Drew waved his free hand in a provocative gesture, like `come and get me,' as he dribbled down the court towards Mickey. He had just gotten the rebound for his team and methodically moved down the court as he patiently allowed his team to set up a play.
Suddenly, Mickey lunged for the ball, knocking it out of his hands.
"What the...!" Drew cried out as they both dove after the loose ball. The two grappled for it on the ground, laughing together as one grabbed it, then the other, with Drew finally able to muscle it away and toss it to one of his teammates.
As Andrew watched them tussle on the ground, he was reminded of two school kids wrestling. They were laughing at the same time as each was trying as hard as he could to get the ball. He smiled to himself as he realized this struggle seemed to be drawn out longer than one would typically expect.
As Drew's team tried to set up the play again, he quickly turned and pulled Mickey up off the ground before moving toward the basket.
"That's why I don't want you on my team when we play the real game, Patterson," Dave yelled out. "You're supposed to kick `em when they're down."
A few of the guys laughed, and even Mickey gave a smirk, but Drew just yelled back, "I'm saving that one for you, big guy!"
A few of the guys, including Mickey and Drew and Andrew, had shown up early, and decided to warm up with this pick-up game before the real match started. Drew's circle of friends had so many players that they were able to field two teams in the league, one captained by Drew and the other by Dave and they were kicking off the season by playing each other.
The games took place in a cavernous old gym at the edge of the main part of campus. When it was built in the 1930s it was supposed to be the largest gym complex in the world, and would still be considered an immense facility even today. But without the fancy scoreboard and lighting and commercial pyrotechnics of modern sports facilities, not to mention the old-fashioned steeply raked seating that made it seem more like a gladiator pit than a basketball arena, it really did seem ancient.
Once everyone started to get organized for the real game it didn't take long for Mickey to pick up the different vibes of the two teams. While he had met some of them at the picnic a few weeks previously, the guys on Drew's side all introduced or re-introduced themselves to him and welcomed him to their team.
The guys from Dave's team seemed of a different sort. "You play over there!" one would demand, or "Give me the ball, dammit!" another would yell out. With the relatively poor lighting on the courts their behavior contributed to a somewhat dark, ominous atmosphere for the game. They didn't look like they were here just to have fun.
Drew was wearing white basketball shoes with blue trunks and white sleeveless jersey, none of it flashy and, in fact, relatively plain. But it seemed to make what was underneath it just that more noticeable.
That must be why they call them muscle shirts,' Mickey thought to himself. It took every ounce of self-control to not stare at the arms that the shirt exposed. They weren't like a football lineman's huge but often flaccid muscles, but lean and defined, just like one would expect from a former quarterback. Luckily, Mickey's team in the initial scrimmage was skins, so at least he wasn't distracted by seeing Drew's chest for the first time.
The expressions he got from Drew seemed odd. Where he usually looked right at Mickey, it seemed like he was doing anything but looking straight at him. Maybe he was distracted, Mickey thought, as the guys were asking one another about how and where they should play, not to mention another half-court match on the other side of the floor.
Most of Dave's group was bigger than their team but didn't appear to be as quick, so the teams looked pretty well matched, Mickey thought. Until one huge guy showed up to play for the opponents.
"Hey losers," Dave called out, looking at Drew's squad as they were getting into a pre-game huddle. "This is Max, he works over at the Health Center. I thought it might be good for town-gown relations if we invited him to join our side."
The league rules allowed staff members to play, but few were interested or had the connections to get an invitation. In this case, the connection was enhanced by his 6-8" height and incredible size. He must have weighed at least 250 pretty solid pounds.
Drew seemed to look away at first, then looked back at the guy again, then again turned his face away. It was an odd reaction, Mickey thought. Drew never seemed nervous or anxious around people at all, but this guy seemed to trigger something. Mickey thought that perhaps he suspected that something underhanded was going on, but the reaction still seemed peculiar.
