Sink it Rusty Read online

  “Shoot, Rusty! Shoot!” someone yelled.

  He was near the corner, just about in the same position from where he had practiced taking shots at home and in the big barn.

  A Braves player bounded forward. He swung his arms wildly in front of Rusty. Rusty tried to feint to the left, and then to the right. The player bobbed up and down in front of him like a puppet.

  Rusty leaped as high as he could, and that wasn't high. He flipped the ball with his wrists toward the basket. It sailed in a high arc, struck the rim, and bounced up into the air. Then it dropped — right through the net!

  A roar burst from the Lakers fans. “Thataboy, Rusty!”

  Rusty's heart melted. All at once his fright was gone. He had done it. He had made his first basket in a real game.

  The Braves' ball. They moved it down-court quickly. Rusty trotted after them. He tried to hurry and felt his toes scraping the floor. Those legs! You'd think they were against anything he wanted to do!

  The Braves player shot a pass across the court. Another Braves player caught it, feinted Corny Moon out of position, then broke fast for the basket. Just as he leaped to try a lay-up, Bud hit his wrist.

  Freeeee-e-et!

  “Two shots!” said the referee. He held up two fingers, Bud's number.

  Bud shook his head discouragingly. He held up his hand to show he was the offender.

  The Braves man sank the first shot, missed the second. Jim Bush caught the rebound, zipped a pass to Bud. Bud dribbled the ball up-court. He bounce-passed to Rusty. Rusty passed it back to him, then hurried to his corner spot. He hoped the ball would be passed to him. But his man guarded him well. No one dared to pass it.

  Corny tried a set shot from the opposite corner. He missed. Jim and the Braves center leaped for the rebound. They both came down together with the ball gripped tightly in their hands.

  Freeee-e-et! Jump ball.

  A Braves man took the tap, passed to a teammate. Once again the ball zipped quickly in the other direction. Just as Rusty let out a sigh of disappointment, a player accidentally kicked his right foot. The player was Rusty's man. He stumbled forward, but regained his balance hurriedly.

  The kick knocked Rusty off balance, too. Rusty fell. He struck the floor with his hip, then skidded and rolled over.

  Again the whistle.

  “Tripping!” shouted the referee, pointing at the Braves player. “You shoot one!” he said to Rusty.

  Rusty stared, wide-eyed, as he rose to his feet.

  The Braves players shouted something at the referee. They didn't like that call.

  “Hurt, Rusty?” Joby asked, running forward.

  “No. I'm all right,” said Rusty. I wouldn't call that a foul, though. It was an accident.

  He stepped to the free-throw line, and rubbed his hip.

  The referee waited till the players were ready on each side of the free-throw lane, then handed the ball to Rusty. “One shot,” he repeated.

  Nervously, Rusty took the ball. He bounced it a few times, then looked long and carefully at the basket. A hushed silence fell upon the big gym.

  Rusty shot. The ball hit the rim, rolled around it, and fell off!

  A half a dozen pairs of hands reached up for the rebound. Jim Bush got it. In the next instant someone knocked it out of his hands. It bounced across the floor. Rusty hurried after it, scooped it up. A tall, broad-shouldered Braves player reached it a moment later. He wrapped his arm around the ball and tried to whip it out of Rusty's hands.

  Rusty held on as tightly as he could. The Braves player was strong. He practically picked Rusty off his feet and swung him around the floor! Rusty fell, but he still held on to the ball. The Braves player bent on one knee beside Rusty, and looked at Rusty unbelievingly.

  The Lakers fans roared out in laughter: “That's the boy, Rusty! Don't let him take it from you!”

  Jump ball. The Braves player won his argument this time. He outjumped Rusty easily. Ten seconds later the Braves scored a basket. The buzzer sounded. Mark and Perry came back into the game. Rusty and Jim went out.

  They sat on the bench beside Coach Alec Daws. Their faces glistened with perspiration.

  “How do you feel, Rusty?” asked Alec.

  Rusty's chest rose and fell as he breathed. “Okay!” he said.

  Alec grinned. “You did fine,” he said. “In the second half, we'll let you go in again.”

  Rusty smiled. “Thank you!”

