A Theory of Great Men by Daniel Greenstone

Author:Daniel Greenstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-89733-627-7
Publisher: Chicago Review Press
Published: 2012-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

PEOPLE HAVE TOO MUCH TIME on their hands. Or so I concluded when I peeked into the Garrison gym, during the seventh grade game, and saw the size of the crowd. There had to be two hundred people in the stands for our home opener, mostly middle schoolers, but dozens of adults, too, including a smattering of teachers and at least one parent of every kid on our team, except Morris. My guys were changing in the locker room, and I had a few minutes, so I slipped along the bleachers toward the far end of the gym.

When I got level with the far hoop, the ball changed hands and the two teams rushed toward me, so I waited before moving on. While I was frozen there, a lanky man of about forty, wearing a starchy business suit, came bounding down the bleachers, two rows at a time. “Hello,” he said, grabbing my hand. “They tell me you’re the new coach. I’m Dan Wexler’s father. You’ll be seeing me at most of the games this year, so I wanted to connect with you.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” I said, giving him a light shake, before pulling my hand back. “George Cavaliere.”

“Hold on just a second,” he said, pulling his BlackBerry from the inside pocket of his suit. “George Cavaliere,” he said, tapping on his screen with two fingers. “Is that two Rs?” “Whatever,” I said.

He punched the screen a few more times and said, “Listen, George, I was just talking to some of the other parents, and they told me you don’t work at the school here—and I think it’s just great that you’re willing to volunteer your time with the kids.”

“I’m not volunteering,” I said. “They’re paying me.”

He nodded at me, as if he thought that were swell. “But you know, nobody seems to have contact info for you,” he said. “So why don’t you give me a number—maybe a work number or something—in case I need to reach you.” He treaded cautiously around the word ‘work,’ as if he suspected I didn’t have another job, or, if I did, my job must really suck.

“I don’t like to get calls at work,” I said, “so if there’s something you want to discuss, you might as well bring it up now.”

Dan’s dad fumbled with the BlackBerry for another few seconds before turning it off. “No, it’s not anything specific. It’s just I heard about the game against Altgeld the other day.” He smiled sympathetically. “Tough loss. And, well, it sounds like you could use a little help.”

“Help?”

“You know, diagramming plays and that sort of thing.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“Are you sure? Listen, think about it and if you change your mind, let me know.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and extended his hand. “I actually played some JV ball at Yale, and we had great coaches. I can fax you some of our materials.”

I let the card dangle there in his hand. “Who’d you say your kid was?”

“Uh, Dan,” he said, his face darkening.

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