But whether that theory was true or not, Mickey was getting a clearer picture of Dave's true nature, and recruiting an obvious ringer like Max was just another action that fit the profile of a scheming and nasty bully who might try to do anything necessary to win.
Mickey approached Drew as they both moved toward their team's huddle. "Are you OK?" he asked.
"Oh yea, I'm good," he replied. "Sorry, guess I was taken aback by how... shameless he could be in stacking his team. He'd turn up his nose at anyone else who wasn't actually a student. But in this case I guess a long reach was sufficient cause for community outreach."
"But what about me?" Mickey asked in return, his voice plaintive. "Wasn't I supposed to be YOUR ringer?"
Drew smiled, then put his hands on his hips and looked directly at Mickey. "I guess we can use your legal skills to sue them if we don't win or we don't like how they play."
"Well, I think we're really in big trouble then," Mickey replied as they both laughed.
It took a while for a couple other stragglers from Dave's team to finally make it onto the court and then two teams were into their pre-game huddles.
One of Drew's guys said, "Hey, Mickey, you can jump pretty high. I saw you on that one play, you can reach the basket pretty easy. Maybe you should be center."
"I can go wherever you guys want me to, I'm pretty flexible. Just tell me where I'm needed."
"That might not work," Drew interjected. "Those guys are going put Max in at center for sure. He's got height on all of us, but a heck of a lot of weight on Mickey. I think that I should play against him."
"You're the most solid guy on our side, Drew, for sure. You and Mickey are practically the same height, but we might as well just give up on trying to out-jump the guy, he's got a couple inches on both of you. So you're probably right, you're the only one that has any hope of matching up against him," another of the guys chimed in.
"Are you OK with that, Mickey?" someone said.
"Whatever you guys want, but I don't think Drew should have to do all the work with that guy, I mean, he's pretty big and is going to wear anyone out on our team."
Drew heard them all out. "Well, as the self-proclaimed coach," he started, getting laughs around the circle, "I'm making an executive decision and I'll guard him if we do man to man. If we have to do a zone, well, it's every man for himself," he concluded, to more laughs.
There was a defensible logic to how Drew justified the positions, Mickey thought. But he couldn't help but think his real motivation was something else. Whoever got Max in a matchup was in for a very physical game, no matter what their skill level. Maybe Drew was the right candidate, but he made sure that no one else on his team would have a chance to get.
"Why don't I at least do the tip-off?" Mickey asked. "He's pretty heavy, maybe I can out jump him."
"But..." Drew was about to speak, until Andrew put his hand on his shoulder.
"That's probably a good idea. Drew, you can still guard the guy in man-to-man, but Mickey at least does the tip off."
"I know, but still, he shouldn't..."
"Let's go," Andrew said, as he pushed Drew away from the direction towards the tip-off circle. "They're waiting for us."
Mickey was relieved again when his team `lost' the coin toss and got to keep their shirts on. Seeing Drew's arms was enough of a distraction. And as far as the guys on Dave's team went, he didn't care what any of them looked like.
Even though Max had 5" on Mickey, he only barely got the tip off, and even then it was so tentative that Drew's team, who called themselves `Sally's,' after their favorite pizza joint, got the ball.
On the first play, Andrew set a pick for Drew. It looked like they had done this a few times before, Mickey thought. Dave gave Andrew an elbow to push him out of the way, but he stood his ground to keep the path open for Drew to drive to the basket.
"No!" his team cried out in disappointment as the shot glanced off the rim.
But Andrew rebounded, passing the ball to Mickey, who bounced it off the glass and in for two. There was only a moment for celebration, however as Dave's team quickly put the ball back inbounds and tried to fast-break down the court.
It was a classic see-saw battle for the entire game, as they traded leads, but no team ever got on top by more than 5 points. In spite of their smaller size and lack of a big star, quickness and some good shooting were able to keep them in a game that few observers would have given them a chance at.
But Dave wanted to win. Badly.
