"Pete Berman."
"Can he shoot like you?"
"As an athlete and competitor, I'd say no. But, as a coach and honest educator, I'd say yes."
"Then you go out there and get Mr. Berman. What are you two going to do?"
"Well, mom. That's where you come in."
Barry Melnick knocked on the door of room 222 and Pete's Sociology teacher, Mr. Blum, went over to answer the door. The coach handed the teacher a note from Principal Berry, and Mr. Blum said:
"Pete, Coach Melnick is here to pick you up."
Half the class was in awe, while the remainder razzed Pete until his large frame faded past the doorway. Coach Melnick shook Pete's hand and patted him on the back. Pete was wearing a red sweatshirt, a pair of navy lined nylon sweatpants, basketball sneakers, and his team jacket. Melnick was styling in a button down shirt with a white t-shirt, tan khaki pants, a pair of docksiders, and a navy wool Polo jacket. Your standard New England fare.
As they left the building and headed out to Melnick's college-leased Ford Taurus, Melnick said:
"You're gonna' like New England, Pete."
"How can you tell?"
"I used to dress like that, too."
Pete opened the passenger car door, and said:
"So, where we headed, coach?"
"I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me that. Pete, I'd like to show you what I'm all about. The two most important things for you to consider are school and coach. With your grades and playing ability, most of the schools will be on similar footing. When I made my decision, way back when, the coach made the difference. He became sort of my mentor. A person that not only got the best out of me on the court, but also guided me down the right path in life. I think if you get to know me better than your decision will have a more solid foundation."
Pete sat there still wondering how the coach would tie in the speech with a significant event. His curiosity was satisfied when Melnick rolled passed a Welcome to Lessing sign, and then pulled in front of a white split-level house, number 742 Greenhouse Drive.
"Yeah, this looks familiar," Melnick said as he turned into the one-car driveway.
Pete and Barry walked up the s-shaped path to the front door. Barry opened the large glass front door, and said, "Mom, I'm home!"
Sarah Melnick was a mom in every sense of the word. With an apron snuggly secured around her waist, she strode from the kitchen like the proud mother she was. Her husband, Harold, had passed away a few years earlier and she was still adjusting to life as a solo act. She had often turned down her son's requests to join him in Massachusetts, because she wanted to stay close to her friends in the area.
"Mom, this is Pete Berman," Barry proudly announced.
"It's nice to meet you, Pete. Come boys, there's hot food on the table."
And before Pete had a chance to say hello, he was whisked to a round kitchen table filled with deli meats, rye bread and knishes. Pete looked at Barry. Barry returned the wide-eyed glance at Pete, and the two began to eat. The coach had initially worked on Pete’s head and was now focusing on the body or the stomach as the case may be.
After lunch, Pete and Barry sat outside to digest their food and enjoy the balmy 50-degree, sunny February day.
"Did your mom always feed you so much food?" Pete inquired.
"I guess so. I haven't eaten like that since after my father’s funeral two years ago."
"How old was your dad?"
"He was 64. Died of a heart attack. The doctors said he ate too much fatty foods."
"I'm sorry to hear that?"
Barry responded, "Thanks. It's all right. My dad was a mixed blessing. He knew me on the court, not as a man, or a person."
"Yeah, I get the same feeling. My dad's my best friend, but he always gets irritated when I talk about school or girls, or basically anything that is not sports related."
"That's not healthy. With anything, you have to strike the right balance. Too much of a good thing usually becomes a bad thing."
Pete asked, "So, did your dad ever see you as anything but a scoring machine?"
"Sadly, no. We didn't have time at the end of his life to square things away. I know that he loved me, but he couldn't open up a side I really needed."
"What made you coach basketball?"
Barry responded, "What makes you play basketball? What makes us all love this game so much?"
"I love to shoot around by myself. The pounding of the ball on ground; the swish of the net as the ball goes through."
Barry nodded and said, "I love to sit in our gym when no one's there. It's how I start and finish most of my days. Sort of like meditation to keep me focused."
