Coach McKenzie didn’t spend much time congratulating Wallace on their halftime lead.
A single point after twenty minutes meant very little when St Cuthbert’s had spent most of the first half demonstrating how difficult Edric could make life around the basket, and McKenzie was far more interested in making sure his players understood what had allowed them to stay ahead.
“Fifty-three points is good,” he said, standing beside the whiteboard while the boys recovered around him.
“Giving up fifty-two isn’t.
Fletcher, keep fighting him for position, but don’t waste energy trying to move him once he’s planted.
Campbell, I don’t want you doubling automatically anymore.
He’s waiting for it now, and we’re giving their shooters too much space.” William nodded while Merrick drank deeply from his bottle.
The Wallace captain had spent most of the half wrestling with someone several inches taller than him and looked as though he had already played an entire game.
McKenzie shifted to the offensive end of the board.
“And stop challenging him at the rim when he’s standing there waiting for you.
Edric wants you driving straight into his chest because he’s six feet tall and most of you aren’t.
Use the space in front of him.
Make him step away from the basket, and if he doesn’t, take what he gives you.” Fergus understood immediately why his floaters had been effective.
Edric’s size made conventional finishes difficult, but he couldn’t simultaneously protect the rim and contest every shot several feet away from it.
Fergus had scored seven points by finding those small pockets rather than trying to prove he could finish directly over the biggest player on the court.
McKenzie capped his marker and looked around the room.
“This is probably going to stay close.
Get comfortable with that.
You don’t need to win the game every time you touch the ball.” The second half proved him right.
Whatever freedom Wallace had found offensively during Finn’s extraordinary first-half shooting disappeared quickly.
St Cuthbert’s refused to leave him alone after the break, chasing him around screens and staying attached whenever Wallace tried to create space along the perimeter.
Finn eventually managed to bury his sixth three of the game, but the shot was an exception rather than the beginning of another run, and the attention he received meant somebody else had to carry Wallace’s scoring.
As usual, that somebody was Jaime.
The difference from the Dalry game was how hard St Cuthbert’s made him work for everything.
Jaime could beat his first defender often enough, but Edric’s presence behind the play discouraged him from taking the final step towards the basket.
He began stopping earlier for short jumpers, changing angles before entering the lane or giving the ball up and relocating when two defenders committed to him.
None of it looked as effortless as his scoring against Dalry, yet Fergus thought this might actually be the better performance.
Jaime wasn’t simply scoring when Wallace needed him; he was learning when not to force the attempt.
The score reflected how little separated the teams.
64 – 62.
Then 68 – 67.
Later, 70 – 69.
Wallace would edge ahead, St Cuthbert’s would answer through Edric or one of the shooters benefiting from the attention he commanded, and the home crowd would rise and settle with every change of possession.
Nobody could establish control for more than a minute or two.
Then Wallace finally cracked.
Arthur tried to force his way between two defenders and lost the basketball, giving St Cuthbert’s an easy transition basket.
Jaime missed at the other end, Edric controlled the rebound, and another quick attack followed before Wallace had organised itself properly.
What had been a one-point lead became a five-point deficit so quickly that McKenzie called timeout before frustration could turn into panic.
70 – 75.
Fergus had already stood before McKenzie looked towards the bench.
“Robertson for Morrison.” Finn didn’t argue.
His shooting had kept Wallace alive during the first half, but St Cuthbert’s had spent the second making sure he rarely received enough room to repeat it.
Fergus stripped off his warm-up top and joined the huddle.
McKenzie put a hand briefly against his shoulder.
“Give us some energy.
Don’t try to find five points yourself.” Fergus nodded.
“Got it.” His opportunity arrived defensively.
St Cuthbert’s went immediately towards the action that had caused Wallace problems all night, bringing Edric high to screen for number seven.
Fergus recognised it early and started moving over the top, expecting another collision with the largest body on the court.
Edric shifted after setting his feet.
It wasn’t much, but Fergus felt the hip move into his path.
The contact caught him across the chest and knocked him backwards, sending him hard onto the floor as the whistle sounded.
For an instant, Fergus wasn’t sure which direction the referee would point.
“Illegal screen.
Thirty-four.” Noise erupted from the Wallace bench and the nearby stands.
Edric protested briefly, more confused than furious, while Arthur reached down and pulled Fergus upright.
His chest hurt where the screen had caught him, but the discomfort barely registered when he realised what Wallace had gained.
St Cuthbert’s had been threatening to stretch the lead.
Instead, Wallace had the ball.
