The Final Game at Truman Hall

The college’s auxiliary gymnasium cast long shadows on the serpentine cement sidewalks connecting the various dark buildings. The steps of a sleepless walker echoed between the historical brick facades on the old campus. The forgotten lampposts only illuminated small sections of the winding walkway leading to the worn, moss covered stairs and a partially erected banner. It mockingly announced the upcoming national high school basketball championship game. The hunched over pedestrian shrugged at the banner and lumbered up the steps to a dumpy Truman Hall. He rubbed his two-day scruff and disheveled hair.

“I can’t sleep until I can get in there,” the walker whispered into the wind.

The pedestrian jiggled the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. His weary head leaned against the cold steel door. His rage pounded three times on the merciless barrier. His Italian temper burst forth remembering the university’s moronic decision to change venues from the new arena to this worn shack. Unfortunately, he also lost it in front of his team. His son and team captain, Franky, had a front row seat to his selfish display. He muttered, “Real mature, old man.”

He squatted and examined the lock. Twenty years ago, he would have picked this stupid lock in thirty seconds. “Those were the days.” He mumbled to the shadows.

He thought of the possible headlines: Angry Christian Coach arrested for trespassing at the university: Co-eds frightened! News at 11. He removed his hands from the handle and did the unnatural thing. He knelt and prayed.

“Lord, if there is a way inside. Show me…”

“Sir,” A rough voice startled him, “the chapel’s on the other side of campus. This building is closed until the big game tomorrow. I gotta clean ‘er up.”

Frank jumped away from the door.

“Sorry about that. You must be maintenance. How you doing?”

The maintenance man rubbed his neck, “I got a pain in my neck, when I got up, but overall pretty good.”

“Great. I was actually here to check the gym out. I’m Frank. I am the head coach of…”

“I’ve seen you around campus,” The janitor said and jingled his massive key ring, “along with those other holy rollers.”

Franks grinned. That’s what he called all church goers and few other choice names. “Yes, sir. We are from Torr...”

The janitor interrupted, “I’m sorry your big game got moved to this old heap, but I’m gonna tell ya what I told the other coach, Frank. No one is allowed inside until all the clean up is done and the big boss….”

“Not a problem, sir. I’ll be on my way. Thanks.” Frank stuck out his hand.

The janitor sniffed at it, “Why did ya say thanks? I said no.”

“Well…what’s your name?” The coach retrieved his hand.

“Jasper.” He spit at Frank’s feet.

“Well, Jasper, believe it or not, you answered my prayer.”

“I did?” Jasper scratched his head.

“I asked God to help me get inside. You said no, so you were answering for God. Thanks again.”

Frank put his hands in his jacket pocket and walked down the stairs. The janitor rubbed his nose and then chin.

“Well, shoot. I didn’t knows I had that kinda of power,” Jasper exclaimed, “you some kinda preacha’?”

Frank kept walking and called over his shoulder, “Yeah, some kind. See ya Jasper.”

“Now wait just a tick, preacha’,” Jasper called, “if I didn’t help you, my momma, rest her soul, would be turnin’ over in the grave. I’ll let you in. I ain’t one to stop the work of da Lord.”

“Jasper, I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Ain’t no problem, Preacha’ Frank.” Jasper unlocked the door, “I do have one condition.”

Frank stepped back to the gym, “What is it?”

“You help me clean up the floor and the stands. My work buddy called out sick.”

They shook hands.

Frank said, “That’s one job, I know I can do.”

The men entered the ancient and dormant Truman Hall. Frank recognized the 1940’s stadium architecture. Jasper stumbled in the darkness and found the power box. He illuminated the gymnasium, the scoreboard, and the seating.

Partially blinded by the sudden brightness, Frank shielded his eyes and proclaimed, “Glory to God in the highest!”

“She’s bright alright. Sorry, should’ve warned ya.” Jasper placed on sunglasses and gave Frank a pair. “That’s one reason, the kids don’t play over here no more.”

“Momma Mia, it’s like staring at the sun.” Sweat dripped from Frank’s forehead and he removed his jacket, “It’s hotter than…”

Jasper jumped in, “Hades, Preacha. They don’t make those bulbs no more neither. Burns too much electricity. That’s the other reason, the school shut her down and gonna convert her to classrooms. Your game is gonna be the last one ever.”

“What? Really?”

Jasper found the long floor brooms and herded Frank to the dust-covered court.

“Truman Hall used to be the glory of the campus. At least three championships both boys and girls, I know about, were won here. Pistol Pete broke records here. Rivals hated playing here. This place has a strong sound and bones. I’m gonna miss her.”

Frank pushed the broom and scanned the retro stadium seating. Nostalgia swept over him as he recalled his glory days on the hardwood. He could hear the raucous crowds cheering for him and his buddies after they won their basketball championship. He sniffled and tears dropped to the floor. He wanted Franky to have the same experience.

“Preacha, you alright?” Jasper asked.

Frank wiped his eyes, “Fine. Lots of dust. Allergies.”

“Gotcha. I’m used to it. That new building is pretty and all, easy to clean, state of the art, but it ain't got no history, no love, no…”

Frank finished, “Soul.”

“Exactly.”

Jasper and Frank finished the floor which revealed a battle-scarred parquet court. They spoke about their families and their love of basketball and baseball. To Frank’s surprise, Jasper was also a Yankee fan. Jasper did one more pass as Frank cleaned off the dusty broom. The janitor retrieved a wet mop and bucket and slid next to his helper.

“Well Preacha’, you done enough penance. I can handle the rest. You get. You gotta big game tomorrow. Them boys need you to be as sharp as a tack.”

Frank placed the broom down and patted Jasper on the back, “Thanks again. This place is great. God bless you.”

The coach slipped on his jacket and danced up the stadium stairs with a rekindled fire. As Frank reached the exit, he heard the janitor call out.

“Hey Preacha’!”

Frank opened the door and a cool breeze darted inside. He spotted the janitor.

“Win it for Ol’ Jasper, will ya?”

The coach smirked and gave him two thumbs up.

Frank walked into the crisp night air. He relished it and slowly exhaled. He stared into the heavens and for the first time noticed the constellations and the North Star.

“Thank you, God.”

He speed walked and flipped open his Motorola and called his assistant coach.

After several rings, a sleepy gruff voice answered, “It’s a snow day. School is canceled.”

“Gordo, it’s me, Frank. I’ve been to Truman Hall. It's amazing!”

“Ugh, Frank? What? Do you know what time it is?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“No,” He scanned his watch, “sorry, but I had to tell you about the gym! We are playing the final game.”

“Huh? You sound different.” Gordo whispered, “Have you been drinking?”

“No. Listen, meet me in the dorm lobby. I figured it out.”

“Now?” He yawned, “Just tell me in the morning.”

“It is morning.” After a few moments of silence, Frank barked into the phone, “Gordo, wake up!”

“Alright sarge. Let me get some pants on. What did you figure out?”

Frank said, “How to win the game.”