Pete inquired, "What's the worst part of your job?"
"Losing."
"What's the best part of your job?"
"Graduation," Barry said without hesitation.
"Do you like recruiting?"
"Usually, it's pretty awful. Ninety-five percent of the guys you talk to will wind up somewhere else."
Pete looked Barry in the eye and inquired, "Do you think I'll wind up somewhere else?"
"As a mentor, I would hope not. As an educator, I would hope that being a star would outweigh sitting on the bench, taking lay-ups at Madison Square Garden and making your father happy."
Pete looked surprised, "How did you know?"
"I had to make the same decision. If you look where I came from and where I am now, there's no doubt I made a wise decision."
Both men nodded their heads and took deep breaths of the exhilarating February air. Mrs. Melnick looked out the window at the present and the past and smiled. She knew two wayward sons were getting closer to finding their way down the right path.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The halls of West Valley High School were energized on Friday morning. It got so bad during the day that Pete had to leave the premises to get refocused. It was early afternoon and Pete was a bit edgy at home, so he called Coach Melnick up at his mother’s house.
"Hello," a soft voice answered.
"Oh, hi Mrs. Melnick, this is Pete Berman."
"Are you ready for the big game, Pete?"
"Never been more ready, Mrs. Melnick. And, thanks again for that great lunch yesterday."
"You’re welcome, Pete. It was my pleasure. Hold on a second, I'll get my son. Barry, its Pete Berman!"
A moment later Coach Melnick picked up the phone. "Hey, Pete. What's the good word?"
"Fellingwood."
"This is a big game," Melnick responded.
"It's so big that I had to leave the school."
"Just keep in mind that the only thing riding on this game is team pride. If you play your best game, everything else should work out."
Pete raised his eyebrows, "That right, you still haven't seen my A game."
"Somehow I get the feeling I'm going to see it tonight."
"No sense in saving it for another day. Just remember to get there early. You wouldn't want to have to watch with the overflow crowd in the cafeteria on a 27-inch television."
Melnick inquired, "How are they doing that?"
"The audio-visual staff usually tapes the games, so they're just going to hook up the picture and announcer Kenny Gilbert's, Marv Albert-inspired voice to a nearby TV."
"Sounds like a wild scene."
Pete said, "Still have to play those 32 minutes. Any day I get to face Gerry Williams is easily the best day of the week."
"Well, good luck. I look forward to my second viewing of the rivalry. See you later, Pete."
"Okay, bye coach."
Pete hung up the phone and his mind switched into another gear. Gone were the thoughts of college, writing, the single-game scoring record and last, but not least, Isabel. Their relationship was moving along nicely, and Pete had absolutely no complaints about the physical portion of the festivities. And why would he
? But there was no room for anything else but basketball in his mind that Friday afternoon.
With the division championship just one win away, the town was counting on their big gun to fire on all cylinders. This was more than just a basketball game. It was an opportunity for a forgotten town to step out of the shadows and bask in some sunshine. Fellingwood's sports teams were always very strong, as they piled up championship after championship on their way to becoming the evil empire. West Valley's teams had always come up one basket, or one goal, or one touchdown short of getting over the hump. Everyone from Principal Berry down to Harry, the school's janitor, was primed for the battle. It just seemed like the town threw away the safety net for one night because an extra-wide bridge had been built in place of the usual dental floss-thin high wire. The only thing people really had to lose was not being there first hand to witness the historical event.
With the game starting at 7:00 p.m., Pete strolled into the gym at 5:45. His makeshift four o'clock snack consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some water. He never ate a big meal too close to game time, saving the big eating for after the game. The only person in the gym was Harry the janitor, who was ensuring that the gym floor would be slip-free.