With only two minutes left on the clock, Dave called a time out and gathered his troops.
Looking out the corner of his eye at the other team, Andrew saw Dave illustrated his `strategy' by pounding his fist into his hand. And knowing Dave, any time a fist showed up it wasn't a good sign.
As their team was starting to break their huddle, Andrew quickly called them back together again to pass on the warning. "Hey guys, be careful. I think they're looking for blood."
"Got it," Drew replied. His eyes glanced at Mickey, who was heading toward Dave to get back into their man-to-man defense. The zone just hadn't been working and they needed someone tough to be full-time on the big guy. And with heroic efforts from Drew, the strategy seemed to be keeping them in the game.
As soon as Dave got the ball, he drove on Mickey. Normally, Mickey would just stay in place, and Dave would elbow and jam his shoulder into him, pushing and testing but not drawing any flagrant fouls. But this time, he used his greater weight and size to practically roll right over him.
Drew immediately cried `foul' and started to run over to pick up Mickey before another one of their teammates had already pulled him up off the wood.
"What was that all about?" Drew barked at Dave as he returned to his position.
"What do you mean?" he answered, smiling, as he high-fived Max. "It's just called being aggressive, being hungry. If you don't want to win hard, go home."
"Well, that was a bullshit move and you know it. And we're taking a foul on that one," Drew replied as he picked up the ball and threw it to another one of their guys to inbound and get the game started again.
Sally's moved the ball down court, where they were now met with a zone defense, which meant that Drew could no longer draw Max off of his teammates. Happily for Drew, his teammates all seemed to have picked up on their opponent's aggression and were matching them for elbows and pushes, including Mickey.
They passed the ball back and forth on the perimeter, with one or the other of them feigning drives in order to draw out Dave's team and leave some room near the basket. Mickey or Drew would touch the paint every once in a while, but Dave's team made it difficult to get the ball into either of them, their tallest guys.
After Andrew had done a fake and drawn three of their players away from the basket, he saw that Mickey had gotten himself open and had a chance to score.
He dribbled inside and was closing in on the basket when a large figure seemed to block out all the lights above. The figure was the huge body of Max, and he was not only just raising his hand to block the shot but was going to land on him with his whole body.
Mickey sent up a shot and prepared to get crushed by Max's huge bulk. It was almost like time stood still as he was waiting for the impact he knew was coming.
Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, someone else leaped in front of him from out of nowhere between him and Max
It was Drew.
`BAM!' he heard as the two bodies hit the floor together. He had no idea if his shot went in or not. All he could think of was Drew as he ran over to the tangled mass of bodies.
Max was the first to get up, but barely. It was clearly a surprise for him, too, as he shook his head to get his bearing. Drew just rolled his eyes in disgust. Like Max had failed him.
Mickey helped Max to get up, but mostly to get at Drew, who wasn't moving.
"What's the matter?" Mickey asked as he knelt at his side. "Are you hurt?"
Drew was motionless for another moment, but finally stirred. He slowly got to his knees, but then stayed there to catch his breath. "Yeah, I think so. Just give me a second," he said as he sucked in deep breaths.
Mickey put his hand on Drew's shoulder to steady him. "Just take your time," he said. As he kept his hand firmly planted on his shoulder, he found that Drew's muscles definitely allowed a firm grip.
By now both teams had gathered around the scene and Drew's teammates were all asking if he was OK. Even some of Dave's guys seemed concerned. But Dave himself stayed away, and Andrew and Mickey were too concerned with their teammate to notice the smirk on Dave's face.
"Can you get up?" Mickey asked, his hand still attached to Drew's shoulder.
He didn't answer for a moment, but in the meantime another of the Sally's players was on the other side of him, ready to help Mickey get Drew back on his feet.
Then Drew finally spoke. "Are you all right?" he asked as he looked at Mickey, his breathing still labored.
"I'm good, I'm good," Mickey answered, trying to move past his own answer as fast as he could to get Drew to talk about himself.
