Fergus had imagined wearing a proper basketball uniform often enough that the reality should not have felt quite so strange.
The folded kit was waiting for him when he arrived at Wallace Memorial’s changing room after the final bell, stacked neatly on one of the benches alongside twelve others.
Fergus found his by the number printed on the shorts and picked up the jersey, unfolding it carefully.
Grey.
That was the dominant colour, with blue stripes running down either side and continuing onto the shorts.
Across the chest, printed in large blue lettering, was the name Fergus hadn’t actually heard anyone use much during training.
BARBARIANS.
He turned the jersey around.
52.
Fergus smiled.
It was the same number he had been assigned during tryouts, apparently through coincidence rather than any deliberate decision.
Fifty-two wasn’t exactly the number he would have selected if McKenzie had handed him a catalogue of possibilities, and Fergus couldn’t immediately think of an NBA player he admired who wore it.
Still, there was something appealing about having a number that didn’t immediately belong to somebody else in his mind.
It was his.
“Fifty-two?” Arthur asked from the next bench, already dressed in his own uniform.
“That’s horrendous.” Fergus looked towards him.
“What’s wrong with fifty-two?” “Everything.
Guards aren’t supposed to wear numbers like that.
You look like an American football linebacker.” William glanced over while tying his shoes.
“He weighs about seven stone.
I don’t think anyone’s mistaking him for a linebacker.” “That’s not the point.” Fergus pulled the jersey over his head.
“I’m keeping it.” “You don’t have a choice.” “Then why are we discussing it?” Arthur opened his mouth before apparently realising Fergus had him there.
William laughed and returned to his shoes.
The changing room was considerably louder than it had been during tryouts.
Some of the players were joking, others adjusting their uniforms or checking their shoes, while Merrick moved around reminding people not to leave their belongings scattered everywhere.
Jaime sat near the opposite wall with headphones in, appearing far calmer than Fergus felt.
This wasn’t a tryout anymore.
Nobody was competing for a place on the roster tonight.
They were about to play somebody else.
Coach McKenzie entered several minutes later and waited near the door until conversations gradually stopped.
He wore a dark tracksuit rather than the training clothes Fergus normally saw him in, although the black beard, tied-back hair and permanently serious expression made him look no less intimidating.
“Dalry’s already warming up, so we’re going out in a minute.
Starters know who they are.
Everyone else stays ready, because if I call you and you’re still trying to work out which end of your trousers your legs go through, I’ll find somebody else.” A few nervous laughs followed.
McKenzie looked around the room.
“First game.
Home court.
Don’t make it more complicated than that.
We defend properly, move the ball and run when the opportunity is there.
Nobody needs to win the season tonight.” That helped Fergus slightly.
Then they walked into the gym.
The Wallace Memorial court had never seemed particularly impressive during training, but the presence of spectators transformed it.
Several rows of portable seating had been arranged along one side, and while the crowd wasn’t enormous, there were enough parents, siblings, teachers and students to create a constant murmur that echoed around the gym.
Fergus spotted his family almost immediately.
Angus spotted him at exactly the same time.
“FERGUS!” Several people turned.
Fergus briefly considered pretending he had no idea who the shouting child was.
Angus was standing on the lower row of seats waving both arms while Diane tried to pull him back down.
Hamish sat beside her, still wearing the dark trousers and shirt he used for work, suggesting he had come directly from the factory rather than going home first.
Fergus couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
Hamish noticed him looking and raised one hand.
Diane waved as well, while Angus continued enthusiastically enough for all three of them.
Arthur appeared beside Fergus.
“Your fan club?” “Unfortunately.” “I heard him from the changing room.” “You did not.” “I probably could have.” Fergus gave his family a final wave before joining the warm-up.
The nervousness returned as soon as basketballs started bouncing around the court.
Dalry Academy wore dark green uniforms and looked no more physically intimidating than Wallace, which Fergus found reassuring until he remembered McKenzie’s warning about assuming anything from appearances.
The opening introductions were brief.
Merrick shook hands with Dalry’s captain, the officials gathered both teams, and the starters took the floor.
Arthur.
Finn.
Jaime.
William.
Merrick.
Fergus sat near the end of the bench with his warm-up top still on and tried to stop his right leg from bouncing.
The referee tossed the ball.
Merrick lost the tip.
Dalry scored twelve seconds later.
Their point guard drove towards Arthur, drew William a step towards the lane and fired the ball into the corner.
Finn arrived late on the rotation, and Dalry’s shooter buried the open jumper.
