High School Rivalry

  Pete backed up to the mid-court line, next to the huge rocket in the center of the floor, and threw the ball to Artie on the foul line. Artie bounced the ball a good three feet in front of him, gathered the ball and dropped it gently in the basket. Both players smiled and exchanged a high-five as they walked off the court. Coach Andrews, peaking through the curtains of his office window, knew this kid and team were special. His team was starting to gel going into the second half of the season. He hoped they would peak when it was time for Fellingwood to visit, and knew that his two and-a-half hour practices would only serve as constant reminder to remain focused.

  The players showered and left the gym with their heads held high. Pete and Adam Baum usually got a ride home from the team’s coolest guy, Tony Daynor. Tony was the school’s John Travolta, back when John Travolta was young, good looking, and dancing his way to fame. Pete and Adam marveled at Tony brushing his still-wet hair in the icy conditions of the car. The white bristles of the brush gliding through Tony’s jet black hair as the water quickly tuned into ice. Pete looked at Tony and wished he could be as cool as him off the court. Tony glance back at Pete and marveled at how focused a kid could be with the weight of a town squarely on his shoulders.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  West Valley avenged an earlier overtime loss to Pikesville by easily beating the Broncos in a 25-point romp to start the second half of the season. In the next three games, the team had double-digit leads in the third quarter only to see those advantages widdled down to a few points near the end of the game. In two of these games, at home, Pete made shots to put the game away - in the first he hit six straight foul shots and in the second he hit two foul shots and a basket.

  Coach Andrews was worried about the team’s inability to put their opponents away but gained comfort in the fact that Pete always delivered with the game on the line. However, the team had not heeded his warnings. They were looking ahead to the last games of the season at home against East Shores and Fellingwood, two of the teams that had beaten them previously.

  East Shores and West Valley entered their match-up with identical 7-3 records. The Eagles had lost twice to Fellingwood and once to Bernaqua. This was the battle for second place because Fellingwood’s record had remained unblemished following an easy win over Pikesville the night before.

  West Valley was a different team this time around against East Shores. Pete scored 31 points, for his third game over 30 in the past five. The Rockets were ahead five points with four minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. The team gathered closely in a huddle at the tail end of a time out when Tom Sullivan screamed, “Let’s finish this one for coach!” The team quickly went on a 10-0 run in the next three minutes to put the game away for good. The East Shores players looked stunned. After the game, East Shores’ center David Levine came up to Pete and said, “You guys are ready to beat them.” To which Pete replied, “We were ready the first time.”

  The East Shores game was played on Tuesday night and the Fellingwood game would take place on Friday night. The school was abuzz with excitement all week. This would be one of the biggest games at the school in decades. Not only was the basketball team looking for respect, but so was the entire school. West Valley’s sports teams rarely beat Fellingwood’s, so every athlete in the school was looking for revenge and did their best to pump up the team.

  On the other side of the fence, Fellingwood’s practices were business as usual. No one at their school even mentioned the game. Sal Pagnozzi sat in his office for hours reviewing tape of the first game. Although his team had secured another division title and would be one of the top seeds in the county tournament, he felt his players still had something to prove.

  West Valley’s practice on Thursday afternoon was their best effort of the year. The school was sky high. Students were hanging banners throughout the hallway in support of the team, and school spirit was exploding from the classrooms. Even the honor students, who usually didn’t pay much attention to sports, knew the gym would be the only place to be on Friday night at seven o’clock. Pete’s mind had been waiting in the gym since Melvin Atkins’ off-balance shot burst West Valley's bubble earlier in the year. Losing would not be acceptable no matter how well Pete played. Deep down inside he knew that if he played well, the team would win. It was that simple in his mind.

