Chapter 41: Uptown Girl

Music Room, Medway High School
1:35 pm, Friday, March 9, 1979

“Mr. Nevins, Ms. Robertson and Ms. Labatt, do you three have any ‘new’ songs prepared, as per our agreement?” Mr. Ballows asked after everyone had gotten their instruments and taken their seats.

Because the three of us were spread out in the large music room, I looked down at Sammy, who was sitting in the clarinet section, and then to Lynette, who was one row higher but across the room from Sammy with her flute. Both girls motioned for me to say something to Mr. Ballows, so I replied, “We’ve written several new songs since that time, Sir. If we had of known you wanted to hear a few of them, we would have brought our instruments to school, as we’re keeping them at Sammy’s house.”

“Can you provide me, the class, with the names of a few of these songs?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, “I don’t see the harm in sharing them with everyone. Let’s see, Sammy and Jennifer wrote two songs, called...” and I paused hoping Sammy would jump in with her song titles.

“The first one is called, Love Will Keep Us Alive, which is a soft rock ballet,” Sammy chimed in right on cue. She turned back towards me and said, “Mike and Paul really put the music to the second song, which Jennifer and I wrote together. It’s a hard edged, rock song called, I Hate Myself for Loving You.”

“Good, Samantha. Did YOU work on anything, Lynette?” Mr. Ballows asked as he attempted to goad my girlfriend into a verbal skirmish, which he was prone to do. I simply watched as Lynette sat up a little straighter in her chair and gently set her flute across her blue jean skirt.

“As a matter of fact I do have a couple of songs to share with you,” Lynette calmly replied to our music teacher. “If you’d like, I can move over to the piano and play one of them for you now?”

Lynette’s demeanor and response to Mr. Ballow’s intended put-down caused me to chuckle as I surveyed the scene from my back row seat in the trombone section. When my girlfriend looked back up to me, she made a simple head toss motion, which I interpreted as, ‘Come over here and sing‘. I pointed a finger at my chest, and her quickly mouthed, ‘Yes, come on,’ definitely made her intentions perfectly clear.

When Mr. Ballows saw me stand up from my seat, he said, “I take it you two, or three...” and he nodded to Samantha, “ ... are going to do something for us.”

“If you’d like?” Lynette replied as she set her flute down beside her chair.

“I’m always up for a short musical treat. What is this song you’ll be playing?”

Lynette turned to look at me after Mr. Ballows question, and I simply passed the buck back to her for this song choice. Even though she gave me a non-threatening ‘evil-eye’, she turned towards our teacher and said, “I’m going to play and Mike will sing a song we wrote called, Uptown Girl. Because we don’t have the other instruments, it might not...”

(Note: Uptown Girl is a Billy Joel song from 1983, which he originally wrote for his then girlfriend, supermodel Elle McPherson. Joel later modified some of the lyrics to focus on his new bride, equally super Christie Brinkley.)

“I’m sure you will do a fine with just your piano and Mr. Nevins’ vocals. Are you joining them, Samantha?” Mr. Ballows asked the other member of our band in our music class.

“Uh, no, Sir,” Sam replied as she turned to watch Lynette and me walk towards the baby grand. “Lynette and Paul have backed up Mike’s vocals on this song.”

“Very well,” the Little-Man said as he took a seat on his elevated conductor’s chair. I could feel his beady-little eyes on me as I walked down a couple of rows to the piano’s location. After I moved beside Lynette’s piano bench, Mr. Ballows called out, “What key did you use to write this song, Lynette?”

“It’s written in E-Major. I’ll bring you a copy of the sheet music on Monday, if you’d like.”

“No, no. I was just curious as to the key. Whenever you, two are ready.”

My girlfriend smiled up at me from her piano bench and then began to play the opening musical measures to Uptown Girl. I think I surprised her by adding the, ‘Oh-ohs‘, which opened this particular Billy Joel song, but hadn’t sang them in our earlier practice sessions.

As I began to sing the lyrics, her previously confused expression changed to a, “That’s what I’m talking about“ look. I think Mr. Ballows was taken by surprise at how strong my voice had become since he first heard me sing on February 14^th.

