"LOSE SOME, WIN SOME"
"We're gonna die."
Mike Stoker sat down next to Roy, and followed his gaze across the room.
"Probably," he calmly agreed.
That was it. Johnny had had enough.
"What do you mean, we're gonna die? You know, Roy, all these years I never realized it, but you're a pessimist. A pessimist. And you, Mike. You never say a word about anything, and you pick now to speak up? I'm really disappointed in you. Really disappointed. We're not gonna die. We made it this far, didn't we? Man, I don't believe you guys. Haven't you ever heard of the power of positive thinking?"
Roy blinked his eyes, and answered coolly, "I'm positive we're going to die. Is that better?"
That pushed him right over the edge. Agitated, Johnny threw his hands in the air, and almost fell backwards off the bench.
"Oh, sure. Make fun. You know, Roy, sometimes you really annoy me. I mean, you're never willing to look at the bright side. You're always thinking about all the things that can go wrong, instead of all the things that can go right. Just once, why can't you be more like me and… and see the possibilities?"
"You want me to be more like… you?" Roy was in awe of the frightening possibilities that brought to mind.
Sure, he'd acted the same way before the semi-final game. But that was then, and this was now. Roy was wearing him down. Then, there was Chet. Mr. Doom and Gloom himself. Johnny had put up with his partner's constant complaining and negativity, and with Chet's morose attitude all week. He was tired of being the only cheerleader in the bunch.
"Fine. Just fine. Be that way. You guys just keep on thinkin' like that. It's a good thing Marco and Cap aren't like you. They know--"
"--We know what?"
Johnny scooted over to make room for Stanley to sit down. "Oh, Roy and Mike are bein' negative again, Cap. Just like the last time. I was just sayin' that it's a… a good thing you and Marco know we can win, or we'd really be in trouble."
Stanley wiped a towel across his face, and sighed heavily. Between work and practices, it had been a tough week, being in charge of this group. Gage's intense enthusiasm, not to mention his obsession with winning, had almost gotten as out of control as Kelly's stupid depression. He'd personally wanted to lock them both in a padded cell together this morning, but that meant they would have been a man short for the game. Thinking on it now, Stanley decided that's what he should have done. They could have forfeited, and saved themselves the humiliation.
Giving Gage a good-natured slap on the back -- maybe a bit harder than he intended -- Stanley stood up.
"John, I hate to tell you this, pal. We are in trouble."
"Not you, too, Cap," Johnny moaned. "Man, we're gonna die."
Today was the day. The Los Angeles County Fire Department basketball tournament finals. Station 51s A-shift versus Station 34s combined A and C shifts. Station 34 itself may have been lesser in size and number of men, but that's where it stopped. If anything, these guys looked even bigger and better than the muscle-bound studs from 16s B-shift they'd miraculously defeated in the semis.
Oh, yeah. They were gonna die.
* * * * * * * *
"All right. Two minutes till game time. Remember, this one is regulation length. We know what we gotta do, right?" Stanley looked from man to man without getting an answer. "Right?" he repeated sternly, eliciting the desired responses.
"Move the ball around."
"High percentage shots only."
"Defense."
"Pray."
"Amen to that last one," he added. "Kelly? Change your mind?"
"Sorry, Cap. I tell you, I lost it. It's gone for good."
"Cap, don't waste your breath any more," Johnny chided. "I've talked to him till I'm blue in the face, trying to convince him he's just been tryin' too hard, but he won't listen. Chet's made it clear he doesn't want to be part of the team. It doesn't matter anyway. We can win without him."
Stanley watched Chet listlessly shuffle to the bench. His shoulders were slumped, his head down. "John, don't you think you're being kinda hard on him? It's just a game."
"Me? I'm not being hard on him. The only one bein' hard on Chet, is Chet. He's been im-possible all week."
"He's not the only one," Stanley muttered under his breath. "Just lighten up a little, huh, John? Remember, we wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him."
"I know that," Johnny argued defensively. "I've been tellin' him that all along. It's Chet you need to convince, not me."
"It's a little late now. Game's about to start. All right, men. Are we ready?"
They all took a deep breath, and took their positions for the opening tip-off. Stanley at center, Johnny and Mike at forward, Marco and Roy at guard.
They quickly discovered bigger wasn't necessarily better. 51s team had speed and agility on their side, and their confidence grew as the game went on. Johnny was hot, shooting ten-for-ten from the floor. Mike controlled the lane, scoring a lay up almost every time he got his hands on the ball. Roy's free throws were perfect, his play setup and passing right on the mark. Marco and Stanley played tough, in-your-face defense.
Half-time found them down by only five points.
Their exuberance turned to exhaustion as soon as they reached the locker room. Coach Stanley's only strategy advice was to drink some water, dry the sweat off, and rest for ten minutes. Johnny laid out stiffly on one of the wooden benches, wincing in pain. Admitting he felt like he'd pulled a muscle in his back, he assured his teammates of his ability to continue to play.
Chet leaned up against the wall, not saying much.