Wallace answered through Jaime, who attacked immediately on the next possession and finished at the rim, but the opening minutes quickly developed into something McKenzie clearly didn’t like.
Dalry kept finding Finn.
Their guards weren’t doing anything particularly complicated.
They used simple screens, quick changes of direction and constant movement away from the ball, forcing Finn to navigate traffic repeatedly.
His shooting made him valuable at the other end, but defensively he struggled to stay attached.
Dalry noticed.
So did McKenzie.
The scoreboard climbed quickly.
7 – 4.
Dalry.
Finn hit a jumper to keep Wallace close, only for his man to beat him backdoor on the next possession.
William rotated across to help, leaving another Dalry player open near the baseline.
Another basket.
Jaime answered with a difficult pull-up, but Wallace couldn’t string together stops.
12 – 6.
Dalry.
Fergus leaned forward on the bench, watching McKenzie more frequently than the scoreboard.
The coach’s arms were folded tightly across his chest, his expression becoming increasingly unpleasant every time Dalry created another opening from Finn’s side of the floor.
Arthur lost the ball attempting a pass through traffic, and Dalry converted in transition.
Finn then missed an open jumper.
At the other end, Dalry ran him through another screen before their guard attacked the gap and finished over Merrick’s late contest.
16 – 6.
McKenzie called a timeout.
The Wallace players hurried towards the bench.
“You’re chasing everything,” McKenzie snapped before anyone had fully sat down.
“They move the ball once, and half of you start running around as if you’ve never seen a pass before.
Keep your shape.” He crouched in front of the starters and pointed towards the court while explaining the adjustment he wanted.
Fergus listened closely despite assuming the timeout wasn’t intended for him.
McKenzie finished and looked towards Finn.
“Stop dying on every screen.
Get through them.” Finn nodded.
“Yes, Coach.” Wallace returned to the floor with the same five.
For a couple of possessions, the adjustment worked.
Jaime scored again, Merrick forced a miss inside, and Arthur pushed the ball ahead to William for a layup.
18 – 9.
The crowd became louder.
Dalry answered immediately.
Their point guard slowed near the top, waited for a screen and forced Finn to chase around it.
Finn got caught behind the screener, giving his opponent enough room to attack.
Merrick stepped up, the ball moved towards the baseline, and Dalry finished before William could rotate.
20 – 9.
On the next possession, Wallace missed; Dalry secured the rebound and drew a foul in transition.
One of two free throws went in.
21 – 9.
McKenzie turned towards the bench.
“Robertson.” For half a second Fergus didn’t move.
Then every part of him seemed to react at once.
“Yeah…yes, Coach.” “Get in for Finn.
You’ve got twenty-three.” Fergus pulled off his warm-up top and hurried towards the scorer’s table.
His heart was hammering.
Twenty-three was Dalry’s guard, a boy roughly Fergus’s height with short brown hair who had spent most of the opening quarter running Finn through screens and attacking whenever Wallace’s defence became disorganised.
McKenzie caught Fergus’s arm before he checked in.
“Don’t go hunting the ball.
Stay in front of him, talk through the screens and make him give it up.” Fergus nodded.
“Got it.” The official waved him onto the floor.
Fergus stepped across the sideline.
Somewhere in the crowd, Angus screamed his name again.
There would be time later to appreciate what this meant.
His first competitive game, his parents watching, the grey-and-blue uniform on his back and number fifty-two displayed beneath his name.
Right now, Dalry had the ball.
Number twenty-three looked towards Fergus and immediately called for a screen.
Fergus lowered into his stance.
Perimeter Pest didn’t make him quicker than his opponent, and it certainly didn’t guarantee he could navigate every screen successfully, but weeks of training had made the principles increasingly natural.
He maintained enough space to react without surrendering the drive, angled his body towards the direction McKenzie wanted and called out the approaching screen as William stepped towards him.
Twenty-three tried to turn the corner.
Fergus stayed attached.
The guard reached the wing, found no opening and picked up his dribble earlier than he wanted.
For the first time in several possessions, Dalry’s initial action had produced nothing.
Fergus remained close enough to discourage the easy return pass while the guard looked elsewhere.
With the possession slowing, twenty-three attempted to send the basketball towards a teammate cutting across the opposite side.
Fergus saw the pass leave his hands.
He didn’t need to steal it.
The pressure had already done the work.
The ball sailed beyond the cutter’s reach and bounced out of bounds.
Wallace possession.
The crowd applauded, although Fergus barely registered it as he turned upcourt.
“Good!” McKenzie shouted.
“Again!” Wallace didn’t score on the resulting possession.
