Chapter 27: Barracuda

Medway High School, Arva

5:05pm, Friday, February 23, 1979

I was sitting in the bleachers, as the JV basketball game against our biggest rivals, Strathroy Collegiate tipped off. I then saw Tony Radchuk walk into the gym. Seeing him sparked an idea in my mind. If you were interested in placing an undercover wager on any sporting events, like hockey, basketball or football, Tony was the person you wanted to see at Medway. I excused myself from Jon and Andy Lunby, and Andrew Werring, and headed on out of the gym.

After walking under the stair case at the rear of our school, I called up my computing device to do a search for upcoming game results. While I was fairly confident I knew who would win this season’s NCAA men’s basketball championship, I hoped to parlay a few more side bets into one giant winning. I knew that Magic Johnson’s Michigan State team was going to defeat Larry Bird’s undefeated, Indiana State team in the highest rated college basketball game of all time. I thought MSU would beat Pennsylvania in the Final Four, and that ISU would defeat DePaul in the other semi-final game, but I wanted to be sure of those facts before making my wager.

Pennsylvania would have extremely low odds of making it to the Final Four, which I knew would work in my favor for the wager I had planned on making. After a quick check of the upcoming 1979 tournament results on my computer, I was correct in recalling those three game’ outcomes, but was surprised by how badly MSU killed Penn in their semi-final game. I remembered that Indiana State squeaked by DePaul in their semi-final game. I also figured I would ask Tony what odds I’d receive on picking Larry Bird as the most outstanding player in college that year, paired with Magic Johnson earning the MVP award of the Final Four.

I then thought about picking tomorrow’s NHL games results, and immediately the final results of the eight games appeared on my computer screen. It probably wouldn’t be good for me to nail all eight results and I smiled when I thought, ‘You can’t pick those Damn-Canadiens to win‘. Les Habitant were my most hated team of all-time, so picking against them to smooth-over this wager felt right to me.

I pulled out a small notepad from my coat pocket and wrote down the NHL winners, minus Montreal, and also my NCAA Final Four game picks. After my computer vanished I headed on back to the gym to find Tony.

As I walked by my three friends, Jon asked, “Where’d ya go, Mike?”

“Uh, to the restroom and then to check on a couple of things,” I replied. “I’ll be back after I talk to Tony about something.”

Jon and Andy just smiled at me as they both probably realized why I was getting with Tony.

Andy confirmed it when he softly said, “Good luck,” to me as I headed over to Tony’s location.

After running up the four bleacher steps to his location, I said, “How are things going, Tony?”

He smiled back at me and replied, “Doing well. Are you jacked for this game?”

“Getting there,” I replied. “It will probably steam roll me when I’m dressed and sitting in our locker room. Do you have a minute to chat about an idea or two?”

Tony eyeballed me as this was the first time I talked with him about wagering on something. I learned from my brother, Patt, that the term idea was Tony’s code for wanting to place a bet.

“Sure, Mike,” he replied, “meet me in the back stairwell in five minutes, okay?”

“Can we meet there after our game?” I asked. “I have a few ideas to run by you, and don’t want to hurry and get things wrong before our game.”

“Sure, kid. I’ll get with ya after the game. Is under the rear stairwell, still good?”

“That works for me, Tony. Thanks.”

“Good luck, tonight, Mike. I hope you have as good a game as you did last Friday night.”

“Me, too, Tony. Me, too,” I replied and slapped hands with him before I went to sit back with Jon, Andy, and Andrew.

“That was quick,” Jon said as I sat down in the bleachers in front of him and his brother.

“Just talking,” I replied and turned to smile up at the twins. I then turned to Andrew and said, “The guys are struggling without their main man playing.”

“Yeah, I wish I could be out there with them,” my six-foot, four-inch friend replied, “but playing with you guys on the varsity is way more important, right?”

“I would say so,” Andy chimed in and gave Andrew a healthy smack on his back. “You’ll be with us the remainder of the season, I’m guessing.”

“That’s what Froggy told me on Tuesday after our practice. TR confirmed it on Wednesday after your Mundi victory,” Andrew said as we watched our JV team battle back to tie the game at 18-all. “I never thought I’d get a chance to play with both Matthew and Kollin, (his older brothers) so I’m stoked about that.”