A few of Pete's teammates were mulling around in their exclusive basement locker room. Most noticeable, as usual, was point guard extraordinaire Ron McNally. Ron had transferred to West Valley in his junior year from St. Catherine's, a catholic school in Pikesville, so he was obviously making up for lost time. Somehow, Ron had fit a stereo and speakers in his locker and was blasting tunes for all to hear. Pete, however, heard and saw nothing. His body may have been in the basement, but his mind was already in the gym.
Coach Andrews looked through Pete as he taped his ankles. He didn't think his star player could surprise him anymore, but he was struck by how Pete's mind had gone away to another world. The coach thought about mentioning the scoring record, but didn't want to interrupt Pete's focus. He knew that the record would only happen if the game let it, and was also sure that Pete wanted to purely win the game only. There was no doubting that the night would be etched in each man's brain for years to come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
With the stands about half-full, West Valley took the floor for the first time at 6:30 p.m. After about ten minutes of lay-ups, including some never-before-seen tomahawk jams by Pete, the team went back into the locker room for some last minute instructions from their confident coach.
"I can't help but get excited about what awaits us when we head back out to our court. But there is a team in green in the other locker room that will try to take away something that we've worked for all year. This is a team that this school has never beaten in the big game! That was, until we came along last year! And now, this team is going to come into our house to take away our championship? No, I don't think so," the coach defiantly stated as he wagged his right index finger.
The players were backing up their coach with excitement of their own. "Gentlemen, if you play like 12 men united to accomplish one goal, then we can't lose. Let's get it in here. "ONE, TWO, THREE, DEFENSE!"
West Valley roared onto the floor in single file with their smallest player, Steve Gerring, leading the way and Pete at the end of the line. The now overflow crowd stood and cheered wildly for their team. Barry Melnick's eyebrows rose when his conversation with Ross Parker was wiped out by the huge wave of crowd noise that overtook the stands. Talking would be all but eliminated during the game, as the two sat in the top row of the left bleachers near the noisiest corner of the gym. As Barry looked around the gym, he saw a few coaches with clipboards ready to scout the big game. He had no clipboard. He knew that what he came to see would require no notes. If Pete had his A game it would be an exercise in futility to write down what was already painlessly obvious.
The player introductions were always one of Pete's favorite parts of the game. Fellingwood was heartedly booed, as expected, and the first four West Valley starters were greeted with tremendous applause. Then public address announcer Mark Albright yelled, "And the captain..." Not another word was heard. Pete took two steps, jumped, and then swung his right fist in the air on his way to the scrum of West Valley players that anxiously awaited him. The noise from the crowd was stimulating but deafening. Barry Melnick's eyebrows rose again as he thought about great it would be to coach Pete with his team- and community-focused style. With game attendance dwindling at Barringer College, he knew the two of them could certainly stir up the 4,000-student population.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
As the ten combatants strolled toward the big rocket covering center court, Coach Andrews crossed himself and looked toward the outer reaches of the gym ceiling for intervention. Pete and Gerry Williams shook hands but didn't speak, much the same way they had barely greeted each other the previous three games. Gerry was coming off three consecutive 30-plus games and thought he could stay on fire against West Valley.
Pete won the opening tap from Gerry and sped down court to the left wing. Tom Sullivan rifled a pass down to Pete, who set and shot almost in the same motion. Before Gerry Williams could even get into a defensive stance the feather-soft shot splashed through the net. An elated crowd threw streams of confetti on the court. Two possessions later it was 6-0. Another two baseline jumpers later it was 10-0. Time out, Fellingwood. Pete scored eight of West Valley's first ten points, with Tom Sullivan connecting from the right corner for the other tally.
With only three minutes and 22 seconds gone in the first quarter, Carmine Pagnozzi was in full rant mode. He was screaming over the boisterous crowd:
"Why did we even bother getting on the bus tonight? Gerry, I'm going to tell you for the last time! Either you start doing something to distract Berman, or you'll be sitting on the end of this bench faster than you can say Mismatch! Eric! This is your team, son. Lead us back two at a time!"
