Sooley(40)

And if he didn’t have enough on his mind, add the drama of a kid whose father and sister had been murdered and the rest of the family was living in a refugee camp in Uganda. Plus, two former players had lawyers who were haggling with a prosecutor over the terms of a plea agreement.

He was wide awake at five and at 5:30 his wife kicked him out of bed so she could sleep another hour. He showered quietly, checked on the kids, and left in the dark for his favorite coffee shop near the campus. There, as he ate scrambled eggs and sipped black coffee, he scanned the Raleigh newspaper and noticed that the preseason collegiate rankings had been announced. Not surprisingly, Duke was the consensus number one pick, primarily because it was likely to start four eighteen-year-old freshmen who would be gone by next June. Like all coaches, Lonnie loathed the idea of freshmen entering the NBA draft, the infamous one-and-done game, but it was not something he worried about. It was rare that a player in the Mid-Eastern Athletic Conference was drafted after only one year. It had never happened at Central. Lonnie knew his freshmen were safe. And, like all coaches, he was openly envious of the remarkable talent that the one-and-done programs attracted.

Not surprisingly, Central was not in the top 25. It had never made the list—pre, during, or post season. According to the online buzz, the Eagles were expected to finish fourth in the MEAC, behind Delaware State, Florida A&M, and Norfolk State, but those predictions were proven wrong every season.

Two years earlier, they had won 23 games, took the conference tournament, and made it to March Madness before getting bounced in the first round. A year ago, they had won 20 games but didn’t qualify. Another 20-win season and Lonnie would be in a position to move to a bigger school.

He drove to The Nest and parked in his reserved space. The small lot was empty. It was 7:30. He unlocked the door that led to the locker room, flipped on some lights, and was headed to his office when he heard a bouncing ball. He made his way to the bleachers and peeked around a corner. Sooley was all alone at the far end, in the dim light, launching bombs from deep, and rarely hitting. His shirt was off and his dark skin was glistening with sweat. After each shot, he ran for the rebound, dribbled this way and that way, took it behind the back, between the legs, then squared up and shot again. The leap was always extraordinary, even if the ball kept bouncing off the rim.

The most impressive image at the moment was the kid in the gym at 7:30, and he had been there for a while.

One of the problems with his game, and perhaps his biggest one, was where to play? He was not going to be a guard and not ready to play forward. Lonnie had already decided to delay those worries and watch the kid develop. He would sit the upcoming season as a redshirt.

He watched him for a long time and tried to imagine the fear and confusion in his world. On the court, he was all smiles and energy, even when he was screwing up. Off the court, though, he often gazed away, his smile gone, his thoughts drifting to another continent. Lonnie had coached plenty of players from broken homes and rough neighborhoods, but none with problems as complicated as Samuel Sooleymon’s.

He eased onto the court and said, “Good morning, Sooley.” The nickname had become permanent. Samuel resisted at first, at least with his team, but he soon realized that nicknames were common in the U.S., and usually endearing.

He was surprised and dribbled over to mid-court. “Hey Coach.”

“Getting an early start.”

“I’m here every morning, Coach.”

“How many shots so far?”

“One forty-two. Just got started.”

“How many have you made?”

“Forty-nine.”

Lonnie rattled the numbers for a second and said, “That’s about thirty-five percent. And there’s no one guarding you. Not too impressive.”

Samuel shrugged and said, “Well, that’s why I’m here, Coach.”

Lonnie smiled at the perfect answer. “I guess so. Look, Coach Grinnell got a call yesterday from an assistant dean who said you’re missing classes. What’s going on?”

His shoulders sagged as he glanced around and looked thoroughly guilty. “I don’t know, Coach. No excuses.”

“I know you have a lot on your mind. I can’t imagine, and you know we’re concerned about you and your family.”

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

“But, you’re here on a full scholarship, Sooley. Do you know what this means?”

“I think so.”

“It means that someone else is paying for your college education. It means that the taxpayers of North Carolina are on the hook. The janitors who work here. The bus drivers. Your professors. Murray’s parents. Me. The other coaches. All of us are paying taxes, and some of that money trickles down to Central. It allows you to study here for free and to earn a degree. The least you can do is go to class and make the grades.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“From now on, Coach Grinnell will check every day. When you miss, I’ll know it.”

“I won’t miss anymore, Coach.”

Lonnie clapped his hands and Samuel bounced the ball to him. “Top of the key.” Lonnie got in the lane and began rebounding as Sooley shot from 20 feet. After a few misses, Lonnie said, “Slow it down. You’re working too fast. Concentrate on making each shot perfect.” A moment later, “Square up, shoulders at the basket.” A moment later, “Keep the elbow in. Visualize each shot. Watch the ball go in before you shoot.”