Chapter sixteen Damon
Chapter sixteen
Damon
“Is this how we get to state?! They walked all over us, and we let them!”
Carter slams his locker and glares at his teammates. Most have their heads ducked, their shoulders slumped. Only Robbie returns Carter’s glare with a fierce one of his own.
“I feel like I’m by myself out there! If we keep playing like this, we’re going to keep losing. I can’t keep losing!”
Before he says something he regrets, I move to rest my hand on Carter’s shoulder, silently telling him to reel it in. He mumbles something under his breath, then angrily stuffs his uniform into the gym bag at his feet.
After the third embarrassing defeat this month, frustration is understandable.
Expected, even. His words weren’t far from the truth, and more than a few players needed to hear them.
But I was pretty sure that if I hadn’t intervened, he was either about to name who was to blame for our loss, or spill his guts about exactly how important a basketball scholarship is to him.
Without it, he’ll likely skip college altogether.
The blame game is a mistake. I’ve experienced it firsthand, and all it ever does is further fracture team morale.
He’s right; we lack cohesion. But no amount of yelling or drills will fix these kids’ “every man for himself” mentality.
We need team building. A way to make these kids care about each other.
And he shouldn’t have to tell anyone about his financial situation to get their help. They should play well because they love the game, because they’re hungry to win. They’re too young to be burdened by the most mundane reason to play ball: for the money.
I spent years playing for the money. That money paid off my student loans. It paid for flights to see my family and the occasional balmy beach getaway over the winter break. It paid my rent for the months between when I was released from Liga ACB and when I finally landed a coaching job.
But even with all that, I still always got the most fulfillment, had the most fun, when I was volunteering running free basketball clinics over the last few summers.
To see the growth in the kids’ shooting or passing skills, sometimes even in their personal growth over the course of the training camp?
I shake my head.
The clinics may have started as a way to keep in shape over the summer hiatus, but I quickly realized giving back was helping me, too. I wasn’t just a pawn in some rich guy’s game of fantasy basketball; I was my own man, playing ball because I wanted to. Because it felt good.
And now here I am, trying to blend a game I love—even after all these years and all the heartache—with my newfound passion to help kids grow through basketball.
The longer I can keep Carter—or anyone else—from having to look at the game as a paycheck, the better.
We just have to break this pesky losing streak.
The team is silent except for a few grunts and grumbles as they pack up. Something’s gotta change. Confident there won’t be any more outbursts, I leave the locker room, walk two doors down the dim hallway, and rap on the doorjamb.
“Come in,” Coach Paulson’s rough voice answers a moment later. I take a seat in one of the worn leather chairs in front of his desk. Spiral notebooks, extra equipment in boxes, and half-empty coffee mugs litter almost every surface.
“What can I do for you, Park?”
I rub my clammy palms on my khakis, hoping he doesn’t notice.
I came to pitch my idea, an idea I’m almost certain will improve the team dynamic, but I’m suddenly at a loss.
Countless times I’ve sat where I’m sitting now, to get reamed about a bad play, to learn I’ve been traded to another team, and most recently, to be released from my contract.
This is the first time I’ve come in as a member of the staff, which means it’s probably the first time a coach might actually listen to me.
But will he, though? Looking around the league, and even at the college level, you’d be hard pressed to see a coach of Asian descent.
People think of coaches and they think of loud, physically imposing white men who dominate by shouting their team down and getting in the ref’s face every game.
While I got in plenty of trouble for doing exactly that on the court, most people still believe the stereotype that Asians are quiet and compliant. That they’re not fit to lead.
Something about Coach Paulson, however, makes me want to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He might be small in stature, and he couldn’t care less what people think of his clothes or appearance, but he commands respect, and students and adults alike look up to him.
And he hired me. I interviewed at over six schools, and he was the only head coach to give me a chance.
I have to believe he wouldn’t do that just to ignore me.
I clear my throat.
“That loss was brutal.”