I earned another surprising look from both Lynette and Samantha as I ‘echoed’ the ending words of the second and fourth line of the chorus:

“And when she knows what
she wants from her ‘ti-i-ime’.
And when she wakes up
and makes up her ‘mi-i-ind’.“

When she heard me add those, ‘Oh-ohs‘ and the echoed words later on in our impromptu performance, Lynette simply shook her head in amazement as the richness of the song popped out. As we finished playing and singing Uptown Girl, we saw Mr. Ballows rocking from side to side and tapping his leg with his conductor’s baton.

“Dang, Lynette, Mike!” Sammy called out as Lynette stood up beside me and gave me a big hug. Sam then said, “Even though you two were missing Paul’s deep backing vocals, and our other instruments ... that was your best performance of that song!”

“Ms. Robertson,” Mr. Ballows called out after my girlfriend eased off on her hug. “You had a surprised look on your face a time or two as Mike sang that snappy little tune. Can I ask what that was all about?”

“Well, uh, it’s just that I ... that Mike added a few vocal fillers to the song, which I, we hadn’t practiced doing.”

“It was my fault, Sir,” I said as I felt like our teacher was interrogating the wrong person, even though there really wasn’t anything for him to grill either of us for. “I just wanted to give that song a little more ‘60s flavor, so I added the ‘Oh-oh-oh-ohs‘ and the stylized ‘time’, ‘mind’, ‘fine‘ and ‘mine‘ echoes. I probably shouldn’t have done that to her song, but it just felt ... right.”

“Okay ... and what was your take on Mr. Nevins’ vocal adaptations, Lynette?”

“Sir, if I may,” Samantha fired off before Lynette started her reply.

After Mr. Ballows looked up at us and saw Lynette slowly wave her hand down towards our Time Bandit bandmate, he turned to Samantha and gave one quick nod of permission. While this was going on, I pulled Lynette in tight to my side and gave her a quick peck on her left cheek.

“When we rehearsed this song at my house, everyone in our band, including them, felt like something was missing ... it just lacked a ... it lacked the character, which Lynette’s lyrics were trying to convey. But, as I listened to Mike’s novel vocalizations ... I could actually hear some old school performer like Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons singing, now.”

“Be careful, now,” Mr. Ballows chuckled and smiled towards Sammy. “I grew up listening to Frankie Valli, so ‘watch-it’, young lady with your OLD school comments.”

“Mr. B!” I called as the class relaxed some at hearing our teacher’s attempt at humor. When he smiled up at me, I added, “You’ve got to remember that anyone older than say, twenty, or anything from five-ish years in the past, fits into our ‘old school’ or just plain ‘old’ category.”

Our Friday tenth grade music class was effectively ended with that comment because everyone, including Mr. Ballows, burst out laughing at my accurate description of our teenaged views. After forty-five seconds of relative foolishness, Mr. Ballows clapped his hands to regain our lost attention.

“Mike, Mike, Mike,” he called out as my classmates slowly settled back down from their rambunctiousness. “If we can at least attempt to salvage a few moments of musical discourse, can you explain why you added those 1960s’ vocalizations to your song? Oh, by the way, Lynette, I thought you did a great job with the lyrics.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Lynette replied as she gave me a not so subtle hip-bump before she sat back down on the piano bench.

“Well, Sir,” I began and took a breath to buy a moment to organize my thoughts. “If Lynette’s the Uptown Girl in the song, I can easily picture her as a ‘Sandy’ type girl from ‘Grease’.” That earned me a few ‘ohs’ and ‘yeahs’, and a harsh piano sound as Lynette hit the C-E-G keys from the second octave below ‘middle-C’ with her left hand.

I peeked down at Lynette and she perfectly timed a hair-toss, which sent her long, blonde locks up into my grinning face.

“See, she just made my point!” I exclaimed and put my right hand on her left shoulder. “Anyhow, with Lynette here as my ‘Sandy’, I obviously had to create a ‘Danny Zuko’, the ‘backstreet guy’. If I’m not mistaken, ‘Grease’ was set sometime in the late ‘50s or early ‘60s, so I figured I would try to create that atmosphere in her song by adding the ‘60s type ‘oh-oh-ohs’ and the word-plays.”

“And I think you did a great job of it, Danny, Cuda, Zuko!” Heidi exclaimed from her seat beside Samantha.

“How many of you HONESTLY heard or picked up on the 60s flavor when Mike sang that song? Be honest, now,” Mr. Ballows asked my tenth grade music classmates. He then added, “Notice that my arm is being lower to my side ... because I regrettably didn’t recognize that clever nuance until Mike explained it to us.”