Eric Spalding was the point guard that helped Pete shine at the pre-season Elite 60 camp. He was one of the few people that Pete wished was wearing the blue and gold of West Valley, instead of Fellingwood's green and white. After the time-out, Williams inbounded the ball to his quarterback, number 12, Eric Spalding. Spalding was on the top side of 5' 11", he was wiry but strong, and was never out of position. He was also an All-County shortstop on Fellingwood's baseball team. For the year, Spalding was averaging 12 points and eight assists per game, but had averaged more than 16 points and 12 assists over the past four games.
Spalding dribbled up the court with a mad dash and connected on a 10-foot floater in the lane. Ron McNally, who was draped on Spalding's back, was also whistled for a foul. Spalding, a 93% free-throw shooter, sank the foul shot and immediately went into a full-court press. McNally threw an errant pass to a passive Adam Baum and Spalding converted an easy five-foot bank shot. West Valley 10, Fellingwood 5.
Pete instantly took the ball out of bounds and used his rifle arm to connect with a streaking Tom Sullivan who converted a lay-up instead of spiking the ball in the end zone. The rest of the quarter was a see-saw battle, with West Valley establishing an 18-11 lead. Pete finished the quarter with 12 points and five rebounds, as compared to Gerry Williams' under whelming four-point, one rebound line. Williams' first field goal was a bank shot from the foul line. His, other points were produced via foul shots courtesy of an Adam Baum foul.
With Williams struggling, Coach Pagnozzi was searching for a way to jump-start his stagnant offense. Spalding had seven points, and was keeping Fellingwood within striking distance. Coach Andrews, on the other hand, took Ron McNally off Spalding and gave Tom Sullivan a shot. By the middle of the second quarter, West Valley had opened up a 26-15 lead on the strength of three Berman jumpers and a Tom Sullivan lay-up. Pete was in the zone, and was undeterred by Gerry's aggressive overplay attempts. During one play Pete took Gerry outside, head-faked him in the air took one dribble to his right and banked the
ball in. The next time down Gerry overplayed the pass, so Pete took him down on the left block and used his bigger frame to get open. Tom Sullivan bounced the ball into the post and Pete turned and gently tossed in a fade-away jumper. The third field goal was a tap-in of an errant Adam Baum lay-up. Time-out Fellingwood. Coach Pagnozzi went into tirade number two:
"Gentlemen. I don't know if you realize it but this game is slipping away!" The coach made a point of directing his next comment to Gerry. "The rough translation is that if you don't get your head out of your ass I'm going to finally believe that you don't belong on the same court as Berman! A few more minutes of this, and you'll be sitting next to me the rest of the game!"
Fellingwood broke the huddle and Gerry went to work. He ended the quarter with three straight foul line-area jumpers, bringing his team within nine at the half, 30-21. The rivalry was once again on center stage.
Barry Melnick walked through the hallway to the nearest exit to get a breath of fresh air. Lou Berman was already in the doorway collecting his thoughts:
"Mr. Berman. What a pleasant surprise."
"Coach Melnick. It's good to see you again."
"So, what did you think of the first half?"
Lou Berman responded, "We should have a bigger lead. That point guard Spalding is killing us."
"Looked like Pagnozzi lit a fire under Williams."
"Pete won't let it keep burning." Lou pointedly changed the subject. "That kid Spalding is the best point guard I've seen in years. He and Pete played together at the Elite 60 camp. They looked like they'd played together for years."
Melnick understood what Lou was hinting at. "So you think there's a connection there?"
"Some things are just that obvious."
"I guess so. So, Pete told me I'd see his A game tonight. What have I seen so far?"
"Pete thrives on pressure. He's only about a B right now. I'd expect him to really turn it up in the third quarter."
As they walk back inside the gym, Lou said, "You've made quite an impression on my son."
"He's a great kid. Got a real good head on his shoulders."
"To be honest, I'd love to see him stay home and play at East City."
"Well, Mr. Berman. I'm sure whatever decision you'll make will be in your son's best interest."