  Coach Andrews, wearing one of his many hats, carefully taped Pete’s ankles before the big game. Ankles were taped as a precautionary measure against sprains, and most of the players opted for the added protection. Out of superstition, Pete was always the last one to get taped. He would sit in a blue plastic chair with his leg stretched to an adjacent bench. Beads of sweat formed on Pete’s face, as the Varsity Basketball Team’s locker room was next to the boiler room in the school’s basement. From his early days of Little League to the sweltering heat of the locker room and gymnasium, Pete was always at his best in above-average temperatures. His mind briefly drifted back to the 100 degree-plus day he pitched a one hitter while his mother passed out in the stands. The hopes of an entire town would be on his shoulders, with the previous dormant year feeling like another lifetime now... it was time to take care of business.

  A near-capacity crowd attended the prior game against East Shores and made the playing conditions quite ideal for Pete. Coach Andrews, seeing the sweat pouring off Pete, knew that Gerry Williams would be in for a long night.

  The team charged out for its initial warm-up with its staple song Who Are You by The Who blaring over the public address system. Pete was in the zone coming out of the locker room. His first trip on the lay-up line ended with a one handed dunk. As a rule, technical fouls were called on players dunking in warm-ups, so many teams liked to get on the floor early before the referees arrived. Pete, not known for his jumping ability, was pumping his teammates up with his high flying jams.

  He had always been a big game player growing up, preferring the big stage to the little one act play. On this night, another side of Pete’s personality was unveiled. The introverted boy was about to become a man in front of the entire school.

  With seven minutes to go before game-time, the team went back in the locker room for one last word from Coach Andrews.

  “This is the biggest game we all have ever played in. Play it like it's your last game! Protect the ball at all costs. Fight for loose balls like they’re trying to steel something that’s yours! We won’t let this one get away. And, as Pete said, we don’t lose again!”

  The team came roaring out of the locking room to a rousing standing ovation from the overflow crowd. “Celebration” by Kool & the Gang was drowned out by the noise. The team, which was extra-pumped to begin with, was even further boosted by the deafening noise from the stands. People that couldn’t fit in the bleachers were standing in the exits runways. Even if you didn’t have a full view, this was an event that the town and the school could not pass up. The crowd was pushing about 700 people, with the rowdiest and most inebriated fans located in the upper left corner of the gym. These fans repeatedly banged on an oversized radiator that was loosely fixed to the wall, and flashed a huge whammy sign (a huge paper hand with only pinkie and index finger extended), ready to jinx the opposition’s free throws.

  This was what Pete had dreamed of the season before. But, as much as he appreciated the crowd, his sole mission on this night was to slay the giant.

  “One, two, three, DEFENSE!” West Valley broke its huddle with its usual starting five heading toward the jump circle. The crowd was in a frenzy chanting “Here we go Valley, here we go!” while the cheerleaders screamed “Jump up high, jump up a little bit, get that jump ball!" It was quite the scene. Pete controlled the opening tap by sticking his right elbow into Gerry’s ribs. Dino Rizzo handed the ball to Tom Sullivan, who walked the ball up the court and surveyed the defense. Fellingwood was in their traditional man-to-man defense. Sal Pagnozzi decided to challenge Gerry Wi
lliams by assigning him to guard Pete, hoping it would get him in the game early.

  Tom made sure Gerry was immediately involved as he passed the ball to Pete along the left sideline. Pete turned, faced the basket, head-faked Gerry in the air, took one dribble to his left, and drilled a 20-footer. The crowd exploded and threw streamers and confetti on the court, a new tradition following the first West Valley basket of the game. The debris was cleared off quickly and West Valley settled back into its active 2-3 zone, with Dino and Tom up top, Big Artie in the middle and Pete and Steve anchoring the back.

  All five players were bouncing on the balls of their feet, waving their arms as if they were doing jumping jacks. The crowd screamed “D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E... D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E... D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E,” making The Launching Pad sound like the inside of Madison Square Garden.

  Williams traveled with the ball on Fellingwood’s first possession and missed an open 10-footer on the next. Meanwhile, West Valley had extended to a 6-0 lead on the strength of a hook shot in the lane and bank shot from the right side of the lane by Pete. The crowd was officially out of control, seemingly awakening a town in an extended slumber.