I wasn’t surprised to see only two of my thirty-three classmates with their hands held in the air. I wasn’t really surprised to see Sam’s hand elevated as she has regularly displayed a keen musical sense. In addition, she definitely has had more varied cultural experiences to draw upon than the typical Medway student.

When Lynette gave me a shot in my side and nodded to the back row, I was definitely surprised to see one of our two tuba players, Jason Duffy, with his hand held high. Jason was a shy, slightly overweight student, who rarely shared or volunteered any type of personal nuggets in our classes.

I saw the disbelieving look on Mr. Ballows face as he peered up towards Jason. I quickly decided to ‘cut’ Mr. Ballows’ anticipated ‘biting’ comment off at the pass, and quickly directed my words to our soft-spoken tuba player. “Jason, what in my vocals tipped you off about the ‘60s song direction?”

Jason slowly repositioned his large tuba, so he could easily see everyone in the music room before he said, “It was relatively straight forward, if you’re familiar with the music from that era. I just happen to love the songs and sounds of that time period. My mom always had Frankie Valli, Elvis, Ritchie Valens or Jerry Lee Lewis playing in our house when I was young. Heck, I didn’t have to hear Samantha mention Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons to figure out, who you were trying to sound-like.”

“I’m impressed, Mr. Duffy,” our music teacher genuinely said after hearing his explanation on how he picked up on the true intent of my vocalizations.

“Yeah, Jason!” Sam called up to the suddenly blushing tuba player. “I basically offered up Frankie Valli’s name earlier because he was the only guy I could recall from that era of music. You identified it right from the start. Bravo!”

“You were spot on with it, Jason. Well done!” Lynette said as she gave Jason one of her best smiles and a small hand clap.

“All righty, class,” Mr. Ballows said in hopes of gaining our attention one last time. “Remember to sign up for your instrument performance test. There is a sign-up sheet on my door. You MUST, MUST, MUST have it done by next Friday! You can either sign-up for a time slot during this class period, or if you can sign up for a spot during your lunch period or spare period, if you have one. Please include your musical piece and which ‘seat’ you are testing for when you sign-up. Lastly, make sure you know and can fire off the eight ‘normal’ scales and our two ‘triplet’ scales.”

“Mr. B,” Joanne Gramm called as the rest of my classmates began to put their instruments in their cases or pack up their sheet music.

“Yes, Joanne.”

“Do you have another copy of ‘Chicago’s Medley‘?” she asked. “Someone stole my gym bag from the girls’ locker room today, and my copy was in it, along with my new pair of volleyball shoes and a few ‘personal’ items.”

“Let’s see ... I think there is another copy of your clarinet music in the...” Mr. Ballows seemed surprisingly cheerful as he turned to look through the music ‘cubbies’. “ ... in this storage slot. Here you go, Ms. Gramm,” as he turned and handed the medley of Chicago songs which our orchestral band was rehearsing.

“Thanks, Mr. B,” Joanne said as she slipped the bundle of music into her music binder. Joanne then did a three-hundred and sixty degree spin, before she asked, “Are you coming to the championship game, tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the Little-Man replied with his squinty eyed grin. He then looked up and saw Andrew and me put our trombone cases into the storage racks for the weekend. “Oh, Andrew ... I’m so sorry to hear about your brothers. I didn’t want to believe ‘Stretch’ (Mr. Feelt’s nickname), when he told me about that accident. Do you have any word on Kollin’s leg?”

“Ah, thanks for the words, Mr. Ballows,” Andrew softly replied as we looked down towards our music teacher. “My mom told me and Joel that, uh, they were going to amputate Koll’s leg sometime this morning. Matthew, I think they’re casting his arm this morning, too. I really wanted to be there for them, Kollin especially, but ... my mom, she kinda made me and my younger brother come to school, today.” Andrew then surprised me, Lynette, Joanne, Sam and Mr. Ballows when he said, “Uh, I’m sorry if I appeared out of it during class.”

“Andrew, you had nothing to apologize for,” Mr. Ballows caringly replied to my still sullen friend. “Even if you were supposed to ‘test-out’ today, I would never have made you do that with your family situation.”

Lynette peered between me and her two girlfriends as we listened to Mr. Ballows statement. All of us saw a new, tender-hearted side, which we hadn’t seen from him before. As I reached up to grab Andrew by the neck, Mr. Ballows asked him, “Are you going to the game ... playing, tonight?”