“For what it’s worth, I was surprised you weren’t on the varsity team from the get go,” Jon said with a smile. “I’ve...”

“We’ve,” his brother Andy quickly corrected his brother.

“We’ve always thought you were better than both Dennis and Jimmy, and definitely Greeny. I hate that they were both injured but, uh, I’m happy to have you up with us on the varsity.”

“It’s definitely not how I wanted to get here, but I’m going to do my best to show TR that I belong out on the court,” Andrew confidently replied.

“You’re going to do well, Andrew,” I said and traded a high-five with him.

By half-time, our JV guys had settled down and taken a solid eight point lead with the score, 35-27. When we heard Coach Williamson’s distinctive wolf-whistle, Andy said, “Time to put our game face on boys. Let’s go get ready for battle.”

Down in our locker room, I read Coach’s three keys for today’s game on the board. They were: ‘Pressure, Pressure, Pressure – Don’t Let Them Breathe!‘; ‘Box-out, Box-out, and then Box-out Some More!‘; and the final one was a reiteration of last Friday’s key, ‘Play Faster But Play Even Smarter, Today!‘

After we all changed into our home ‘whites’ and our warm-ups, Coach got our attention and said, “I’ve got some great news for you. The doctors have taken Jimmy off his respirator and have moved him from the ICU to a private room. He’s not out of the health woods yet, but he whispered thiso his dad, ‘Tell the guys to bury the Saints.’”

That caused a chorus of shouts from us as that was the first encouraging word we had received about Jimmy’s medical serious conditions.

“Hold on now, guys,” Coach Williamson called out. “That wonderful news ... combined with who we’re playing tonight might cause a few of you to get too jacked, and lose your focus on your team duties. Matthew, Matt, Kane, Big-Mike, if you see any of that happening, especially early in the game, snap whoever it is back into shape or let me know, so I can do it. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” the four older players replied to our Coach’s admonition.

“Now, we’re going to have to do all three of these keys to be successful, tonight,” Coach said as he stepped over to the board. “They don’t have the depth we have so pressuring them and making them work hard at both ends should wear them down by the middle of the third quarter or early in fourth quarter. Second, they thrive on pounding the offensive glass for second or third chance points. Even their guards love to crash the boards, so everyone needs to do their job and BOX-OUT.” He then turned to Kane and added, “Kane, I know you love to sneak out when the other team shoots, but Stryboshe and Campbell are their third and fourth leading rebounders. So you, and you other guards,” he turned and looked at the Lunby twins and me, “need to get them on your tails, whenever they put up a shot.”

“Yes, Sir,” Kane replied and us younger players quickly echoed our older teammate’s response.

“I’ve been pleased with everyone’s ‘playing smarter’ aspect,” Coach then addressed us. “However, against these guys we’ll have to do that while cranking it up another gear. If you’re tired, especially you ‘man-guys’, don’t try to extent your time. Tired play leads to stupid play. Let me know and I’ll get a fresh body in there for you. I’ll also note that you sacrificed a minute of your playing time for the good of the team, and...”

“That will earn favors in the coaches’ eyes!” we all chorally completed one of TR’s favorite coaching mantras.

“Okay, guys, this is the biggest game we’ll have this season. You have to play at a high, but focused level to beat these Saints. I know we can do it, if we just play like we’re capable of playing and do what we’re supposed to do. Matthew, Kane,” Coach suddenly called out, “Would you like to stay in here until game time or would you rather go watch the end of the JV game? Your call.”

Our two captains scanned the room and I tried to let them know my choice was to go watch the JV game. I thought sitting in here would provide too much time to let my emotions percolate up too high. I think most of my teammates were thinking like me.

Thankfully, Matthew said, “Let’s go watch the JV game.”

“Good enough,” Coach Williamson said. As we got up to leave he then said, “‘Man-team’ starts again. Let’s go and wear those Saints out from the opening tip!”

We got back to the gym with four-forty-five left on the clock and our JV guys were up 51-42. At the next dead ball situation, we hustled across the baseline to the bleacher seats. The students and few parents sitting in those first couple of rows, either moved up a few of rows or slid down some to give us some space to sit for the remainder of this JV game.

