Blind Your Ponies by Stanley Gordon West Read Free Book Online Page B

ball in your right hand and flip it at the basket with your fingers.”
    Olaf carefully positioned the ball in his right hand and tossed it at the basket. It hit the backboard and bounced, the sound echoing in the empty arena. Olaf awkwardly retrieved it and moved closer to the basket.
    “Again, with your fingers.”
    Sam demonstrated, his hand fanning the air. “Flip the ball—fingers and wrist, fingers and wrist.”
    After a dozen more attempts, the ball finally kissed off the backboard and swished through the net. The Norwegian boy’s face lit up.
    “Good,” Sam said and clapped. “That’s the reward, that’s the joy. It says ‘perfect.’ ”
    Sam’s state of expectancy soared as he gently directed the boy through numerous drills and exercises. Standing on the court with this towering Scandinavian had an overpowering effect and led to instant illusions of grandeur. “That’s great. Good, good. That’s very good. Yes, yes, super!”
    When he jumped, Olaf rose so close to the basket it was startling. Sam felt himself growing more excited.
    “See this area right under the basket that’s painted blue,” Sam said. “That’s what we call
the paint.
”
    “The paint?”
    “The paint! When we’re on offense, when we’re trying to make a basket, you can only be in that painted area for three seconds at a time.”
    “Why is that?”
    “So big guys like you can’t stand under the basket and score a hundred points. It gives little guys like me more of a chance. If you’re in the paint more than three seconds, you have to give the ball to the other team. That’s called a turnover.”
    Olaf cocked his head, his expression one of confusion.
    “Only once for three seconds I am allowed in the paint?” “No, no, you can move in and out of the paint all the time, you just can’t stop and stand in there for more than three seconds. See, like this.”
    Sam slid into the painted area, stood there crouched for nearly three seconds, and then slid back out. He repeated the move several times and then had Olaf imitate him.
    After nearly a half hour, Sam called a halt for fear of overdoing it.
    “Good, good, that’s enough for now. Do you think you might like it?”
    “Like it? Ya, I think so. But very excellent is what I want to be.”
    “One last thing,” Sam said. “Here.” He tossed the ball to Olaf. “Stand right under the basket and see if you can jump up and throw the ball down through the net.”
    Olaf took the ball in two hands and tried to stretch to the rim.
    “No … try it first with one hand.”
    The graceless boy took the ball in one hand and dropped it as he attempted to jump. Sam lobbed it back to him and nodded. On the fourth try Olaf went up on his toes, and with a slight jump, flung the ball down through the net. He turned to Sam with a puzzled smile.
    “That is allowed?”
    “Oh, yeah, that is very much allowed. It’s called dunking the ball.”
    “Dunking?”
    “Dunking … you just dunked the basketball. Was it fun?”
    “Fun? Ya, fun. Are you given more points for the dunking?”
    “No, but it scares the other team.”
    Sam locked the gym door as they exited.
    “One more thing. We don’t want anyone to know about this until you make up your mind whether or not to join the team. Otherwise you might feel foolish if you want to quit.”
    “Not feel foolish, oh, ya, good.”
    “You can tell the Painters I’m helping you after school, and that I’ll give you a ride home.”
    “Ya, a ride home. But about the ball playing, I won’t be speaking.”
    “Good.”
    A FEW WEEKS LATER , Sam stepped outside after school for a minute of fresh air before he was to meet Olaf in the gym. The blustery fall afternoon lifted his spirits as he looked about. A bunch of kids were shooting a basketball on the outdoor court while waiting for the bus, Curtis Jenkins among them. Sam decided it was as good a time as any to talk to the shy sophomore.
    He knew that the boy’s whole life was laid out