“I think so,” Andrew replied with the first hint of a smile I had seen from him, today. “My dad informed me that Matthew told him that I most definitely should play because our team needed me. I’m going to go talk with Coach Williamson now, and see what he thinks about me playing. I’m just not sure my mind is really into basketball, right now.”

“For what it’s worth, Andrew,” Mr. Ballows calmly said as us five students listened by the music room door. “When my dad died, my mom strongly suggested that I finish up my Teacher Certification testing requirements. She said that music was my main stress relief mechanism. So, even though I didn’t want to play my trumpet in front of five evaluators, I did ... and during that short twenty minute session, I experienced the first true peace ... I had felt in two months ... the time it took for my dad to succumb to pancreatic cancer.”

“Jeezes, Mr. Ballows,” Samantha said, “I’m ... we’re all sorry to hear that about your dad.”

“So, uh, you think I should play, tonight?” Andrew asked.

“If basketball can take your mind off your brothers’ situation for two hours, then I believe you should play. If you’re not able to separate your thoughts, though, it would be best for your teammates to sit this one out. That’s my two cents’ take on your unfortunate situation. Just know, everyone here at school will support you, in whatever decision you make.”

“Mr. B nailed that, spot on, Andrew,” I said as I pulled my taller friend in for a hug. “I sure would love to see you out on the court with me, tonight, but we’ll understand if you’re not up for it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Ballows, Mike. You’re words have helped more than you probably realize.”

“Come on, dude. I’ll walk with you down to TR’s office,” I said as we followed Lynette, Sam and Joanne out into the busy, between periods, hall way.

Alumni Hall, UWO

7:38pm, Friday, March 9, 1979

“Alright, gentlemen,” Coach Williamson said at halftime of our Middlesex County Conference basketball finals, in the corridor outside the main gymnasium at Western’s Alumni Hall. “I’m damn proud of the way you’ve played in the first half. It took a couple of minutes for us to get our minds off the crappy hand we’ve been dealt, but you started to resemble the team that wore their butts out a couple weeks ago. Because it’s now or never, we’re going to hit them with our man pressure to start with, and we’ll go with it for as long as we’ve got gas our the tanks. Remember; let me know when you’re tired because stupid things happen with tired players.”

As Coach Williamson was finishing up his halftime talk, I caught a glimpse of two very tall men walking around the dimly lit front foyer corner. It didn’t take me, or Andrew, very much time to recognize who these men were because my taller teammate shouted, “Matthew! Dad!” as he jumped up, and ran to his oldest brother and his dad.

Matthew had his ‘casted’ right arm in a sling, and I noticed that he was walking gingerly with his father providing him some support. Andrew gently hugged his brother, our grade thirteen captain and then skipped out of his brother’s way as Dr. Werring and Matthew finished the short journey to our team’s huddle.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Coach,” Dr. Werring said with a smile, “but my eldest boy, here kept on whining like a spoiled brat about wanting to see some ‘silly’ basketball game. Can you fathom that?”

“Seeing how it is THIS whiny brat ... yes I can,” Coach Williamson chuckled in response. “How are you doing, Matthew?”

“I’ve been better, Coach ... but I can’t complain too much about this ... seeing...” Matthew slowly lifted his casted arm from the sling material and then became a little choked up at the thought of his much more seriously hurt brother, Kollin.

“We understand, Matthew,” Coach Feelt said as we all got up from our relaxed position and moved to give Matthew a hug or pat on the back. This was the first time, most of us had seen of him since his and Kollin’s motorcycle accident.

After we moved back from him to give him his space, Matthew looked at Coach Williamson and asked, “May I say something, Coach?”

“You’re the captain, Matthew. It’s your team.”

Matthew nodded his acknowledgement to Coach W’s statement and then turned to his father and non-verbally communicated that his dad should let go of his left arm, as he wanted to convey strength to us with both his words and body language.

“Okay, guys,” Matthew began, “you’re only down by five points... 33-28, which is nothing. I know you’re probably not one-hundred percent focused on the game, but you can’t, can’t, CAN’T change a single thing that has happened to Kollin, me, Andy, Dennis or Jimmy ... so don’t waste another ounce of your brain power worrying or fretting over us. The five of us, we maybe hobbled up but we’re still a part of this team, and we’re depending on you to win Medway’s first senior basketball championship in ... what eight years, Coach?”

Coach Williamson quickly nodded his head affirmatively at Matthew’s factual question.