The JV Cowboys pulled away from Strathroy in the final two minutes as our guys drained seven of eight free-throws. The final score in this game was 65-52, which gave us a touch of added confidence as that result completed Medway’s second straight season of sweeping the JV Saints. After the horn sounded and the players lined up to shake hands, we watched the Varsity Saints strutted out of the girls’ PE locker room in their shiny, navy warm-ups with gold trim.

As was our team’s tradition, Matthew tossed me one of the two basketballs we used for our opening lay-up drill. Just as I started dribbling in, the speakers in our gymnasium blasted out Heart’s Barracuda, which set everyone in the packed bleachers on fire. It had them standing up to either clap their hands or stomp their feet on the wooden risers.

I definitely knew the adrenalin was pumping through my veins when I jumped to lay the ball off the backboard. Similar to what happened my first day back at Medway, I hit my elbow on the backboard after I released the ball, and struggled to maintain my balance as I flew through the air and landed awkwardly.

As soon as I gathered myself and started towards the rebounding line, I heard Kane yell, “Keep it under control, Little-Mike. Stay in control.”

Kane’s words immediately got my attention. I also felt Coach Williamson’s hand on my shoulder as I waited my turn to rebound the ball. Those actions served to settle me down some during the rest of these warm up drills.

The only other time my emotions got the better of me during our fifteen minute warm occurred during our ‘three-person fast-break drill‘. Jon Lunby started by passing to Mike Horichek, who dribbled once and then tossed up a pass towards the rim. Seeing that the pass was going higher than normal, I took off with a two foot leap, caught the ball with just my right hand and threw down a highlight reel, alley-oop jam.

The fans at our end of the bleachers erupted after that, which drew the attention of the referees. It also drew the attention of Strathroy’s assistant coach, who immediately complained to the referees about that pre-game ‘no-no’. The refs didn’t have a choice after that, and quickly informed Coach Williamson that I was being assessed a technical foul for that illegal pre-game dunk.

Coach wasn’t too pleased with me, and he sternly motioned for me to come over to him. I hustled over for my expected ass-chewing, and heard him softly say, “Damn it, Mike, I was hoping your improved play and abilities might have taken them by surprise at the start of the game. Now, I’m sure they’ve realized that you’re more than just a cat quick defender and ball handler.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, Coach,” I said to him as he put his arm around my shoulders. “I just...”

“Don’t apologize,” Coach Williamson shut me down abruptly. “Just make damn sure you do something to shut that whiny-ass, assistant coach’s mouth.” TR nodded towards the Saints’ twenty-something year old assistant and added, “That guy squealed like a stuck pig to the refs when he saw you throw that down, out there. Think you’ll be able to accomplish that task in the first few minutes of the game?”

“Yes, sir! I sure will!” I exclaimed and felt my coach’s arm push me back out to rejoin my teammates for the final two and a half minutes of our free shoot-around segment of the warm ups.

When I corralled a missed shot near him, Big-Mike came over to me and asked, “Did I get you in trouble by throwing that alley-oop pass?”

“Nah, I was just given a special task to carry out in the first few minutes of the game. I hope you, and everyone here will learn about it, shortly.” With that said, I stepped up to the free-throw line and drained both of my two attempts. When Andrew Werring passed me the ball at the top of the key, I faked an entry pass back into him and then fired up a twenty foot jumper, which touched nothing but net.

As I headed towards the bench to set my warm-up shirt down, Coach Williamson was smiling at me and said, “If you make a couple of those early, they’ll be in major trouble.” I simply gave him a combined head nod and wink as I tossed my warm-up pants onto my shirt, behind our bench.

When Big-Mike, Jon, Matthew, Matt and I walked out for the opening tip, the lead referee said, “Step back, guys. They get two free-throws, and the ball at half-court to start the game. Sorry, ‘20’, (my number) but that sweet throw-down out there is unfortunately gonna cost you.”

“I know. We’ll manage it and hopefully make their assistant coach pay for crying about it,” I replied which earned a small chuckle from the head referee. I then turned to Jon and Big-Mike and said, “I’m going to purposely let Stryboshe beat me off the dribble this first time. Hopefully, I’ll be able to immediately step behind and pop the ball from his hand towards one of you guys, so be ready for it.”

“‘Kay, Sounds good,” Big-Mike replied.