Jaime received it on the next possession and attacked the middle, drawing enough attention that Fergus found himself open near the elbow.
Edric remained several steps deeper, guarding the space around the rim rather than following Fergus outward.
For a fraction of a second, Fergus considered passing.
Then he remembered McKenzie’s halftime instruction.
Take what he gives you.
Fergus settled into the close jumper and released before the nearest defender could recover.
The shot felt reasonable leaving his hand, only to travel slightly harder than intended and strike the backboard.
Arthur groaned somewhere behind him.
The ball dropped through.
72 – 75.
Fergus turned with a grin as he ran back.
“Bank’s open,” Arthur called.
“Counts the same.” St Cuthbert’s still held the advantage, but the threatening run had disappeared.
Fergus stayed attached to number seven, navigated another screen without allowing himself to be removed from the possession and forced the guard to give the basketball up rather than attacking downhill.
Wallace didn’t suddenly dominate because he had entered the game; the contest simply returned to the uncomfortable back-and-forth rhythm it had followed all evening.
That was enough.
Jaime dragged Wallace closer with another difficult basket, Edric answered at the opposite end, and Arthur began finding more room as St Cuthbert’s devoted increasing attention to Jaime.
Fergus barely touched the basketball for several possessions, yet McKenzie left him on the floor because his defensive pressure prevented number seven from comfortably initiating the offence.
Then came the play that changed the atmosphere inside the gym.
Arthur tried feeding Jaime on the wing, but a defender anticipated the pass and got fingertips onto it.
The deflection sent the ball spinning towards the sideline, where it bounced once before beginning to cross out of bounds.
Fergus was several steps away.
He ran anyway.
There wasn’t enough room to stop, and by the time he reached the boundary, the basketball was already beyond it.
Fergus threw himself after the ball, stretching his right arm as far as it would go and managing to slap it backwards before either he or the ball touched the floor.
His momentum carried him into the out-of-bounds area.
Fergus landed painfully on his side and slid across the polished surface, hearing the crowd react before he could see whether the save had actually found anyone.
Jaime had the ball.
Several St Cuthbert’s players had relaxed for the smallest moment, expecting the whistle that never came, and Jaime needed no further invitation.
He accelerated through the opening and finished before Edric could recover to the basket.
78 – 79.
The gym came alive.
Jaime pointed towards Fergus as he scrambled upright, but there was no time for celebration.
St Cuthbert’s were already preparing to inbound, and McKenzie’s voice cut through the noise from the sideline.
“Great effort!
Now get back and defend!” Fergus sprinted into position.
The save didn’t appear beside his name on the scoreboard and wouldn’t count as an assist, but Fergus didn’t care.
Wallace had been one loose ball away from surrendering possession, and now the deficit was one.
On the next trip, William waited until Edric put the ball on the floor before committing to the double.
The timing trapped the big man between Merrick and William, forcing an awkward pass that Jaime anticipated.
Wallace suddenly had numbers moving the other direction, and Jaime finished the transition himself.
80 – 79.
The lead continued changing hands from there, but the character of the game had shifted.
Neither side was finding easy baskets anymore.
Legs were tired, cuts became less explosive, and every drive towards the paint seemed to end with bodies crowded around Edric and Merrick.
Fergus eventually returned to the bench when McKenzie wanted Finn’s shooting back on the floor, yet he remained standing more often than sitting, watching the final minutes with his hands resting on the back of a chair.
St Cuthbert’s edged ahead through Edric.
Wallace answered through William.
Jaime made two free throws.
Edric split a pair at the opposite end.
By the final minute, almost every student in the Wallace stands was standing.
84 – 83.
St Cuthbert’s drew another foul while trying to feed Edric inside.
The first free throw dropped, the second didn’t, and Merrick fought through two players to keep the rebound alive.
84 – 84.
Wallace had a chance to take the lead.
Jaime attacked, drew the defence towards him and found William along the baseline.
William’s attempt rolled around the rim and came out, but Merrick battled Edric for the rebound and managed to knock the basketball towards Arthur before St Cuthbert’s could secure it.
Wallace reset rather than forcing another attempt.
The clock continued disappearing.
Jaime received the ball near the top and waited until the final seconds before making his move.
He drove hard towards the lane, created enough separation to lift a runner and sent the shot towards the basket.
It missed.
William attacked the rebound, but a St Cuthbert’s hand knocked it away.
Out of bounds.
Wallace ball.
The scoreboard showed exactly what remained.
84 – 84.
5 seconds.
McKenzie called timeout.
The noise inside the Wallace gym seemed to follow the players all the way into the huddle.