  “But keep out of those scrambles,” warned Alec. “Get in one intentionally, and you're out. Remember that!”

  Rusty nodded. A little while later the buzzer sounded, ending the first half.

  10

  THE score was 26–19, in favor of the Braves, as the second half started. Rusty was impressed by Perry. He watched Perry's every move. There was no doubt that Perry was the best player on the Lakers team. Perhaps, at this moment, the best player on the floor.

  Thoughts ran through Rusty's mind as he watched Perry catch passes, make fast breaks, and leap for lay-ups. Perry went up high, as if he had springs in his legs.

  Maybe I could have been like him, thought Rusty. If the disease hadn't struck me, I might be out there on the floor this very minute, running and dribbling and shooting, just as Perry is doing.

  It was funny how polio could change a person. I'm well now. Yet I'm not well. I feel healthy and strong, yet I cannot do the many things other boys my age can do.

  His stomach tightened into a knot.

  He'd never be like those other boys again. Never.

  A loud cheer from the Lakers fans brought Rusty's thoughts back to the game. He saw Corny running up-court with a proud smile on his face, and knew Corny must have sunk one.

  The electric scoreboard flashed the score: VISITORS — 21; HOME — 26.

  The gap was closing.

  “Okay, Rusty,” said Alec. “Go in the minute the ball is dead. Remember, don't rush. Keep out when there's a scramble for the ball. Ted, in for Bud.”

  Rusty wished Alec wouldn't warn him all the time. He treats me as if I'm a little boy of four or five. I don't want pity! I can take care of myself!

  When he got into the game he remembered Alec's warning. He didn't want to do anything against Alec's wishes, anything that would give Alec a good reason not to let him play again.

  Rusty played the corner. He didn't expect any more than a pass or two.

  At last, the first one came. It was from Ted Stone, who was being pressed by two Braves players.

  Rusty caught the pass, aimed for the basket, and shot.

  In!

  A thunderous roar sprang from the Lakers fans. “Nice eye, Rusty! That's the way to sink 'em!”

  Later, there was a scramble for the ball near him. It was impossible for him to get out of the way, so he tried for the ball himself. He was pushed, shoved, and almost got his hands on the ball. A quicker pair of hands snapped it up. Hands belonging to a Braves player.

  I would've had it if I weren't so slow!

  The quarter ended. Alec put Mark back into the game. Rusty sat out the last quarter, not caring whether he went in again or not. He was pooped. When the game ended, the shower was a welcome, joyful relief. No one was too unhappy that the Braves had won, 48–41. That was a better score than the Lakers had expected.

  “You were great, Rusty!” said Joby, as they rode home. “Man! How many sinkers?”

  “Two field goals,” said Corny. “Nothing wrong with that!”

  Rusty blushed. It was good to hear his friends talk that way about him.

  The Cannerville News printed a brief story about the game on Monday. It also had the box scores. Rusty read it over proudly.

  FG FT TP

  C. Moon g 2 1 5

  B. Farris g 3 2 8

  T. Stone g 0 0 0

  J. Main f 1 1 3

  M. Andrews f 4 0 8

  R. Young f 2 0 4

  P. Webb c 4 2 10

  J. Bush c 1 1 3

  * * *

  17
r />   * * *

  7

  * * *

  41

  Alec suggested practice at the barn three nights a week — Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. On the Saturday after the Braves game, the Lakers played the Weston Jets. The Jets beat them, 51 to 42. In that game Rusty sank only one basket.

  “That was a big score,” said Alec. “But not too big when you hear what they've been doing to other teams. They beat the Braves forty-eight to twenty-two. And the Redwings forty-three to nineteen. So you see they have a strong defensive team. Yet we were able to go through them for forty-two points! I think that's wonderful. You boys deserve a lot of credit.”

  On the Saturday before Christmas, the Lakers played the Chilton Chiefs.

  “Beat them and you'll have something to cheer about,” said Alec. “They took the Braves to camp last week, thirty-seven to thirty-five.”

  The game was played on a high-school court at Chilton. The seats were nearly filled as the game got underway.

