With one question answered, Frank moved ahead to the others.
Three weeks into his first quarter, Frank walked across campus to the athletic center and knocked on the basketball coach’s door.
“Come in,” the coach said.
Frank stepped inside and sat across the desk from the coach, a big white man with curly blond hair. He was maybe Frank’s age or a little older.
“How can I help you?” the coach asked.
“I want to play on your basketball team.”
The coach smiled and leaned toward Frank. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Forty-one,” Frank said.
“Do you have any athletic eligibility left?”
“This is my first time in college. So that means I have all my eligibility, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought so. I looked it up.”
“I bet you did. Not a whole lot of forty-one-year-old guys are curious about their athletic eligibility.”
“How old are you?” Frank asked.
“Forty-three. But my eligibility is all used up.”
“I know, you played college ball at the University of Washington. And high school ball at Roosevelt.”
“Did you look that up, too?”
“No, I remember you. I played against you in high school. And I was supposed to play with you at UW.”
The coach studied Frank’s face for a while, and then he remembered. “Snake Church,” he said.
“Yes,” Frank said, feeling honored.
“You were good. No, you were great. What happened to you?”
“That doesn’t matter. My history isn’t important. I’m here now, and I want to play ball for you.”
“You don’t look much like a ballplayer anymore.”
“I’ve gained a lot of weight in the last year. I’ve been in residential treatment for some mental problems.”
“You don’t have to tell me this.”
“No, I need to be honest. I need to tell you these things. Before I got sick, I was in the best shape of my life. I can get there again.”
The coach stood. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
He led Frank out of the office and to the balcony overlooking the basketball court. The community-college team ran an informal scrimmage. Ten young and powerful black men ran the court with grace and poetry. It was beautiful. Frank wanted to be a part of it.
“Hey!” the coach yelled down to his players. “Run a dunk drill!”
Laughing and joking, the black men formed two lines and ran the drill. All of them could easily dunk two-handed, including the five-foot-five point guard.
“That’s pretty good, right?” the coach asked.
“Yes,” Frank said.
“All right!” the coach yelled down to his players. “Now run the real dunk drill!”
Serious now, all of the young men ripped off reverse dunks, 360-degree dunks, alley-oops, bounce-off-the-floor-and-off-the-backboard dunks, and one big guy dunked two balls at the same time.
“I’ve built myself a great program here,” the coach said. “I’ve had forty players go Division One in the last ten years. All ten guys down there have Division One talent. It’s the best team I’ve ever had.”
“They look great,” Frank said.
“Do you really think you can compete with them? Twenty years ago, maybe. But now? I’m happy you’re here, Frank, I’m proud of you for coming back to college, but I think you’re dreaming about basketball.”
“Let me down there,” Frank said. “And I’ll show you something.”
The coach thought it over. What did he have to lose? If basketball was truly a religion, as he believed, then he needed to practice charity in order to be a truly spiritual man.
“All right,” the coach said. “Let’s see how much gas you have left in the tank.”
Frank and the coach walked down to the court and greeted the players.
“Okay, men,” the coach said. “I’ve got a special guest today.”
“Hey, Coach, is that your chiropractor?” the big guy asked.
They laughed.
“No, this is Frank Snake Church. He’s going to run a little bit with you guys.”
Wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt, and white basketball shoes, Frank looked like a coffee-shop waiter.
“Hey, Coach, is he going to run in his street clothes?”
“He can talk,” Coach said. “Ask him.”
“Yo, old-timer,” said the point guard. “Is this one of those Make-A-Wish things? Are we your dying request?”
They laughed.
“Yes,” Frank said.
They stopped laughing.
“Shit, man,” the point guard said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean no harm. What you got, the cancer?”
“No, I’m not dying. It’s for my father and mother. They’re dead, and I’m trying to remember them.”
Uncomfortable, the players shuffled their feet and looked to their coach for guidance.
“Frank, are you okay?” asked the coach, wishing he hadn’t let this nostalgic stunt go so far.
“I want to be honest with all of you,” Frank said. “I’m a little crazy. Basketball has made me a little crazy. And that’s probably a little scary to you guys. I know you all grew up with tons of crazy, and you’re playing ball to get away from it. But I don’t mean to harm anybody. I’m a good man, I think, and I want to be a better man. The thing is, I don’t think I was a good son when my mother and father were alive, so I want to be a good son now that they’re dead. I think I can do that by playing ball with you guys. By playing on this team.”
“You think you’re good enough to make the team?” the point guard asked. He tried to hide his smile.
Frank smiled and laughed. “Hey, I know I’m a fat old man, but that just means your feelings are going to be really hurt when a fat old man kicks your ass.”
The players and Coach laughed.
“Old man,” the point guard said. “I didn’t know they trash-talked in your day. Man, what did they do it with? Cave paintings?”
“Just give me the ball and we’ll run,” Frank said.
The point guard tossed the ball to Frank.
“Check it in,” Frank said and tossed it back.
“All right,” said the point guard. “I’ll take the bench, and you can have the other starters. Make it fair that way.”
“One of you has to sit.”
“I’ll sit,” the big guy said and stood with his coach.
“We got our teams,” the point guard said and tossed the ball back to Frank. “Check.”
Frank dribbled the ball to the top of the key, turned, and discovered the point guard five feet away from him.
“Are you going to guard me?” Frank asked.
“Do I need to guard you?” the point guard asked.
“I don’t want no charity,” Frank said.
“I’ll guard you when you prove I need to guard you.”
“All right, guard this,” Frank said and shot a jumper that missed the rim and backboard by three feet.
“Man oh man, I don’t need to guard you,” the point guard said. “Gravity is going to take care of you.”
The point guard took the inbound pass and dribbled downcourt. Frank tried to stay in front of the little guard, but he was too quick. He burned past Frank, tossed a lazy pass to a forward, and pointed at Frank when the forward dunked the ball.
“Were you guarding me?” he asked Frank. “I just want to be sure you know you’re guarding me. I’m your man. Do you understand that? Do you understand the basic principles of defense?”
Frank didn’t respond. Twice up and down the court, he was already breathing hard and needed to conserve his energy.
Frank set a back pick for his center, intending to free him for a shot, but Frank was knocked over instead and hit the ground hard. By the time Frank got to his feet, the point guard had stolen the ball and raced down the court for an easy layup.
“Hey, Coach,” the point guard shouted as he ran by Frank. “It’s only four on five out here. We need another player. Oh, wait! There is another player out here. I just didn’t see him until right now.”