The first day the notice was up, Mimi reported for basket ball. Strangely enough she and Betsy both signed up for the forward berths. When Mimi saw Betsy’s square, back-handed signature under her own, she had a bad moment. Perhaps she should have signed up for running center. She had played running guard but Sheridan kept strictly to girls’ rules. As guard she could not score and, being a good shot, she wanted a position where she could prove her ability.
Mimi never forgot those first skirmishes. How hard she tried to pass accurately, aim carefully, catch the ball firmly and be light, sure, fast. Miss Bassett was a splendid coach. She tried first one combination and then another. Betsy and Jennie forwards, Mimi and Jennie centers. Evelyn and Betsy centers. Matilda and Mimi guards. She had let the girls choose tryout positions but she wanted to be sure they were playing where they would give the team most. Then came the combination which clicked. Betsy and Mimi at forwards together. Mimi made what appeared impossibly long shots rather than pass to Betsy under the goal. Betsy called loudly to guards and centers for the ball and shot quickly from any angle she received it rather than pass to Mimi. They looped goal after goal.
“How about that combination?” Miss Bassett asked Dit while the girls rested. Dit was calling the game and Miss Bassett had been studying the players from the side lines.
“Best yet,” Dit answered, tapping her forehead thoughtfully with her whistle, “if we can get that individual starring idea out of their heads and make them play for the team.”
“Signal practice will do that,” Miss Bassett assured her. She had taken individuals before and welded them into a team that put, “team, team, team” above everything.
“Give them ten more minutes of drill and dismiss them, please, Dit. I’m going to the office.”
“All right, girls,” Dit said, and when she spoke they listened closely. “We are going to practice pivoting and shooting. Divide up quickly in two line, one on either side the basket and let the leaders be as far back as the first court line so that there will be room to run and pivot before you shoot. Here I’ll show you.”
She didn’t need to show Mimi. She knew. Nothing was more fun than catching a pass solidly as she ran forward. Usually Mimi leaped forward to meet the ball. Then with one foot rooted firmly, she knew how to pivot away from the guard and let the ball fly swiftly toward the goal. Mimi held her breath those times when the ball would loop around the edge of the hoop before it finally slipped through the knotted string basket.
Happily she trotted to her place. Today she would show Dit how fast and accurate she really was. She would show up better than she ever had. Out of the corners of her merry blue eyes she saw Betsy in the opposite line with the same determined look on her face. The whistle blew. Thump, thump, thump went the ball against the slick floor as the first passer dribbled down the side line before throwing the ball. Thud—the ball hit the backboard. A girl rushed in to catch it before it hit the floor, ducking to keep from colliding with the girl who had just shot. Two girls more and it would be her time. Mimi was impatient—smack—she caught the ball—thump, thump, thump she was running beside it. Accurately timing the speed of Betsy who was coming in fast she passed, then as swiftly as her legs would carry her, she raced toward the goal. She forgot everything in the world except the fact that she must keep her eye on that ball and catch it before it hit the floor. Betsy was moving rapidly with the same idea, “keep your eye on the ball.” Coaches have preached it year in and year out since there have been coaches.
Thud—the ball against the backboard again. Mimi’s arms up to catch it—Betsy rushing away, arms up from having shot—Whack!