Almost Famous

My brother being his ballin' self

This is my 17 year old brother, doing what he loves. He is wonderful and better than me in many ways. He is my best friend, my hero and my inspiration for many things. Recently, I allowed him to be my inspiration for a class assignment. I am currently taking a creative writing class and we have no boundaries, so I wrote about a boy that loves basketball.


To my surprise, the story got a decent amount of praise from my instructor and my classmates. "I don't know if you ever played basketball," one classmate said (I did for 10 years, by the way.), "but I feel like I'm back in high school. That's exactly how it is." I was also afraid of what my brother would say if he read it, but he said it was "badass," so I feel comfortable enough to post it here. Read on if you'd like to.





*DISCLAIMER: This draft is not professionally edited and there are a few typos. This is the exact piece I turned in for grading and there are a few things I would like to change, but I haven't. Also, it's about 14 pages long, double spaced, but only four pages single spaced...front and back. Enjoy! ;)

Games up, homie, hang it up like some crank calls,

You think I’m backing down, you must be outta your dang skulls.

-Eminem

He sat there on the bench. His elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The sound of Eminem’s album, Recovery, played. It was his favorite and it vibrated from his headphones, throughout every bone in his body.


He looked down at his feet, at his ankles wrapped in tape and hiding behind thick socks, at his white uniform, proudly displaying all that he stood for. He grabbed the thin sweat band that was sitting inside his shoe and slid it up to his right bicep. He never played a game without it. Stepping inside his red and black Jordan’s, he was ready. After tying them tightly, he grabbed the standard-issue leather Spalding sitting next to him and thrust a hard chest pass into the door of the locker he was facing. The sound of metal clapping against metal brought him more to life. He spun the ball on his middle finger a few times, a nervous habit.


He heard the loud buzz coming from the court, followed by an eruption of cheers and claps, signifying the game before his own had come to an end. It was almost time.

***

His parents put him in tee ball when he was only four years old. Four year olds are small, but he was even smaller than most. His team wasn’t any good – they only won two games out of their ten game season – but that never stopped him from trying his hardest. He stood at home plate and swung the small bat with all the might he could muster. On his very best days, he would knock the ball off the tee on his second try, but sometimes it was his fourth or fifth attempt before the ball would roll to the dirt. The kids got almost as many chances as they needed to eject the ball from the tee.


Every time he hit the ball, he would take off for first base as fast as he could, and every time his helmet would fall off by the halfway point because his head was too small to hold it on, his curly brown hair bouncing behind him.


He struggled with asthma, having been hospitalized a few times as a toddler, and he wasn’t very fast. Because of this, the coaches usually placed him in the outfield, left field no less, because it was rare that the ball would ever roll outside of the baselines.


“Sometimes I think Drew might just be too small,” his mother would say every now and then.


“Nah, it’s never too early to start building character,” his father would say back.


To be completely honest, Drew didn’t even enjoy the game that much, but he kept playing even though all his coaches stuck him in the outfield and filed him in the “at a later date” folder. In 1986, his dad competed in the state finals, so he was convinced his son would also be one of the greatest of his time.


“I remember watching your dad play years back,” a number of people would tell him once he got older. “One time he was playing catcher and the pitch went over his head. As he went to scoop it up, he ran up the wall of the backstop, flipped in the air, and still landed with enough time to throw the runner out at second base.”


‘Well, I’m not my dad,’ was all he ever thought.

***

Someone started speaking into a microphone as the crowd began to quiet.


“On behalf of UIL and the Texas Basketball Coaches Association, I’d like to present the 1A Division II State Championship trophy to the Guthrie Bobcats!”


The crowd erupted once more. The announcer presented medals to the second place team and named a member of the Guthrie squad the division’s MVP.


Now 20 minutes would be added to the clock and the teams still preparing in their locker rooms would file out and begin their pre-game warm-ups.


Drew wrapped the thin white cords of his headphones around his iPod and stuffed it into his black duffle bag. He zipped up the top flap and staring back at him was a red tiger with black stripes baring its teeth. Underneath, the words “Gail Tigers” and “Thomas #5” were embroidered in white.


His nerves began to give way to sheer excitement as he and the rest of his team huddled together to recite The Lord’s Prayer.


“Our Father, who art in heaven…” They said in unison.