We watched Strathroy’s shooting guard, Adrian Campbell step up to the free-throw line to start the game. The crowd stood in silent disbelief as a good number of them didn’t understand why the Saints were beginning the game at the charity stripe.

The ref called out, “Two shots,” and handed Adrian the ball.

I didn’t watch but the large shout from the crowd told me he missed the first free-throw. Big-Mike smacked me on my back twice at that point. The smaller cheer from the minority Saints’ fans in the crowd told me that Adrian made the second free-throw.

“Blue ball at half-court,” the referee called out and rolled the ball to the lead ref, who had talked to us a few moments ago.

The Saints’ grade thirteen point guard, Johnny Stryboshe walked by Big-Mike and said, “Good to see you again, Mike. Hope you’ll like losing to your former team, again.” When he saw me walk over to guard him, Stryboshe asked with disgust in his voice, “Why do you guys think you can cover me with a rookie ... with him?”

I just smiled at him and listened as Big-Mike replied, “Nice to see you, too, Johnny. Just be prepared for a healthy dose of humble pie, my friend.”

“Ball’s in,” the ref shouted as he handed the ball to the Saints’ six-foot, seven-inch center, Murray VanDenGeel. I allowed an easy entry pass into their point guard near their free-throw line, but quickly put pressure on him. Knowing he was strongly right-hand dominate, I purposely allowed him to go that way as he neared half-court. I then faked attacking his dribble and let him gain a half step on me.

Thinking he had me beat, Stryboshe raised his left hand with a play call to his teammates. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated both my quickness and arm reach as I stepped behind him and tapped the ball back towards Big-Mike before it bounced back into his right hand. Big-Mike was in perfect overplay position against his man, and easily control that free ball. With my right foot planted, I reversed pivoted, and immediately took off for the Saints’ basket.

At that same time, all I heard was a wonderful sounding, “Shit!” expletive from Johnny Stryboshe as he realized what just happened, and probably what was going to occur next.

“Up-up, Mike!” Coach Williamson yelled to Big-Mike, as I already had a good three step lead on their point guard.

As I sprinted toward their goal, I looked over my shoulder and saw Big-Mike’s chest pass heading over my right shoulder. I corralled his pass at the top of the key, took one dribble with my right hand and used a two foot takeoff jump towards the basket. Gripping the ball with both hands, I raised it behind my head as I rocketed up towards the rim.

Everything in the gymnasium went silent for me at the moment as I zeroed in on the rim and threw down a monstrous, two-handed, Tomahawk dunk. The wild eruption in the gym didn’t register with me until after I landed, and stared at the Saints’ assistant coach for a couple of seconds.

It took Coach Williamson’s yelling, “Pick ‘em up! Pick ‘em up!” to snap me back to reality.

I quickly found Stryboshe along the baseline waiting on a teammate to retrieve the ball and throw him the entry pass. I waited to begin pressuring him again at their free-throw line.

Figuring he might expect me to try that wrap-around maneuver again as I began pressing him in a similar fashion. I forced him to switch hands dribbling three times before the half-court line. I noted his weaker left to right cross-over dribble, and when he tried to blow past me with it at the half-court line, I beat him to the spot on the floor. A split second later, I felt his left shoulder drive into my chest. The ref’s whistle sounded as I was knocked backwards to the hardwood floor.

The lead ref slammed his right fist into his left palm and yelled, “Charge! Blue, number three!” and the crowd exploded again.

Before I could push myself up, I felt both Jon’s and Big-Mike’s hands under my shoulders as they lifted me to my feet.

I resisted the urge to gloat to their point guard prior to receiving Big-Mike’s inbound pass.

I did smile at Stryboshe though when Mike said, “How does our rookie’s humble pie taste so far, John-neeee,” as I dribbled it up against their packed in, 2-3 defensive zone alignment. This time, I could easily tell Stryboshe’s look of disgust was genuine.

After a series of four passes and cuts through their zone defense, both of their top defenders had collapsed down below the free-throw line. When Matthew Werring was double teamed by their center and shooting guard, he tossed a pass to me about three feet beyond the free-throw line. I caught the pass with my feet set and elevated up in one motion for a jump-shot. Locking my eyes on the front of the rim, the ball felt good as it rolled off my right fingers and arced towards the basket.

