Basketbrawl -- Chapter 1 (Analysis)

Chapter One

The aged, brick gym reeks of sweat, a dusty ray of light shines in from a streetlight outside, through a block glass window and on to the court below. Sneakers screech taking more finish off the worn hardwood floor. A game of pickup basketball is going on--it's very physical as the athletic young men bang and push into each other jockeying for position. Except for Jay Johnson that is, who is distinguished by his salt and pepper beard, his eighties-style shorts, and old school Adidas sneakers. He runs down the court on defense, through a line of hard checking and picks. His muscles not quite as defined as they used to be he works his way past the younger players. An athletic young kid wearing a jersey with the name "Morgan" on it breaks open. He yells out urgently to his teammates for the ball with a raised hand and receives a pass. Gliding to the wide open basket, Morgan is excited to show everyone he's got game. Confidently he leaps in the air ready to slam it home with a look of "I'm the shit" on his face. Out of nowhere Jay runs up from his side, leaps up high in the air, and swats the ball down out of his hands, rejecting Morgan ugly. Jay's team gets the loose ball and starts down the other end. A cocky young kid named Kat runs down the court on defense and gets in Morgan’s face.
"You let that old man smoke you all night. You suck." "You want to guard him?" Morgan says in a defensive tone. Kat reaches out and grabs his jersey yanking him back propelling himself forward, looking back with a smirk. "Watch out," Kat says. He runs across and steps in front of Jay yelling for everyone to hear. "Party’s over old man." Jay immediately receives the ball and his team mates clear out of the way giving him room to do his thing knowing Jay is about to school the young man. Once again, cocky as ever, his new defender yells out pounding his chest.
"You’re my bitch now." Jay rolls his eyes back, and then gets serious. He bends down dribbling from side to side, staring down his opponent, and getting in his zone thinking “how bad do I want to burn this sucker.” Jay fakes to the left then crosses over to his right and blows by him in a flash, making him trip over his own two feet. He gracefully flows to the basket, and then emphatically dunks it in over the outstretched hand of the towering center guarding the hoop. The players look on in disbelief, shaking their heads in amusement. Just then a chubby boy on the sidelines eating a donut blows a horn signaling the end of the game. Morgan bends down and gets right up in Kat’s cocky face.
"Who’s the b'yach now?” He says emphatically as he aggressively cocks his head forward, waiting for an answer.
Jay walks over to help his newest victim up with an outreached hand. Kat sits on the floor looking up like a little kid that was just smacked by his mama. Still in shock he asks in astonishment.
"Who are you?"
Jay modestly replies with a half smile.
"Nobody special. You played a good game. Work on that defense a little though." "Where did you play ball?" Kat asks knowing Jay had to be more than just a streetballer.
Jay pauses for a moment with a distant look in his eyes. "It’s a long story kid."
Jay's team mates come over and congratulate him on another great game. They're all pumped up ready to take on their next opponent, a group of guys from the steel mill they've wanted to beat for a long time. Without Jay the steel mill guys killed them last time but this time was going to be different. One of Jay's team mates pats him on the back looking at his friends.
"We got em this time."
Jay bites his lip unhappy to break the bad news.
"Sorry guys I don't think I can."
"You said you were good for two games," they reply.
"Sorry but I twisted my ankle on that last play I better not."
"Dam Jay I got a hundred bucks on this game," one of his team mates complains.
"Sorry man I wish I could I just can't risk it."
Jay walks away and although his ankle felt better he adds a little limp to his steps. He wanted to play but just didn't think it was worth it fearing he might twist his ankle again. He heads away leaving his disappointed team mates behind.
On the sidelines Dwight Greene, the one-time street corner drug dealer now turned big time hustler, greets Jay with a hug, but Jay isn't as receptive. "Unbelievable man, unbelievable," Dwight says as he steps back and hastily pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes two tiny sweat stains off his pinstriped suit.
Jay keeps it brief.
"Just trying to keep it real."
"You know Jay, I went to an N.B.A. camp and I got to tell you straight up, I think you’re still better than all of the pros that were out there." "Pros huh." Jay bounces the ball hard off the floor and grabs it forcefully in both hands staring down at it for a second with a look of regret. "I already had my chance." He hands the ball to his former acquaintance and walks away. Still trying to befriend Jay, Dwight hollers out in an apologetic tone.