As the prayer concluded, Drew began jumping up and down, pumping himself up even more. He looked at his 6’9” best friend, Mark, and they bumped fists.


“This is it. This is it, man,” Mark said. “This is what we’ve been waiting for since we were eight years old.”


With that, they ran out together onto the polished blond wood floors of the Frank Erwin Center.

***

Drew was only five when his parents got divorced. They cited “irreconcilable differences” and went their separate ways. His father, Samuel, moved a few towns away and married someone else very soon.


Sarah, Drew’s mother, got custody of him and his younger sister, Bethany. Raising two children isn’t easy, much less alone, so Sarah enlisted the help of her parents in the afternoons and evenings until she could get off work.


Every day, he would climb up into his grandfather’s lap and share the oversized blue recliner. Together, they watched hours of cartoons and the day-to-day sports’ highlights on ESPN. Drew took a special interest in all things basketball, and especially the San Antonio Spurs and Tim Duncan, who were coming off their 1999 defeat of the New York Knicks in the NBA Finals.


Drew was very young, but he thoroughly understood the concept of the game and soon his grandfather was quizzing him on some of the sport’s greatest such as, Julius Erving, Larry Bird and Michael Jordan. He loved the movie Space Jam, too which just increased his interest in the sport.


His grandfather bought him his first basketball that year.

***

In the hundreds of games of he’d played in or watched Drew had never seen a gym full of so many people. From where he stood in the center of the court, he didn’t notice a single empty seat.


It was perfect, aside from the ugly burnt orange longhorn he was standing on. He had always been a Tech fan.


Behind him, he could hear the familiar “T-I-G! E-R-S! Tigers, tigers! We’re the best!” coming from the cheerleading squad that was fronting the packed section of Gail tiger fans. Right there in the middle of the crowd, was his own personal cheerleading squad. His mother and sister, his grandparents, his dad and step mother, had gone all out for the occasion, spelling the words “GO DREW” with signs made of white poster board and red capital letters. Each donned a black t-shirt with “#5” in red on the front.


He caught his mom’s eye and waved. Sarah smiled at him and mouthed the words “I love you,” back at him.

***

Since he started playing in the junior leagues when he was eight, Drew’s athletic ability had drastically improved and he’d even grown some. He went from only playing one quarter his first year, to playing almost the entire thing by the next year. Still, he thought he deserved more responsibility than just bringing the ball down every now and then, when the other team wasn’t pressing and the real point guard was taking a water break. His young dream was to be the starting point guard, not back-up playing in the number two spot.


So, every afternoon after school, he made Bethany practice with him outside in their grandparents’ concrete driveway.


Drew was her hero, so she did whatever he asked of her. She rebounded his shots, acted as his passing partner and took turns playing offense and defense against him. One day when she was shooting a free throw, he knocked her on her butt running a block-out drill and she started to cry.


“Ouch! Andrew, that hurt,” she screamed at him. “I want to go inside and play with my Barbies. I don’t like playing basketball with you every day!”


“Bethy, I’m sorry,” he said and kneeled down by her side. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”


“I don’t care! I quit!” she yelled as she crossed her arms and blew her dark curly hair out of her eyes. “Basketball is so dumb.”


“Now, why would you say that?” he asked her. “You know you’re one of the best defenders I’ve ever played against. Sometimes I can’t get past you to get to the basket!”


She was only a year younger than he was, so it wasn’t entirely a lie. He was small for a boy and she was tall for a girl, so the match-up was pretty even.


“Whatever; stop lying,” she said, but a smile started to form in the corners of her mouth. Realizing she was beginning to cave, she forced herself to frown and turn away from him with her nose in the air. “I still don’t want to play with you.”


“Well, can we make a deal?” he asked her. “If you play one game of horse with me, I’ll play Barbies with you. But you have to let me be Ken! And he’s Barbie’s brother today, not her boyfriend!”


She smiled and he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. She picked the basketball up off the ground next to her and dribbled in for a layup.

***

The opposing team, the blue and gray wildcats from Calvert, came out of their locker room shortly after the tigers took the floor. As expected, their fans cheered just as loudly as the fans supporting the Gail team.


The wildcats gathered at midcourt to begin their pregame rituals. It was hard for Drew to understand what was being said in their huddle, but they sounded more like a pack of dogs than wildcats. A tactic meant to intimidate, no doubt, and it was working.