“Because I’m a part of this team, I whined and begged as my dad said earlier, for him to bring me over here from the hospital because I really want to lift that championship trophy after WE defeat Strathroy. I want to lift that trophy ... not just for me, but for Kollin and Jimmy, who aren’t able to make it out for this game. So ... please forget about Kollin’s leg ... and Jimmy’s back, and my arm for sixteen game-time minutes ... And play like you’re capable of playing ... AND allow me to lift that trophy for ALL of us!”

“Damn straight! Matthew!” Kane shouted and that roused all of us from our focused attention on Matthew’s halftime speech. Dr. Werring smartly reconnected with Matthew’s left arm as we all crowded around our injured captain to give him another show of support.

“Hey, Coach!” one of the referees shouted from the doorway into the main gymnasium. “You’ve got three minutes ‘till the tip.”

“Thanks, Walt,” Coach Williamson replied with a wave. He then turned to us and said, “I’m only going to say one thing to you, and then get in there and try to get your legs warm.” He made sure he had our undivided attention before he pointed at Matthew and said, “Forget for ‘Sixteen’” and then he pointed towards the gym and added, “And we’ll WIN by one ... or more!”

“Let’s go! Guys!” Matt Connell shouted as he and Kane led us back into the main gym at Alumni Hall.

Strathroy won the tipoff to the second half, so I waited for their point guard, Johnny Stryboshe to bring the ball across half-court before I picked him up. This was the first time we had used our man-to-man press package against the Saints, so he hesitated and backed up slightly when he saw me jump up on him. Unfortunately for him, but fortunate for us, that backup movement caused him to step on the half-court line, and the referee immediately blew his whistle and called for an ‘over-and-back’ violation.

That immediately gave our fans plenty of ammunition to explode in cheers. When Big-Mike ran towards the Saints’ end of the court, he gave Johnny Stryboshe a subtle dig when he said, “That just the start, John-nyyyy.”

I just shook my head at that gamesmanship, as I waited for Jon Lunby to inbound the ball to me. With the Saints in their normal 2-3 zone, we moved the ball around the outside with a few passes until I received it at the top of the key-circle. I faked a pass over to Jon, and saw Gary Dander step in front the Saints’ central defender and fired the ball down to him. Gary made a sweet pump-fake and drop step maneuver on the Saints’ center, and made a short left-handed baby hook to make it a three point game at the start of the third quarter.

We traded baskets and defensive stops for the remainder of the third quarter, which ended with the Saints holding a two point advantage, 45-43. The only troublesome issue for our team in the game was that our one remaining true ‘big-man’, Gary Dander, was now saddled with four personal fouls. With Matthew and Dennis out with injuries that was Coach Williamson’s chief concern, ‘keeping Gary from getting his fifth foul.’

After Jon, Matt, Big-Mike and I had taken a two minute breather near the end of the third quarter; Coach Williamson decided to put us back into the game at the start of the final quarter. Andrew joined us on the court as he was taking his older brother’s defensive role in our man-pressure defense. Coach reminded Matt to help Andrew out with the Saints’ big man, Murray VanDenGeel, who had taken a more prominent role in the Saints’ attack.

Because Andrew wasn’t a high-flyer, he suggested that I move in to take the center jump against Murray to start the fourth quarter. When we both looked at Coach Williamson, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Go for it.”

Murray and I shared a fist bump prior to the jump ball and we wished each other good luck before the ref get set for the toss. I think I caught Murray by surprise, both from the speed of my leap and with the height I was able to generate, and I easily got my hand on the ball first to direct it over to Matt. Upon landing, I moved back towards our goal and took Matt’s pass to get our opening possession of the fourth quarter under way.

Because I had focused on getting my teammates open looks against the Saints’ 2-3 zone, Coach Williamson told me to start looking for my own shot these first couple of possessions. When I received the ball at the top of the key, I noticed both of their guards were sagging down to take away my entry passes. After I faked a pass off to the wing, I took one dribble into the space near the foul line and elevated for an open sixteen footer.

Similar to our game against them two weeks ago, Johnny Stryboshe flew out at me as he attempted to block my jump-shot. Once more, he gave me a good shot to my stomach as I landed. When the crowd erupted, I knew I nailed that jumper to tie the game. Jon and Big-Mike rushed over to help me up from the court as the ref moved to the scorer’s table and called out, “Foul, Blue ‘3’, on the shot. ‘20’ White, has one free-throw.”

