Coach McKenzie allowed the players less than a minute to enjoy the fact that they had dragged themselves back into the game.
Wallace Memorial had recovered from twelve points down, the gym outside was louder than it had been at any point during the opening half, and several players entered the changing room looking understandably pleased with themselves.
McKenzie waited until everyone had found a seat before reminding them that the scoreboard told two different stories depending on how they chose to look at it.
“We’ve conceded forty-one points,” he said, standing in front of the team with his clipboard tucked beneath one arm.
“Some of you seem very happy because we dug ourselves out of the hole we created.
That’s lovely, but I’d have preferred not spending half the game digging in the first place.
We started badly, they punished us for it, and if we defend the same way after halftime, they’ll do it again.” Arthur wiped his face with a towel and muttered that it was difficult to argue with that, earning a pointed look from McKenzie and a few quiet laughs from the rest of the team.
The coach quickly moved on to the adjustments he wanted, particularly against Dalry’s guards.
Fergus’s introduction had disrupted the matchup Dalry repeatedly exploited against Finn, but their opponents had already begun responding before halftime by moving number twenty-three away from the ball and involving other players in their screening actions.
McKenzie wanted Wallace to communicate rather than overreact.
If Fergus or another perimeter defender had his man contained, there was no reason for William or Merrick to abandon their assignments simply because somebody dribbled near the paint.
The help needed to come when it was actually necessary, because Dalry had shown throughout the opening half that they were perfectly willing to move the ball until Wallace made a mistake.
The offensive message was directed primarily towards Jaime, who had scored thirteen points and carried a large part of Wallace’s comeback.
“They’re starting to send a second defender at you whenever you get inside the arc,” McKenzie told him.
“That’s not a problem unless you decide you need to score through both of them.
Make the pass and let somebody else punish the rotation.” Jaime nodded.
“Got it.” McKenzie looked towards everyone else.
“And when he gives it up, don’t stand there admiring the fact that Jaime Douglas has finally passed the basketball.
Be ready to do something with it.” “That happened once,” Jaime protested.
Arthur immediately looked towards him.
“You’ve had thirteen points.
You’ve definitely passed more than once.” “Didn’t say I hadn’t.” “Then what are you arguing about?” “Enough,” McKenzie interrupted, although Fergus thought he saw the coach suppressing the beginning of a smile.
“We’ve got another half to play.
Save your energy for Dalry.” Wallace returned to the court with the same starting five, which meant Fergus resumed his place on the bench.
He would have been lying if he claimed he wasn’t disappointed, but Finn’s defensive difficulties hadn’t changed what he offered offensively, and Fergus understood why McKenzie wanted his shooting on the floor.
Finn justified the decision almost immediately by making an open jumper after Jaime drew help on a drive, although Dalry responded from the opposite corner before Merrick scored inside at the other end.
Neither team managed to create separation.
Dalry’s point guard converted a difficult runner, Arthur answered by finding William on a cut, and Finn knocked down another jumper when his defender helped too far towards Jaime.
Whenever Wallace appeared ready to take control, Dalry responded with a basket of their own.
47 – 47.
The score remained close over the following minutes, with the lead changing hands several times.
Fergus spent most of that stretch studying number twenty-three, knowing there was a good chance McKenzie would eventually send him back into the game with the same defensive assignment.
Dalry’s guard had clearly learned something from their first-half matchup because he was no longer standing around waiting to attack from the top.
Instead, he moved constantly without the ball, cutting through the lane and using screens in an attempt to force his defender into traffic before receiving a pass.
Fergus wanted the challenge.
The nervousness that had almost frozen him when McKenzie first called his name was gone.
He had already discovered that he could compete at this level, and after spending the first half wondering whether every mistake might send him permanently back to the bench, he now found himself impatient for another opportunity.
Dalry eventually forced consecutive Wallace turnovers and converted both mistakes into points, moving four ahead.
53 – 57.
McKenzie watched the next Wallace possession end with another difficult attempt before turning towards the bench.
“Robertson, Fraser.
Get ready.” Fergus had his warm-up top off almost before McKenzie finished speaking.
Callum Fraser joined him at the scorer’s table, and when the official waved them forward, Fergus replaced Finn while Callum gave Merrick a brief rest.
McKenzie stopped Fergus for a moment before he entered.
“Twenty-three again.
He’s moving more now, so don’t stare at the ball and lose him.
When he gets it, keep him outside and make him give it up.
I don’t want you gambling for steals just because you had a good first half.” “I won’t.” “Good.
