Buzz Kill

There are few places as pungent as a high school gym, especially during a boys’ varsity basketball game. The Jordan High boys were a talented bunch of players. Think more “hard work and tears,” less High School Musical. As team mom, I got to sit on the bench behind the team, organize the team volunteers, and keep my mouth shut. I love my kids and would do anything for them. Being team mom was one of the many little ways that I could demonstrate that small truth. So I sat in the bleachers, listened to the squeaky sneakers and the basketball’s rhythmic drum, and wondered why engineers who could make a computer smaller than the size of my hand could not make a more comfortable bench.

I watched my son Michael sprint down the hardwood, his lithe, slim legs pumping with all their might as he tried to get open off the fast break. Michael was not a starter, but he had been trying all season to crack the starting five, which was dominated by two players: Jordan’s star point guard Connor Reilly and his best bud, forward Drew Lane. 

Connor saw Michael up the sideline and lobbed the pass, hard and fast, halfway down the court. I watched hopefully as Michael reached out his fingertips, grabbed the pass, drove the lane … and ran right into the 250-pound power forward from the opposing team. You know Newton’s third law of motion? “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” In this case, complete stoppage of momentum. Michael threw up a layup, which bounced around on the rim and came out again. The opposing team’s Aquaman lookalike grabbed the rebound. My son’s shoulders sagged, his eyes reflecting doubt. The opposing team made a quick conversion on the other end.

“Time out!” the Jordan coach bellowed. The team jogged back to the huddle, grabbing their water bottles, each one labeled with the name and number of each player. Madison, the team’s manager, moved around the outside of the huddle, offering extra water and towels. She saw me watching and shot me a sympathetic glance.

“Michael, nice job, but you’re out for now,” said the coach. “Drew, go check in.” 

The team started to head back to the bench, but Connor pulled Michael aside. “Once again, you suck. Why are you here?” I watched my son’s slump go even lower than his self-esteem. The agony of defeat, indeed. High school is hell, but being the parent of a high schooler is worse. There is nothing worse than watching your child be mercilessly bullied every day up close and personal, and being unable to do anything about it.

Behind me, I could hear the parents of Drew and Connor sniggering at the insult. They always sat together, laughing and lauding their children, who (they were convinced) were the best basketball players ever created. Ever since Drew and Connor met in first grade, their parents had become close friends, even vacationing together at all-inclusive resorts where the liquor never ran out and the kids could entertain themselves.  

At dinner than evening, Michael looked down at his plate and said, “Connor is getting worse. Today after the game he told me to quit because I am a terrible player.” Michael’s dad, Brian, sighed and asked, “Does the coach know this is happening?” Michael replied, “Of course, but Connor scores 30 a game. Coach isn’t going to bench him for a little ‘good natured ribbing.’”

“Michael, you’ve got to stand up to him,” I advised. “He’s going to continue to act this way until you do.”

Michael sighed, “He’s not going to stop until I quit the team. Connor loves Drew.” 

“I guess that’s understandable,” Brian said, “but aren’t you actually the better overall player?”

“That doesn’t matter to Connor. All Connor cares about is playing with Drew. Plus Drew is Connor’s source.”

I looked up. “Source? Of what?”

Michael looked at us with youth’s intolerant pity of the old. “What do you think? Weed, amphetamines, or anything else Connor wants. Connor drinks an energy drink before every game, and Drew always gets it for him.”

My husband and I exchanged a look. “You mean Drew is a dealer?” 

“Not a dealer so much, but he knows where to get anything, and he makes it easy for Connor. All Connor cares about is Connor. That and basketball. Drew, on the other hand, only cares about Connor and Madison.”

“Madison? You mean the manager?” I asked.

“Yeah, they’ve been dating for a while. Drew is crazy about her. I’m not sure what Connor thinks about it, though.”

The next day, Michael came home from practice sweaty, fatigued, and even lower. “Coach let Connor lead the team in wind sprints. Do you know what the prompt was for sprints? We had to run every time we heard Connor say, “Michael sucks.” For 20 minutes.” His eyes filled with tears.

I hugged him and said, “That’s it. I’m going to the coach.”

Michael stepped back, horrified. “Mom, you can’t! That would ruin me! I would be known as a snitch! Then everyone would hate me.”

I paused. “OK, I won’t go to the coach. But you don’t have to put up with this, you know. There are lots of fun things to do in the world that don’t involve this kind of pain.” 

Michael looked at me and said, “But they’re not basketball, and I love it, Mom.” Case closed.

Thursday, Michael burst into the house, all arms, legs, and news. “Connor hooked up with Madison last night at a party! Practice was crazy. Connor and Drew actually went for each other in practice – throwing punches! Coach had to pull them apart.”

“Wow. I guess that’s going to make the game tomorrow a bit more complicated. And how were you?” I asked.

Michael smiled. “Glad I wasn’t attracting attention for once.” 

Friday was a cold, dreary day. Gathering my coat and gloves around me, I walked from my car to the gym 30 minutes before the game. The team was warming up, shooting baskets and doing drills prior to the game. The coach was going over last-minute strategy with the assistant coach. Madison walked past me, eyes downcast, with a suspicious sniffle. Had she been crying? She was loaded up with the team towels and water bottles. I walked over to the scorer’s table to check in with the volunteers and chatted briefly with a few of the other parents. 

I looked up at the bleachers. Connor’s parents were sitting in their usual place, on top of the world on the top bench, absolutely convinced of their and their child’s superiority. Drew’s parents had moved towards the bottom of the bleachers and studiously avoided looking around.

I headed over to my usual seat, looking over the bench to see if anything needed to be taken care of. Towels? Check. Water bottles? Check. Coach’s clipboard? Check. Everything in its place. I shed my coat and took my seat.

