Carol Burmeister walked Amy Josephson through the saga of the Merion Middle School sixth-grade girls’ basketball season, just as Amy’s dad had done with her. But the spin was entirely different.
She had Ms. Josephson explain why she had wanted to coach and how hard she had worked all summer and fall to be prepared. Josephson talked about trying to find the right combination of girls to play when the games began and how sorry she was that the two African American girls and some of their teammates had completely misunderstood her point prior to the Chester Heights game.
She went on to say that Andi Carillo was a talented player, but from day one it had been apparent to her that she thought she was above all rules because of the notoriety she had gained during soccer season. Yes, Hal Johnston was a friend and she had sympathized with what he’d gone through, especially after coaching Ms. Carillo for a few days. She had been stunned and hurt by the petition, and even though Mr. Block had urged her to continue coaching, she had stepped down because if the girls wanted someone who would coddle them, well, so be it.
“So, in the end, you stepped down because you thought you were doing what was best for the girls you’d worked so hard to coach, correct?” Ms. Burmeister said.
Andi almost gagged.
“I didn’t think it was best for them to be coddled, but I did think they’d be happier if I stepped down. So I did it to try to make them happy.”
Ms. Burmeister turned the podium over to Andi’s dad.
“I’m going to steer clear of your treatment of my daughter,” he said as he stood. “Because, obviously, I’m biased. So, let’s talk about the other eleven girls on the team.”
He talked about Lisa Carmichael’s benching and all the suicides she’d asked eleven-year-old girls to run—asking her to explain what they were. “I understand one of your assistants ran with the girls one day,” he said. “Did you ever run?”
“She’s much younger than I am,” Ms. Josephson said.
He then asked about Joan Axelson’s resignation. As it turned out, he’d hit a nerve—the right one to hit.
“She was disloyal from the start,” Ms. Josephson said. “Clearly, she wanted my job. She undermined me with the players—particularly your daughter, who she encouraged to question me every chance she got. She seemed to think that because she played college basketball, she knew more about the game than I did.”
“Is it possible she was right?” Tony Carillo said in a gentle tone.
“No—I mean, well, anything is possible. But I doubt she spent the summer studying coaching books.”
“So, like the players, ultimately she turned on you?”
“From the beginning. Then there was that ridiculous scene after the Chester Heights game when she tried to convince me that what I’d said in the locker room was somehow wrong.”
She was rambling now. How could a twenty-three-year-old know more about anything than she did? How dare she question her feelings on race? “I work with black people every day,” she said. “I teach them. I coached them—even if they don’t listen!”
“Your black players didn’t listen to you?”
“No. They were impossible. As bad as your daughter!”
“But two of your best players.”
“Well, yes. They can play ball. And run. And jump. No surprise there.”
She stopped suddenly, looking around. The courtroom had gone completely silent.
“Your Honor,” Burmeister said, standing. “May we have a five-minute recess?”
“No need, counselor,” Tony Carillo said. “No further questions.”
Andi saw tears in Amy Josephson’s eyes as she shakily walked back to the table where Burmeister was still standing. Andi almost felt sorry for her former coach. Almost.
Levin waited until Burmeister and Andi’s dad had taken their seats and gave a deep sigh.
“Even though I knew there was a game this afternoon, I had planned to take a while to consider both sides of this issue,” he said after a moment. “I’m not big on rushing to judgment. But it’s clear to me now that there’s no need. The motion for an injunction is denied. Coach Dunphy, Ms. Carillo, good luck today.”
Andi couldn’t believe it. Except she could. Ms. Josephson’s meltdown on the witness stand had made Judge Levin’s decision easy.
Fran Dunphy was shaking her father’s hand. “You were Barney Greenwald and she was Captain Queeg,” he said.
“So, you saw The Caine Mutiny?” her father said.
“Read it, too,” Dunphy said.
“Whaaa?” Andi said.
“I’ll explain in the car,” her dad said. “We all need to get going.”
They stopped at McDonald’s on the way back to school because Andi was starving. On the way, her father explained that The Caine Mutiny was a famous book—and movie. In the movie, Humphrey Bogart played Captain Queeg, the incompetent and often-cruel captain of the Caine, leading to a mutiny. During the trial of the mutineers Queeg melted down under cross-examination much the way Ms. Josephson had melted down.
“The only thing missing today were the steel balls,” her dad said.
“Steel balls?”
“He had two little steel balls he rolled in his hands whenever he got nervous. Ms. Josephson could have used them today.”
It was midway through fifth period when Andi walked back into the school. She had to go to the principal’s office to get a note excusing her lateness. Ms. Dumas barely looked at her as she filled it out. When she signed it and handed it to Andi, she said, “I guess you girls got your victory in court?”
Apparently, word had gotten back to school very quickly that Coach Dunphy would still be coaching that afternoon.
“We get to have a season, yes, ma’am,” Andi said. She left before Ms. Dumas could answer.
When she got to her English class, Mr. Anderson, the teacher, looked at the late note, then put it on his desk. He looked at Andi, who was waiting for him to give his approval, and said, “What are you waiting for, Ms. Carillo? Have a seat.”
Clearly, everyone had heard the news about the outcome in court.
Jeff was waiting for Andi when she came out of sixth-period history. He knew she was headed for the locker room and the bus to Bryn Mawr Tech.
“I heard you were great!” he said, giving her a hug. Then, embarrassed, he said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to get too excited.”
Andi laughed. “No worries,” she said. “Who told you I was great?”
“Your dad texted my dad. He texted me.”
That made sense.
Jeff was on a roll now. “Some of the guys were thinking about asking Coach C to kick Arlow off the team because of what he said about you on TV.”
“I doubt Coach C will do that,” she said.
Jeff grinned. “Yeah, maybe he’ll get so mad he’ll quit. Then Coach Dunphy could coach both teams.”
Andi laughed at the joke and said, “Leave him alone. He’s ours. Gotta go.”
Normally, Coach C walked into the locker room on the stroke of 3:30 p.m. If anyone wasn’t there on time, he noticed. Which is why it was a surprise when 3:30 came and went with no sign of either coach. There was also no sign of Arlow. Then came 3:35. Finally, at 3:40, the two coaches and Arlow walked in together. Everyone else was dressed and ready to go. The game was scheduled to start in twenty minutes.
“Sorry we’re late,” Coach C said. “Ron has something to say.”
Arlow stood in front of his teammates, arms folded. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost to the point where it was difficult to hear him.
“I talked to the coaches and they’ve explained to me how upset everyone was—including all of you—with what I said about Andi Carillo on television last night. It was wrong. I guess I’m still a little upset she got all the glory in soccer season.”
Jeff started to say something. Arlow noticed. “Sorry, Michaels,” he said. “Didn’t mean it that way. I was wrong to say what I said. The entire girls’ team signed that petition to remove Coach Josephson. I’m going to apologize to her and I’m apologizing to all of you guys now because I embarrassed our team by saying what I said.”
He paused for a moment and Jeff thought he was finished. But he wasn’t. “I’ve also told Coach C and Coach B that, given what I did, I shouldn’t be cocaptain of the team anymore. I want to be part of this team and help us win. But Michaels should be the captain.”
Now he was done. Jeff wasn’t sure how sincere he was, but he’d made the effort.
Coach C jumped in. “Anyone have any objection to Michaels being our captain the rest of the way?”
There was silence.
“Okay, Jeff, get ’em in. We need to get warmed up in a hurry.”
Jeff stepped to the middle of the locker room and said, “‘Beat the Techies’—on three.”
They all joined him—including Arlow—and then they headed out the door and up to the court.