  It took Fellingwood over three minutes to finally get on the board, as Gerry followed up a Melvin Atkins miss with an uncontested lay-up. The score was 10-2. At the end of the first quarter, West Valley had an 18-8 lead, with Pete piling up 12 points on 6-8 shooting. He also grabbed four rebounds and blocked a shot. Gerry had two points and one rebound, as the star and his team looked lost. Fellingwood had walked blindly into an ocean looking for a calm surf and was now face-to-face with a tidal wave.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The game became more of a see-saw battle by halftime, but West Valley maintained its ten point lead at 32-22. Pete outscored Gerry 20-8, and was outrebounding him 9-3, continuing his superior play. For the first time in his life, someone was getting the best of Gerry Williams on the court and he seemed stunned.

  Pete took no pleasure in this domination. It was only half-a-game and he was more worried about his team finishing the game strong. He knew that Fellingwood would make a run in the second half. As he took a quick look around the locker room, he saw celebration not concentration.

  Coach Andrews entered the pungent room and saw Pete in one corner, sweat dripping from his body, eyes burning a hole in the floor, and the rest of the team cackling like a bunch of hens. The coach picked up a piece of chalk and wrote down the final score of the first meeting between the two teams. The room grew quiet as the coach noticed that Pete had the only remaining smiling face in the room. The coach shot Pete a wink and then started reviewing how to break the Fellingwood press. He ended the halftime chat by saying, “This is our house. Nobody comes in our house, in front of our fans, and beats us!” The team understood the lofty task at hand and was ready to climb to the next level, but Pete knew that good things never came easy.

  Sal Pagnozzi was relatively calm in hallway leading up to the Fellingwood locker room. He almost didn’t give his players a halftime speech, but entered the room with only three minutes left before the second half began. The room was totally quiet when he strolled in with his hands in his pockets.

  “I was afraid the last time we beat these guys that it was a fluke,” he muttered in a low, almost defeated tone. “Now I know the truth. Maybe I gave you guys too much credit by treating you like champions. The players in the next locker room are beating you in every aspect of the game!

  He then turned his attention to his star.

  “Gerry, I’m taking you off Berman. It’s obvious you can’t handle him. If you guys want to win this game, they will have to lose it."

  He then regained his composure. "Let’s start with a man-to-man press, Melvin on Berman, Williams on Fuller. Gentleman, this team is hungry, this crowd wants blood. Let’s take it two points at a time and play Fellingwood basketball.”

  The Fellingwood team started the second half like a wounded dog, fighting for every inch of hardwood. The lead, once 10, was quickly reduced to four. Just as Coach Andrews was signaling for a time out, Pete spotted Steve Fuller open for a lay-up. By the end of the third quarter, West Valley had built the lead back up to eight points, 44-36. Pete and Gerry both had four points in the quarter, although their battle was still one-sided, with Pete scoring 24 to Gerry’s 12 points. Pete was looking for his second wind and Gerry was hurting from the stinging halftime words of his overbearing, win at all costs coach.

  The crowd remained loud throughout the third quarter and was starting to smell an upset. The lead was still eight with three minutes to go in the game. For the next two minutes Gerry and Pete cleared the table and showed why the rivalry was so special. First Gerry hit a baseline jumper. Then Pete, with Gerry guarding him again, hit a fall-away from the left baseline. Gerry then answered with two free throws after a foul by Artie Schueller. Pete then tipped in a missed eight-footer by Schueller. Gerry then hit a bank shot from the right side of the foul line. Pete then dialed long distance with a jumper from the right hash mark. Gerry flashed Pete a Give me a break look, and Pete responded with a smirk that said, That’s my shot. The two players never talked during the game, as the language they were speaking went far beyond words.

  Down seven with a minute to go, Sal called his last time out. His team would have to take one more shot at pulling this one out of the fire.