Arthur found Jaime on the wing, but Jaime’s jumper bounced long, and Dalry recovered.
Fergus picked up twenty-three immediately.
This time the guard attempted to attack without waiting for a screen.
He crossed towards his right, but Fergus shifted with him and prevented the first step from creating separation.
Twenty-three hesitated, retreated slightly and tried to force a pass towards the middle.
Jaime had been watching.
He jumped the passing lane cleanly.
The steal sent Wallace the other way.
Arthur sprinted up the centre while Jaime pushed the basketball ahead, and Dalry’s defence scrambled backwards too slowly.
Jaime drew the final defender before dropping the ball to William for an uncontested finish.
21 – 11.
The noise inside the gym changed.
It wasn’t deafening, but Fergus could feel the difference immediately.
Wallace had spent most of the opening minutes reacting to Dalry.
Now the home crowd finally had something to respond to.
Dalry brought the ball up again.
Fergus stayed with twenty-three.
Another screen arrived, and this time Fergus briefly caught his shoulder against it.
The guard gained half a step, but Fergus recovered instead of giving up on the possession and forced him wider than he wanted.
Merrick remained near the rim rather than stepping completely out to help, and twenty-three eventually settled for an awkward jumper that struck the back iron.
Merrick secured the rebound.
Arthur pushed.
Jaime scored.
21 – 13.
Dalry.
They called a timeout.
Fergus jogged towards the bench, breathing hard, and McKenzie met him with a short nod.
“That’s the standard, Robertson.
Don’t relax because you’ve had two good possessions.” “I won’t.” Finn shifted along the bench to give Fergus space, his expression frustrated but not hostile.
Fergus sat beside him and accepted a bottle of water.
“They keep screening really high,” Finn said.
“Yeah.
Twenty-three wants to go right after it.” “I noticed after he did it about six times.” Fergus gave him a small smile.
“You’ll get him.” Finn looked towards McKenzie.
“If I get back on.” “You will.” McKenzie sent Fergus back out when the timeout ended.
The next few minutes were the most intense basketball Fergus had ever played.
Dalry adjusted by moving twenty-three away from the ball more often, forcing Fergus to chase him through cuts rather than simply contain him at the top.
Fergus got caught once and surrendered an open jumper, but it missed.
On another possession he lost his man briefly beneath the basket before recovering quickly enough to contest.
Nothing about his defence was perfect.
It was simply making Dalry work harder.
That proved enough to change the game.
Arthur began finding more opportunities in transition whenever Wallace secured rebounds, while Jaime increasingly imposed himself offensively.
Dalry had no defender who could comfortably handle his combination of speed and ball control, and once Wallace stopped surrendering easy opportunities at the other end, Jaime’s scoring began dragging them back into the contest.
The deficit shrank.
25 – 18.
Then 27 – 23.
Fergus’s first scoring opportunity came almost by accident.
Arthur drove towards the middle and kicked the ball towards Jaime, who attacked immediately before Dalry could reset.
Fergus had been standing near the corner but recognised the opening along the baseline and cut behind his defender.
Jaime found him.
Fergus caught the ball just outside the paint.
A taller Dalry player rotated across.
There wasn’t enough room for a normal layup.
A month earlier, Fergus might have forced one anyway.
Instead, he took a short step along the baseline and lifted the basketball high with his right hand, releasing the soft floater before the defender could properly challenge him.
The ball climbed above the outstretched arm.
It dropped through.
Fergus had scored his first official points.
He didn’t celebrate beyond a brief grin as he turned to run back, although hearing his family somewhere within the crowd made the moment considerably harder to ignore.
27 – 25.
“Nice shot, Flimsy,” Jaime said as they retreated.
Fergus looked towards him.
“Was that another compliment?” “Don’t ruin it.” Dalry finally settled after the momentum swing, and the remainder of the opening period became far more even.
Their point guard began attacking Arthur more frequently instead of repeatedly targeting Fergus’s matchup, while number twenty-three spent more time acting as a secondary option.
That alone felt like a victory.
When McKenzie eventually substituted Fergus, Wallace had erased almost all of the early deficit.
Fergus sat down to louder applause than he had expected.
McKenzie didn’t congratulate him immediately.
He waited until Fergus had taken a drink before leaning towards him.
“Good spell.
You got beaten twice and recovered both times instead of stopping.
That’s what I want.” Fergus nodded, still trying to control his breathing.
“Yes, Coach.” “Keep watching.
You’ll be back.” Those three words meant almost as much as the basket.
Finn returned and performed better during his second stint.
