Page 98 of One on One
I’m on the opposite corner of the court filming warm-ups when Ben approaches Maynard. The camera falls to my side, their interaction commanding my full attention. Ben leans in to speak directly into his ear. The conversation lasts for at least three years, each of them taking turns speaking. Both of their expressions are unreadable. Unfortunately, most coaches are good at maintaining a poker face when an entire arena is watching their every move. Then Maynard nods, claps Ben on the back once, and walks back to his bench. When Ben turns around, his face is neutral, but I know him well enough to spot the tension in his jaw. He doesn’t look at me.
I’m pretty sure Ben just asked Maynard for his side of the story. I need to accept what’s happening right in front of my face: Ben is, at minimum, hearing him out. He’s distancing himself from me. And it’s possible he’s aligning himself with the enemy.
The stadium vibrates with anticipation as the teams gather at center court for tip-off, amped-up fans screaming louder and louder. I feel dead inside.
Arizona Tech wins the tip-off. Their small forward drives aggressively to the basket and makes a layup, drawing a foul and making the free throw. On the next possession, we run the length of the court, and Quincy sinks a picture-perfect three-pointer. Fifteen seconds into the game and both teams have set the tone.
Mercifully, basketball does what it does best for me. It takes over, and I mostly stop thinking about Ben. The Rattlers are rough near the basket, not shying away from contact. Elbows dig into abdomens, but we give it back as best we can.
With a few seconds left in the half, their point guard floats a miraculous alley-oop pass to the rim as he’s falling over, and their center slams it home to give them a four-point lead. Oof. It’s a killer play, and it sets them up to take command after halftime.
On the first possession of the second half, Andreatti catches their point guard flat-footed. He lunges toward him and swipes the ball away as smoothly as a pickpocket, then passes to JGE, who makes an easy layup.
Okay, then. No need to worry about us giving away the momentum. It’s a close game the rest of the way, both teams making impossible shots out of sheer will, playing at an unrelenting pace. The lead changes hands more times than I can count. I knew our team could play at this level, but I’ve never seen them do it for forty minutes straight. Based on how loudly Arizona Tech’s fans are cheering, I’m guessing they feel the same about their own team.
With seven seconds left we’re down by one point. It’s time for Tiger, the play we run at the end of every practice to prepare for situations exactly like this one. Only no matter howmany times we practice it, it’s impossible to know how it’ll turn out in a game. There are endless permutations, all hinging on snap judgments. That’s the point.
Quincy waits for the inbound pass from Gallimore, eyes locked on the ball. JGE wipes the bottom of his shoes with his palms for traction. Gallimore completes the pass without issue and Quincy dribbles down the court calmly, like this is any old play and not the most important seven seconds of their careers.
JGE sets a textbook ball screen. When Quincy crosses half-court and reaches the three-point line, he has a shot. Not a perfect shot, but he’s made dicier ones. But then Gallimore is on his right, trailing him by a couple feet. He’s wide open, his defender lost in the paint somewhere near the basket. And he’s standing in one of his favorite spots on the court, a spot Ben would say—has said, many times—gives him the best chance of scoring.
Quincy tosses him the ball, easy. Gallimore flicks his wrists and releases a perfect arc and the ball swishes through the net as the buzzer sounds.
Thousands scream in joy and agony. The rest of the team rushes the court, jumping on top of each other until the whole pile gives way and they collapse. Streamers rain down from the heavens and Quincy lies in them, moving his arms and legs like he’s making a snow angel. It’s an ending fans will relive for generations. When an Ardwyn die-hard has a bad day or is in a nostalgic mood, they can go to YouTube and press play, again and again.
For me the ending is like the final moment of a good dream, right before you wake up and remember that your life is in shambles. Ben and I should be hugging in the middleof the chaos right now. Eric should be running over to us, his eyes bright and gleeful as he yells, “Mom and Dad!” and tackles us to the floor.
Instead, it’s like my heart has been carved out of my body. I search the crowd for Ben automatically, but he’s completely disappeared. My camera is like a brick wall. I capture everyone on the other side shaking with adrenaline, roaring in triumph, crying with joy. But on my side of the lens, the volume is muted and I can’t seem to locate any sort of feeling whatsoever.
By the time I put down my camera, Arizona Tech has left for the locker room, and Coach Thomas is doing a postgame interview at center court. Dozens of people are still milling around, soaking in the atmosphere. Quincy bounds up to me with his hands full of streamers and ties one around my ponytail. Taylor and Jess grab me for a three-way hug like the one I thought I’d have with Ben and Eric.
I feel a little better.
Where were you when we won it all?Ardwyn fans will ask each other years from now.I was buzzed at a bar,some will say.I was at the campus watch party. I was with my family, watching at home.
Me? I was heartbroken. I was spiraling. But I was here. I was part of it, and no one can take that away. That’s going to have to be enough.
THIRTY-ONE
Ten minutes a day. Tenminutes to check the news, and that’s it. Next week, five minutes a day. After that, I’ll cancel my Google Alert and mute Maynard’s name on social media. My friends and family can let me know if there’s anything I should see.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, laptop resting on my knees, and click on the first article.
speculation runs rampant as az tech begins search for new coach.
I smile; the headline gives me the warm fuzzies, like a video about interspecies friendships at wildlife rehabilitation centers. Rumor has it Maynard tried the sex addict angle behind the scenes, pleading with the university to let him check into rehab so he can beg for another chance when he inevitably bursts out in a month calling himself a changed man.
Rumor also has it he knew the story was coming andscrambled to upgrade his staff to tempt Arizona Tech to keep him around. Which is probably how Ben found himself with a job offer on a ridiculously short deadline.
Regardless, Arizona Tech didn’t bite. They fired him the day after the finals, and a bunch of the other women are filing a lawsuit against him and the university. Sometimes people get what they deserve, after all. That doesn’t mean I’ll be surprised to see him quietly hired as an assistant coach at a smaller school in a year or two. Memories are short, but I’ve done my part.
I couldn’t blow the whole thing up, but I contributed to incremental change. The lasting impact remains to be seen. The institution of college sports is severely flawed, maybe fatally so. I still believe that. But it’s less messed up than it was a month ago, and there’s enough good in it for me to try sticking around for a while.
I scroll through the rest of the new articles. Arizona Tech, Arizona Tech, Arizona Tech. The part of the story that took place at Ardwyn is almost a footnote.
Ardwyn has survived this scandal unblemished so far. Maybe I should’ve predicted this. Most of the obvious individual targets for blame—Maynard himself, the former athletics director, even the head of the Title IX office responsible for sex discrimination complaints—are long gone, since so much time has passed. Condemning institutions and structures isn’t sexy when there are real people with names and faces to blame instead.
Also, the team just won a championship, which bought the school a gold mine of goodwill. When people talk about Ardwyn now, our win dominates the discussion. A coupledays ago, Reddit latched onto a ridiculous thread speculating that Maynard left Ardwyn because he was quietly fired for his misbehavior. It’s not true. He left of his own volition, for a pay increase and a job at a school with lower academic standards, where admissions and academic requirements would be laxer. But many people want to believe it, and it’s not like Ardwyn is going to correct them.