The team came over to the bench with the usual pre-game energy, grabbing towels and water. Madison walked up to Connor and handed him his water bottle. I overheard Connor say to Madison, “Wasn’t it the best sex you ever had?” Madison quietly said, “Yeah, pretty good.” Connor grinned at her and said, “You’re welcome.” Madison’s face fell, and tears filled her eyes.

Coach called for a team huddle, and the boys jogged over. “Ok, starters tonight are Connor, Drew, Kevin, Mason, and Nick. Whatever you have going on outside of this game, you need to let go. This is business. Let’s go, guys, and win this one.”

Connor and Drew eyed each other uneasily, then went into the pregame huddle. The players readied themselves, took a couple more sips of water, rubbed the soles of their shoes with their hands, and went out to center court. Michael sat on the bench, quietly taking it all in. 

The horn sounded. The referee tossed the ball up, and the centers battled for the tip.

 It was game time. 

The opposing team was strong and quick, but Connor was energized. He bounded up and down the court, making his first six shots and playing strong defense. He reacted with lightning fast movements, hands reaching for the ball, feet moving to stay with the defender. Jordan kept the game tight. With the up and down, back and forth, of the game, the crowd got into it. The cheering in the gym was raucous, the atmosphere intense. Despite the fierce defense, it was a high scoring game and everyone in the gym was riveted on the game and the action on the court. It was a relief to everyone when the first quarter ended with the score tied at 25.

The team walked over to the bench. The starters sat down and gulped their sports drinks while the coach addressed the team, noting small deficiencies in play and lauding Connor’s relentless play. Connor grinned an especially cocky grin and wisecracked, “I got it tonight, Coach. I can feel it in my bones!” Coach steered the boys back to focusing on the next quarter. The starting five went back out, and Madison moved around the bench, refilling drinks and putting out fresh towels. 

As the second quarter began, Connor was everywhere. He played with frenetic energy, almost a frenzy. He could not stop moving. He drove relentlessly to the basket, scoring three times in a row. He made the other team sweat for their offensive possessions. 

Towards the end of the second quarter, the opposing team made a weak, slow pass at half court, and Connor quickly stole the ball and drove toward the basket. Suddenly, he stumbled to the court and stopped moving, the ball rolling out of bounds. An apprehensive silence came over the crowd.

Jordan’s athletic trainer trotted out to Connor and bent down close to him, calling out his name. When there was no response, the athletic trainer picked up Connor’s wrist, checked his pulse, and started CPR, yelling at the coach to call 911. The team tried to crowd around Connor, but the coach kept them away to give Connor some room. Connor’s parents approached courtside. Connor’s mom had her hands balled over her mouth as if to stop a silent scream from coming out. 

The paramedics arrived 10 minutes later. Connor was unresponsive, so they transferred him to a gurney and rushed to the hospital with his mom in the ambulance. As they were leaving the building, the crowd clapped respectfully for the fallen player. The crowd was abuzz. What could have happened to cause a healthy basketball player to collapse like that?

Both teams were shaken, but the Jordan bench was in chaos. Michael tried to find me in the crowd, seeking reassurance. I gave him my “I’m worried but it will be ok” look. Drew looked horrified. His hands were shaking, and he looked like the ground would open up under his feet any minute and swallow him. He couldn’t stop crying. Madison was sobbing behind the bench. Coach signaled to me to get Drew’s parents, and they took Drew home.

Down two players, Coach put in Michael and the backup point guard, Evan. With some substitutions, Jordan made it through the remainder of the game. The boys played well, trying to avenge their fallen teammate, and managed to pull off a close victory. 

After the game was over, the coach gathered the team together for an announcement. Connor had been declared dead of cardiac arrest at the hospital. He had overdosed on caffeine.

The police interviewed Michael and me the next day. We told them our observations about Connor’s behavior, how he played with even more energy and enthusiasm than usual, how he had collapsed on the court. My son cried, and I held his hand. 

We found out two days later that Drew confessed to putting an extra energy drink in Connor’s water bottle. Sobbing, he told the police that, “Connor kept begging me for a boost to help him play better, so I thought I would get even with him for hooking up with Madison. I knew Connor drank that energy drink, and I figured a little more caffeine would hype him up a bit more, maybe make him too wired to play well. I knew the taste of the sports drink would cover up the taste of the energy drink, and it would serve him right for once. I thought he would just feel a little bad and have a bad game, make him realize that the world wasn’t all about him. But I never expected him to die! I’m so, so sorry….”

Jordan held a memorial for Connor before the next game. The bleachers were packed with fans, who observed a moment of silence in honor of its fallen point guard. Jordan considered cancelling its season after Connor’s death, but after all, what was the best way to honor a basketball player than by playing basketball? So Jordan continued to play, and it was amazing. With Connor gone, the team began to act and play together as a team. There was a lot more passing, pick setting, and overall teamwork. Jordan had suffered a devastating loss of two of its players, but those kids managed to scrape together a winning season by sharing the load with one another. The team became very close, on and off the court. Michael became the starting forward, but he shared playing time with another kid. The boys learned a lesson that we couldn’t teach them without this experience. 

That’s why I killed Connor. I realized it was the only way to rid that team of its worst enemy – its leader. No one noticed me when I laced Connor’s water bottle with two small extra bottles of energy boost drink while I was making sure everything was in its place prior to the start of the game. Organizing is what I did at every game. No one noticed it, not even with my coat and gloves still on. Once I poured the energy drinks in, I just threw the bottles in the trash, then went to the bleachers to my seat. I didn’t know that Drew had slipped in another energy drink, but in the end that helped seal Connor’s fate. 

I chose not to think about Connor’s parents.

Really, it was all for the best. I’m a parent. As I told you, I would do anything for my children.