Fergus stood behind Finn expecting to listen to whatever final play McKenzie drew, but the coach looked up from the board before he began.
“Robertson, you’re in.
Fletcher, out.” Fergus’s stomach tightened.
Merrick didn’t complain.
He slapped Fergus once on the shoulder as they switched places, then leaned into the huddle with everyone else.
McKenzie positioned William on the baseline as the inbounder.
Arthur began high, Finn occupied the opposite side, and Fergus was placed near the weak-side baseline.
Jaime was the centre of everything.
“First option is Douglas,” McKenzie said.
“They’re expecting him to get it, and I don’t care.
Campbell, if he gets any separation, put the ball in his hands.” William nodded.
“Reid flashes if they deny it.
Morrison stays available opposite.
Robertson, once Douglas catches it, don’t stand there admiring him.
Cut the baseline hard.
If they load up on Jaime, there’ll be space behind them.” Fergus stared at the board.
He wasn’t the shot.
He was an option created by the attention the real shot would receive.
That suited him perfectly.
The horn sounded.
McKenzie looked around the huddle once.
“Five seconds.
Execute.” Fergus walked onto the court with his heartbeat hammering against his chest.
William received the ball from the referee while Jaime fought to create separation.
St Cuthbert’s knew exactly who Wallace wanted, and the moment Jaime broke towards the pass, a second defender moved with him.
William threw it anyway.
Jaime secured the basketball.
The double team closed immediately.
Fergus cut.
Everything happened too quickly for conscious thought after that.
The baseline opened because both defenders had committed towards Jaime, and Fergus accelerated into the space before anyone could recover.
Jaime saw him.
The pass came hard enough to make Bullet Passing seem like an appropriate name even though Fergus wasn’t the one using the skill.
Fergus caught the ball near the lane with Edric already turning towards him and the remaining seconds disappearing somewhere beyond his awareness.
There was no time to stop properly.
No time to set his feet.
No opportunity to make the finish comfortable.
Fergus gathered the pass, took the space available and lifted a hurried floater over Edric’s approaching reach.
The buzzer sounded while the basketball was in the air.
For the first time all evening, there was nothing Fergus could do.
The ball struck the front of the rim and bounced upward.
His stomach dropped.
It came down, clipped the rim again and seemed to hang there for an impossible fraction of a second.
Then it fell through.
86 – 84.
For a moment Fergus simply stared.
The sound hit him next.
Arthur crashed into him from one side while William arrived from the other, and within seconds Fergus was buried beneath teammates who seemed to have forgotten that celebrating a game-winner didn’t require attempting to crush the person who made it.
Finn was shouting somewhere behind him, Merrick wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Jaime reached the group laughing hard enough that Fergus could barely understand anything being said.
Fergus laughed with them.
He couldn’t stop.
When the pile finally loosened, he found himself looking back towards the basket and trying to understand what had just happened.
The shot had been ugly by almost every standard he had spent weeks learning.
His balance had been poor, his feet hadn’t been set, and Edric had been close enough that Fergus had released earlier than he wanted.
It had still gone in.
Not because the System guaranteed it.
Not because Tear Dropper turned every floater into a basket.
The skill had taught him the mechanics, and practice had made the motion familiar enough that, with almost no time available, Fergus had possessed something he could attempt.
That was all.
Sometimes an attempt was enough.
McKenzie reached the players after completing the handshake line.
His expression remained far more controlled than those of the boys surrounding Fergus, although the smile beneath his beard was impossible to completely hide.
“Good cut,” he told Fergus.
Fergus was still breathing too hard to answer properly.
McKenzie waited a moment before adding, “And a bloody good finish.” That brought another cheer from Arthur and William before McKenzie waved them away.
Fergus looked up at the scoreboard one final time.
86 – 84.
Wallace Memorial was 2 – 1.
Finn’s shooting had carried them through the first half.
Jaime had become the centre of the offence once those shots disappeared.
Merrick and William had spent almost the entire game trying to contain the Giant of Killigan, while Arthur had kept Wallace organised through a second half in which every possession seemed increasingly difficult.
Fergus hadn’t been the reason Wallace remained in the game.
He hadn’t needed to be.
He had drawn an offensive foul when St Cuthbert’s threatened to pull away, banked in a jumper, thrown himself out of bounds to save a possession and defended well enough that McKenzie trusted him on the floor when only five seconds remained.
Then Jaime had been double-teamed.
The baseline had opened.
Fergus had cut.
For one possession, the opportunity had belonged to him.
He had taken it.