‘Wow, he looks a lot bigger in person than he does on film,’ Drew thought, as Calvert’s starting point guard emerged from the middle of the herd. He went back to running the three-on-two warm-up drills and tried to keep himself focused.


Drew was an even six feet tall and weighed about 155 pounds – his summers of endless weight lifting and cardio had done him well. While he was worlds away from the kid he was in elementary school, more often than not, he was one of the smaller players on the floor. He brought the ball down 85 percent of the time, but had been known to drive an open lane and get past the bigger players underneath the basket. Brandon Jamison, the point had shoulders seeming twice as broad as Drew’s, but he was just a bit shorter.


‘Maybe that means he’ll be a little slower than me,’ he thought, his nerves creeping back up as he sunk a shot from the top of the key. ‘If I can just push him to the weak side, the steal is mine.’


Quick on his feet, Drew had won the district’s defensive MVP two years in a row and made the first team all-region as a junior. This year, it was all-state or bust.


The Gail tigers had been making playoff appearances for years before Drew and his buddies got to high school, but none had set records quite like they did. When he was a freshman, the team made their first regional tournament appearance in ten years. His sophomore year, they became the only tiger team to hold a regional quarterfinal championship, but losing in the next round. The following year, they advanced a step further, but lost by three points in the regional finals. This year, as seniors, they won the regional final game, defeating Lipan by more than 30 points. Drew and his teammates had been playing together since the junior leagues, so they’d had years to cultivate their chemistry and create a game that was all their own. They had become unstoppable.


“Captains,” one of the officials called out and motioned to the center of the court.


Drew and Mark, the team’s leaders, made their way towards the officials as two players from the Calvert team did the same. They sized each other up respectfully, looking their opponents up and down. Brandon Jamison was a captain and he looked at Drew like a jungle cat, anxious to play with his food. They shook hands and made introductions, but Drew took an extra step back in an effort to stay on his own side of the half court line.


“Ok, gentlemen,” the taller, bald official said. “This is it, the state finals. You’ve come this far, so you know the drill. Keep it clean, no elbows, don’t play cheap. Anything you’d like to add?” He motioned to the other referee.


“Yeah, like he said, just play clean,” the other ref said, adjusting his whistle that was attached to the zipper of his black and white striped uniform. “And if you have an issue with one of the players on the other team, come to us and we’ll handle it. Leave it all on the court. Any questions?”


All four players shook their heads ‘no,’ and returned to their teams. As they were backing away, Drew took a last look at Brandon Jamison and suddenly felt the anxiety overtake him. There were ten minutes left on the pregame clock when the tigers’ coach motioned for the team to return to their locker room for one last pep talk.

***

Drew had never realized that it was possible to be excited and disappointed at the same time, yet he felt just that as anticipation churned inside his stomach.


‘Sometimes playing on the same team as your friends is a real bummer,’ he thought, as Mark stood up and walked to the center of the court to receive his shiny new trophy. ‘Mark is really tall. There’s no way we’ll both make All-Stars.’


It was the night of closing ceremonies and Drew’s very last year to play in the junior leagues.


“Next year, you’ll be playing in junior high and your games will matter,” his dad had said the night before.


“Well, they matter now too, Dad,” he said.


Every year of the junior leagues, Mark and Drew had played on the same team and every year Mark had made All-Stars while Drew had come to the games as a spectator. The spots on the junior league All-Star team were highly coveted and holding a spot almost guaranteed a starting position, or at least a lot of playing time, on the junior high team the following year.


Every year, 12 players made the All-Star team and while not everyone got to play a lot, just wearing the jersey was an honor. The announcer had already called out ten players’ names, including Mark.


“Looks like we have room for one more player from the Suns!” he called.


‘Yup, Taylor made it,’ Drew thought, referring to one of the other tall post players on their team.


“Point guard, Drew Thomas, why don’t you come join us up here,” the announcer said.


Drew was so excited by what the announcer said that he didn’t even need his hands to get himself up off the floor. His spring loaded feet did the job for him and he was to the center of the court in two short bounds. He jumped up and down, the 5 on his chest bouncing right along with him and grinning from ear to ear, holding his own new trophy in his hands.

***

That day, sitting in the home team locker room of the Frank Erwin Center once again, all of Drew’s feelings from that day came rushing back. Excitement for what he was about to take part in, disappointment for how it might turn out and anticipation hoping that it wouldn’t be that way.