Get in there.” Number twenty-three noticed Fergus approaching and gave him a faint smile.
“You again.” Fergus lowered himself into his defensive stance.
“Lucky you.” Dalry immediately tested the matchup.
Twenty-three received the basketball on the right wing, waited for a screen and attacked towards the middle, but Fergus had already positioned himself to discourage the drive.
He stayed attached around the screen and prevented the guard from turning the corner cleanly, forcing him to retreat towards the perimeter rather than reaching the lane.
Nothing spectacular happened.
Fergus didn’t knock the ball away or force a desperate shot, but Dalry’s first action had failed and several seconds disappeared from the possession.
Twenty-three eventually moved the ball elsewhere, and by the time it returned towards the top, Wallace’s defence had remained organised long enough for Jaime to recognise the passing lane.
Jaime stepped forward and knocked the ball loose.
Arthur collected it and immediately pushed up the floor, returning the basketball to Jaime after crossing halfway.
Jaime drew the final defender before finding William near the rim for an easy finish.
55 – 57.
McKenzie pointed towards Fergus as Wallace retreated.
“That’s it!
Make him move it!” The next possession followed a similar pattern.
Twenty-three tried attacking without waiting for a screen, perhaps hoping to catch Fergus expecting one, but Fergus shifted with the first move and prevented him from gaining the angle he wanted.
With the drive unavailable, the Dalry guard picked up his dribble near the sideline and searched for another option.
William recognised the situation before the pass was thrown.
He edged away from his own assignment just enough to make the passing lane appear available, and when twenty-three attempted to use it, William stepped across and intercepted the ball cleanly.
Wallace was running again.
Jaime carried the basketball through the middle, drew the last defender and found Arthur cutting towards the basket.
Arthur finished despite contact and earned a free throw, which he converted to give Wallace the lead.
58 – 57.
The home crowd responded immediately, and Fergus could hear Angus somewhere among the noise.
Dalry called a timeout before Wallace’s momentum could build any further, allowing Fergus to return to the bench for instructions without leaving the game.
McKenzie crouched in front of the players.
“That’s what happens when we keep them outside.
They can’t get into the paint, so they start forcing passes.
Jaime, William, keep reading it, but don’t cheat so far that you’re giving up something easy.
Robertson, they’re going to try getting twenty-three away from you now.
Stay attached.” Fergus nodded while taking a drink.
The prediction proved correct.
Once play resumed, Dalry moved number twenty-three towards the corner and began using another guard to initiate the offence.
Fergus followed his assignment instead of chasing the basketball, even when doing so meant spending long stretches without being directly involved in the action.
He denied one backdoor cut, recovered after briefly helping on a drive and secured a defensive rebound when a Dalry jumper bounced long towards his side of the court.
His defence wasn’t producing highlights, but Fergus was beginning to understand that it didn’t need to.
Dalry had spent the opening quarter repeatedly targeting one matchup because they believed it could create an advantage.
With Fergus on the floor, that route had become considerably less comfortable, and whenever twenty-three struggled to penetrate, Jaime and William could become more aggressive in the passing lanes.
Wallace still couldn’t pull away.
Dalry remained composed enough to answer almost every run, and the score continued shifting back and forth as both teams found ways to create points.
62 – 61.
A few possessions later, Dalry moved ahead again.
64 – 65.
The atmosphere inside the gym had changed completely from the opening quarter.
Fergus could hear reactions to almost every dribble towards the paint, and whenever Wallace scored, Angus’s voice somehow managed to distinguish itself from dozens of other people.
Fergus wondered briefly whether his younger brother would have any voice left by the time they went home.
His first scoring opportunity of the half arrived with Wallace trailing by one.
Arthur brought the basketball across halfway before passing to Jaime, who immediately attracted a second defender when he attacked towards the middle.
Jaime moved the ball to William near the high post, and as Dalry’s defence shifted towards him, Fergus saw number twenty-three turn his head.
Fergus cut along the baseline.
William saw the opening and delivered the pass low, forcing Fergus to gather the basketball near his knees.
By the time he controlled it, Dalry’s centre had already stepped towards the rim and removed the straightforward finish.
Rather than forcing the ball directly into the taller defender, Fergus continued underneath the basket.
The movement carried him towards the opposite side of the rim, with the defender following closely enough to contest from behind.
Fergus protected the ball beneath the basket and extended his right arm around the far side, using the understanding developed through Mikan Maestro to recognise an angle that would have been far less comfortable only a few weeks earlier.
The defender reached across as Fergus released.
There was contact, but not enough to knock him off balance.
