For a half, Coach C’s “Four Corners” strategy worked to perfection. Almost.
After Michael Jordan had won the opening tap, one of his teammates missed a jump shot, and Eric Billings rebounded and quickly got the ball to Jeff.
Even with Jordan double-teaming and chasing, Merion was able to kill the clock, until Jeff found a wide-open Danny for a layup that made it 2–0 with 1:04 left in the first quarter. Jordan scored quickly to tie the game, but Ron Arlow hit a shot to beat the buzzer for a 4–2 lead after one quarter.
Haverford led 7–6 at the half, after Jeff started what should have been the last play too soon and Jordan rebounded a Tavon Washington miss and went coast-to-coast for a buzzer-beating layup. Jeff was kicking himself coming off the court. Every mistake, he knew, was crucial in a game like this.
“Anyone want to change our strategy?” Coach C said in the locker room. The shouts of “no way” were unanimous—including Arlow’s.
“We were almost perfect—and that’s why we’re down one. We’ll have to be perfect this half—maybe a little better than perfect. But we’ve got a chance, guys. We’ve definitely got a chance.”
It was 10–10 after three quarters, and you could see the frustration in the eyes of the Haverford players.
It was Merion’s ball to start the fourth quarter. The Mustangs dribbled and passed, the Squirrels chased.
When the clock went under three minutes, Haverford’s coach decided it was time for a change in strategy. He ordered his players to start fouling. Quickly, they committed three fouls. That meant the next one—the fourth of the quarter—would put Merion on the foul line to shoot one-and-one: make the first, you shoot a second. Miss and you don’t.
Coach C called time after the third foul. The clock was at 2:02. “I want the ball in Jeff’s hands and Ron’s hands,” he said. “If one of you other three”—he looked at Diskin, Washington, and Ramsey—“have to touch the ball, you get it back to Michaels or Arlow right away. Everyone understand?”
They all nodded. Jeff and Arlow were easily the team’s best free-throw shooters.
Haverford let some time slip off the clock, hoping to foul one of Merion’s frontcourt players. Finally, with the clock at 1:13, Jordan went for a steal and fouled Jeff.
Haverford’s coach called time right away—no doubt to let Jeff think about the free throws. It didn’t work. Jeff made both to make it 12–10.
Haverford came down and, with surprising patience, worked the ball around. Finally, Jordan caught the ball at the top of the key, faked as if to drive, and floated a three-pointer at the basket. Jeff actually thought it was a break for Merion that he hadn’t just driven by everyone. But the shot went in with twenty-six seconds to go. Haverford led 13–12.
This time, Coach C called time. “We’re playing for the last shot,” he said. “I know that goes against basketball protocol when you’re behind, but we just can’t give Jordan a chance to beat us if we score.”
Everyone understood. “Jeff, Ron, I want you to take turns with the ball out front. Then, whoever has it with ten seconds left, run one-four like we do in the end game.”
“Coach, I think Jeff should have the ball,” Arlow said. “He’s our best creator.”
Coach C smiled. “I think you’re right, Ron, let’s do that.”
They walked back on court. Everyone in the packed gym was on their feet. Jeff was nervous, but unafraid. They’d come this far, why couldn’t they make one more play? And, even if they didn’t, who would have thought they’d be in this position when the day started?
Arlow inbounded to Jeff. As soon as he came across half-court, Haverford jumped into a double-team, trying to surprise him. He recognized it, though, and quickly passed the ball to Diskin at the top of the key. Haverford dropped back into man-to-man with Jordan at the top of the key guarding Jeff—but giving him some space.
Jeff waited until the clock went under ten. Jordan was on him, long arms extended. Jeff made a fake as if to shoot and, to his surprise, Jordan bought it for a split second. That gave him a half-step, and he charged into the lane with the clock under five seconds.
The defense closed on him and he sensed Jordan coming at him from behind. He remembered reading something the great Jim Valvano had said once about being wary of a defender you’ve just gone by. “He’s not leaving to go get a pizza. He’s going to try to poke the ball loose from behind.”
