down and the players were shooting free throws at several baskets around the court.
Dunham turned away from this and looked up at me in the stands. Then he walked straight up the stairs from the court and over to me.
'What the fuck are you doing?' he said.
'What a clever way to ask,' I said.
'I want to know what you're doing here,' he said. 'You're not a student.'
'Now you don't know that,' I said. 'I might have stayed back a lot.'
'Look, I'm not here to bullshit with you. You give me straight answers or I'll have your ass thrown out of this gym.'
'Okay,' I said. 'I'm a spy from Syracuse. I've learned your secret, talk to each other on the switches.'
'Listen to me, buster. And listen good,' Dunham said. 'I spotted you with the program half an hour ago. Why are you studying my players?'
I was laughing. 'Listen to me, buster, and listen good'?' I said. 'For crissake, Dixie.' Dunham glared at me for five seconds and then his face began to crease into a slowly widening grin.
'Shit,' he said. 'I talk that way all the time.' I shook my head.
Dunham said, 'I still want to know what you're doing here.' His face was mixed laughter and anger. 'And I can still by God kick your ass if I have to.'
I was still laughing, though it had calmed some and I kept it inside where it only made a murmur in my chest.
'Not if you fight like you talk,' I said.
It is hard to be a tough guy when the intended victim is laughing at you. Dixie wasn't used to being laughed at. He wasn't quite sure what to do. The fact that he was half laughing too tended to compromise his position.
'Look,' I said, and then I couldn't resist it, '.'and look good,' I said. And this time Dunham laughed, before I did. I tried again. 'Dixie,' I said, 'what I'm doing here takes some explanation. If you'll stop yelling at me and sit down and listen you'll learn a lot.'
Dixie stared at me for a bit and then said, 'I got to get these kids showered and out of here. I'll meet you for a drink in an hour.'
'Okay.'
'Local place, the Lancaster Tap,' Dunham said. 'On College Ave.'
'Saw it when I drove in today,' I said.
Dunham looked at his watch. 'Be there about six,' he said, and turned away and marched down to the court and across it and into the corridor on the far side. The team ended practice the minute he entered the corridor and trailed in behind him. A couple of undergraduates, one of them female, began picking up the basketballs. It had been a long time since I played. But I could remember the feel of the ball, the control as you bounced it, your hand knowing the ball would come back and when and where, bouncing it again in control, pulling up, the ball resting mostly on the fingers, the shot, the arc, just as your hand had specified. Swish ... Well, sometimes swish. Often, Clang.
4
DIXIE was glaring at me again, across a scarred table in a booth at the Lancaster Tap. I had a draft beer, Dixie had a large Coke. Between us were menus. On the table top in front of me was carved RP + JH. The table top was covered with initials, but RP + JH was carved deeper, and looked more permanent.
Dixie was holding the large Coke in his right hand. He leveled his right forefinger at me. 'I'm here to tell you that's bullshit,' Dixie said. 'Not one of those boys would do that to me. Not one ever has and not one ever will.'
I nodded. On the walnut paneled walls of the pub were pictures of Taft teams and players. There was a prominent picture of Dixie with the National Championship team.
'University rules for eligibility are a two point oh average. Mine is two point three. Every player graduates with his class. Every one. Kids know that once they've been in this program, they're part of this program for the rest of their lives. You unnerstand that? Whenever the Trail Blazers are in town, Troy Murphy comes over, helps out at practice, sits on the bench during a game. Still calls me Coach. When the Pistons cut Stevie Scott, who'd he call? I got him an assistant's job with Rollie at Villanova, one phone call.'
A little of Dixie's Coke slopped over the edge of his glass. He put the glass down, wiped his hand with a napkin.
'This isn't a bunch of free-lance schoolyard assholes, Jack,' Dixie said. 'This is a team. This is a system. Greatest system ever devised to play this game. No way, you hear me? No way anybody is going to betray that system, no fucking way they're going to turn their backs on their team. No way any of those boys would turn his back on me.'
Dixie had his intimidate-the-referee glare locked on me. I said, 'I guess you don't think they're shaving points, Dixie.'
'You are out of line, Buddy Boy.' Dixie turned up the voltage on his stare. 'And if I hear that kind of talk out of you or anyone else you're going to answer to me. You unnerstand me?'
I drank a little beer, wiped my mouth politely with the back of my hand, and smiled pleasantly.
'Dixie,' I said, 'establishing the truth of this point shaving stuff will require that I keep running in to you for a while. It's going to be a lot easier if we clear up something now. You're a big strong guy, and you're probably in shape. But I've been doing this most of my life and if we have a fight I will put you in the hospital.'
