the ball, at who was blocking out, who was rebounding, who was tight up on his man in the pressure man-to-man that Dixie insisted on in the age of zone. It's hard to watch basketball that way, even if you've played, even if you know the game. We are conditioned by television so to watch the ball. We tend not to notice weak side help, and who doubles down in the middle.
I watched the game through once without seeing anything that got my attention. This was going to take awhile. I watched the game through again, focusing for a while on one player, then another. The films were scouting films, not television, so they showed more of the court and spent less time fixed on the ball, and they didn't cover the time outs or half time, so the films only took a little more than an hour to watch. By three in the afternoon I'd watched Seton Hall twice and had concluded that I needed help. Also lunch.
For help I called a guy I knew named Tommy Christopher. He'd played at DePaul and then with the Celtics and had coached for six years at Providence College. When he was playing he'd had a good business manager and now Tommy mostly played golf, and a little poker, did a few commercials, and worked out at the Harbor Health Club, where he and I and Hawk now and then did some steam together.
I called the Harbor Health Club and left a message for Tommy to call me at Susan's.
'What's going on?' Henry said. 'An afternooner?'
'More deadly than the adder's sting,' I said, 'is the foul mouth of an unusually short gym owner.'
'I'm not unusually short,' Henry said. 'I'm just muscular for my height.'
'Hell, yes,' I said. 'If you weighed twenty pounds you'd be just right.'
We hung up and I looked into lunch. Susan seemed to me the most beautiful and intelligent woman I'd ever met. She had great warmth and compassion and humor. She had a top-of-the-line body, and strength of character and an appropriate sexual appetite. But as a larder keeper she ranked somewhat below Old Mother Hubbard. In her refrigerator was a plastic bag of raw cauliflower, a half empty carton of Dannon tropical fruit yogurt, a single round of whole wheat Syrian bread, which was unwrapped and had begun to fossilize, a jar of mayonnaise and a lemon. In her cupboard was a package of Rye Wafers, a jar of instant decaf, a loaf of whole wheat bread and, shamefully, a jar of all-natural peanut butter.
'Ah ha,' I said. I boiled some water, made two peanut butter sandwiches, poured the hot water over a spoonful of decaf crystals, stirred twice, put the spoon in the sink and settled down at Susan's counter. Bon appetit.
While I was enjoying my second sandwich, Tommy Christopher called.
'Henry says you want to see me,' Tommy said. 'Said you needed help. I said you needed more help than I could give you.'
'Susan's working on that,' I said. 'I need you to watch some basketball with me.'
I explained what I had and what I wanted and Tommy said he'd come over.
'How many games are we going to watch?' Tommy said.
'Six,' I said.
'I'll bring some beer,' Tommy said.
Susan got through with her last patient at six and came upstairs from her office to find Tommy and me sprawled on her bed staring at the tapes. I had a notebook and wrote down what Tommy said.
'See that,' Tommy was saying, 'run it again. See Woodcock, he holes the forward on the weak side, and the guy comes in and takes the rebound and jams it.'
'This is what you do all day?' Susan said. 'I thought you were out fighting crime.'
I hit the pause button. 'Things are not what they seem,' I said.
'I've heard that,' Susan said.
9
WE stopped watching after another hour that night and ate Chinese food that Susan had called out for and I had fetched. Then Tommy went home, and I stayed. Two nights in a row. Zowie.
Friday, Tommy came in at nine and we settled in on the bed again and watched Taft against Pittsburgh.
'There,' Tommy said. 'Tubbs didn't fill the lane on the break, see on the left. So Davis takes it to the basket and draws the defender and has no place to lay it off and gets stuffed. He shouldn't have gone up in the air until he knew he had something to do with the ball, but it's reasonable to expect somebody to be filling that left hand lane. Then they'd have had a three on two.' I scribbled in my notebook.
'Woodcock again,' Tommy said. 'You can see that play's set up for a pick. Stop, run it back. See the guard with the ball. He's yelling out a play. Okay, see, he comes out of the corner, loops around the perimeter, looking for the pick, and Woodcock is slow setting it. So Davis's got to back off and set up something else, and, see, they don't make the forty-five-second clock.'
Benefiting from yesterday's learning experience, I had laid in a supply of smoked turkey sandwiches from the Mt. Auburn Market, and at noon we broke for a couple of them, each, with Cape Cod potato chips and Sam Adams beer; and back to the tapes.
'See, there's the same play that Woodcock fucked up this morning against Pittsburgh,' Tommy said. 'Look at this pick. Jesus Christ!'
I was sitting up on the edge of the bed so I wouldn't nod off.
'Okay, now here's another one. Run this back about ten seconds. Okay, there. Okay. It's Woodcock again. Simple give and go. The guard, what's his name, Davis, is going to find Woodcock in the corner, and then, the simplest play in basketball, he cuts for the basket. See. He loses his man. Amazing how often it works. He's free, the Temple center is too far toward Woodcock. And Woodcock holds the ball.'
'Did he see him?'
