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CHAPTER 8: The North Star
 By Jim Caple |
Previously at 24 College Avenue: Sirius Winfield is one of the new housemates and is also the identical twin brother of Orion Winfield, State College’s freshman basketball sensation, perhaps the best player ever recruited by Red Devils coach Jimmy Medici. But where Orion is all brass and confidence, Orion is his exact opposite.
As the blast of arctic air greeted him when he stepped out of the hotel lobby, Jimmy Medici swore he would never again play in the Polar Star Shootout. It was a familiar oath. There was only one thing that could entice the Red Devils coach to a remote tournament thousands of miles from home: money. The Red Devils were a Shootout fixture and the appearance payment was just too great to turn down.
So Medici put up with the long flight, the frequently below-zero temperatures and awkward starting times. There was very little Medici wouldn’t do for money, particularly if it involved national TV cameras that provided a terrific recruiting boost. If the Polar Star meant an extra recruit (and a $5,000 salary bump the appearance fee provided), he would endure the frigid weather. But that didn’t mean he would also enjoy it. No matter the money or the results, Medici spent the entire tournament in a bad mood because some disaster was always bound to happen.
There was the year the tournament coaches appeared in a group photo with a team of sled dogs, one of which bit Medici on the hand, breaking his skin and requiring a painful set of rabies shots. There was the year the blizzard of the decade hit during the tournament finale, stranding Medici and the Devils in town for an entire week. And worst of all, there was the year his point guard, Brush Prairie got drunk after a game and stumbled into the snow. He was rescued a couple hours later but by then his fingers were already frostbit and he wound up leading the nation in turnovers that season, which Medici remained certain cost his team the national championship.
With only the tournament championship game to play, Medici worried that this year’s disaster would involve Orion Winfield, his star freshman and perhaps the finest player the coach had ever recruited.
When Carpenter Winfield, insisted during recruiting that his son required special care, Medici simply nodded and gave the usual assurances. Until the player signed a letter of intent, he promised everything (and let the boosters take care of the details). After two decades of coaching at the highest level, the coach was used to all attitudes and very few were ever an insurmountable problem once the player fit into his style (the famed Pentagon of Success). Orion, unfortunately, was one of those exceptions. It wasn’t his demand for star treatment – dear God, Medici was used to that in players by now in an age when even the walk-ons came with attitude – it was the way he simply disappeared from one moment to the next. He had even missed a practice once, then had the gall to deny it. Had Orion not been quite so talented, the missed practice would have resulted in a one-game suspension. Instead, Medici punished him only by not starting him against the Christian Soldiers evangelical amateur team.
What worried Medici at the moment was the way Orion had played in the second half of the previous game. Or more accurately, the way he hadn’t played. Orion, normally the brashest and most confident of players, scored 16 points in the first half but seemed to shrivel up into a shell during halftime. When he came out for warm-ups, he not only wouldn’t talk to anyone, he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. He had trouble dribbling the ball and didn’t come close to hitting a jumper. That poor play continued into the second half before Medici finally yanked him with 12 minutes left and sat him on the bench for the remainder of the game. Most worrisome, Orion didn’t even respond when the coach called his name and asked to see him after the game. Instead, Orion ducked out the locker room door and disappeared. No one had seen him since.
God, Medici thought as he stepped onto the team bus, I hope we don’t have to send the sled dog teams out again to search for him like we did with Brush Prairie.
Medici peered at the players already seated on the bus. He noticed that none were studying; they were all too busy listening to their iPods and fiddling their video games.
“Anyone seen Orion?’’ he demanded.
The players all shook their heads and returned to their video games. Medici got off the bus and hurried back across the parking lot.
If any other player failed to show up on time for the team bus at the specified time – indeed, if they weren’t on the bus and seated five minutes early – he not only would be left behind, he could expect enough extra sets of line drills that he never would be late again. But the usual rules didn’t apply to Orion.
“I’m getting too old for this,’’ Medici said under his breath as he stomped back toward the hotel lobby. His assistant, Ed Clarence, awaited him by the door. “Any sign of Orion, Jimmy?’’ Clarence asked.
“No. And as pissed off as I am right now, he better hope I don’t see him.’’
“Wait,’’ Clarence said, pointing back to the lobby, “there he is now.’’
Sure enough, when Medici turned around he saw Orion strutting across the parking lot. The player breezed into the bus, oblivious to the grief his tardiness had caused Medici. “What up, Coach? Bus running late again?’’
Medici gritted his teeth and held his temper. No need to piss off his best player just before game time. He would talk to him on the flight home. “No, Orion. Everything is just fine. Glad you could make it.’’
When Orion sat down, Medici signaled to the driver to close the door and start the engine.
“I hate this @#$ & tournament,’’ Medici complained under his breath as he took his seat.
Next: Christmas Story
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