Читать книгу The Fighting Five - Noel Jr. Sainsbury - Страница 3
ОглавлениеTHE FIRST HALF
Pop Parker, Clarkville's veteran basketball coach, had developed a team that was a team this season; by far the most outstanding basketball team to represent the famous old prep school in years. Careful grooming of exceptionally good basketball material had done the trick. Charlie Minor, Zip Young, Shorty Fiske, Monk Leeming and Bull Brown had been dubbed the Fighting Five for, though they had climbed to the finals in the state interscholastic tournament, they had fought hard every inch of the way.
To-night they were up against Ridgetown High, last year's champions, as hard playing and as hard boiled an aggregation as ever stepped onto a basketball court. The final contest for the state championship was being held in the capital city and Coach Parker had engaged rooms for the Clarkville squad at one of the city's large hotels. The team and substitutes had finished their light and early supper, and the Coach was saying a few last words of caution before they left for the State College Gymnasium where the final battle was to be staged at 8 P. M.
"We're going to win to-night, fellows," he said, his keen eyes scanning the ten serious faces grouped around his room. "I'm sure of that and here's the reason why I'm sure. We're up against a team of stars and not a star team. Individually, every fellow on Ridgetown's five plays brilliant basketball, and just because of that fact we've got the bulge on them. Listen to me—and we'll make that brilliancy react to their defeat. As a team we can win. And if any fellow starts playing to the gallery to-night I'll jerk him off the floor, for only by concentrated action can Clarkville win. I'm not a bit worried about center tip-off plays. Shorty's at least three inches taller than Ridgetown's center and holds the advantage; but if you don't follow Charlie's signals from start to finish, we're whipped before we start. Quick break offensives are going to win this game as they've won your other games. The whole secret of this offensive, as you all know, is to get down and place your one or two shots before the other side has his defense organized properly. And to-night, remember, you'll be playing against five individual stars, each doing his best to score, and not a properly organized defense. No matter whether you're using the three line rush, the crisscross or whatever Charlie decides on, remember that to-night of all nights, whatever plan you use, speed is everything.
"On the other hand, the secret of effective defensive play lies in making the quick shift from offensive play to the defensive as every team has to do the instant the ball is lost to a player on the other side. But your play to-night must change from offense to defense like lightning—and it takes a smart heads-up athlete to do this in a flash. With this speedy aggregation you're opposing, you'll use the man-to-man rather than the zone defense unless otherwise signaled.
"Just one thing more and then we'll go. This evening your sportsmanship is going to be tested to the limit. But no matter what Ridgetown may or may not do, I don't want any of you to waste your time staging comebacks and trying tricks that are against the rules. Whoever does that isn't playing the game. He's not doing the best by his team and for Clarkville. Use your cleverness to-night to play basketball and keep your tempers. Also bear in mind that the referee has a hard job watching every play of every player. He is bound to make a mistake now and then. If you think he's wrong, don't waste time and energy squawking. Tell him what you think is the truth and then abide by his decision. Be good sports. No other kind of player can get far in basketball. If there's any dirty work on the floor to-night see that Clarkville's name is clear. Now—" Coach Parker grinned his famous grin—"enough's enough, men. Go in and win. You can do it and you're going to do it! Let's go."
The clock in the hotel lobby marked the hour of seven when Pop and his charges stepped out of the elevator. Outside, a blizzard roared and whistled and the snow, dry as salt, stung like red-hot cinders. March's lionlike proclivities were making good this year, and with the winter's snow still banked high in the streets and this extended sub-zero weather, spring seemed a long way off. The Clarkville contingent did not linger on the sidewalk. With woolen caps pulled down well over ears and overcoat collars turned up, they piled into the two waiting cars and were off.
Even with a good forty-five minutes to spare before scheduled game time, the lads from Clarkville found a huge crowd lined up outside the Gymnasium.
"Reserved sections were sold out yesterday," Coach Parker told them. "That's the bleacher crowd. We're going to have a capacity house to-night in spite of the weather."
"How many does the place seat?" asked Monk Leeming.
"Something over four thousand, I believe."
Four thousand! A tingling sensation crept up and down Monk's spine as he exchanged glances with his fellow team members. Never had they played before a great crowd like this.
"Well, well, well," muttered Zip to Charlie. "I guess the sports writers would call it a thrilling sight—place like this packed to the doors with basketball fans. But somehow or other I'd feel a lot cosier if the gallery was going to be smaller."
But Coach Parker gave his players no time to develop stage fright. He hustled them out of the automobiles and the next moment they were pushing their way through the milling throng amid cheers from those who recognized them, and reached the dressing rooms in short order.