The basketball caught the backboard and rolled around the rim before dropping through.
66 – 65.
Fergus landed beneath the basket with satisfaction rushing through him, only for McKenzie to immediately shout for him to get back on defence.
He sprinted towards halfway, and Dalry responded so quickly with a jumper that Wallace’s lead survived for barely twenty seconds.
66 – 67.
Arthur ran past Fergus to collect the inbound.
“Nice finish.” “Would’ve been nicer if we stayed ahead.” “That’s generally how basketball works.” Fergus laughed and followed him up the floor.
McKenzie substituted him several possessions later, returning Finn to provide more shooting.
Fergus had six points now, but the number mattered less than the fact that he had completed another productive stint without giving McKenzie any obvious reason to lose trust in him.
From the bench, he watched the game continue in the same stubborn pattern.
Jaime remained Wallace’s most dangerous scorer, although Dalry’s increased attention forced him to distribute more often than he had during the opening half.
William benefited from those rotations with two baskets near the rim, while Finn hit another jumper that demonstrated exactly why McKenzie was willing to tolerate some defensive difficulties to keep him involved.
Dalry kept answering.
By the time the game entered its final minutes, the scoreboard was level again.
72 – 72.
McKenzie called a timeout.
Fergus expected him to send the starters back out and let them decide the game.
Instead, as the players gathered around the bench, the coach looked directly towards him.
“Robertson, you’re going back in for Finn.” Finn looked disappointed, but he didn’t complain.
Fergus stood immediately and joined Arthur, Jaime, William and Merrick around McKenzie’s clipboard.
“They’ve scored too easily on the last few trips,” McKenzie said.
“We’re not winning this by trading baskets until somebody gets lucky at the buzzer.
Get stops, secure the rebound and run when it’s there.
If it isn’t there, Reid slows us down, and we execute.” He looked towards Fergus.
“Same job you’ve had all night.
Don’t suddenly decide you’re Gary Payton because you’ve had a few decent possessions.
Keep your man in front and make him uncomfortable.” Fergus knew enough basketball history to recognise the name, which made the comparison amusing even though McKenzie was specifically warning him not to attempt anything spectacular.
“Got it.” Wallace returned with Arthur at point guard, Fergus alongside him on the perimeter, Jaime on the wing and William and Merrick inside.
Dalry went straight towards number twenty-three, perhaps hoping Fergus would be too aggressive after returning late in a close game.
The guard attacked towards his right without waiting for a screen.
Fergus absorbed the first movement and stayed in front, forcing him to change direction before reaching the lane.
When twenty-three turned back outside, William was waiting near enough to discourage another drive, leaving the guard with few comfortable options.
Twenty-three attempted to move the ball across the top.
Jaime had already anticipated it.
He stepped into the passing lane and intercepted the ball before accelerating towards the opposite basket.
Dalry’s defenders couldn’t recover in time, and Jaime finished the transition opportunity himself.
74 – 72.
Wallace’s next defensive possession produced another turnover, although this time William was responsible.
Fergus prevented twenty-three from getting into the lane and forced him to pick up the ball near the wing, leaving Dalry’s offence momentarily stagnant.
The eventual pass towards a cutter was slightly too predictable, and William stepped across from the help side to take it.
Arthur received the outlet and pushed before Dalry could organise.
Merrick ran directly towards the rim, caught Arthur’s pass in stride and finished off the backboard.
76 – 72.
Dalry called a timeout as the Wallace crowd rose to its feet.
Fergus returned to the bench breathing hard, but there was no exhaustion comparable to the failed conditioning attempt he had endured during the summer.
Suicide Sprinter had taught him how to manage repeated bursts of effort and recover during natural pauses, and weeks of team training had only strengthened that foundation.
McKenzie didn’t change the lineup.
“Four points isn’t a lead worth protecting.
They’ll attack immediately, so don’t start backing away from them and hoping the clock saves us.” Dalry did exactly what he predicted.
Their point guard used a high screen immediately after the timeout and created enough separation from Arthur to knock down a pull-up jumper.
76 – 74.
Wallace came back the other way with the crowd still restless.
Arthur initiated the offence before moving the basketball towards Jaime, who drove hard enough to draw help from the middle.
When a second defender stepped towards him, Jaime kicked the ball out towards Fergus.
Fergus caught it several metres from the basket.
His instinct throughout most of the game had been to move the ball immediately whenever he received it outside his normal scoring areas.
That was usually the correct decision, and McKenzie had no interest in watching him take difficult jumpers simply because he wanted more points.
This time was different.