The home crowd shouted out as the ball ripped the net, but they soon fell silent as I cried out in pain from taking Stryboshe’s shoulder in my chest, as he jumped into me as I landed after that shot.

The ref’s whistle and his shout of, “After the shot, charging, blue number three,” barely made the sensation of having the air knocked out of my lungs more palatable.

“Are you okay, Mike,” I hear from Coach Williamson.

He and Coach Feelt rushed out onto the court to check on me as I rolled on my side and struggled to regain my breath. My teammates on the floor stepped back from me as TR bent down.

“Are you just winded?”

I nodded my head as it still was a challenge to get a good lungful of air in my body. Both coaches helped me into a sitting position as the refs came over to check on the situation.

“Are you subbing for this youngster, Coach?” I heard the lead ref asked.

Coach Williamson turned to the bench and called out, “Kollin, you’re in!”

“No, Coach,” I wheezed out, “Let me stay in, please. I’ll be alright in a second.”

“You sure, Mike?” he asked as he watched me raise my arms above my head in order to help expand my chest cavity.

“Can I get a few more seconds before we get going, Ref?” I asked up at the smiling lead referee.

“Yeah, take your time getting up. I’ll give you a few more seconds before I give the ball to your inbounds passer under the basket. Is that good?”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I replied as I took a few more deep breathes.

The ref then turned to the scorers’ table and waved Kollin back to our team bench and said, “White ball, under the basket.”

Both coaches grabbed one of my hands and pulled me up onto my feet. The fans from both teams applauded as I slowly walked around, and then jogged to our free-throw line and back.

When the lead ref saw my smile and head bob, he yelled out, “All set, Blue? Ball’s in!”

Jon Lunby took the ball from the ref’s hand and held up his ‘FIVE’ hand sign. Matthew Werring broke to the corner from the high-post and took Jon’s inbound pass. Matt Connell flashed up from the opposite low block to the high-post, while Big-Mike moved to the free-throw line-extended and took Matthew’s pass. Matthew then acted like he was returning to his low-post position but he set a screen on the Saints’ low wing defender while Jon, our best shooter flashed out to the corner for an open sixteen foot jump-shot.

The Saints quickly moved to box out Matthew with their center, and Matt with the opposite low wing defender. As I watched the arc of Jon’s shot, I saw it was going to be slightly short and hit the front rim. When Johnny Stryboshe, my side’s top defender didn’t locate me, I flashed into the opening on the weak side of the goal as Jon’s shot bounced softly off the rim towards me.

With inside rebounding position on Stryboshe, I leapt up for the short carom, caught it and laid it against the blackboard as I was once more hammered by the Saints’ point guard as he tried to block that short chippy lay-in.

I stumbled on landing and leaned against the crash mat on the gym wall as the lead referee whistled and yelled out, “And one!”

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” was the next sound that could be heard over the crowd’s roar. Johnny Stryboshe knew he had just picked up his third foul of the game, which was barely over a minute old.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the Saints’ head coach grabbing his backup point guard’s arm and pulled him to the scorer’s table. I just smiled as Matthew, Matt and Jon came by and either slapped me on the back or ruffled my damp brown hair.

When Big-Mike, who stood near the Saints’ bench, said, “Enjoy your humble pie on the bench, John-neeee,” as his former teammate walked to their bench, I couldn’t help but laugh at his stinging words. As he walked to our little team huddle at the free-throw line, he added, “We’ll see you again in the second half.”

As he poked his head into our mini-huddle, Big-Mike asked, “Just what was your little task to start the game, Mike?”

I laughed at my teammate’s question and whispered, “Coach told me to do something special early, to make up for that tech. Then he said, and I quote, ‘Make damned sure you shut their whiny-ass, assistant coach’s mouth.’”

“He didn’t say that?” Matthew exclaimed as he broke into a huge smile which was a very unusual occurrence for our exceptionally smart, but stoic captain.

“Well, Little-Mike,” Matt said as the secondary referee walked beside our huddle to break it up, “make this free-throw, and I’d have to say you accomplished that task.”

As both teams got into position for the free-throw, the ref called out, “One shot, play it out of his hands, guys,” and then he handed me the basketball.

I then used my well-rehearsed free-throw routine to compose myself and bring my emotions back into check. I spun the ball in my hands twice, and bounced it twice, then spun, and dribbled it once more before I set my hands, took a deep breath and then let the shot arch off my fingertips. I had already turned away from the shot before it reached the goal as I knew it was good the moment it left my fingertips.

