Sooley(80)
“What’s your opinion?”
“I have a bias in favor of education. I’m very proud of my degree from Kent State because it’s the first in my family. If I had things my way, I’d like to see you go to medical school and become a doctor, then go home and build hospitals.”
“They would just burn ’em down. That’s ten more years of study, Ecko, then I’d make a good living, but not millions.”
“So you’re dreaming of millions?”
“That’s what the game pays now. Crazy money, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. I prefer education, Samuel, but let’s be honest. I did not have the option of playing in the NBA. My amazing talents were not appreciated. To the surprise of no one, I went undrafted. So, I became a coach.”
“And I’m so glad you did. What if we’d never met?”
“That’s too awful to think about.”
“I know. I read an article about myself last night. These days there are enough of them. Guy writes for ESPN, good writer, and he said that in the history of basketball no player has ever come so far in twelve months. Size, skill, maturity, mileage, all the yardsticks. Along with the tragedies. A year ago I stood six feet two and was playing on dirt courts in the African bush. Now I’m six feet eight and headed for the first round.”
“So, you enjoy reading about yourself?” Ecko was amused.
“Sometimes. I like to see what they get wrong. Some guys just make up facts, you know? And Murray scans the internet collecting stories.”
“As I say too often, Samuel, savor the moment.”
“It wouldn’t be wise to turn down the money, would it, Ecko?”
“No. You gotta do it, Samuel. Everybody says you’ll go in the first round. I certainly think so. You can’t turn down the money.”
“I know. The best way to help my family is to make the money and meet important people. That’s not going to happen here at Central.”
“I’m with you, Samuel.”
* * *
·?·?·
Lonnie closed and locked his office door. He sat behind his desk and stared at Ecko, who was smiling.
Finally, Lonnie said, “I don’t want to leave. I love these kids. I recruited them, made them promises, watched them grow up, had a helluva ride with them last month. How am I supposed to tell them I’m leaving?”
“Every coach has to do it, Lonnie. It’s just part of the business. It’ll be rough and everybody will have a good cry, then the new guy’ll come in and they’ll forget about you. That’s life.”
“I know, I know.”
“This is what you’ve dreamed of and worked for. You’ve earned it, Lonnie. It’s time for a big promotion.”
“Have I earned it? Sooley was a once-in-a-lifetime miracle. Take him away, and we were headed for a losing season. I didn’t develop the kid. He turned into some sort of freak who got hot and almost conquered the world. The rest of us were just along for the ride.”
“You’ve won twenty games a year for five straight years. In this business, that gets you a promotion and a nice raise.”
“A helluva raise. Ten times what I’m making now.”
“I rest my case. What about Agnes?”
“You kidding? She wants the money.”
“Then take it and stop whining.”
“Why can’t I take Sooley with me?”
“Because last night he got a call from Niollo, who told him he was old enough to play in the NBA. Said take the money and run. He’s running now.”
“Good for him.” They were quiet for a long time, and somber. Lonnie could not imagine calling a team meeting and saying goodbye. By now his players knew they would lose Sooley. Losing their coach would crush them.
He said, “Truthfully, Agnes is not crazy about moving to Milwaukee. She got enough snow when we were at Northern Iowa. The kids are happy in school here.”
“And they’ll be happy wherever you go. Don’t worry about the snow because the planet is warming, in case you haven’t heard. Come on, Lonnie, Marquette is big-time basketball and they’re offering you a fortune. You’re forty years old and you’re going places. How many times have we had this conversation?”
“I know.” Lonnie glanced at his watch.
Ecko did the same and said, “I want a nice lunch in some swanky place. It’s my turn to get the check but I’m broke and you’re wealthy now, so it’s on you.”
“Okay, okay.”
* * *
·?·?·
For at least the third time in a tense standoff, Murray reminded his father that he was twenty years old and capable of making his own decisions, and if he wanted to spend the weekend on South Beach with Samuel and others then he would certainly do so. He was old enough to vote, join the army, buy a car if he could only afford one, and sign other contracts, and, well, there. So be it.
They were in Ernie’s cramped office at the downtown food bank. Ernie thought the trip was a bad idea, as did Miss Ida. Both had said no and Murray was chafing under their efforts to supervise. He had chosen to confront his father because Ernie was the softer touch. A “No” from Ida had greater authority.