Dalry could no longer attack the same action with complete confidence, and McKenzie altered the defensive coverage enough to give him more help.
Finn rewarded the decision at the other end by hitting two jumpers, including one from deep enough that Fergus briefly wondered whether he would ever possess that sort of range.
Jaime remained the main reason Wallace completed the comeback.
Everything Dalry tried against him seemed to work for only a possession or two.
When they gave him space, he shot.
When they crowded him, he drove.
When a second defender came, he moved the ball and trusted Arthur or William to create the next advantage.
By the time Fergus returned, Wallace had finally drawn level.
33 – 33.
His second stint was shorter and less dramatic than the first, but it produced his second basket.
Arthur attacked from the top and forced Dalry’s defence towards the middle.
Fergus waited near the weak-side baseline, recognising that his defender had turned his head towards the ball.
The moment Arthur entered the lane, Fergus cut behind him.
Arthur saw it.
The bounce pass arrived perfectly.
Fergus caught the basketball with his left hand as a defender tried to recover from behind.
There was enough pressure to make the finish uncomfortable, but not enough to force Fergus away from the basket.
He maintained his angle, protected the ball with his body and extended with his left hand.
Green Mikan Maestro made the adjustment feel familiar.
The ball touched the backboard and fell through.
35 – 33.
Wallace had its first lead.
Fergus heard Angus again.
This time he couldn’t stop himself from glancing towards the stands as he ran back.
Diane was clapping beside him while Hamish leaned forward with his hands together, watching the court intently.
Fergus’s chest tightened for reasons that had nothing to do with running.
They were actually here.
They had paid the fees they had worried about during the summer.
Hamish had come directly from work, Diane had managed to avoid being called into the hospital, and Angus was probably annoying everyone within three rows.
Fergus was playing.
The final minutes before halftime became increasingly frantic as both teams found their offence.
Dalry began making the jumpers they had missed during Wallace’s comeback, while Jaime continued carrying much of the scoring burden for the Barbarians.
Fergus spent the final stretch on the bench after McKenzie returned Finn for additional shooting.
He didn’t mind.
For the first time since joining the team, Fergus knew exactly what McKenzie meant when he talked about finding minutes for somebody who defended.
His first stint had changed the game.
He hadn’t scored ten points or produced some impossible sequence of steals.
He had simply taken away the easy matchup Dalry had been exploiting.
Two pressured possessions had produced two turnovers, one sailing out of bounds and the other ending with Jaime intercepting the pass, and from there Wallace had finally found the energy to fight back.
Dalry scored with just over twenty seconds remaining to move ahead by two.
39 – 41.
McKenzie decided not to call a timeout.
Arthur walked the ball across halfway and waited for the clock to fall below ten before beginning the final possession.
Jaime came up to receive the ball, attacked towards his left and drew two defenders before kicking it back towards Arthur.
Arthur caught it near the elbow.
His defender recovered late.
Arthur rose and released.
The ball hit the front rim, bounced softly upwards and dropped through.
The halftime buzzer sounded.
41 – 41.
The gym erupted.
Arthur turned towards the bench with both arms spread as though he had just won the NBA Finals, earning an immediate shove from Jaime as the starters headed towards the changing room.
Fergus followed with the rest of the team, still trying to process everything that had happened.
Wallace had trailed 21 – 9.
Now they were level.
Jaime led everyone with thirteen points, providing the offensive spark that had carried the Barbarians through much of the comeback.
Fergus had only four, one from the baseline floater and another from the left-handed layup, but scoring wasn’t what had earned him his minutes.
For the first time in a real game, his defence had mattered.
Not in a drill.
Not during lunchtime basketball.
Not in a scrimmage where McKenzie could stop the possession and explain what everyone had done wrong.
A real game.
Fergus entered the changing room and sat down, his grey jersey already damp with sweat.
Across the room, Jaime was talking with Arthur about how Dalry had defended the final few possessions, while Finn listened closely to McKenzie discussing adjustments for the second half.
Nobody looked satisfied.
Neither did Fergus.
Forty-one points each meant the opening half had settled nothing.
Wallace Memorial had recovered from the terrible start, but Dalry had already demonstrated that they could score, and Fergus doubted they would spend the second half repeatedly attacking the same matchup after seeing how Wallace had responded.
McKenzie waited until everyone had settled before stepping into the middle of the room.
“Good,” he said, although his expression suggested nobody should become too pleased by the word.
“Now we’ve got a basketball game.” Fergus leaned forward and listened.
His first half of competitive basketball was over.
The second promised to be much harder.