With their best ball-handler on the bench with three fouls, we pressed the Saints’ at every opportunity and raced out to a 43-26 halftime lead. I ended the half with ten points as I made one more three point play when I was fouled on a partial breakaway lay-up by the Saints’ backup point guard. Kane Goodwin and Kollin Werring each added seven points. More important to our team’s performance than our individual point totals was our ability to hold the Saints to only four second chance points from offensive rebounds.

A well-rested Johnny Stryboshe started and played much better at the start of the third quarter. As Coach Williamson predicted, the Saints came out hard and angry, and trimmed our lead to eleven points at the third quarter horn. The score was 52-41 after twenty-four minutes of action.

A key change the Saints made to counter our man pressure was to force me to maneuver around a gauntlet of high picks as I pressed Stryboshe. Twice, I was rocked by wicked, but legal picks from their big center near the half court line when I didn’t hear or respond fast enough to Matthew’s warning calls.

At the third quarter break, after I experienced that second, hard pick from Murray VanDenGeel, Coach Williamson pulled me aside as I was about to reenter the game with our ‘man-defense’ group.

He put his arm around me and said, “Because you only have one foul, the next time VanDenGeel or number fifty-two comes to set one of those high picks on you, lower your shoulder and BLAST into him with everything you’ve got. It may cost you, and us a foul, but it will let them know you aren’t a patsy out there for them to destroy. You good with that?”

My shit-eating grin told him all he needed to know about whether I liked his advice or not. Coach then slapped me on my shoulder and he pushed me towards the scorer’s table to check into the game.

Matthew won the fourth quarter jump-ball from VanDenGeel, and tipped it to Jon. Big-Mike broke around a high screen, which Matt set after the jump-ball and received a wide open baseball style pass from Jon. His lay-up off the glass restored our lead to a lucky thirteen point margin as the fourth quarter began.

I picked up Stryboshe after their inbounds pass and forced him to change directions multiple times on his way to half-court.

When I heard Matt call out, “Pick left, Mike!” I took a peek as I was shuffling hard to my right.

I saw ‘52’ setting up just on our side of the half court line. Knowing Stryboshe intended to reverse his dribble and run me into his teammate again, I immediately decided to implement Coach Williamson’s suggestion.

As soon as I reversed directions with Stryboshe, I took one shuffle step with him and then turned on the jets towards that large Saints’ player. Just prior to contact, I lowered my shoulder and drove as much force as I could generate into their six-foot three inch forward’s mid-section. I’m not sure if he wasn’t fully set or wasn’t expecting that from me; but when my shoulder met his chest, the force of the collision sent him backwards on his butt. He slid a good ten feet on the hardwood floor after smacking his elbow on the basketball court.

The secondary referee immediately blew his whistle and signaled a charging foul on me as the Saints’ bench erupted in outrage as their second biggest player gasped for breath, and held his elbow. When their coaches rushed to his aid, my teammates and I walked over to our bench for this injury timeout.

“Well done, Little-Mike,” Coach Williamson softly said to all of us in our team huddle. “That’s exactly how you put a stop to those nasty half-court picks. I doubt anyone will try to wreck you from now on.”

Big-Mike then reached out with an upturned hand, and I forcefully slapped his palm with my right hand.

When the Saints’ forward finally stood up and walked towards their bench holding his left arm tight to his body, the crowd gave him a good hand. The lead ref then came over to call us back onto the court.

As we vacated our huddle, that ref walked beside me and asked, “You’re not in any trouble here, but was that a coach’s suggestion to steamroll that guy?”

I stared at him for a couple of seconds to get a read on his real intention, and when I saw him slowly smile, I gave him a subtle wink.

He surprised me by then adding, “Smart coach. Watch yourself, though because they’ll more than likely be gunning for you, now.”

I gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment for his words of wisdom.

“Blue ball,” the other ref called out as we picked up our man assignments. “All set, White?”

The Saints passed the ball around the perimeter of our tight man-to-man defense a few times. When Adrian Campbell tried to lob the ball over Big-Mike into their center, Matthew tipped the pass, and Jon Lunby snatched up the loose ball.