Driven_589066

“Bad news indeed, Ted. And since the Lightning coach, Merla Gibson, just crossed the court to the official’s table a few minutes ago, I’m guessing that a

forfeit is in the cards for tonight.”

“And that’s just too bad, Lori. The Badgers really were showing some spunk out there tonight, despite all their injuries, and it would have been good to see

them play it through to the end.”

“Sometimes, these things just can’t be helped, Ted.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right about that, Lori. The officials are gathering around the mic now. Let’s listen in to their announcement.”

“I’m telling you, I’m launching a formal protest!” shouted Merla Gibson, the first-year coach of the Lightning. “This is completely unprecedented!

Completely!!”

“I’m not trying to stop you, Ma’am. You can file a protest any time you want,” the head official replied, “but she’s on the roster. Has been since the

beginning of the season. I checked it out myself. Everything’s in order.”

“I will not stand for this!!” Gibson screamed, getting in the official’s face in the best baseball manager tradition. If there had been any dirt on the waxed

floorboards, she would have kicked it over his shoes. “It’s a travesty!! This cannot be allowed!”

“Ms. Gibson,” the referee said, easing his way into the about-to-be fracas, “I don’t want to have to give you a technical here. Please just go back to the

bench.”

“Technical!?!” the coach all but screeched, turning to the ref with her hands raised, “you want to give me a technical?!? I’ll show you—.”

“That’s enough, Merla,” said Josh Sellers, the assistant coach, grabbing his boss by one upraised arm and tugging. “Let’s just go back to the bench,

alright?”

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Of. Me!!”

“What the hell is going on over there?” Chaney asked, watching as the red-faced coach in front of the official’s table almost knocked her assistant’s block

off.

“Beats me,” Cat replied, eyes skipping from the officials to the coaches and back like an avid spectator at a particularly exciting tennis match. “I’d think us

forfeiting would be a good thing for her.”

“Ya think?” Chaney asked, voice oozing sarcasm.

“Maybe she didn’t wanna win this way,” Anya observed from her spot next to Cat. “Maybe she wanted to show her fans how bad she was by stomping the

crap outta us.”

“Pretty damn childish if that’s what her beef is,” Cat replied, flicking her gaze to Anya, and freezing. “Oh my God,” she breathed.

“What?” Anya asked, looking down at herself. “I got a bug on me or something?”

“Holy fucking shit!!” Chaney whooped, pumping both fists in the air. “Yes!!!”

“What?! C’mon you guys! What’s going on??”

Cat was grinning so widely, the lanky forward thought her face was going to split clear in half, and she thought she caught the shine of tears in the brilliant

green eyes of her team captain. Following the direction of those eyes, she half turned, and found herself frozen to the court as if she’d suddenly sprouted

roots. “Holy cow,” she whispered, blinking, then rubbing her eyes to make sure that what she thought she was seeing was really what she was, in fact,

seeing.

Briskly walking through the tunnel that separated the court from the locker rooms was Diana Caulley, and behind her, striding loose-limbed and easy, was

Dylan, in uniform down to her trademark black high-tops.

Badger fans, of which there were more than a few, after a moment of stone silence, began to cheer wildly, rising to their feet, pointing, and then clapping

for all they were worth. Fans of the home team, confused, followed the direction of the pointing fingers, then looked at one another in stunned disbelief.

Several, who would always see Dylan as “their” Goddess, began to cheer, not caring what the sudden presence of the game’s greatest player said for the

chances of their own team. Like a wildfire, the cheers began to spread until, with the exception of a few scattered ‘boos’ and one red-faced and raving

coach, the entire arena was filled to the rafters with chants of “God-dess! God-dess! God-dess! God-dess!”

Dylan, her game face set firmly in place, ignored the cheers from fans and players alike and came to join the rest of her team, staring straight ahead at

Caulley, who had assumed head coaching duties. The other players took Dylan’s lead and faced their coach, though they weren’t quite able to suppress the

wild excitement that lit their eyes as if from within.

“Ok, you guys, listen up,” Caulley began, rubbing her hands on her once-pressed and now drenched shirt. “This isn’t the way we planned this game to go,

and I think you know that. At least, I hope you do.”

The players nodded.

“From the beginning of the season, we’ve, I hope, tried to prove that the Badgers are a team. We stand, or fall, as a team. Now you guys, as a team, have

taken us all the way to the semi-finals, somewhere no one ever thought we could be. There’s a lot to be proud of in that. There’s no shame in losing, not