"You're... sure?" Drew replied.
"Yes! I'm sure. You're hurt a lot more than me. Can you get up?" Without even thinking, Mickey wiped the sweat soaked blond hair out of his face, not thinking about how it might look to anyone. How can he be saying that to me?!' Mickey asked himself, he just got clobbered.'
"I think so," Drew replied as he slowly started to raise himself up. With the two of them providing lift and now even Andrew lending a hand, they were able to get Drew up off the floor, though he clearly could not yet stand by himself.
For stability, Drew wrapped his right hand around Mickey's upper arm, but didn't do the same for the guy on his left hand side. Mickey felt flush as Drew's fingers tightly squeezed his balled-up bicep, which was flexed trying to support him. With this grip alternating hard and soft, he almost thought that Drew was feeling him up. Which was clearly absurd, he told himself.
"Can you walk?" Mickey asked.
"Um, I think so. Let me... uh... try," Drew replied. But he never even made it to a second step before he almost toppled over and the three of them got him steady again. "Just give me a sec, I'll be OK," he continued as he slowly tried to orient himself again. He had almost let go of his other support person, but his now tight grasp of Mickey's arm never released.
"We need to help you over to the bench, Drew," Andrew said. "You can't walk on your own right now."
"I just need a sec, that's all, just a second," he repeated several times.
It was clear to just about everyone but Drew that he need more than a second to clear his head, but he insisted that nothing serious was wrong. He again asked the guys to let him get back in, and even released Mickey's arm. But he immediately stumbled one more time before Mickey and his team mates were back to supporting his struggling frame.
"I just need a minute, and I'll be OK, really," he pleaded, and continued to resist the entreaties of his teammates to let them help him to the sidelines.
"No more minutes!" Mickey ordered. "You're done for now. We've got good guys on the bench who want to help the team while you and I take a break."
"But it's almost over, we..."
"Hey guys," Mickey called out to the sidelines, "It's time for Drew and I to rotate out, you guys need to rotate in."
"OK, will do. Take care of our big guy," one of them said as two fresh players ran out onto the court.
The pressure on his shoulders was continuous as Mickey slowly steered Drew toward the recently vacated seats. He was focused on getting Drew safely off the battlefield, but he couldn't help noticing the big, solid body in his grasp and how much of his own strength it took to keep this guy stable.
To try to monitor his breathing, Mickey sat closer to Drew than he had ever been before, their bare legs almost touching as he tilted his head toward Drew's face. "How do you feel?" he asked, finally releasing his grip.
"I kind of have a ringing in my ears, and my ankle hurts a bit," he replied as he tried to shift some weight between his feet. "I should probably just ice the ankle up tonight, it should recover. The ringing, I'm not sure what to do. I hope it just goes away. But I'll live," he said as he reached down and adjusted his sneakers.
Then he turned to Mickey. "But what about you?"
"You took 99% of the blow, Drew. I'm good."
"You're sure?" he asked again. "He could have taken both of us out, the way he was flying through the air..." Mickey could feel Drew's body starting to shift again, like he was getting woozy or disoriented. His hand went back on the shoulder to steady him again.
"Look at me, Drew," Mickey demanded as he stared into Drew's face. "I want to look at the pupils of your eyes, to see if they're dilated."
It was only because it was an emergency that he wasn't hypnotized. The eyes looked fine, at least as far as he could tell. Not only fine, but beautiful, he thought to himself. The examination was a good excuse to just keep staring into them a little longer.
"Do they look OK?" Drew asked.
It seemed like Drew was leaning into him even more for support, but maybe because the whole situation was catching up with him, Mickey thought to himself. In any case, he felt warmer than he did when he was out on the court and actually playing.
Mickey was silent for a moment, until something inside of him jogged him out of his trance. "They look good, I think. They're both still the same size, which they're supposed to be. So as far as I can tell, it doesn't look like anything serious, at least upstairs. But you have to be careful, of course, especially because of your past concussions. If you feel sick or nauseous, even a little bit, we'll need to take you to the health center."
