.

  “There’s Thompson!” cried Kim. He knew most of the players from watching them on television. “And there’s Wally Goodrich! See him, Dad? See him? Boy! Just watch him!”

  The players on both teams began to remove their jackets. That made them look even taller than before. Thompson must be about six feet six. Reynolds, six feet seven. Kim was sure Wally Goodrich was six feet four. He knew more about Wally than he did about any of the others.

  Kim opened the program and found the players’ names. Wally Goodrich, 24 years old, six feet four inches. He was right. He read through the others. Wow! Such giants! Philadelphia had a man six feet nine! A player like that had only to hold the ball over the basket and drop it in!

  Two referees appeared. They wore black pants and black and white striped shirts. The music stopped playing. An announcer spoke. He gave the names of the starting players of both teams. Then the national anthem was played and everybody stood up. When it was over, the people sat down.

  The game began.

  All the players wore jerseys and shorts now. A referee tossed the ball up between the two giant centers. Long fingers tapped it. Philadelphia got it, passed it to another Philadelphian. A Lion player snared it!

  Kim jumped to his feet. “Wally Goodrich caught it, Daddy! That was Wally—”

  His heart thumped like a hammer against his ribs. He sat on the edge of his chair, one hand gripping the program, the other the chair in front of him. Wally dribbled the ball down-court, running as if he were carrying the ball. All at once he passed. The next second the ball was passed back to him. He leaped for a hook shot. Made it!

  “See, Dad?” cried Kim. “He’s good!”

  The ball was passed upcourt. Kim had trouble keeping track of it. These players moved with the speed of lightning. A basket was made almost every five seconds. First the Ravens made one or two. Then the Lions did. It was too fast for Kim to put down on paper. He stuck the pencil into his pocket. He could not watch the game and keep score too.

  When the half ended, the score was SEACORD LIONS—48, PHILADELPHIA RAVENS—47.

  During the intermission a Philadelphia player was named the outstanding player of the month, and given a wrist watch.

  “Wally Goodrich was outstanding player last month,” Kim said.

  The second half was as lively and exciting as the first. Substitutes came in often. Wally Goodrich went out and then came ba
ck in two or three times. Kim enjoyed the way he faked when a guard came up to him. Twice he bounced the ball behind him with his right hand and continued bouncing it, without interruption, with his left. Another time he faked an overhand pass. When the guard jumped, Wally dribbled under his arm and laid one up for an easy two points. It looked easy, anyway.

  Kim noticed that Wally shot his fouls with one hand. He would raise the ball to his right shoulder with both hands, then push the ball up with his right hand. He made it almost every time.

  Just before the game was over, Kim asked his father for a favor. His father smiled and nodded.

  The score was still close when the game ended. The Seacord Lions won, 101 to 98.

  When they went home, Kim had a name scribbled in pencil on the back of his program.

  It was Wally Goodrich.

  12

  ON the following nights, as he practiced singing at home and with the choir, Kim thought about the team practicing basketball in the gym. Some of those players, like Allan and Jimmie, might one day play for the Lions. They practiced all the time. Sometimes he could not understand how they got such good marks in school. But they studied too, of course.

  Then, on Friday, his mother let him skip his singing lesson to practice basketball. He hurried eagerly to the gym.

  “Look who’s here!” Ron Tikula yelled. “The singing boy from Tim-buck-toy!”

  “The future TV star!” Jerry Jordan cried, and began to mock him. “Car-ry me ba-a-ck …”

  “All right, boys! Cut it out!” Coach Stickles yelled.

  Kim thought about that in church Sunday, just before he began to sing. He thought about it so much an ache grew into a big ball in his throat. He brushed a tear from his eye and hoped that nobody had seen it.

  He didn’t think he’d be able to sing after that. But after Mrs. Kelsey played the introduction, he lifted his voice in song. It flowed from his lips as easily as a bird taking off in flight. The longer he sang the less he thought about Ron Tikula, Jerry Jordan, and everything connected with basketball.