Chapter 41: Tournament Time

My teammates and I sat in the stands and watched Maryland struggle against East Tennessee State. I really wanted them to play better, both for my friend Eric's sake and, to be a little selfish, because I wanted them to give us a tougher game before we moved on. We needed a challenge before we got too much further into the NCAA tournament so we didn't get too complacent, but I had the feeling we wouldn't be getting it from Maryland. It was all they could do to hold on to a 2- 1 lead during East Tennessee State's frantic push in the last five minutes to force a tie. In the end, Maryland did win it, but they were drained. They had two days to recover, and then they had to take the field against Florida. It wasn't enough time. I knew it, and so did Eric. We talked about it later that day, when Spencer and I met up with Trent and Eric at a local ice cream shop.

"You look wiped," said Trent to Eric.

"Man, half my energy is spent trying to get my teammates to adopt the Porter System," grumbled Eric. "They just ain't smart enough to see the benefit."

"Have they looked at the national ratings lately?" asked Spencer.

"Shit, they know Cropper puts together some of the best teams in the country, year after year. They got no clue beyond that."

"You still got trouble with your upperclassmen playing keep-away, too," I said.

"Yeah, but it's better than it was last year," agreed Eric. "The juniors remember what it was like to be locked out of a game, and most of 'em haven't bought in to what the seniors want to do. Next year, when we're the upperclass, things'll change even more."

I couldn't help but smile. "Eric, my friend, maybe the boys and I can help you out a little."

His eyes narrowed. "I get nervous when I see that look on your face. What you planning?"

"Just a little 'Come-to-Jesus' meeting for the Terps," I said.

When we got back to our hotel, I knocked on Eddie Whitehead's door. He looked like he just got up from a nap. His hair was disheveled, and he had on a yellowed knit sleeveless t-shirt and boxer shorts. It was all I could do to keep from chuckling.

"Eddie, you have any videos of Maryland here?"

"Of course. You want Vanderbilt, too?"

"You really think Vandy will get past Auburn?"

He smiled and unconsciously rubbed the top of his head. "Nope," he said.

"We'll look at the Auburn tape later. I'm on a mission right now."

He rummaged in a big black case and came up with the cassette of Maryland he had brought. He had edited down various games into one tape for each of our possible opponents through the sectionals, and had brought them all with him to study further.

"Pick will want the team to take a look at this tomorrow," Eddie reminded me. "Don't go erasing it."

"I won't, I promise." I took the tape and headed down to the conference room, where there was a television and a VCR set up for the teams staying at the hotel. Fortunately, there wasn't anybody using it, and so Jesse, Spencer, Bryan, Dan, and I took over the room. I slipped the cassette into the machine and turned on the television.

We studied the tape for about an hour, and formulated a plan. By the time we were done, I felt confident we would be able to shake up the Maryland program. I took a few notes as we discussed what we wanted to do, but I knew it by heart. I just felt better when I wrote it down, too.

Two days later, we got to the field just as the Auburn-Vanderbilt game was ending. As Eddie had predicted, it looked like it was a pretty one-sided score, with Auburn walking away with a 5-2 victory. If we got past Maryland, we would be facing Auburn for the right to move on to Kansas City.

We unloaded our bags from the bus and stacked them along the sidelines. The Maryland team was gathered on the other side of the field, arraying their equipment along the benches.

I said to Jesse, "Let's warm up."

He nodded, and we began jogging around the track. When we got close to the Maryland team, Eric spotted us. He tapped another guy on the arm and nodded in our direction. The two of them joined us for a warm- up jog.

"Sean, Jesse, this is Hector, Heck for short," said Eric. "He's a soph, starts as sweep."

Heck nodded at us. "How's it goin'?" he asked.

"Good," replied Jesse. "Ready for a test?"

"Bring your best," said Heck with a tight smile.

"Oh, they will," said Eric, grinning.

"Hey, dude," I said, moving next to Eric, "your number nineteen and number twenty-seven. Seniors, right?"