"My eyes look OK? All right, that's great!" Drew replied, ignoring Mickey's admonitions. "You know, maybe I can get back in. We were only down by two, and I wouldn't need to play long, you know, the game is almost over."
"No way!" Mickey replied, again looking straight into Drew's eyes but now to convey a different kind of message.
Drew looked right back at him, his sudden enthusiasm quickly wilting. "You're going to keep me here?"
"Yes! There is no way you're going back in there to play. You hit the ground hard and we need to make sure that there is nothing else going on. You can't risk it," he said, then continued. "You're staying here!"
If Mickey was surprised by the vehemence of his own response, he wasn't the only one.
"Wow... look who's bossy now," Drew replied. For the first time since the accident, a small smile appeared on his face.
"Oh, damn, I'm sorry, Drew. I didn't meant to be pushy. I just want to... make sure that everything is good, that's all."
Drew was silent. He looked at Mickey, then looked down at the wood gym floor then looked back up at him again. "I know Mickey, you don't need to apologize. Um... thanks for looking out for me."
Without Drew and Mickey, the game was still close, but in the end Dave's team got the win. But the `high-five' that Dave gave to Max at the other end of the court had a whiff of more than a single victory.
"Are you losers ready to go over to Casey's for drinks," Dave yelled across the court, wearing his most triumphal sneer as he mentioned a popular student bar not far from the gym. "Oh yeah, and remember the most important rule: losers pay!"
"You really lucked out this time," Drew shouted back. Then, in a quieter tone meant for his team mates around him, he said, "as if luck had anything to do with it."
As the group approached the back door of the bar through a tight and narrow alley, Drew excused himself from Mickey and their teammates, hanging outside the door for Dave's team to catch up. As the victors piled through the steel security gate, Drew motioned with his hand to Dave, asking him to step aside for a minute.
"Sure," he responded, "You can apologize to me in public or private for your rude comments. Either is OK with me."
Drew let the rest of the team pass inside, holding the door for them, until everyone but he and Dave had entered the bar. He gave a big smile to the last one as he closed the gate behind them.
Then, suddenly, he turned on Dave, throwing him up against the brick wall, next to the smelly garbage cans.
"What kind of crap was that in there?!" Drew demanded.
"Are you threatening me, Patterson?" he shot back. Sarcasm was written all over his face, but there was also an element of fear as Drew grabbed his shirt and started to push him up the wall. It was a remarkable feat of strength considering that Dave was the bigger of the two.
"Don't think that you can get away with that kind of shit!"
"Pretty tough talk, especially for a guy who's been sneaking off to see a counselor at the health center the last few weeks," he said with all the bile he could muster. "Max isn't the brightest boy, he has no idea who the Pattersons are. But he said that he recognized you as a recent visitor, sneaking in with all the other head cases. And more than once. Wouldn't the world like to know what all that is about?"
"Well, let me tell you this," he spit out, his face turning crimson, "You can say anything you want about me. I don't care. But if you mess with Mickey, or any of my friends, I swear, I'll put you in crutches," he said slowly and deliberately to make his point as clear as possible. At the same time his hands were starting to twist Dave's shirt, practically pulling it apart.
"Whoa, it's really about him, that Mickey guy, isn't it? I knew it! I asked around about him – he's a big fag! But you knew that, didn't you? Well, guess what, Mr. High and Mighty? I think I might know what's going on here. And I'm going to fix you! You and your butt-buddy, too."
"Don't push me..." Drew warned him, stiffening his grip, stretching the shirt to the limit. But there was also a lump in his throat.
"Yeah, what a story this is! A gay Patterson! I saw the way you two snuggled up to each other on the bench, that was cute."
Then, with an ominous voice, he proclaimed, "Oh yeah, with just a little assistance from Max and some other friends, I'm going to take you down!"