“Go get ‘em, Cuda!” Lynette’s unique scream rose above the crowd noise as I remained bent over, trying to catch my breath.

“You okay, Little?” Big-Mike asked as I took a moment to stretch up to the ceiling, trying to get my chest cavity to expand out.

“No probs, Mike. He actually nailed me harder than that last game, remember?” I replied with a smile.

“Okay, let’s finish them off like last game, too,” Big replied as he walked to his position along the free-throw lane.

“Hold your positions, guys,” the ref called as he stepped up beside me at the free-throw line. “One shot, play it out of his hands.”

After I did my pre-shot routine, I positioned my hands on the ball, locked my eyes on the front of the rim and released the ball on a smooth arc. That swooshed free-throw gave us a one point lead with just thirty-five seconds gone in the fourth quarter.

Neither team led by more than three points the rest of the ball game. Coach Williamson gave Jon, Big-Mike and me a couple minutes of rest with four-thirty remaining in the game with us up by two points. The three of us, plus Gary Dander, reentered the game with the score tied at 57, and with two-forty-one left on the clock. Kane remained in the game in order for us to have four solid ball handlers and free-throw shooters on the floor.

As Jon inbounded the ball to me in front of our bench, Coach Williamson surprisingly instructed me to setup in our F-C offense (Four Corners) to either draw the bigger, but less athletic Saints out of their 2-3 zone or to hold the ball for the last shot of the game. Not surprisingly, Coach McPherson of the Saints had his team wait in their packed zone, as Kane and I tossed the ball between us near the half-court line for a minute and a half.

With the crowd going nuts, the Saints’ coach motioned for his team to matchup with us as the game clock hit one-fifteen. As Stryboshe slowly approached me, Kane flipped me the ball and moved over to the top left wing position to let me go one-on-one with the Saints’ senior point guard.

With the ball in triple-threat position, I waited until my defender moved close enough for the ref to begin his ‘five-second’ count action. I made a slight jab step to the right but noticed Stryboshe didn’t bite on it. Obviously, they learned that I liked to fake right and go left, so I this time I flat out blew past him on the right and had an open path down the center of the court.

As I crossed the free-throw line and picked up my dribble to start my final move to the goal, I saw that Big-Murray was quickly moving to shut that lane down. I prayed that Gary would step into his vacated space for a simple dump-off pass, which he did beautifully. After I knew Murray was fully committed to stopping me, I dropped the ball off to Gary, who made an easy lay-up for a two point lead. Or so we all thought.

The referee under the basket blew his whistle, put his hand behind his head, and called out, “Charging, ‘20’ White, no basket!” I had barely bumped into Big Murray after releasing my pass, but the big fellow did a good acting job and stumbled backwards like I had steamrolled him. That was my third personal foul of the game, which wasn’t a big deal, other than it took two highly valued points off the scoreboard.

Coach Williamson and our fans couldn’t believe the ref would such a ‘ticky-tacky’ foul call like that at such a critical moment in the game. I just shook my head in surprise as I listened as Coach said, “Damn it Walter! Guys on both teams have been mugged out there the whole game, and you called charging on THAT miniscule bump? With a minute left? ... Unbelievable!”

Coach then used one of his three remaining timeouts to discuss our strategy for the final minute and six seconds. He wanted maximum pressure on the ball but cautioned us not to foul Adrian or Al Campbell, or Stryboshe, who were the Saints’ top free throw shooters. He told us he doubted the Saints would try to hold the ball for the last shot against our man pressure, so we really needed to box them out on their shot attempt.

He reminded us before we left the huddle that once we got the ball ... either after a Saints’ made or a missed shot, or on a turnover, to call an immediate timeout. He wanted a chance to setup our final offensive strategy to either tie or win the game.

After Big Murray inbounded the ball to Stryboshe, I picked him up near their free throw line and forced him to change directions three times before he crossed half-court. I nearly stole the ball from him on his final left to right crossover dribble move, but I mistimed my arm action by a moose-hair, which allowed Stryboshe to get his team into their offensive set piece.

Big Murray set a high pick for Adrian Campbell, their best player, who drove his man into Murray. Gary Dander did a great job cutting off Campbell’s path to the basket; much like Murray did to me just moment earlier. However, the referee, who called me for charging, saw it differently and whistled Gary for a blocking foul, his fifth of the game.