Jeff picked the ball up just before Jordan lunged for it. Arlow was on the wing. His man had left him to try to cut Jeff off. Without a second thought, Jeff pitched the ball to Arlow, who took one dribble and, as the clock hit one second, released a jumper from the corner.
Jeff knew it was in as soon as it left Arlow’s hand, and he was charging at Arlow when he saw the ball hit the net and heard the buzzer go off. There was no debating that the shot counted. Coach C’s strategy had worked. They had pulled off the miracle. Final: Merion 14, Haverford 13. It sounded like a football game decided by a missed extra point. Only it wasn’t.
They all piled on top of Arlow, who kept saying, “Jeff made the pass, Jeff made the pass.” It was a little bit like Jeff trying to give Danny credit on his game-winner in another lifetime. Somehow, Jeff knew he meant it. Remarkably, he meant it all.
They went to shake hands with the Haverford players. Jordan was completely gracious. “You played a different game,” he said. “But you outplayed us. You deserved it.”
They charged into the locker room and were surprised their coach wasn’t there. A moment later he walked in and held up his hands for quiet.
“Guys, that was a win you’ll remember the rest of your lives. I couldn’t be more proud of you. That said, I just found out that Ardmore beat Main Line. That means Haverford goes to the playoffs on the tiebreaker.”
There was a moment of complete silence.
Then Jeff said: “Could there be a more perfect way to finish a season?”
They all screamed their approval and formed a huddle with Jeff and Arlow in the middle. “The best!” Jeff yelled. And they all put their hands in and yelled, “The best.”
It was, Jeff thought, absolutely perfect.
“At least you missed out on the playoffs fair and square,” Andi was saying. “And everyone will remember that you beat Michael Jordan.”
It had been a while since they’d been to Andy’s for pizza, but they were there at eleven thirty Saturday morning, sharing a pizza and details of what had happened on Friday.
“Anybody have a video of the last play?” Jeff asked.
“A couple people had it on their cell phones, but you can’t really tell. I swear, Jeff, I heard the buzzer before she shot. And, anyway, they should have given Coach Dunphy time-out.”
“What’d he say afterward?”
“That he’d never enjoyed coaching a team more, that he was proud of everything we’d done. We all had a pretty good cry together.”
“Nice to be part of a game and a season worth crying over.”
She nodded. “Yeah, it was.”
Then she smiled. “You know I hear Coach Jensen is going to retire at the end of the school year. Leaves the boys’ varsity job open.”
Jeff had heard that, too. “Yeah, maybe they’ll promote Coach C. I wouldn’t mind playing for him again.”
In fact, he loved the idea of playing for him again.
Then he had another thought: “Maybe we could get Coach Dunphy to coach us.”
“I think his days as a middle school coach are over,” Andi said. “But it’s a nice thought.”
They talked some more about how amazing both the fall and winter had been.
“I don’t even want to think about the spring,” Andi said.
“Well, we’re due at least one peaceful season,” Jeff said.
“Wanna bet?” Andi said.
“No,” Jeff said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
They finished their pizza and walked to the entrance, where they were each being picked up. Andi’s mom was taking her to Maria Medley’s birthday party. Jeff’s dad was taking him to see Penn play Harvard in the Palestra.
While they walked, Jeff decided to take a risk. Not a big one, but a risk nevertheless. “Andi, you wanna come over tomorrow afternoon to study?”
She looked over at him with an expression he couldn’t read. After a moment, she smiled and said, “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”
As they reached the doors, Andi said: “You know, Jeffrey Daniel Michaels, we’re a pretty great team, even when we’re not on the same team.”
He was thinking of an answer when, without warning, she leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his lips.
She smiled, turned, and walked away. He stood staring after her for a minute, then realized he couldn’t stand there all day. He walked through the doors to the parking lot. Except for one thing: He was convinced his feet never touched the ground.