To him, basketball had always been the most honest sport. There was no face mask to hide behind when facing his opponents. The only thing separating them was the ball and in an instant, all control could be ripped from his hands. It only took one game to prove the worth of a team one way or another. No five or seven game series, just two 20 minute halves.


He looked back on all the years in his past and all the hard work he had put into them. Finally, they had paid off, but at the same time, not coming out with a win also meant they hadn’t paid off at all.


He looked down again, scanning his uniform and all the way down to his socks and shoes.


‘Yeah, this is it,’ he thought. ‘It’s time and it’s up to me. It’s up to Mark. It’s up to us together to lead this team, our town, to something we’ve never had before. Fight to the death, leave it all on the court.’


Just then, Coach Erickson called for Drew and Mark to come to the center of the locker room.


“Thomas, you’ve come a long way,” he said. “I’ve been watching you, all of you really, for years now, and I want you to know that I’m proud of you. No matter what happens out there, leave it all on the court,” he echoed Drew’s own thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for years to watch you and Mark lead this team together and I trust you. Thank you for a great four years.”


The team had never seen their coach cry before, but a tear slipped down his cheek as he shook Drew’s hand and drew him into a hug. After all, it was his first state tournament appearance as well. He released Drew and then turned to give Mark a similar speech. He embraced him and pretended to scratch his nose as he wiped away the tear and began to speak again.


“Ok, guys,” Coach Erickson said. “It’s time. Right now, our perfect season is over. This is the only game that matters. Don’t walk out onto that floor thinking that just because you won last week, you’ve got this game in the bag. It’s not like that. You’re gonna have to fight for this; they didn’t get all the way to the drum because they suck. Calvert is an amazing team, we’ve seen that from film, but that doesn’t mean we can’t win. We’re starting over right now, 0-0 and I want to walk out 1-0. Now get out there and kick some ass.”

***

Practice that day sucked to say the least. The tigers had lost the night before so they spent the entire two and a half hours running lines, shooting free throws, running defensive drills and being lectured about heart, dedication and trash talk on the floor. By the time practice ended, his chest hurt and he could hardly breathe. Coach Erickson approached him on his way out of the gym.


“Thomas, you know what I like about you?” Coach Erickson asked and threw his arm around Drew’s shoulders.


Coach Erickson had been with Gail for about six years now and had a reputation. He liked to win, but he respected seniority. Rarely would he play a standout underclassman over a senior that had been riding the bench for the better part of three years.


“What’s that, Coach?” Drew replied.


“You don’t kiss my ass, son,” he said.


‘That may be true, but working hard isn’t getting me anywhere either,’ he thought to himself. As a sophomore, Drew had been playing third string point guard and never got anything more than a pat on the butt and “good job” from Coach Erickson. ‘Your time will come,’ everyone kept saying to him, but he worked harder and played smarter than anyone else on the team. He felt like his time was now.


“Ha, thanks, Coach,” was all he said. Walking out the door, he thought to himself, ‘One day. One day he’s going to stop pretending I’m not there. One day he’s going to trust me and put me in for more time than it takes to foul and get the ball back.’

***

The tigers broke their huddle and walked back out onto the court.


Standing on the sidelines, the teams waited. One by one, the announcer introduced each team’s starting lineup and the players joined their teammates on the court. Lights flashing, fans screaming, Drew felt a culmination of the entire day’s emotions. His turn came and he felt like everything was moving in slow motion.


“At six feet and weighing in at 155 pounds,” the announcer called. “Senior point guard, number five, Drew Thomas!”


The tiger fans exploded with cheers as Drew ran through the victory line his other teammates had created, slapping hands with each one along the way. He shook hands with the opposing team’s coach and bumped fists with the officials before joining the other starting four on the court. They looked to him for guidance, but he couldn’t find the words to convey everything he wanted to say to them.


“Let’s do this,” was all he could come up with, and they took their places around the circle to wait for the tip.


Just then, the referee blew his whistle, stepped to mid-court and prepared to toss the ball into the air. He looked around at his opponents, all wanting the same thing he did, a tally in the win column, a trophy and a ring and all the pride and adoration the state of Texas could give. Mark glanced back at him and smiled. Drew smiled back, standing in the back court with adrenaline pulsating through his veins, and waited for Mark to tip the ball to him so they could lead their team to glory.