The Plunder Five

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Jad Harrik stood in center court of the old gym, his scowl black, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The place was silent except for the slap and squeak of rubber soles on the hardwood, the bounce of the ball, the sighing of winter wind around the eaves.

He blew hard on his whistle and the ten men panted to a stop, breathing hard. Jad found it hard to believe that this was almost the same squad with which he had taken the conference crown the previous year and played the invitation game at the Garden.

Almost the same squad. Only Henry Martinik was gone — Henry of the fabulous one-hand jump shot, the lightning pivot. Gone also was his twenty points per game, his dogged competitive sense.

“You went downcourt that time like a lot of firehouse clowns,” Jad said in a bitterly quiet tone.

He glared at his center, Stalk Coogan, product of the Iowa high-school basketball mill. A yellow-thatched six foot seven. Originally the nickname had been Cornstalk.

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