When the boys’ practice ended at four fifteen, it felt strange not to see the girls ringing the court for their practice. One way or the other, Jeff was accustomed to seeing a girls’ team—either the sixth-grade girls when the boys had the early practice or the varsity girls when they went at four fifteen—waiting to take over the court.
“I suppose I could keep you guys out here for a while longer,” Coach C joked. “But we’ll let the varsity girls get a little bit of an early start.”
Ron Arlow was back at practice, looking hale and hearty and once again, he and Jeff split time at the point guard start. The one-game joyride was clearly over.
Jeff didn’t really give that much thought during practice. His mind was on the girls’ dilemma—debacle was more like it—and what might be done to help them or, more accurately, to save them.
Unfortunately, he had nothing—not a single idea. Unless someone on the faculty stepped forward and agreed to coach, the girls’ season would be over.
There was a good deal of discussion in the locker room after practice about what was going on with the girls. Most of the boys were sympathetic. To no one’s surprise, Arlow was not.
“It’s your girlfriend, Carillo—again,” he said, pointing a finger at Jeff. “She whined her way through soccer season and now she’s whining again and somehow convinced everyone else to go along with her.”
“Does the fact that everyone else signed the petition tell you something, Arlow?” Jeff said, feeling himself turn red, more with anger than embarrassment at Arlow calling Andi his girlfriend.
“Yeah, well, everyone knows she’s a troublemaker. Been going on for months.”
“You just don’t like her because she’s a better soccer player than you and because she wouldn’t go to the dance with you,” Danny Diskin said.
Arlow didn’t have an answer for that one. Most of the others were hooting at him—because they knew Danny had nailed him on both fronts. Jeff high-fived Danny and headed for the shower. As soon as he felt the warm water on his back, his mind returned to the girls’ plight.
Come on, Jeff, think, he thought. Nothing was coming to mind.
He’d forgotten that his father was picking him up, but he brightened when he saw his car because he remembered why he was picking him up. One of his dad’s good friends was Fran Dunphy—the recently retired Temple basketball coach. Dunph—as everyone called him—still taught a class at Temple and would often bring in guest speakers from all walks of life to talk about their experiences. His dad was speaking to the class that night, and Dunph was buying dinner beforehand at the Capital Grille as his “payment.” He had urged Tom Michaels to bring Jeff along, having known him since he first started going to Temple games as a toddler.
They parked with the valet in front of the restaurant, which was at the spot where Broad Street emptied into City Hall Square, at exactly five p.m.—the time the valets came on duty and the time of the reservation. Dunphy was waiting inside the front door.
The restaurant manager—who screamed, “Dunph!” when he spotted the old coach—led them to a corner table. Jeff had filled his dad in on what was going on with the girls’ team on the drive to the restaurant. As soon as they sat down and ordered drinks, his dad began telling Dunph the story.
“Never knew sixth-grade sports could be so intense,” Dunph said with a smile. He looked a lot younger than seventy, his hair graying but still flecked with brown, his eyes alive, his smile easy. “There’s really no one who will step in and coach them? I mean, if the two assistant coaches understood the woman wasn’t being fair to the kids, why wouldn’t they want to help?”
“It’s political,” Jeff said. “No one wants to be seen as not supporting another faculty member.”
“What about supporting the kids?” Dunph asked. “Shouldn’t they be more important than a teacher’s ego?”
It was a good question. An idea flashed through Jeff’s head—a bad one, or at the very least an impossible one.
“Coach Dunphy?” he said.
“Come on, Jeff, I’ve known you since before you could walk,” the coach said. “It’s Dunph or Fran.”
Jeff knew that, but in this context, he wanted to emphasize the word coach. “Okay, fine, sure, I mean, Dunph, why don’t you coach them? It’s just eight games and I’ve seen you quoted in the papers as saying you’ve got too much free time…”
“Jeff, don’t be ridiculous,” his dad said. “Dunph coaching sixth-grade girls? Come on.”
“I’d have no problem coaching sixth-grade girls,” Dunph said, stunning Jeff. “Coaching is coaching. And if the point of coaching is to help kids out—which is what it’s supposed to be—why wouldn’t I coach a group of girls who need a coach?”
“You mean you’ll do it?” Jeff said.
Dunph held up a hand. “Slow down, Jeff. The easy part right now is finding time. I’ve got charity commitments on some weekends and I have class every Wednesday night and Friday morning, but right now, that’s about it.” He smiled. “It’s too cold to play golf.”
“So, what’s the hard part?” Jeff’s dad asked.
Dunph shrugged. “You think the principal would let me do it? Sounds like he’s pretty much with the coach and against the girls. And, even if he did let me do it, I’m sure there would be an insurance issue and maybe a union issue since I don’t work for the school.”
Jeff and his dad were both nodding.
“But if we could figure that part out?” Jeff asked. “Would you do it?”
Fran Dunphy smiled as a waiter arrived carrying drinks. “Absolutely,” he said. “In a heartbeat.”
Five minutes later, after everyone had ordered dinner, Jeff excused himself to go outside to call Andi. Naturally, she didn’t answer. He texted: Call me ASAP! Really important.
He paced up and down on Broad Street for about two minutes before the phone rang.
“What’s so important?” she said.
He told her.
“Seriously, Fran Dunphy would coach us?” she practically screamed into the phone.
“Yes, but there’s the insurance issue and the union issue.”
“Let me talk to my parents. They’re lawyers. They’ll know what to do.”