"Where are you going? You need a ride?" Jay signals him with a wave not looking back. He picks up his duffle bag and an old worn ball and walks off alone.
#
A streetlamp flickers over Jay as he dribbles his ball down the empty street. Every bounce echoes off of the abandon buildings in a rhythmic beat. He stops and looks up the stairs at the decaying building that he calls home. Another hapless night spent alone.
#
As he enters the homeless shelter he thinks back, talking to himself. "N.B.A. huh". He takes those words from Dwight Greene as a slap in the face since Dwight was in part responsible for his downfall. He smiles and sarcastically laughs as he walks past the gray haired clerk at the building’s desk. The ever-alert clerk Carl Brown looks up from the basketball game he is watching on TV and acknowledges Jay.
The old man’s voice is warm and friendly.
"Hey Jay how you are?" He asks with an inviting smile.
"Broke, busted and disgusted." Jay replies, half kidding. Carl swings around in his chair and faces Jay with a fatherly interest.
"Ah come on. How did ya do tonight champ?" "I did all right my man," Jay says modestly. "What’s the score?" "They’re getting killed again. Don’t even know why I watch it. They need the champ on the team." Jay pauses for a moment and searches for the words trying not to sound impolite. "Hey Carl." He says in a somber tone looking down at the tiled floor.
"Yea champ," Carl eagerly responds trying to lift Jay's spirits.
"Could you not call me that?"
"Hey man you are a champ," Carl insists.
"No I was a champ."
The old man shakes his finger and nods his head.
"I don’t believe that. You still got it in you. You just got to believe in yourself."
As much as it bothered Jay, he knew his old friend only meant good, but if Carl only knew how broken a man he was, maybe Carl would understand his plight. Jay had his chance in life, and it chewed him up and spit him out before he even knew what happened. The constant reminders of that only worsened his feelings. Still Jay musters up a smile.
"Good night Carl."
Carl drifts back in his chair and meaningfully looks up to Jay.
"Have a good night Jay," he says softly then settles back into his chair and focuses on the game.
#
The Pittsburgh arena is practically empty. A scattered bunch of fans unenthusiastically watch as the Pittsburgh Condors, now in their second N.B.A. season, are getting romped by the Houston Rockets twenty seven to fifty two. A Houston player on the court steals the ball and lobs it down the floor to a streaking teammate, who makes an easy dunk. Boos rain down from the few fans still paying attention. Pittsburgh now takes it down the court. On a broken play they score an opportune basket by accident more than anything. Someone taps the cheesy toupee-wearing announcer Buddy Lavitz on the shoulder, disrupting Buddy’s crossword puzzle and bringing him back to the game. He broadcasts the action from the sideline’s officials’ table over the p.a. system.
"He shoots he scores. Number…uh…" The shoulder tapper leans over, covers the mic, and whispers in Buddy’s ear.
Buddy then continues-- "Twenty one, Anthony James" Buddy goes on to do his corny trademark slogan. "Let’s get a big Hey Now" Two or three people's claps echo in the nearly silent stadium. Buddy looks back at the audience and shrugs off the crowd’s lack of support.
Three die hard fans with bird beaks strapped on their heads yell out at him.
"Turn around fool," they say in a threatening tone. Buddy gives a nervous laugh and whimpers into the mic. "All righty then." Houston takes the ball down the court and scores easily against Pittsburgh's awful defense, with time running out in the first half. Pittsburgh coach, Jimmy Connors, pulls the pants of his outdated plaid suit up to meet his beer belly and calls time out with a purpose, although he wasn’t quite sure he had one. The team huddles around him waiting for a plan. Jimmy runs his hand through his greased back, jet-black hair. "Ok James, you inbound to Robinson then run the pick and roll to Crawford."
"Coach that play hasn’t worked all game," Anthony James the team captain protests.