  Darrell Wallace hit a quick hoop following the break, and a scrappy sub named Mark Banino stole the ball from Tom Sullivan and converted an open 12-footer to lower the deficit to three with twenty-five seconds left. Fellingwood double-teamed Pete on the inbounds pass and Tom Sullivan got the ball and was fouled. With twenty seconds left, Sullivan strolled to the foul line for a one-plus-one (make the first shot, get the second). Pete told him to take a deep breath and bend his knees. Tom did neither, as the ball clanked off the front rim and into the hands of Darrell Wallace.

  No time-outs left for the Rams, West Valley up three. Fellingwood worked quickly for a good shot and eventually got an open 15-footer for Melvin Atkins who missed but Darrell Wallace was there to tip it in. Eight seconds left, and counting. Steve Fuller inbounded the ball. Gerry and Melvin Atkins had lost Pete in the confusion and Steve threw the ball to him at the foul line. Pete turned, looked down court at an open Artie Schueller (who was shaking his head “no”) and held the ball until Darrell Wallace knocked him to the floor. Before Pete got up he tossed the ball off Melvin’s butt, out of sight of the referee. One point game, five seconds left. The game was in Pete’s hands. Pete had thoroughly outplayed Gerry, scoring 30 points and grabbing 19 rebounds to Gerry’s 20 points and nine rebounds. The only way he would be satisfied was if the 30 became 32.

  The nervous crowd and both benches rose to their feet. Pete would be taking the free throws in front of the Fellingwood bench. Sal Pagnozzi tried to stare Pete down, but he had a date with a rim and a net. Pete’s teammates knew he preferred to be left alone, so they let him walk up to the line without conversation. They were too nervous to speak anyway. The crowd was slightly stunned - the only noise that could be heard was from the Fellingwood fans and cheerleaders. Pete never heard or saw anything going on around him. He could have been in his driveway taking the shots for all he knew. No distractions. The referee handed him the ball - Pete took it in his left hand, put it up against his chest and took two long, deep breaths. He then placed his right foot close to the foul line and let his left leg slide away from and slightly behind his right leg. He dribbled the ball once, then again, and then a third time, much as he had done every day for the past few years. He bent his knees, cocked his right arm near his head, and released the ball. The breeze from the ball barely tickled the underside of the front of the rim before splashing through the net and into the sweaty palms of Gerry Williams. The crowd erupted. Victory was now in sight. Pete kept his eyes looking ahead, not allowing himself to get caught up in th
e moment. He extended his left hand toward the loudest section of West Valley fans and formed the number one with his index finger.

  With the eyes of a cold-blooded killer, he repeated the foul shot ritual with exactly the same result. Pete backed up a few steps, almost half-dreaming as Fellingwood inbounded the ball and threw up a desperation shot that sailed wide of the basket at the buzzer. One winning streak was over and another was moving into full swing. Rows of excited fans flowed onto the floor and mobbed the team. Pete saw his dad over the crowd and they both smiled. The eldest Berman knew the game was over when his son went to the line. As a matter of fact, he and his son were the only people in the building who were sure of the outcome.

  After the game, Pete and his best friend and teammate, Adam Baum, went with the team to a local watering hole called The Independence Tavern. This was Pete’s inaugural excursion into a bar; he lived your average sheltered life, while his teammates had seen more bars than a line worker at a soap factory. This was a celebration, a major breakthrough had occurred. The town was rejoicing over one of its biggest victories in the school’s history. West Valley was known for its large hospital and minimum security jail, which were both located within walking distance from the school. Many West Valley graduates often wound up in either of these two highly trafficked places as members of the community seeking to make complete recoveries.

  Steve Fuller sat alone in the back seat of a parked car in the middle of the West Valley Strip Center lot. Pete and Adam looked into the car and Pete said, “Full-man, what’s happening?”

  “Just drinking some beers.”

  “How many have you drank,” Adam questioned.

  “Four.....teen.

  The two friends had consumed only a couple of beers apiece, and couldn’t imagine drinking that much liquid in such a short time. They always knew that Steve was quiet, but never realized the extent to which he was killing brain cells.