Heck glanced over at me with a surprised look, but he quickly recovered. Eric saw it, and smiled.

"Yup. You been watchin' tape again, haven't you?"

I didn't answer. Of course he knew I had. It wasn't exactly a secret among my friends I liked to study the game.

"Be glad to have them gone next year," muttered Heck.

"They'll be done in about two hours," I said.

Heck glanced back at me. "How can you be so sure?" he asked, a little aggressively.

Eric grinned. "He sure," he said to Heck. To me, he said, "Nineteen is Danny Elliott. Twenty-seven is Chase Nash. He's your assignment, dude."

"Only to start," I said.

Eric chuckled. He knew how our team operated, and he knew just what was coming. Heck gave him a puzzled look, which Eric chose to ignore. He moved a little closer to me and slowed down, letting Jesse and Heck move ahead of us. "He a good guy, gonna be a good player for us next year, but he a little slow on the uptake sometimes."

"It's all okay, buddy," I said. "Just stick by him when we come up on your team again. Jesse's going to start it off. Don't let Heck get into the mix."

"You got it, Boss," said Eric.

As we approached the Maryland bench again, I could see the seniors and a couple of the juniors standing to one side, away from the underclassmen. Jesse walked up to the group.

"Chase," he said. "Chase Nash?"

Number Twenty-Seven turned around. "Yeah?"

Jesse walked up to him, friendly as can be, and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Jesse Wilhoit."

I could see Chase puff up a little in front of his teammates. I could hear the slow wheels turning: Jesse Wilhoit, the All-American from Florida, recognized me!

"Hey, good to meetcha," said Chase, taking Jesse's hand. "Let me introduce..."

But Jesse had already zeroed in on the Number Nineteen. "Danny? How you doing? Can I talk to you two for a minute?"

Danny Elliott dazedly shook Jesse's hand, and let him lead both of them off away from the others. Eric, Heck, and I stood a few paces away, close enough for us to hear.

Jesse lowered his voice, and Chase and Danny both leaned in to listen to what Jesse Wilhoit, All-American, was going to say complimentary about their game.

"Here's what's going to happen," said Jesse. "You guys like to play a two-man game, sometimes a three-man game, and it's crippled you."

I could see Chase's eyes narrow, and he stood up a little straighter. Danny just put his hand on Chase's shoulder, though, and silently encouraged him to stay put. "Maybe he's brighter than I thought," I whispered, more to myself than to anybody.

Eric heard me, though. "Prolly not," he whispered back.

Jesse continued. "You've got a guy on your team who has been trying to get you all to see the error of your ways, and you've ignored him."

"Fuckin' sophomore hotshot," said Danny, glancing over at Eric.

"I take back my original assessment," I muttered. Eric grunted in agreement.

"Here's what's going to happen today," said Jesse, getting their attention again. "If you guys persist in your game plan that's gotten you this far, know this. It will carry you no further. We'll let you play around for a little while, but sometime after the ten-minute mark, we will take the ball away from you. At that point, whoever takes the ball away will get it over to either me or my buddy Bryan. Within two minutes of our possession, I will take a shot on your goal, and it will be a clear shot. Only the aim of my foot and skill of your keeper will determine if it's a score or not."

"And how are you going to accomplish all this?" asked Chase derisively. "Especially when you're trussed up by a double-team, locked down like a maximum security prison."

There was an older gentleman, a big guy who wore his graying dark blond hair in a severe crew cut, standing nearby. He was wearing good slacks and a Maryland sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms. I could see he was trying to unobtrusively listen in on the conversation. I was going to ask Eric about him, but Jesse was on a roll, and I didn't want to miss it.

"How will it be done?" Jesse smiled, a look of real pleasure on his face. He pointed over at me. "Because that guy - a sophomore on our team - will be directing us. And, boys, you ain't never seen a player like him before."

"A fuckin' underclassman? No fuckin' way, Jack."

