3-8-13
The clock read 3.3 second left. Michael sat on the edge of his seat as the arena’s thunderous roar seemed to envelope him. He wanted to be out there. He wanted to be on the court, out there, and he wanted the ball in his hands.
This was his moment.
It would have been his moment if he was still playing anyway. Instead, he was stuck here right behind the bench, his eyes glued to the clock and the scoreboard.
They were tied 111-111 and the Thunder were crippled at this point. Both Durant and Westbrook had suffered injuries in the first half and reports were that they were serious … they wouldn’t be back for weeks according to the initial diagnosis. The second half had been a battle between the two teams. Kevin Martin had lit up the team from beyond the arc and had kept the Thunder in it.
Michael had been spitting fire for the last hour at his team, telling them to play defense only to watch them give up shot after shot.
And then answer back with more shots. Darren Collison had responded to Westbrook going down with 24 points and a smattering of assists. He was leading this team.
He was doing it better than Kemba could. Michael hadn’t been happy to hear about the trade but it happened … he had no control over it. Since that trade they’d actually won a few games, surprisingly. The team seemed to respond better to Collison than Kemba, despite Kemba being a proven winner.
The official blew his whistle and Michael’s was pulled out of his thoughts.
The arena was the loudest it had ever been.
They were inbounding the ball at half court. Thomas had it, was looking for his man … he was looking for Collison or Gordon but both shooters were covered.
Thomas desperately lobbed the ball into play.
MKG caught it beyond the arc and the rookie shot the ball.
The buzzer sounded as the ball hit backboard and went in.
Michael shot out his chair and so did everyone in the arena. “YES! YES!” He screamed as his fist pumped in the air.
The arena exploded as Bobcats bench rushed the court to surround the young player.
Michael tallied the stats in his head. MKG had just made the first three of the game for himself. He finished with 24 points and 12 rebounds. A double-double and a clutch moment.
The great one, his Airness, fell back into his seat as the cheers of victory echoed through the arena.
In his seat he remained hours later, his mind wrestling with questions.
His companion and best friend for years, George, found his way by his side. “You okay?”
Michael looked out onto the court where the rookie had nailed that shot. “I wish it was me.”
George nodded sagely. “Yeah, you would have made it look better.”
Michael chuckled at that. He would have made it look better. “Grab a seat.”
George did as he was told and the two old friends sat there, staring out into the court. “We won,” George observed.
Michael took a deep breath. “We did.” He looked over at George. “Any information?”
George crossed his arms. “I’ve talked with my people. Gold is clean … he has no direct connection with the family.”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “But he does have a connection indirectly.”
George nodded his head slightly. He pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket. It’d been folded and creased a few times, like someone had read over it over and over. “Read for yourself.”
Michael took the paper, unfolded it, and scanned it.
His mouth went dry. “Is this true?”
“From what everyone can tell me … yeah.” George leaned back in his seat. “Gold doesn’t know.”
Michael turned to look at George with surprise. “He doesn’t know?”
“He hasn’t seen him in years.” George shook his head. “He’s not working with the family though. He doesn’t owe them anything.”
“But they owe him,” Michael said as the gears in his mind began to turn. It wasn’t often the family found itself in a position where they owed someone something. He might be able to use this if he played it correctly. “George, we need to know if he’ll be loyal to us when the time comes.”
“You want to bring him in?” It was George’s turn to look surprised. “You don’t do that.”
“I know.”
“You stick with the people who got you here.”
“I know.”
George smirked. “You believe in this guy, don’t you?”
Michael didn’t answer him. Instead, he stared back out onto the court.
Maybe he did believe in Gold.
Or maybe he was just desperate to win.
He wasn’t sure.
But he would be soon enough.