Jeff went back inside, just as Dunph’s linguini with shrimp, his dad’s stuffed lobster, and his New York strip were arriving.
He reported back on what Andi had said about talking to her parents. That sounded like a good idea to both men.
Dunphy had a big smile on his face as he dug into his dinner. “If we can pull this off,” he said, “I think it could be fun. A lot of fun.”
Jeff’s father raised his glass. “You finished with five hundred eighty wins, right?” he said as Dunphy nodded. “Here’s to five eighty-one.”
The three of them clinked glasses—two of them holding white wine, one Coke. Jeff was completely fired up.
Once Andi had explained everything to her parents—and had convinced them she wasn’t kidding about Fran Dunphy being willing to coach their team—it was her mother who spoke first.
“The only way this is complicated is if Block decides he doesn’t want to get into some kind of fight with his faculty,” she said. “The easy part is the union. There are plenty of people who work at that school who aren’t part of the teachers’ union. They just have to give Coach Dunphy a contract that meets all the requirements of a non-union employee.”
“What about the insurance?” Andi asked.
“Same thing,” her mom said. “As long as he’s a school employee, he can coach the team and they’re covered.”
Andi’s mind was going in about a hundred directions at once. In a period of about eight hours they had gone from taking on their coach, to their coach quitting, to being told by the school principal that no one would coach them, to an apparent offer from Fran Dunphy to coach them.
Fran Dunphy.
Andi didn’t follow college basketball as closely as Jeff, but she knew enough about it to know that Dunphy was known as “Mr. Big Five.” He had played on very good LaSalle teams in the late 1960s, had gotten a master’s degree at Villanova, and had been hugely successful coaching at Penn and Temple. The joke around town was that St. Joseph’s needed to hire him in some capacity to complete the sweep.
And now he was willing to coach a sixth-grade team?
Jeff had told her he would be home at about nine after he and his dad attended Dunphy’s class. She texted him and asked him to call before he went to bed. He called her back from his dad’s car.
“So, did your parents have any ideas?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and explained.
“So, the key then is Block being willing to do it—or to let Coach Dunphy do it.”
“Exactly. Do you think there’s any way he can come with us to meet with Block? If he’s actually there, I think it’ll be harder for Block to say no.”
“I agree. When should we ask him to come?”
“I’ll get to school early in the morning and ask for another meeting with him at lunch. If Coach Dunphy can come in then—perfect.”
“Let’s hope,” Jeff said.
There was silence for a moment, until Andi asked, “Jeff, who came up with this idea?”
More silence. Then Jeff said, “Well … I did.”
“Then let me tell you something, Jeffrey Daniel Michaels, if we pull this off, I’ll forgive you for going to Coach Crist.”
“Seriously? I’ll be off the hook?”
“Close,” Andi said. She had a big smile on her face. She suspected Jeff did, too.
When Andi walked into the principal’s office the next morning, she was surprised to see Mr. Block standing at Ms. Dumas’s desk talking to her. When he saw Andi, he frowned instantly but said in a polite tone, “Can I help you with something, Ms. Carillo?”
“Mr. Block, I know how busy you are, but do you think you could meet with us at lunch again today?”
“What’s the subject?” Mr. Block asked, clearly skeptical.
“Our basketball team,” Andi answered.
“I don’t know that there’s anything more to discuss,” he said.
“Well, sir, we do and we’d be grateful if you could give us just a few more minutes,” Andi said, keeping her voice as soft as possible.
Mr. Block sighed and looked at his watch for no apparent reason.
“Fine,” he said, after what seemed like a long silence. “Come straight here after your fourth-period classes. I can give you about ten minutes.”
Andi suspected they’d need more than that. She also suspected he had more than that.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, turning to leave before he could change his mind.
Andi called Jamie to explain what was going on so she could help spread the word with the team. Then she texted Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa to fill them in. Like her, everyone had been disbelieving.
“Talk about going from bust to boom,” Jamie had said.
Next, Andi texted Coach Dunphy directly—Jeff had given her his cell number—to confirm an eleven-thirty meeting in the principal’s office. Just before she turned her phone off for first period, he texted back: See you there.
It had been decided that Jamie and Andi would again represent the team. Last night, Jeff and Andi had discussed the idea of one of her parents coming in to explain how Coach Dunphy could take over the team without breaking any school or conference rules. They had decided against it. If Block needed to talk to a lawyer, Andi’s parents would be available. Meanwhile, Jeff had promised to get his dad to bring Coach Dunphy up to speed about her parents’ advice.
The morning crawled by. Andi was asked several times about the team, “firing” Coach Josephson, and the season being over. She’d just answered with a smile, “It’s never over till it’s over.”
When the fourth-period bell finally rang, she dodged the hallway traffic and ran all the way to the principal’s office. She hoped Coach Dunphy would be on time. She arrived at the same moment as Jamie. Together, they walked into the school office.
Ms. Dumas was standing at her desk, mouth open. Coach Fran Dunphy, dressed in a blue pinstriped suit, was standing in front of her with a wide smile on his face.
Andi and Jamie introduced themselves.
“The leaders of the revolution,” he said with a smile.
The door to Mr. Block’s office opened. When the principal saw Coach Dunphy, his mouth dropped open, too.
“Mr. Block, thanks for taking some time,” Coach Dunphy said, extending a hand. “I’m Fran Dunphy.”
Block took the offered hand and stared. Apparently, he’d forgotten his own name.