Stanley didn't need Gage missing work because he'd hurt himself playing basketball. "Kelly. We may need to you relieve John if he starts hurtin'. I want you to be ready."
"But, Cap," Chet protested.
"No buts. Your coach has spoken."
"Yessir," he said glumly.
Through half-closed eyes, Johnny watched Chet mope out of the room to go warm up. He really had tried his best to convince Chet to play today. Not just because he wanted to win, but because Chet -- who wasn't good at playing sports -- had been ecstatic when he had single-handedly won the game that put them in the finals. It had been an important moment for him. That much had been obvious. Johnny suspected Kelly was afraid he couldn't repeat the performance, and would feel like he'd let them down. Recognizing ego when he saw it, Johnny understood the fear of failure in the eyes of one's station mates. Understood, but thought it was foolish. It was just a game. Maybe, he thought, it was his fault for making it out to be more than that.
Half-time ended much too soon, but they regrouped and returned to the court. Joanne and the kids, and Marco's mom and sisters were there. They led the crowd in cheers for the underdog team, as they took up their positions for the second half tip-off. Tired, and still privately doubting they could pull off a win, the men set out with new determination to make it a contest to the bitter end. If nothing else, their pride was at stake.
51s couldn't take the lead, but the score remained close throughout the third quarter. The pace of the game had slowed, as both teams showed signs of running out of steam. Bothered by his back, Johnny wasn't playing as aggressively as he had in the first half, and missed some easy shots.
Midway through the fourth quarter, they finally went up by one point, and held onto the lead with just under four minutes remaining. With the end of the game near, the intensity picked up. Johnny grabbed a rebound and went up for a short jump shot that would have put them ahead by three. He lofted the ball while in midair, then instantly went down when a defender threw a wicked elbow in his back.
The referee blew his whistle for a foul and an injury time-out. Roy knelt beside Johnny, who had rolled onto his back, groaning, his eyes tightly shut. The others crowded around. Chet was there, too, concerned his reluctance to play had led to Johnny's being hurt.
Roy waited a few seconds, until Johnny opened his eyes and looked around. "You okay?"
"Uuuuhh, don't know," he answered hesitantly. "Did the shot go in?"
He had his male priorities straight.
"Yeah, it did. Is it your back?"
"No. Yeah. A little."
"You think you can sit up?"
Johnny did a quick internal self-assessment. "Yeah," he nodded, "I think I'm okay."
Roy and Stanley helped him sit up, then stand up. He started to say he'd just had the wind knocked out of him and could keep playing, when he caught sight of Chet.
"Johnny?" Roy asked, when it appeared he was still dazed.
"Huh?"
"Maybe you'd better sit down. Let me check you out. What do you say?"
Johnny was thinking fast. "No, I'm okay. I don't think I can play anymore, though. My back hurts pretty bad. Roy, you can't leave the court. Chet can help me to the sidelines. Can't you, Chet?"
Kelly eagerly agreed. With Johnny's arm around his shoulder for support, he walked him slowly to the bench and helped him ease down onto it. "You sure you're all right? You went down pretty hard. Maybe you should let Roy check you out."
"No. I'll be okay. Look, Chet. You've got to go in for me."
"But, I...."
"Chet, you don't have to shoot if you don't want to. You don't even have to touch the ball. Just go in and try to keep the other team from scoring. You can do that."
"But, what if we lose?"
Johnny took a deep breath. "What if we do? It's no big deal, Chet. Remember what they say. It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game. So, go play."
"But...."
"Will you shut-up, Chet. If you say 'but' one more time, I'll have to kick yours as soon as I'm able."
Chet almost laughed. He could see right through him. Transparent as glass. "Yeah? You think you can, huh, Gage? I'd like to see you try."
"Yeah, well. Don't tempt me. Get out there before they blow the whistle again. And, Chet.... Don't worry about it. It's just a game."
"Yeah, right. If I thought you believed that, I'd sell you my Florida swamp."
"How much you askin' for it?" Johnny asked seriously.
Caught off guard, Chet almost bit. He hated it when Gage came close to beating him at his own game. "All right, I'll play. But I don't want to hear a word about it if we lose."
"Not a single word," Johnny promised. Ten words, twenty maybe.
Three minutes to go. Up by three. One minute to go, down by one. The guys from 34s were stalling to let the clock run down, passing the ball back and forth. They'd have to shoot, though. There was an eight second difference between the shot clock and the game clock. Marco swatted at the ball as it headed for the basket. Stanley grabbed it and dribbled two steps up court, then passed the ball like a bullet to Roy in the corner. Seconds were ticking away. He had a defender in his face and couldn't get the shot off. Mike was positioned close to the basket, but covered like a blanket. Chet stood wide open near mid-court, and Roy did the only thing he could. He passed the ball to Kelly.
Chet caught it and looked at the ball in surprise. Behind him, Stanley and Lopez were frantically waving and yelling "SHOOT!"
There were less than two seconds left on the game clock.
Lifting the ball over his head in a two-handed style that was uniquely Chet Kelly's, he let it fly.