The crack Ridgetown quintet which had breezed through every game so far in easy fashion undoubtedly held the odds. Their spectacular individual work had gained them the title of the Shooting Stars and nobody disputed the fact that they had been well named. On the other hand no team in the tournament had capitalized on this individual brilliancy as Coach Parker shrewdly meant to do. The fans and sports writers who knew that wily gentleman predicted that he would have some sort of surprise on tap, and that despite Ridgetown's advantage in height and weight, Clarkville would certainly make it a game worth watching. In fact, those who had studied the methods of the Fighting Five were quite sure that although to-night the Ridgetown Shooting Stars might blaze across the basketball horizon with even more spectacular exhibitions of goal tossing than usual, they would be up against a powerful, smooth-running machine and Clarkville would be in for the fight of their lives.
With the exception of Shorty Fiske, Clarkville's sky-reaching center, who stood all of six feet five in his rubber soles and weighed a good two hundred, the Clarkville five, a sturdy crew, were pygmies beside the big bruisers from the factory town.
The atmosphere of the big gym was charged with excitement as the referee's whistle called time for play. The capital city band vied with Clarkville and Ridgetown rooters to lift the roof, while non-partisan spectators, who had come to cheer for both teams, according to their fancy, swelled the ear-splitting din.
Just behind the press stand sat a man talking into a microphone, for the game to-night was news to every basketball enthusiast in the state and the fans would be listening in. The radio announcer was saying:
"Ah, here we go, folks—the ball up at center! Fiske gets the tip-off from Ridgetown, he taps the ball to Captain Minor, who slings it back to right guard Leeming and starts running forward.—Say, folks, this is pretty. Leeming snaps the ball back to Fiske—Fiske over to Minor. Zip Young, Clarkville's midget left forward, is waiting for it almost below the basket—and shoots his goal! Score is Clarkville two Ridgetown nothing in the first two seconds of play.—Hear the crowd yell!
"There they go again. Fiske gets the tip-off but the ball is intercepted," went on the announcer. "Black, Ridgetown's left forward, is dribbling it down the court, and say, folks, he's a wonder. He's dodged three of the Fighting Five and slaps it across to Chester who soaks it to the Ridgetown center.—No, he doesn't! Shorty Fiske's got the ball and slings it to Minor, Minor to Young, back to Minor! Yep, I thought so. There goes Clarkville through for another score. Smart playing, that. And believe me, folks, these lads are fast! The score now stands Clarkville four Ridgetown nothing."
There was a momentary silence on the air as the two teams lined up again.
"They're at it again," the radio voice resumed. "There goes Clarkville through for another basket! It's six to nothing now—say, this is beautiful teamwork. Ball changed hands five times on the way to the iron hoop. . . ." Then, half a minute later—"Clarkville again. They're wiping up the Ridgetown huskies, all right. A corking shot by Leeming, their right guard, on a pass from center. Eight to nothing in no time at all and it doesn't look so good for Ridgetown. They've called for time out to talk things over. . . .
"And there they go again. It's a real ball game now. Those Ridgetown lads have tightened up on their defense and believe it or not they're tearing in! Clarkville's having a harder time breaking through. Rough work, too. The whistle's blowing every half second. Ah, there goes Ridgetown for a basket—her first score! Hear the crowd roar! It was Black on a long shot that bounced off the backboard and dropped through. A clever shot but between you and me and the mike, folks, if the Ridgetown five want to bring up their score they'd better let down on star plays to the gallery and develop the old teamwork. That's where the bunch from Clarkville has the bulge on them. As I told you just now the referee's whistle is kept busy tooting for fouls, most of which are accidental due to the speed of the game. Ridgetown is making the greater percentage and they're pulling some pretty raw stuff—so are both teams to be exact. Many a game, folks, is won by the team that cashes in on the free throws after fouls and it isn't always the outfit that gets the most free throws that scores the most points—it's the squad that recovers the ball most readily after the free throw is missed—and right now that's where the hill billies from Clarkville are shining. We've got to hand it to those boys. Man to man, Ridgetown outweighs them and I might say now that they outplay them—but when it comes to teamwork and real basketball, Clarkville is superb!"
The announcer again . . . along toward the end of the second quarter. . . . "Say, folks, this is the hottest basketball game I've ever witnessed. It's a fact! The score's now thirteen to thirteen. Bad luck for some one, you say? Some fight, believe me. Both teams are flashing a marvelous defense. The Ridgetown boys are too fond of starring. For one thing they dribble too long and too often. Three times now they've lost the ball for failure to advance it out of the back court on the ten seconds rule. And funnily enough their guards have scored more than their forwards so far—and on long shots. Spectators here are just about cuckoo, for the long shots get the gallery. But Clarkville team is a team—and their teamwork—Uh-oh! Clarkville's teamwork slipped through that time and it's got the Shooting Stars worried, believe me. My, that was pretty—a quick break offensive. Right guard took the ball off the backboard, quickly passed it to right forward, who was on the right side line. By that time center moved over to the same side, but near mid-court. Right forward passed to center and rushed for the basket. In the meantime left forward cut for the basket and received a pass from center. An under-the-basket shot. Two more points. Zip Young made 'em. His third field goal of the game.—There goes the whistle! Half over. Clarkville leading, fifteen to thirteen! . . . Stand by, please."
