Team Nobody

It was a crisp autumn day in the back of the school.  The old trees groaned at me, their voices carried by the wind.  There was a time when we worshiped the trees.  Now we cut them up, write on them and print them out, only to record our myriad histories.  Now it seems like we only worship ourselves.

As I was walking alone, lost in my tree-bound thoughts, Trent threw a basketball that hit me square in the back.  That was his way of inviting me to a shoot-around with these other guys who couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.  There was Erik Figler, who has a twig of a figure.  Steven Lechner, a giant, uncoordinated slab of fat.  And Thomas Craig, a nice guy who nobody likes because he always looks scared.

We were just getting warmed up when some jocks came around and challenged us to a game.  It was Tyson Myers, Eric Miller, Ian Warner, Brady Galloway, and Andrew Kim vs.... Us?  It hardly seemed like a fair match.

Other people gathered around to watch, knowing this game would be over quickly.  

We did better than expected.  On the first possession, Tyson drove to the hoop for what he thought would be an easy layup.  I stepped in front of him and swatted the ball away.  He picked it up, but I got both my hands on it and wrenched it out of his arms.  Eric Miller said Tyson, he took it from you! trying to embarrass his friend, who was downplaying what had happened by laughing it off.

Our first possession blew up when Thomas made an errant pass to Erik, resulting in a layup for Ian Warner.  The gathering crowd cheered for the pop-jocks.  Assholes.  Me and everyone else on our team were growing more nervous, I could tell.  When you're a nobody, there are very few times when that many sets of eyes are watching you at once.  Worst of all, some of the pretty girls had found us, and were joining in the cheering.

"Great, more pressure is just what we need", I told Trent.  

He shrugged it off like everything would be ok.  "Don't worry, we got this.  Nothing would satisfy me more than to win this game.  Now let's ace these suckers!"  Easier said than done.  I found myself agreeing with him- nothing would satisfy me more either.

The second possession was a miracle.  I was being guarded by Andrew Kim, the least talented guy on their team.  I totally blew by him, and all eyes were on me again.  Tyson greeted me at the rim, with a more serious look in his eyes this time.  His tall, imposing physique forced me into an awkward shot.  The ball flew off the backboard and didn't even hit the rim.  It landed in Steven's hands, who deftly put it back in the hoop for a score.

Tyson looked at Brady furiously.  I guess someone missed their rotation.

Brady took the ball out to check it in, looking pissed off.  He was on the school team, and probably the most physical player on it.  I wanted Trent to guard him, but he was already on top of Ian like a hawk.  

Brady bowled the ball at my feet with all the force he could muster, making me jump in contorted confusion.  Everyone laughed, ugh.  When I got the ball back, I checked it in without trying to provoke him further.  He went straight for my mid-section, backing me down with all his strength.  But I held my ground, so he passed it back out to Ian.  Ian did some fancy moves, but Trent stayed with him.  For all his poor agility, Trent is not a bad defender.  He uses his legs efficiently and knows how to throw the guy in front of him off balance.  Ian ended up taking a tough fade away jump shot, which bounced off the rim into the hands of Tyson, who'd shoved Thomas to the ground.

"Foul!", cried Trent and Erik, as Tyson put the ball back in the hoop.

"No way," said Brady, now getting really involved in the game.

"That's a fucking foul!", insisted Trent.  None of the rest of us were foolish enough to argue with Brady.  With the whole school on their side, there was nothing we could say.  While I helped Thomas up, Erik checked in the ball and passed it to Trent.  Brady got right up in his face, so he passed it to Steven.  Steven tried shooting over Tyson and missed badly.  

Andrew Kim got the rebound and took the ball out.  He passed it over to Eric, who passed it to Ian, who passed it to Brady, who then passed it back to Ian.  Tyson was laughing by the time he finally got the ball.  So, they were playing with us.  Jock-hot potato.  They knew we couldn't guard them.

All the passing wore us out.  Brady finally took an open shot and swished it through the net.  The score was 3-1.