* * * * * * * *
"Hey, Johnny. How's the back feelin'?"
"Good. Real good. Took it easy for a few days. Doesn't hurt at all."
Johnny shut the door to his locker and sat down to put his shoes on, while Roy changed from street clothes into his uniform.
"You talk to Chet?" Roy asked after a moment's silence.
"No. You?"
"No. I don't know why he was so upset. He made the basket. Just wasn't in time. Nothin' anyone could do about that. It was a good game, wasn't it?"
"Good? Roy, it was great. It would've been nice to have had that first place trophy, but you know, I kinda like the finalist one a little better. It's been engraved with our station number and shift. Looks real nice on the shelf in the day room."
"Yeah, and your taking home the MVP award was great, too. Even though they won, the guys from 34s agreed you deserved it."
"Well, I think we all deserved it. Did you hear... we were twenty point underdogs? You know, I wish Chet would get it through his thick skull we wouldn't have made it that far if it wasn't for his play in the semi final game."
"Yeah. I don't know how we can convince him of that, though. He seems determined to take the blame for losing the championship."
Johnny just grinned. "I think I found a way to fix that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You ready for some coffee?"
Roy followed Johnny out the door, curiosity getting the better of him. "How are you gonna do that? Fix it, I mean?"
"I already did. You'll find out. Cap said he brought some doughnuts in. Let's go get some before they're gone."
C-shift was just getting ready to leave, congratulating them again on the game. Stanley, Stoker, Kelly and Lopez had their backs to them, admiring the awards, when Roy and Johnny came through the door.
Kelly turned around, holding Johnny's MVP plaque in his hands. He had a big smile on his face. "Gage, you didn't have to do this."
"Do what, Chet?" Johnny frowned in puzzlement.
"You know what. This is your award. You earned it."
"Chet, what are you talkin' about?"
It was Chet's turn to frown in confusion as he handed the plaque to Johnny. "You mean, you haven't seen this?"
Roy intercepted the plaque and read the inscription out loud.
Los Angeles County Fire Department
1977 Basketball Tournament
Most Valuable Players
John Gage and Chet Kelly
Station 51
Considering how competitive Johnny could be, Roy thought that was a truly generous thing for him to have done.
Johnny looked at it and shrugged. "Huh," was his only comment before digging through the doughnut box until he found the one he was looking for. Johnny had just taken a big bite when he noticed everyone looking at him.
"What?" he mumbled self-consciously. "Did I miss something?"
"No, John. I don't think you missed a thing," Stanley said. "Men, how about we get ready for roll call?"
Roy put the plaque on the wall above the trophy, and everyone filed out to the bay. Chet hung back, waiting for Johnny.
"John. I wanna thank you."
"No thanks needed, Chet. I wouldn't have had my chance at that if it wasn't for you."
"No, John. I mean I really want to thank you. I got somethin' for you, too."
"Yeah?" Johnny asked in surprise. "You didn't have to. What is it?"
Chet pulled an envelope from his back pocket, and handed it over with a serious look on his face.
Johnny opened the envelope and unfolded an official-looking document. He studied it for a minute, and when he looked up, Chet had left the room. It looked like a deed to some property. It was made out in his name. It was even notarized. Johnny read further, and started to laugh.
"Chet!" he called, as he rounded the squad for the lineup. "You mean to tell me you REALLY own swamp land in Florida?"
"Not me, babe," Chet smiled. "Not any more."
"Well, just what am I supposed to do with it?"
"You could always move there, and start an alligator farm."
"Chet..., don't be ridiculous."
"It's not ridiculous. Why, I have an uncle in Louisiana who--"
The tones went off, calling the engine crew out on a run.
After they left, Johnny handed Roy the deed. He agreed it looked real, but offered his opinion that it was probably just a joke.
"Yeah. How dumb does Chet think I am anyway?"
"You want me to answer that?"
"Huh? Oh. No, I don't."
Johnny took the paper back from Roy, and stood there looking it over again. Roy suggested they get busy checking supplies, then turned around to see Johnny hadn't moved, deep in thought.
"Johnny?"
"Yeah?"
"The supply check?"
"Oh. Sure, go ahead. You know, Roy, I wonder."
"Wonder what?"
"Exactly how much money you can make growing alligators."
Roy opened his mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say to that.
"Come to think of it," Johnny added slyly, "it sure would be a shame if Chet found out he'd given away a real valuable piece of property, wouldn't it?"
"Johnny, you wouldn't? Would you?"
Practically giggling like a kid who had discovered a new way to create mischief, Johnny headed for the locker room to put the deed away. "You know, Roy. I... I think only the pigeon knows for sure."
"You know somethin', Johnny?" Roy shouted after him. "You have a real mean streak in you!"
As Roy pulled the drug box out of the compartment, he pondered if Johnny had been right. About always looking at the things that could go wrong, instead of considering the things that could go right. He stood there for a moment, thinking over the possibility of....
"Growing alligators?"
* * * * * * * *