"The name's Jesse, and if it doesn't happen just the way I described, you have my permission to smear my reputation to anybody who will listen. It's a guarantee."

"Yeah? And now we know it's coming, dumbass, and we'll be able to stop it," said Danny.

Jesse laughed. "You've got a bullet with your name on it aimed right at you. I've told you about it, and I've warned you it's coming, and you still won't be able to get out of its way. It's called the competitive edge, and it's past time you learned about it." He spun on his heel and strode over to Eric, Heck, and me. "See you on the field, boys."

One of Maryland's coaches came up to the group. "Is there a problem here, men?" He looked carefully at Danny and Chase, and then examined Jesse.

"No, Coach, no problem," mumbled Chase.

"Jesse, my name's Alan Russo. I'm one of the assistants here," said the coach, holding out his hand.

"Jesse Wilhoit," replied Jesse, shaking the proffered hand.

"I know," said Alan with a smile. He glanced over at Eric and me. "And you're the infamous Sean Porter." He stepped over and shook my hand. "Eric keeps on trying to institute what he has been dubbing the Porter System."

"Believe it or not, sometimes Eric talks too much," I said.

Alan laughed. "Now there's a statement I never thought I would hear. Chase, Danny, come over here and meet Sean Porter."

The two seniors just looked at us, and then they both deliberately turned and walked away. Alan shrugged. "I apologize on behalf of the Terps for their behavior, Sean."

I smiled. "Don't worry about it. I see it a lot. For some reason I meet up with a lot of dumb players who just refuse to get it."

"Well, I get it," said Alan. "I just wish some others in our program got it."

"Maybe they will," said Jesse.

Alan threw back his head and laughed. "Maybe so," he agreed. He looked at us both seriously, but I could see a great deal of amusement dancing in his eyes. "And I have the feeling they're going to get it soon, aren't they?"

Jesse just shrugged. "Only time will tell, Coach."

We shook hands all around, and then Jesse and I resumed our jog. I knew Eric would get an earful from the two seniors, but he was strong. He'd survive just fine, and when the bullet struck, his advice among his smarter teammates would be taken a lot more seriously. Maryland would be a better team next year without Danny and Chase, and with Eric in a position to be able to influence the team's play.

We took the field. I saw Chase lined up as their left offensive player. As soon as the Terps took the opening kickoff, Chase came barging down the field and into my territory. He tried a hip fake, but I didn't buy it. I stayed loose on him, playing similarly to the rest of my team. We were letting Maryland dither around with the ball, but we didn't let them get close to the box.

Eric, stationed in the middle, could have gotten past Dan Ortega one- on-one without a problem, but he never got more than a touch on the ball, and those touches were when he was out of position to make a move. His only real option was to pass the ball back to the hogs and let them move it from side to side ineffectually. He played it cool, though, because it was still early in the game. According to the tapes I had watched, he and the other underclassmen had plenty of time to let their frustrations build.

Both teams had their chance with the ball. We didn't really press an attack, concentrating more on frustrating the Terps instead for the first several minutes. We did some switching, mostly on Spencer's signals, but I tended to stay behind the centerline. I wanted us to be in our predetermined positions in plenty of time.

At around the twelve-minute mark, I could see Chase, Danny, and a couple of other players begin to relax their play. They thought they had stopped the bullet. I was back in my defensive spot, waiting to see them let up their guard. I gave Spencer a quick hand signal. He relayed the signal to Lightspeed and to Jeremy, and we started to move. Lightspeed sprinted over and intercepted one of Maryland's increasingly sloppy passes, and we began to weave. I took off from a standstill to a flat-out run diagonally.

I could hear Chase behind me exclaim, "What the fuck," and I vaguely heard him follow me for a few steps. When I moved out of his zone, he stopped, confused about what he should do next. In the meantime, Jeremy moved back to cover Chase, Lightspeed with the ball moved over to Spencer's spot, and Spencer moved to his right to cover Jeremy's midfield position. I saw Maryland's midfielders begin to converge on me, but then their defense slipped as I moved from the center into the left forward position. As the midfielder dropped off, but before the defender on that side could engage, I was running alone and uncovered.

