Advantage Disadvantage by Yale Jaffe Page A

guys in the city.
These young men deserve you for this game. The league provides a
way for the police to start a dialogue with them. Whadda ya
think?”
    “I don’t think so. Battle, you are trying to have me
hurt.”
    “Billy, the game pays $100 for a one hour contest.
How much do you make for a suburban varsity game?”
    “You know we get paid $54 bucks per game, varsity
pay. Are you going to be there, T.J.?”
    “No I can’t. Another guy from the Garfield Park
precinct will be there. We have been assured by high level
veteranos that there will be no crippin ’. When you pull up
in the parking lot 2 guys will meet you and escort you to the
courts. I will not be there, but we also have undercover cops to
look after you. You must owe me a favor from somewhere. C’mon?”
    Billy never wanted to back down from a challenge and
he needed all the money he could get. He pulled up to the park
dressed in workout shorts and his striped shirt. Two huge, heavily
tattooed guys walked up to the car. They greeted him and reaffirmed
that no matter how the game went, or however his calls were
perceived, there would be no crippin’ against him. After the game,
they would pay him and escort him to his car. Each guy represented
a different city gang. Billy was scared to death. Pre-game jitters,
perhaps. Garfield Park was the near west center of serious summer
basketball in Chicago. The cement main court held up well without
cracks. Backboards were free from graffiti. A ten-foot tall chain
fence enclosed the court. The park had a terrific blend of odors
from the spectators’ barbeques. Outside the fence were several
bleachers, all full.
    Billy looked around the park. He heard music blaring
from the nearby pavilion. He wished he could detour over to the
smoke-belching Weber grills to grab a hot link, or maybe quench his
thirst by securing a beer out of the thirty three-gallon barrel
filled with ice and aluminum cans. Putting his primal needs aside,
he had work to do. Rechter decided to talk to the team managers at
half court (as a high school captains’ meeting) before the game
started. These were older guys, maybe team sponsors, but not
players. Would they be receptive to any pre-game admonitions?
    Billy started to set down his expectations as he had
done in so many high school games, “Gentleman, I am a high school
basketball official. I am most familiar with National Federation
Rules compared to the NCAA or NBA. If you want any exceptions to
the rules, now is the time to bring those up. I am looking for
things that matter in this game, not incidental stuff that has
no…”
    One of the manager’s phones started to ring. He dug
it out of his pocket and answered, “Bobby G. here. ‘Sup?... ok, ok
… 10 dimes this game? Tell him it’s a wager.”
    He smiled and put the phone back in his pocket.
    Billy said, “Did you just bet a hundred dollars on
this game?”
    “No hommie”, he laughed, “Ten thousand, my man.”
    Without another word, Billy took-off running through
the opening in the court’s fence toward his car. The two gangbanger
“escorts” tried to catch him. As he started his car engine, the
gangbangers yelled,
    “C’mon you sissy mother fucker. You’ve got work to
do!”
    “I’m not working a game where players are betting
thousands of dollars. Not for a hundred bucks, not for a thousand
bucks. Screw you.”
    Billy drove-off as they banged on the side of his
car.

Chapter Ten. St. Marlin’s High School

    The end of the school year brought only temporary
relief to most high school athletes. After a short hiatus between
the end of May and the first week in June, players participated in
camps as summer temperatures heated up. These gyms, especially the
ancient buildings, felt like adobe ovens in the Arizona wasteland.
St. Marlin’s Church construction completed in 1865 on Chicago’s
near south side and its parishioners rarely ever remodeled the
facilities.
    The church supported a first grade through