Number twenty-three had dropped several steps towards the paint to help against Jaime, and Fergus was standing comfortably inside the distance where he could maintain the shooting mechanics he had been working on since purchasing Form Shooter.
The defender recognised the danger and began stepping towards him, but the space was already there.
Fergus settled his feet and rose into the shot before twenty-three could arrive.
There was no time to think through every element of his mechanics individually.
That wasn’t the point of training them.
His stance felt balanced, the ball travelled through the familiar path, and his follow-through remained intact as the defender’s hand arrived too late to properly affect the release.
The basketball dropped through.
78 – 74.
For a moment Fergus watched the net, surprised less by the fact that he had scored than by how comfortable the shot had felt.
Jaime ran past and slapped him lightly on the back of the head.
“Stop admiring it and defend.” Fergus grinned as he turned.
“I was checking my form.” “You can check it on the bench if your man scores.” That was enough to send Fergus sprinting back.
Dalry’s next possession ended with a missed jumper, and William secured the rebound before finding Arthur.
Wallace no longer needed to attack quickly, so Arthur slowed the pace and forced Dalry to defend for most of the possession.
When their defence eventually became impatient, Merrick set a screen near the top, and Arthur used it to enter the lane before finding Jaime along the baseline.
Jaime finished.
80 – 74.
For the first time all half, Wallace appeared to have created meaningful separation.
Dalry became more urgent, which only made Fergus’s defensive assignment harder.
Twenty-three attacked immediately on the next possession and nearly beat him with a quick change of direction, but Fergus recovered before the guard reached the paint.
When Twenty-Three tried to change hands again in traffic, Fergus managed to knock the basketball loose.
He didn’t gain possession himself.
Arthur collected it several feet away and immediately looked upcourt, where William was already running ahead of Dalry’s forwards.
The pass reached him near the basket.
William finished.
82 – 74.
The noise inside the gym became almost overwhelming.
McKenzie was still shouting for everyone to get back.
Dalry stopped the run with a basket inside, reducing the margin to six, but the game had entered a stage where every empty possession cost them precious time.
Wallace responded by using most of the shot clock before Jaime was fouled, and his two successful free throws restored the eight-point advantage.
84 – 76.
Dalry scored again on the following trip.
84 – 78.
Arthur deliberately slowed Wallace’s next possession, dribbling near the top while McKenzie shouted instructions from the sideline.
Dalry eventually had to become aggressive, and Arthur used that pressure to get into the lane before finding Merrick beneath the basket.
The captain was fouled on the finish and made one of the resulting free throws.
85 – 78.
Dalry hurried the ball forward and attempted a jumper early in the possession.
It missed long, and Fergus found himself between number twenty-three and the rebound.
He established position rather than chasing the basketball, allowing William to collect it safely before Dalry fouled Jaime to stop the clock.
Jaime walked to the line with Wallace already seven ahead.
He made the first.
Then the second.
87 – 78.
Dalry had one final possession, but there was no realistic path back into the game.
Their final three-point attempt struck the back rim, and Merrick secured the rebound as the remaining seconds disappeared from the clock.
The buzzer sounded with Wallace Memorial ahead by nine.
87 – 78.
For several seconds Fergus remained near the wing, looking towards the scoreboard while the noise of the gym washed over him.
Wallace had spent most of the evening fighting simply to stay level with Dalry, yet the final few minutes had transformed a tied game into a comfortable-looking scoreline that didn’t really represent how difficult the victory had been.
Arthur was already celebrating enthusiastically, while Merrick reminded everyone to shake hands before they became too carried away.
Fergus joined the line and exchanged quick handshakes with Dalry’s players until number twenty-three reached him.
The guard looked exhausted.
“You’re annoying.” Fergus couldn’t help smiling.
“Thanks.” “Wasn’t a compliment.” “I know.
That’s why I liked it.” Number twenty-three shook his head and moved along the line.
Once the teams separated, Fergus finally had enough time to think about his own performance.
He had finished with eight points, two assists and three rebounds, numbers that would hardly dominate any conversation about the game when Jaime had been Wallace’s primary scorer and several starters had contributed heavily to the late run.
Fergus didn’t mind.
His most important contribution wasn’t easily represented by the basic statistics.
Whenever McKenzie put him on number twenty-three, Dalry’s offence became less comfortable.
Fergus’s ability to keep the guard outside the paint forced passes that Jaime and William could anticipate, and although the resulting steals belonged to them, Fergus understood that his defence had helped create the opportunities.
He hadn’t shut anyone down completely and had still been beaten several times, but every mistake no longer turned into panic.