We had to score now.  I was their best player, I had to do something.  I checked in the ball to Brady, who had this wolfish gleam in his eyes, like he always does.  First, I darted right, but a double-team came from Ian, so I backed out.  Then I signaled for Trent to set a screen on Brady.  He did so, and the two bullies clashed.  I went straight for the rim, where Tyson was waiting for me again.  But Ian had swatted the ball away from behind.  I hadn't even known he was there!  They'd collapsed on me like policemen on a bank robber.

I don't know how Erik Figler managed to get the ball before Ian, but he did.  Ian harassed him while he found someone to pass the ball to.  I was too busy recovering from getting knocked on my ass by Tyson.  Trent was trying to fight off Brady, who was pretty much in a wrestling match with him at that point.  The others were just standing around, like they had the whole game.

Erik threw up a wild shot that Ian might have gotten a piece of.  The ball landed in my hands after Tyson misjudged its trajectory.  I turned around to shoot, but Brady had sprinted at me with legs like the devil.  That left one man open- good old Trent Pittenger, who was signaling for a pass while going toward the hoop.  Without thinking, I passed the ball.  He grabbed it and ran through Eric Miller, who'd actually tried to defend a shot this time.  The ball swirled around the rim before falling through the net.  We all let out a sigh of relief.  The score was 3-2.  We weren't doing bad.

Eric Miller was livid that Trent had punked him.  Now he was the one calling foul, but the other jocks told him to let it go, saying the game was over anyway.  Trent protested, saying the bell hadn't rung yet.  Everyone in the crowd wanted us to keep playing, so we did.  The jocks didn't look so sure of themselves now.  It seemed we the misfits were matching our muscles with the athletic elites of our school.

Ian checked the ball in this time, looking like he wanted to put the game away.  Trent pestered him again, pivoting his feet, giving him body bumps in all the right places.  He gave it up to Tyson, who was being guarded by Steven.  At last, they had found their mismatch.  There was no way Steven could stay in front of the best lineman on the varsity football team.  I decided to double team him, knowing that leaving Brady was probably a bad idea.  It surprised Tyson when my flailing arms entered the picture of Steven's flatulent shape.  

Then it was my turn to be surprised.  He decided to go through us instead of passing.  Seeing as I'd already stolen the ball from him, it seemed like an overconfident move.  He knocked Steven to the side, but that took away all his momentum.  He lost his footing when I stepped in, trapping him on the court with the ball wedged between his hand and the ground.  I deflected it away, sensing that Andrew Kim was right there to spoil my second steal.  He didn't do anything though.  This guy had virtually no value on the court.  If anything, he was only there to heighten their intimidation factor.  But today it wouldn't work; today we were fearless.

I took the ball out to the top of court, with stunned gazes all around me, none more-so than on the other team.  Now everyone was nervous, not just us.  The wind had stopped, and I had the same feeling Ian had a few moments ago.  That this game was ours, that the ball was in my hands, and I could put it away with one shot.

The bell rang as I released a desperate 2-pointer, with Brady's outstretched hand just missing the ball.  If it went in, we'd win.  If not, we'd lose.  This determinant locked the moment of that ball leaving my hands securely in time.  For one sweet moment we were on even ground with the popular kids, the cheerleaders, and all these other impressionable sheep who only watch and never act.

The ball hit the front of the rim and died there, falling in the hands of a gleeful Eric Miller, who ran off the court with it like they'd stolen the game.  I'd landed on Brady's foot, making me fall to the ground and nearly twisting my ankle.  Everyone was happy for all the wrong reasons, everyone except us.  Sitting there on the ground, with everyone leaving and not even my teammates coming to help me up, I wondered if such a thing as poetic justice really existed.

Trent was so upset about losing that he threw the ball at the wall and yelled at an innocent bystander.  It was Denise.  "Shut up or I will rip your carcass out!  I will do it; I am FUCKED UP IN THE HEAD!"

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.  Now, everyone knows he's a sore loser, but this time he crossed the line.  All my respect for him, as well as any last dignity I had for myself, crumbled to the ground that day.  Why had he yelled at Denise?  What had she done, or said, to make him threaten her like that?  The whole thing was insane.

"Get up, Chris."

The voice came from Amber Weikle, a girl rumored to like me.  She thought I'd played well, even though I didn't score.  Finally, someone had seen me, yet I didn't have anything to say.