Lightspeed, of course, knew it would happen. He gave me a no-look pass that led me by four steps, and I picked it up in stride. Jesse was moving back to midfield coverage, and I faked at the ball to freeze my defender, and then stepped over the ball and left it for Jesse to pick up. He dribbled it across to midfield, and moved it up to Bryan, in the middle. As soon as he let the pass go, he took off at an angle, toward the corner. I dropped back to take the midfield position, and Bryan pushed the ball over to Jesse, now in the clear. He had a good view of the net, and his angle of attack was great. He took the ball off his left instep, stepped up, and flattened the ball against his laces at the goal.

Maryland's keeper had followed all the action, however, and our movement didn't throw him off. He kept his eye on the ball, moved his stopper and sweeper around, and he was in position when Jesse took his shot. He pounced on the ball, smothering it and saving the score. He scrambled to his feet and punted the ball right away, hoping the element of surprise would give his forward Terps an advantage.

It didn't. Frenchy moved up and took the high ball, and we reset. I glanced over at Eric, but I couldn't give him a thought. For the next seventy-five minutes or so, he was just another opponent. After the final whistle, we would go back to being friends, but in the meantime, he was another obstacle for us to overcome.

And we did. We walked away with a 3-0 win, setting up a rematch of the SEC championship game, Florida vs. Auburn. At the end of the game, we formed our usual line to congratulate the other team. I was toward the back, behind Jesse and Spencer. Danny Elliott and Chase Nash, fire in their eyes, refused to acknowledge us or shake our hands. Alan Russo, standing with the older gentleman with the crew cut, saw them, and they both frowned and shook their heads.

Two days later, we took the field against Auburn. They had done a considerable amount of homework between the SEC Tournament and our rematch at the NCAA, but we hadn't exactly been sitting back on our haunches, feeling overconfident. We knew they were a good, versatile team, and they would try to take advantage wherever they could. They would go back to the Tampa tape again and again. And so, that's what we did, too. After about the sixth viewing, the sting of watching ourselves lose over and over wasn't quite so sharp. We dissected every aspect of the game from every angle we could conceive. The coaching staff discussed it with the team leaders, the leaders talked it over with the entire team, and then everybody sat in the conference room for a couple of hours and watched it again.

The problem wasn't so much what we could have done to offset Tampa's tactics. We had solved that weeks before. The interesting puzzle we were trying to dissect was what Auburn would find in the tape, and how we might be able to anticipate and prepare for it. It took us awhile, but we were finally able to watch the tape as if we were an opponent of the Gators, preparing for a game against ourselves. We began to formulate a plan.

At the start of the game, Auburn came out firing. They took the aggressor's role and played it as hard as they could. They wanted us to have to play from behind, a situation we had rarely faced all season. They wanted to push us out of our comfort zone.

It was a good plan. What Auburn missed, though, was we never played within what was normally considered a "comfort zone." Our flowing movement was designed, in part, to keep us from falling into playing complacently.

And, in keeping with their plan, Auburn did score first. At about the twenty-minute mark, they got a breakaway pass up the middle, with only Dan and Stan, our keeper, in a position to stop it. Dan tried to tackle the forward, but he was a quick ball handler. He bobbled the ball a little, just enough to slow him down a step, but was able to get away from the tackle. He pushed the ball forward and to the side, setting up for a longish shot at goal. With our keeper charging and Jeremy closing fast on him from behind, the Auburn player let it rip. Stan dived for it, but the ball jetted just past his fingertips and hit the back of the net.

It didn't panic us. We knew there was a lot of time left, and we were confident we could play strong. And, in fact, with just minutes left in the half, we did tie it up. At the end of the half, it was a brand-new ball game.