Jimmy looks at him with no expression. "Does it really matter? Just go out there and run the play." Coach Connors breaks up the huddle and plays it up for the crowd by yelling at his team with vigor. "All right let's see some hustle." He pumps his fist, then sits down and looks at his watch. "Get me out of here." He mumbles to himself. They inbound the ball, pass around the horn, set the pick, and then pass across to a player in the corner waiting to drain a three. Unfortunately, a Rockets player easily diagnosis the play and leaps out to block the shot. The ball is picked up by a Rockets player, and is lobbed to an open man, who in turn puts up a prayer of a shot from half-court, and of course, makes it in as the buzzer sounds. As the dejected Condor players leave the court, their coach pats their backsides with enthusiasm. "All right, all right. Good effort, nice hustle." The crowd finally comes to life, and boos at the pathetic Condors as they leave the floor. The coach, impervious to the crowd, motivates his players off the court. "Come on guys, get ‘em in the second half." As they lazily shuffle off the court, the team looks back, shaking their heads at him like he’s crazy.
From the owners’ box, two men look down at the crowd. One is Daniel Gates, a thirty-something self-made dot com millionaire. Dressed in jeans and a Condor's jersey, his looks border on genius and hyperactive lunatic. The other man in a business suit is Alex Worthington, the similarly aged, straight-laced accountant type who is the general manager of the team. Daniel is irate and yells down at the refs, practically foaming at the mouth.
"That was no good! Didn’t you hear that buzzer? Are you deaf? My grandmother could have heard that. Son of a bitch!" He hastily goes to climb over the railing and give it to the refs, but Alex, with caution, pulls him back. "Please, not again sir. You don't want another fine."
Daniel turns back in disgust.
"I should have never moved this team here. I should have left it were it was." "Staying was my suggestion sir."
"I felt it in my heart--I thought moving was the right thing to do" Daniel turns to the practically empty arena. "Look at this crowd," The Condor Dancers skip on to the floor in unison, and perform a lame rah-rah cheer full of fake, tooth filled smiles, disregarding the team’s awful performance. A drunken slob in the crowd takes a huge bite of his hot dog in one hand, and then takes a large swig of his beer with the other. He yells out to the girls, his mouth still full of the hot-dog, beer mixture. "Let's go to my place baby." On the arena floor, Victoria, the prim and proper, head cheerleader, turns to the slob, flips back her perfectly feathered blonde hair, and snaps with a southern accent. "That’s rude! You're disgusting." That only encourages him more as he wipes the mustard from his chin.
"Why don’t you show me your pom-poms?" he shouts out. Victoria becomes highly indignant.
"I’m getting security, you loser," she says in a huff.
Daniel, from the owner's box, takes in the whole incident.
"See that’s exactly what I mean. This town and everything about this team don’t relate." Alex consuls him the best he can, looking around at the empty seats, knowing that this team is in for a long painful season. "It will come around. We just have to string together some wins." "No, it’s not that. It’s this city. They're just not into it. There’s no spark. This town loves the Steelers-- they loved the Penguins when they were here, before they moved. That’s why I begged to get this franchise here. I thought they would switch over from hockey, but they just don't relate to basketball." "But, sir, hockey is just a bunch of thugs bashing each other’s brains out. You know basketball is a finesse game. Do you think a bunch of iron workers want to see that?"
"There has to be a way."
Daniel searches for an answer, looks down at the crowd, and notices a group of old men in wheelchairs sleeping along the sidelines. "Look at that, our biggest supporter is the “Christ All Mighty” retirement home.
"I don’t know what to tell you sir." Alex says solemnly.
Daniel scratches his chin and goes into deep thought.
"There has to be an answer."
#
Painted cinderblock walls surround a dresser, a night table, and a single metal framed bed that make up the furnishings of Jay's tiny single room apartment. He lies in bed, clad only in his game shorts, throwing a basketball up to the ceiling with one hand and catching it. He flicks it back up over and over. A cheap portable radio broadcasts the Condors game from the nightstand. Aged newspaper clippings taped to the wall read--
“HIGH SCHOOL PHENOM RECRUITED BY DUQUESNE UNIVERSITY” “JULIUS JOHNSON SCORES RECORD 74 POINTS” “JULIUS JOHNSON SIGNS CONTRACT WITH L.A. LAKERS” “JULIUS JOHNSON FOUND GUILTY ON DRUG CHARGES” “LAKERS PLAYOFF HOPES DASHED, JOHNSON LET’S DOWN TEAM” His eyes wide open, he thinks back to a different life that haunts him every night as he dreams of how things could have been. The radio announcer calls the action of the game in the background.
