Just three days later, we were putting on our uniforms for real.
“Let’s get this season started,” Coach Acevedo said.
I checked the gym. Edgemont’s gym looked nothing like RJE’s. Banners and pennants for volleyball titles and track and field records and soccer championships and basketball victories covered the walls. A scoreboard hung above the bleachers, and there were fans in those bleachers, too. Yeah, Edgemont had actual fans, at least thirty or forty, all sitting directly across from the home team’s bench.
For us, only Emily’s dad and Mehdi’s parents had made the trip.
“Bring it in, United.” Coach Acevedo waved his iPad. We huddled up in front of the first row of bleachers, our bench. “I see the way some of you are looking around the gym and sizing up the other team. Let’s relax. On game days, I’m a big believer in body language. If you’re hanging your head and slumping your shoulders, your opponent’s going to see that and take advantage of it.” He pointed to the court. “No matter what happens out there, no hanging heads and no slumping shoulders.”
Everyone clapped.
“I couldn’t care less about the score today. I only want to see Clifton United playing hard and having fun. We play defense, we rebound the basketball, we have fun.” He kicked up the ball from under his foot. “I’m super pumped for our season. You should be, too.”
“Oh, yeah!” Red said, doing his hop. “Let’s go, Clifton United!”
“When that whistle blows and that ball goes up,” Coach Acevedo said, “we show this league just how tight Clifton United is. Whether you’re on the floor or on the bench, everyone contributes. Everyone.”
* * *
The game didn’t start out so hot. Actually, it was a total disaster.
After the first quarter, we trailed 10–0.
“We’re getting shut out,” Red said. “Has there ever been a shutout in basketball?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, “but that could change.”
“What if we get shut out?” He pinky-thumbed his leg.
“We still have three quarters left, Red. We won’t.”
“What if we do?” He hunched forward and swayed. “What if we get shut out, Mason Irving?”
I put my hand on his leg. “We won’t.”
We didn’t.
A few minutes into the second quarter, Jason boxed out his man and grabbed the rebound. He passed to Keith, who dribbled by his defender and drove the length of the court for a layup.
“Time-out! Time-out!” Coach Acevedo raced onto the floor. He jumping-body-bumped the players in the game and high-fived everyone on the bench. “That’s what I’m talking about! Rebounds lead to baskets.”
Red was as fired up as Coach Acevedo. He gave everyone double-fisted pounds, and then we busted out our handshake:
“Right hand, left hand, elbow, elbow.” We said the steps. “Fist, fist, knuckles, blow it up. Spin, jump, bump …
“Boo-yah!”
But Keith’s basket was pretty much our only highlight for the next two quarters. We trailed 25–4 at the half and 34–6 after three.
Still, Coach Acevedo was true to his word. He said he couldn’t care less about the score, and he meant it. Even though Edgemont was running us out of their gym, he never stopped cheering. To be perfectly honest, at times he sounded delusional. I’d looked up what delusional meant. It means totally unrealistic.
Red cheered us on, too. Whenever we scored a basket or made a stop, he stomped the bleachers, waved his towel, and cheered harder than anyone.
But that wasn’t very often. Most of the time, he snapped his towel or covered his face with it.
* * *
I ran the point to start the fourth quarter. On our first possession, I passed to Wil on the wing. On the release, Maya popped out and screened my man. I brushed Maya’s shoulder and exploded to the hoop. Wil hit me with the pass. I put up a floater.
Swish!
“Mason Irving scores!” Red shouted. “Your first points!” He waved his towel like a lasso. “Way to go, Mason Irving!”
I pumped my fist at Red and sprinted back on defense.
Believe it or not, for the rest of the game, we played decent. Yeah, Edgemont was playing their second- and third-stringers, but we were getting stops and coming through on offense. Maya scored her first basket, Keith sank a pair of free throws, and I hit a shot from the baseline.
* * *
“Here’s how we’re going to look at today’s game,” Coach Acevedo said in the huddle after the postgame handshake. “Yeah, we’ve got our work cut out for us. There’s no two ways about that. But each and every one of you showed me something in that fourth quarter.” He held up the iPad. “Now I know I said I couldn’t care less about the score, but I want you to see this anyway. Check out the quarter-by-quarter breakdown of the scoring.”
“10–0 in the first quarter,” Red said. “15–4 in the second quarter, 9–2 in the third quarter, 8–8 in the fourth quarter.” He rattled off the scores even before Coach Acevedo swiped the screen.
“That’s right, Red,” Coach Acevedo said. “We tied in the fourth quarter. That means we’re capable of holding our own in this league. We will put together four good quarters. We will win this season. I guarantee it.”