Unable to sit and barely able to hear anything, the Central players huddled around Coach Britt and yelled at each other to dig in.
Frost hurried the ball up court, swapped quick passes with Tyrell Miller, and neither could find an open man. With five seconds to go, Kevin Washington tried a turn-around jumper from the free throw line but Roy Tice got a hand on it. The ball bounced to Murray, who saw his roommate streaking down the court. He lofted a long pass that Sooley took on one bounce at their own free throw line and hurled himself into the air.
Defying gravity, Sooley soared through the Forum, the ball in his right hand, high above his head, just like Niollo. He finished with a jarring, rim-rattling, windmill dunk that sent quakes all the way to South Sudan.
A mob swarmed the court as the Eagles piled on top of each other at mid-court.
CHAPTER 45
The locker room was remarkably subdued. The players were elated but too stunned and exhausted to celebrate. And they were overwhelmed with emotion. Coach Britt kept the cameras and press out, the door locked and guarded by managers. He quietly went from player to player, hugging each, offering soft words of praise, and he wiped a few tears himself. After fifteen minutes, he addressed his players and told them how much he loved them. His raspy, scratchy voice barely worked and he couldn’t think of much to say anyway.
A manager stepped in to say that the tournament officials were waiting. Lonnie asked the three seniors, Mitch Rocker, Roy Tice, and Dmitri Robbins, to follow him. And Sooley too.
The press room was packed. Lonnie took a seat in the middle of the table, with two players on each side, and as soon as he adjusted his mike the questions came in an avalanche. He smiled, held up both hands, and said, “Please, just one at a time.” He pointed at a reporter in the front row.
“Coach, did you really believe you could win the game?”
Lonnie laughed and his players smiled. “I don’t think I’ll answer that question. Let’s be honest, no one in this room thought we would win. I think we’re all still in shock.”
“Coach, was it your game plan to start with Sooley bombing from mid-court?”
Another laugh. “Yes, it was. Our game plan was simple. Just get the ball to Sooley.”
Every reporter held a game summary and knew the numbers. Sooley scored 58, tying him with Bill Bradley for second most in a tournament game. He hit 14 threes, had 12 rebounds, 10 assists, 4 steals, 4 blocks. A triple-double.
“Coach, was the crowd a factor?”
“Well, I’ve never been in a place where I couldn’t hear myself think. My ears are still ringing. As you can tell, I can barely talk and at times I had trouble getting through to my players. But, yes, having the crowd on our side was a factor.”
“Coach, a question for Sooley.” Lonnie shrugged as if to say, “Fire away.”
With a big smile, Sooley pulled his mike closer.
“Sooley, you hit fourteen threes, a tournament record. What were you thinking out there?”
Sooley had yet to say a word to any reporter, and the world was waiting. He smiled and shrugged and looked uncomfortable. Finally, “I don’t know. I really wasn’t thinking.” Everyone laughed. “You know, the adrenaline was pumping so hard that you just play, you don’t have time to think too much.”
“Mitch, what’s it like to watch a teammate do what Sooley just did?”
Mitch leaned forward with a grin and said, “No big deal, really. He does it every day in practice. When he gets hot, we just feed him the ball.”
“Sooley, you just scored fifty-eight against a great defensive player. What do you think about Darnell Coe?”
“He’s tough, one of the best. Very physical, you know. All the Duke players are physical. That’s their game. They’re a great team.”
Mitch leaned in again and added, “The truth is, when he gets the ball nobody can guard him. His shot is too quick and he springs too high. Sometimes in practice we’ll put three men on him just for fun. Once he gets up, though, you can’t touch his shot.”
“Coach, how do you get your team ready for the next game, after a win like this?”
Lonnie replied, “We’ll be ready. I can promise you that.”
Every reporter, and every fan, knew the story. The death of his father. The missing sister. His mother and brothers living in a refugee settlement. And every reporter wanted to ask something about the past year, but it wasn’t the moment for that. Why do anything to dampen the kid’s spirits?
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