“That it was,” he agrees.
“The team isn’t working together. They’re not communicating. They all want to make the shot on their own, to be the star. Especially Carter.”
Coach Paulson leans forward, steepling his hands.
“Carter is our best player. Would you have me bench him?”
I shake my head.
“He is the best player we have.” I pause, taking a breath to steel myself. “But he’s only one player. He can’t win alone, and right now, we’re treating everyone else like the only thing they can do is pass him the ball. I think it’s making them resentful, so they’re acting out.”
I can’t read Paulson’s expression. Shit.
“What would you have me do? Give our weakest player the ball when we’re already losing?”
“I think we need to change our mindset. Instead of assigning best and weakest players, we need to do some team-building exercises to show them everyone is important, even if they’re not making the game-winning shots.”
I hold my breath. Some head coaches don’t want ideas from their assistant coaches. They consider it a challenge to their expert strategy. But Coach Paulson asked, and as he leans back in his chair, the ghost of a smile hidden behind his substantial mustache, I think he listened.
“What do you have in mind?”
For the next hour, I outline my plan, including a team retreat, group tutoring sessions for anyone struggling academically, and a few updated plays that will incorporate more players while still allowing our stars to shine.
The whole time, Coach Paulson nods along, interjecting with his feedback as needed and informing me about any limitations that might get in the way.
In the end, we agree on a team movie night at the school featuring everyone’s favorite basketball flicks and a tutoring sign-up.
There’s no budget for a full retreat, not without sacrificing funding already earmarked for travel to games, but Coach Paulson gives me permission to run my new plays at the next few practices.
He stands and offers his hand. I clasp it firmly.
“You showed impressive initiative,” Coach remarks after retaking his seat. “The school already knows that I plan to retire in the next few years. It’s why we went through so many rounds to fill your role. Today, I’m even more confident we made the right choice.”
He stands again and gestures toward the door, while I try not to flush from his praise.
“Let’s make these meetings a regular thing. Every Thursday, we’ll connect, you’ll share your ideas, and I’ll help prepare you to take over.”
“I—uh,” I sputter, still shocked. “That would be amazing, sir.”
He pats me on the back on my way out the door.
“None of this sir stuff. Just keep doing what you’re doing. We’ll whip this team into shape together.”
Outside of Coach Paulson’s office, I’m in a daze. I went from worrying I might get fired for challenging him to gaining a mentor. Finding out I’m on track to take over as head coach! He didn’t give a set timeline, but it’s overwhelming just the same.
I pull out my phone, desperate to tell someone. To share this incredible news. Before I can message Adam or even Noah, I see several missed texts.
Kendra
Kendra: I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.
Kendra: I really enjoy spending time with you, even without the sex.
Kendra: Are you still open to being friends?
I let out a sigh. The woman I was falling for wants to be friends. Friends! After I was almost inside of her, held her while she slept, felt her body react to our kiss. And now we’re supposed to, what? Catch a Mets game together? Should I invite her over to play NBA 2K?
I rub my hands over my scalp in aggravation, wishing briefly that I kept my hair longer than a buzz cut.
I only offered friendship by default; it’s what you do when you want to end things, but are too chickenshit to say, “I can’t do this anymore.
Have a nice life.” Friends also leaves an opening for something more in the future, though it never occurred to me she’d take me up on it. She’s clearly still hung up on her ex.
But she’s right; hanging out together was cool.
Despite a few awkward moments, we always vibed, more so once she confronted me at Mom and Dad’s Fourth of July party.
She calls me on my shit the way my brothers usually do.
Used to anyway, before they got too wrapped up in their own relationships to notice.
I’m happy for them, but…maybe it’s time to admit the life I left behind isn’t the life I came home to.
Maybe it’s time to stop reacting and start being proactive, like I was with Coach.
I may not be able to keep my heart separate as “friends with benefits”, but just friends might be possible.
The past few weeks without talking to her have been tough.
My mind made up, I open a new text window.