  Rusty wasn't surprised he didn't start. He never would start. He was sure of that. He'd be satisfied just to play once in a while. However, the Chiefs were supposed to be very strong. Perhaps he wouldn't see action in today's game at all.

  Bud Farris plunked in the first basket of the game. The Lakers fans cheered him loudly. Then Perry stole a pass intended for a Chiefs player, broke fast for the basket, and laid it up!

  Four points for the Lakers!

  The Chiefs, dressed in crimson uniforms with large white numbers on their jerseys, grew cautious. They moved the ball slowly across the center line toward their basket. The Lakers used a zone defense and protected their goal closely.

  Quickly, a Chiefs player passed to a man at his left. The man broke forward. He leaped, holding the ball high over his head. Instead of shooting for a basket, he passed to another man rushing in. The man caught the pass and leaped for a jump-shot.

  In!

  A few moments later the Chiefs did it again. Gradually they crept ahead of the Lakers. Perry dumped in two long sets, and Ted Stone, a lay-up. The Lakers were trying hard, but the Chiefs had control of the game now. They led, 14 to 11, when the quarter ended.

  Rusty started the second quarter in place of Mark Andrews.

  “Keep out of the scrambles!” was Alec's warning just before Rusty went in.

  “Yes, sir,” murmured Rusty.

  He played the corner, but was guarded so closely that not once was he thrown a pass during the first two minutes. Disgusted, he glanced toward the bench. Of course, no one looked his way. He might as well sit down and watch the game as stand here like a store dummy.

  “Rusty! Wake up!”

  He turned just in time. A large blur popped up in front of him. He jerked out his hands and caught the bouncing ball. Like a swarm of angry hornets, the Chiefs players came after him. He feinted to the left, and then to the right, using his left foot as a pivot.

  Suddenly, one of the players got hold of the ball. He yanked it hard. Rusty hung on desperately. If he couldn't shoot, nobody was going to take the ball from him, either.

  Rusty was jerked forward. He fell, struck the floor hard with his right knee. Pain shot through it. A boy tripped over him as he did so, striking Rusty on the shoulder. But Rusty still held firmly onto the ball.

  The whistle shrilled.

  “Jump!” said the referee.

  Joby helped Rusty to his feet. “Nice going, pal. You okay?”

  Rusty nodded.

  The Chiefs player outjumped him. Another Chiefs man took the tap, dribbled down-court.

  Again the whistle. The referee signaled with his hands. Traveling. The ball returned to the Lakers.

  The buzzer sounded. Mark Andrews came in. Rusty went out, limping.

  Alec Daws looked sharply at Rusty and shook his head. “I don't know what to say to you, Rusty,” he said. “Do you want to get really hurt out there?”

  Rusty sat down. “I couldn't give them the ball,” he said. “Anyway, I didn't get hurt.”

  “Oh, no?” The coach's brows arched. “Then why are you limping?”

  Rusty shrugged. He didn't answer that one. After all, what did Coach expect? Everybody fell sometime!

  “I might be wrong to let you play, Rusty,” murmured the coach. “You could get hurt badly. I wouldn't want that, not for the world.” The coach looked Rusty squarely in the eyes. “Rusty, I wish I knew what to do.”

  Rusty stared at him. His eyes dimmed.

  “Please don't stop me from playing, Alec!” he cried all of a sudden. “You can't do that! I'll watch myself from now on. I promise I won't get hurt. I promise!”

  Alec looked at him a long time. He didn't say a word.

  11

  THERE was one minute left in the first half. The Cannerville Lakers were four points behind. They were gradually catching up to the Chiefs, thanks to Perry's lay-ups.

  Lakers' ball. Bud Farris had it. He dribbled across the center line — and fumbled! He fumbles so much! thought Rusty.

  A Chiefs man scooped up the ball. Quickly, Perry stole it from him! He shot a swift pass to Joby. Joby broke fast for the basket, shot the ball against the board. Missed!

  “Ooooo!” wailed the fans.

  A wild scramble followed for the rebound. Perry got it, tapped it in!

  Two points behind the Chiefs!

  Chiefs' ball. They worked it to their back court. They tried to move into their front court, but couldn't. The Lakers had it well guarded.