"The Condors are taking another beating tonight. Can they score at least one more time before the buzzer? James passes to Clark who throws up a brick--I guess not, there is just no heart on this team. And there’s the buzzer folks. Another loss by the woeful Condors. This team needs a miracle." Jay reaches over and turns off the radio. "They need more than a miracle," he says aloud. He flicks off the bed lamp and continues to bounce the ball off the ceiling in the dark. In the empty hall outside his room, the sound of the ball bouncing off the ceiling is all that is heard through the night.
#
A bedroom door cracks open, and a dim ray of light shines on the couple sleeping peacefully therein. A figure quietly walks up to the bed and gently puts his hands on the shoulders of the sleeping man, violently shaking him awake. "Alex wake up," he demands. Alex lunges straight up.
"Don't hurt me," he cries, panic stricken.
"Alex! It’s me! Daniel," the intruder says. Daniel turns on a lamp--it shines up on his face and casts shadows that make him look like a crazed psychopath. Alex squinting fumbles for his glasses. He somewhat recognizes the voice, but when he turns to look, a haunting Daniel is staring him right in the eyes. He jumps back in terror and puts his arm in front of his wife Madeline. Madeline, in curlers and a green face mask, wakes up, and then looks over and screams out in horror, draining every bit of oxygen from her healthy set of lungs. Daniel stays as calm as can.
"Hi Madeline," he says politely as if nothing is wrong.
She sits up panting hysterically, trying to replenish her oxygen supply. Daniel forcefully pushes the shell-shocked couple over then jumps into the bed with them. He lies on his back looking up at the ceiling as if he had always belonged there. "I got it.” He holds his hands over his head, as if he is framing the big picture. “It just came to me in a vision. Like a light went on in my head. It’s genius." Alex, still in a haze, is baffled about what Daniel is talking about.
"Got what?" "The team! I got it. Come on downstairs, we need to talk." He reaches over and grabs Madeline’s shoulder which sends a chill down her spine that makes her body convulse. "See you later Madeline," Daniel says with a wink. "Get some rest you look tired." Alex tries to calm her.
"Be right back honey," he says in a soft tone. She tries to say something back but can't produce the words as her jaw just chatters.
#
In the immaculately clean and precisely laid out kitchen, Daniel finishes brewing a cup of coffee. Alex meanders in, still half asleep and scratching the messy pile of hair on his head.
"Care for a cup?" Daniel robustly asks wide-awake and darting eyes popping out.
Thinking of his warm and cozy bed, Alex wondered why he even kept this job, but something inside of him appreciated Daniel’s wild antics. Daniel’s jet-set life gave Alex something to live vicariously through, and provided a glimpse of an existence beyond legal books and quiet evenings spent at home.
"No thanks," Alex says, declining Daniel’s offer of coffee at four in the morning. Daniel downs his over sized mug, compliments Alex's Condor Pajama's, and then gets to his point. "Listen. I’ve been up all night thinking. It finally came to me." Daniel puts down his cup of coffee and exclaims with his whole body. “Don’t change the fans."
Alex, still half asleep and uninterested in another of Daniels crazy plans, sighs.
"I don’t understand,"
"Don’t change the fans Give them what they want," he says in a burst of excitement.
"What are you talking about?"
Daniel suddenly gets a crazed look in his eyes. Alex fears what's coming next. "Let's bring the N.H.L. to the N.B.A." Alex completely puzzled scratches his head again. "Huh?"
Daniel goes into his full pitch with an unremitting passion.
"I want the toughest meanest grittiest players the N.B.A. has ever seen. I want them to make the '80's Pistons look like a bunch of pansies." Alex earnestly considers his boss’s idea, but objections immediately spring to his mind.
"Gee I don’t know if the N.B.A. Is going to like--" he starts to say.
"Be in my office first thing in the morning." Alex interupts, undeterred. "We have some scouting to do. I’ll let myself out."