He recovered, reset and continued defending.
That was something McKenzie noticed.
“Robertson.” Fergus turned towards the bench, where the coach was collecting his clipboard and several abandoned bottles.
“Good work tonight.” Fergus waited because he had already learned that compliments from McKenzie usually arrived with something attached.
The coach didn’t disappoint him.
“You got caught watching the ball twice, your help positioning was too deep on one possession late in the game, and I don’t want that made jumper convincing you you’re suddenly a shooter.” Fergus smiled slightly.
“I thought there’d be something.” “There’s always something.
If there isn’t, I’m not paying enough attention.” McKenzie tucked the clipboard beneath his arm before continuing.
“But you changed the game when you came in.
That’s what I need from somebody off the bench.
I don’t care whether you score eight or don’t score at all; if the other team is comfortable when you check in, you’re not doing your job.” That meant more to Fergus than hearing his final scoring total.
He nodded.
“I’ll keep working.” “I know you will.
That’s why you’re getting minutes.” The words caught Fergus slightly off guard.
McKenzie had told him after their first training session that he could find minutes if Fergus continued defending and doing the simple things properly.
Tonight was the first proof that he had meant it.
Fergus hadn’t entered merely because the game was already decided or because McKenzie wanted every player to participate.
He had been the first substitute into a game Wallace was losing, and McKenzie had returned to him again during the final minutes of a tied contest.
That was trust.
Not much of it yet, perhaps, but enough to matter.
McKenzie nodded towards the stands.
“Go see your family before your brother climbs onto the court.” Fergus turned and immediately understood the concern.
Angus was already waiting near the edge of the seating area, bouncing impatiently while Diane tried to keep him from getting in anyone’s way.
Hamish stood beside them, still dressed in the clothes he had worn to work, and the broad smile on his face made the long day visible in a different way.
“You scored eight!” Angus announced the moment Fergus reached them.
Fergus blinked.
“You counted?” “Dad did.” Hamish laughed.
“He tried.
Somewhere in the second quarter he decided you’d scored twelve.” “I was close.” “You were four points off.” “That’s close.” Diane ignored the argument and pulled Fergus into a hug despite his sweat-soaked uniform.
Fergus protested automatically, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it.
“You played brilliantly,” she said.
“I was all right.” “You were more than all right.
Your father nearly jumped out of his seat when you made that last shot.” Hamish looked offended.
“I did not.” “You absolutely did.” “I stood up.” “Very quickly.” Fergus laughed as his father shook his head.
Hamish eventually gave up defending himself and looked towards the court instead, where McKenzie and several players were still clearing equipment.
“Your coach seemed pleased with you.” “That’s difficult to tell with him.
He looks angry even when we win.” “He put you back in at the end.” Fergus looked towards his father again.
Hamish hadn’t needed basketball experience to recognise what that meant.
“Yeah,” Fergus said, unable to stop another smile.
“He did.” The gym slowly emptied around them as Dalry disappeared towards their changing room and Wallace students began heading home.
Fergus knew one victory didn’t guarantee anything.
There were fourteen league games still to play, and the goal of finishing among the top eight remained a long way away.
Still, the first result had been secured.
Wallace Memorial was 1 – 0.
More importantly for Fergus, the game had answered a question that had been following him since he made the team.
He now knew there was a role available to him if he continued earning it.
He wasn’t going to replace Arthur as the team’s point guard, take Finn’s place as their best shooter or suddenly become the scorer Jaime already was.
William had physical advantages Fergus didn’t possess, while Merrick’s strength and experience made him far more valuable around the basket.
Fergus didn’t need to imitate any of them.
For now, he could come off the bench and change the defensive rhythm of a game.
He could make an opposing guard work harder, keep the ball away from the paint and create situations where teammates such as Jaime and William could gamble more aggressively in the passing lanes.
Offensively, he could cut, finish around the basket and take an uncomplicated jumper when the defence gave him enough space.
It wasn’t glamorous, and before joining the team, Fergus might have imagined his first meaningful role looking very different.
He had spent years dreaming about being the player with the ball in his hands when everything mattered.
Instead, in his first competitive game, Coach McKenzie had trusted him because he was willing to make life miserable for somebody else who had the ball.
As Fergus followed his family towards the changing room, number fifty-two still damp against his back, he realised he was perfectly happy with that.
The dream of becoming an NBA player remained impossibly distant, but tonight wasn’t about that dream.
It was about something much smaller and much more tangible.
Wallace had one win.
Fergus had a place in the rotation.
Now he had to keep it.