  They tried a set. The ball struck the backboard, missed the rim. Corny Moon leaped, took the rebound, and dribbled all the way up the court. He was chased by five Chiefs players, but no one reached him in time. Corny leaped, made the lay-up, and tied the score, just as the half ended!

  The Lakers rushed off happily for the locker room. Cheers from their fans trailed after them.

  “You boys have improved wonderfully,” Coach Daws said, his eyes beaming as he faced the eight boys sitting on benches between the two rows of lockers. “It makes me feel proud because, in a way, I'm a part of you. You've come a long way in a short time. You've learned to play the game very well. You've listened to me and remembered a lot of the things I've told you. More important still, you're all good sports. Maybe — just maybe — we might go home this afternoon with a win!”

  The second half went along with both teams scoring freely. The electric scoreboard flashed a new score first on the HOME side, and then on the VISITORS side. It seesawed back and forth like that.

  With two minutes to play in the third quarter, the coach had Rusty go in. Rusty could hardly believe it. He was sure the coach wasn't going to let him play again in this game.

  Alec winked at him. “The right corner, Rusty. Let's see you dump in a couple.”

  Rusty took his position to the right of the basket, and about five feet in from the out-of-bounds line. Nervously, he watched the game as if he were a spectator.

  Presently, the action was on the Lakers' front court. Perry flipped a pass to Ted. Ted bounced the ball to Rusty, and Rusty shot.

  Whack! A hand slapped his wrist. The whistle shrilled.

  The ball missed the hoop by a foot, but Rusty was given two shots for a personal foul.

  Carefully he aimed at the basket. Shot.

  Made it!

  He aimed again. Shot. Again he made it!

  “Thataboy, Rus!” Perry yelled.

  A little while later the quarter ended. Rusty expected to be taken out. But he was still in as the fourth quarter got underway. Action increased as the final minutes on the big clock above the scoreboard ticked away. Now the Chiefs were in the lead. Now the Lakers.

  Rusty felt himself penned in. He wanted to join in the action. He felt good now. The pain from the fall had long since vanished. Gradually, he crept farther and farther away from the corner.

  Lakers' ball. Perry passed it to Rusty. Rusty turned, dribbled twice, then shot. The ball struck the backboard, sank for two points! At the same time, someone bumped in
to him, and a whistle pierced the gym.

  “One shot!”

  Rusty's face shone with perspiration as he stood on the free-throw line. His heart hammered as he took the ball from the referee. He aimed, shot.

  In!

  The fans roared. The Lakers were ahead now — 43 to 41. Rusty breathed hard. He had done a lot of running in the last few minutes.

  With two minutes to go, he was taken out.

  “Nice game, Rusty,” said Alec. “But I almost yanked you when I saw you get out of that corner.”

  Rusty looked at the coach. Alec's eyes were shining happily. Rusty smiled.

  The Chiefs picked up another basket to tie the score. Then Ted arched in a set shot to put the Lakers ahead again. Five seconds before the finish of the game, Joby tried a long set shot, made it, and the game was over.

  Score: Lakers — 47; Chiefs — 43.

  There was a lot of singing in the cars as the boys rode home. And there was a lot to sing about. They had beaten the team that had whipped the Braves!

  “No more games till after Christmas vacation,” announced Alec Daws. “But don't let that stop you from practicing at the barn!”

  Marylou came home on Wednesday, just before the Christmas weekend. Mom, Dad, and Rusty were all happy to see her. It was obvious she was glad to see them, too.

  “Good to get away from those books for a while,” she said, “and be home again! How's my big brother doing?”

  Rusty smiled. “I'm doing okay,” he said. “I'm a forward on our basketball team, the Lakers.”

  Marylou's cheeks dimpled. “I know,” she said. “Mom wrote me. How many games have you won? Tell me all about it.”

  And Rusty did.

  A few days after Christmas, Rusty took a long walk into the woods — the same woods he had gone into with Joby and Corny that day when Joby had checked his traps.

  He located the log stretched across the creek. Only now the water below it was frozen solid.

  How often he had thought about this log! How often he remembered that terrible time when he had tried to crawl across it and couldn't.