He pats the limp and tired Alex hard on the back, which catapults him forwards a few steps. "Get some sleep you look tired,"
#
A crossed-legged Daniel in a silk monk robe is practicing yoga on the floor in his over-the-top hi-tech office. On his giant video wall, a Buddhist monk chants a yoga hymn. Someone knocks on the door, and he starts to get up, but painfully forces himself back down, not quite done with his doctor ordered session. In a long yoga hymn he invites them in. "C o m e. I n." Alex, looking like he could use some sleep, enters. Daniel starts to get fidgety. He rocks back and forth, anxiously wanting to get to business. He looks as though he is going to explode. Then an alarm goes off, he springs up to his feet, and a shiver runs down his body. "Oh my god that’s torture," Daniel says.
"How long have you been there?" Asks Daniel.
"Fifteen minutes. Longest fifteen minutes of my life." Daniel runs to the espresso machine. His hands shake as he makes a jumbo cup.
"It seems to have calmed you down," Alex remarks sarcastically.
"I know I feel it. I really do." Alex says sincerely, unaware of Alex's mockery.
He takes a deep breath and holds it in for a nanosecond. "Did you think about it?" he asks Alex
Alex puts down his briefcase, and gives his well thought out opinion.
"Yes sir and to be quite frank, I don’t think it’s going to work. The N.B.A. will never accept it. They are image conscious and it just--" "That’s great Alex,” Daniel breaks in. “Now here’s what you have to do. I did some research, tapped into some personal files and came up with a list."
Alex raises a concerned brow.
"Tapped? Personal files? Sir, isn’t that illegal?" Daniel gives him a comical smile, not concerned at all about legalities. "That’s not what’s important. What’s important is we get what we want. And I got what we want." Daniel decisively calls out to an invisible secretary.
"Oracle, give me the X-list."
A stunning, beautiful, computerized secretary wearing a business suit and librarian glasses with her hair pulled back in a bun, appears on the video wall, and asks if that will be all.
"Yes. Thank you Oracle," Daniel says.
Alex blushes, remembering the time he unknowingly entered Daniel’s office only to see Oracle with her glasses off, her hair waving freely, and as naked as could be, sitting on her desk. Her digitally enhanced body was perfect in every detail. Daniel stood in the middle of the office and approached her wearing a crazy, new virtual reality suit and awkwardly gyrating his body. Luckily, Alex was able to retreat in time to miss what happened next between Oracle and Daniel.
But he doesn’t blush for long, as a wall of computers light up and make a few noises to snap him from his thought. Oracle promptly produces a list that Daniel snatches with his waiting hand. He gives it to Alex who examines it carefully going through the names aloud. "Charles Johnson. I thought he was banned for life."
Alex questions.
"Well, get him unbanned," Daniel says with no concern. Alex's voice goes up an octave.
"Ray Lobo? Isn’t he in a mental home?" "Give him some Prozac. I don’t care. Just check them out. See what they got."
"Elton Braydon!” The name sends Alex’s pitch through the roof. “Sir! He’s on death row." "Hey, people make mistakes--don’t think of the negative, think of the positive. We’re going to rehabilitate these guys. Give them a second chance on life. We’re doing a great thing." "Julius Johnson,” Alex says his voice calming. “I remember him. He was unbelievable." "What’s his story?" Daniel asks, sipping some more espresso.
"Well, he was one of the greatest small college players ever. He went to school right here at Duquesne. I got to see him play once, while I was at Pitt. He put up sixty-seven points that game. I even have a ball he autographed for me." Alex looks up from the list with interest. "I wonder what he’s doing now."
Daniel puts a comforting arm around Alex.
"Why don’t you find out?"
"All right, sir. I’m in," says Alex with a grin. "Remember, no preconceived notions about these guys. Everyone gets a chance. Oh and before I forget."
"The board members meeting?" Alex chimes in, surprised that Daniel remembered. "No I can’t make that. Cover for me." "Sir, but…" Alex pleads to no avail. Daniel goes into the bathroom and seconds later, jumps out in a full karate outfit, "Karate Kid" headband and all.
"My sensei is going to be here soon. But, before I forget, get me some new dancers too. If I’m going to have a down and dirty team, I want some down and dirty girls too."
Daniel hops on his Segway, and zooms out of the office as Alex jumps to open the door just in time.