The Franchise Ch 02

I was so fucking hard I thought my cock might explode. Kelly was sitting on my dick, bouncing up and down rhythmically. Her red hair and her pale breasts bounced gently each time she landed on my pelvis. He hands held the soft curve of her hips, helping her keep her orientation but mostly just to feel her toned midsection. She still wore the top of her Jammer Spirit uniform, of course helpfully pulled up so that I could lovingly fondle her wonderful breasts. The hot pants were on the floor, but she still had on the white knee boots. This was the Jammer Spirit's new uniform for this year, and Kelly and I were, uh, road-testing it. She knew well that while I loved to make love to her anytime, anywhere, I got especially excited when she was dressed as a cheerleader. It didn't matter if it was the old college uniform in which she first caught my eye, or now for a second year as a Jammer Spirit Girl, as long as it was cropped short and pulled up.

I watched my penis disappear behind the tiny patch of red pubic hair she kept (being a professional cheerleader necessitated shaving the rest), feeling her warm tightness grip and excite me. I glanced up at her face; her eyes were closed, lost in a world of pleasure. I was distracted by her jiggling tits; hungrily I grabbed them, held them in my hands. She gently held my hands in hers as I felt them, letting me know that she liked it when I touched her. And I think she could sense my extra-stiffness, because she kept driving harder and faster. I gazed at her lovely face... the fine cheekbones, the understated features. The sensations from my eyes, my hands and my penis converged and sent me over the top. I stretched upwards with my dick just as it exploded the first time. Kelly felt me cum and slowed, grinding on top of me, stimulating me yet retaining penetration. She opened her eyes and gazed at her fiancée climaxing inside her. That's right, fiancée—Kelly and I were engaged to be married as soon as the season ended in June. When she felt me finish, she bent over and kissed me with red lips I never grew tired of kissing.

"So," she whispered, "did the new uniform pass the test?"

"Results inconclusive," I smiled, "I think we need to run the test again."

"It felt pretty conclusive to me," she smiled knowingly, millions of sperm swimming inside her. She kissed me again.

It was the beginning of my third year in the league, and hopes were high in Jammer country. Last year we had made the playoffs for the first time in five years and won a first-round series before losing to the eventual conference champions in seven games. We spent most of the year with Leroy Jackson and I playing the double-point offense, and the power forward we picked up in last year's draft helped make it even more effective. This year we didn't pick until 27th overall, and we used it to pick up Giovanni DiMarco, a smooth-shooting PG/SG from Italy. Last year Jackson was injured late in the season; at 36, it served as reminder that Jackson wouldn't around for much longer and we needed a contingency plan. It was during that stint that I took over as the team's primary ballhandler, a role I did not relinquish upon his return. After a year-and-half as Leroy's understudy my apprenticeship was complete; this was my team now.

The season started out great, bursting out of the gate like gangbusters at 12-2. The seats were full, the team was making money, and I could always admire my lovely fiancée dancing on the sidelines during commercial breaks. Kelly was also helping out in the front office part-time; like the other Rutherford wives before her, she had every intention of taking an active role in helping run business side of the team. But she really liked cheerleading, so I supported her decision to come back as a Spirit Girl for one last year. Besides, that way I got to fuck her while she was wearing that uniform. It was so fucking hot!

As the New Year got underway, however, teams started to figure out how to play the Jammers. We fell off from our early hot start. Leroy was playing fewer minutes because of nagging knee problems, and while Giovanni DiMarco had a sweet shot, he wasn't as quick as he needed to be for a pro guard. When Leroy wasn't in the game our problems on defense were exposed. We were still almost unbeatable at home, but suddenly the Jammers were just a .500 team on the road. We would almost certainly make the playoffs, but we seemed to be a piece or two away from being a real contender.

With the February trade deadline approaching, my dad came to me and asked my opinion on a possible trade. Marcus Canterbury was past his prime but still a viable center, especially on defense. But to get him we'd have to give up our center AND our first round pick next year. "It would put us in better position for a run this year, but it will really hurt any chances of improving next year. And Canterbury is a free agent; we might not be able to re-sign him."

"I think we need to go for it now Dad," I replied solemnly, "because I don't think Leroy Jackson will be back."

"No?" he asked with surprise.

"Now he hasn't said a word about it, but I think he's contemplating retiring. I think that his knees are bothering him more than he'll let on."

"He could go on the DL, and rest them a while..."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I think what he's got is degenerative and won't get any better. Watch him in practice sometime—he just seems to be really frustrated with himself in a way I've never seen before. I think in his head he wants to do things on the court that his body just can't anymore. Oh he's still a great player, but he's not as great as he feels he should be and used to be. That's why I think he's going to call it a career when the year is out."

I think my dad was leaning towards not making the trade, but after our talk we pulled the trigger. Almost immediately Marcus Canterbury made a huge difference. Our best offensive set was when DiMarco, Jackson and I were all on the floor, but like any three-guard set it was an undersized rotation. Teams had been shooting over the top of us and killing us on the boards; Canterbury's rebounding fixed that problem. He also gave us a big target to hit with entry passes and with a little shot blocking thrown in, we started winning games in bunches again. Teams tried to adapt by going zone against us, and that's where DiMarco proved deadly. Against a zone all we had to do was overload one side, let DiMarco spot up for the three behind one of our guys, and feed him the ball. He wasn't quick enough to get himself open, but with his feet set and an open look he could hit better than 50% from beyond the arc. He had 42 points in one early spring game, after which teams gave up on that strategy.

We rolled into the playoffs and steamrolled our way to the Eastern Conference championship, the team's first since the merger. We beat our first opponent in five, the next in six, and the finals in six also, winning every home game and a couple of road ones along the way. It also meant that, for the first time in team history, the Jammers were going to the finals--but the West had been much stronger than the East all year, and we were big underdogs in the Final where we met the defending champions: L.A.

For the first time in a long time, the league had decided to return to the 2-2-1-1-1 format for the Finals. Helped by the weaker Eastern Conference schedule, we had the better overall record and home field advantage. They caught us by surprise in Game 1, though, breaking our home winning streak with a double-digit win. We were down at the half in Game 2 as well, but found our swagger in the third quarter and earned the home split. But now we had to find a way to steal one in their building to win the series--which we did in Game 3. Maybe they were too sure of themselves being home; we got off to a fast start and held on despite a furious rally. They took Game 4 easily, so we were headed back home all square.

Game 5 we owned from start to finish. That put us one win away from the finals with a chance to win on the road, but if not we had a home game left in our back pocket. We were feeling pretty good about things. Game 6 was scheduled for a Thursday in LA, and then back home for Game 7 on Saturday if needed.

Thursday morning we were scheduled for a practice in their Arena. We got off to a normal start, and we were playing pretty well. I remember I had just gone to the sideline and grabbed a water bottle when all of a sudden the ground started rumbling. Everyone froze and looked around. The shaking grew more intense, and all at once the ground seemed to leap under our feet. I was thrown into the first row of seats, and a number of guys were knocked over. A dusting of plaster cascaded down from the ceiling, prompting one of the assistant coaches to yell "The roof is collapsing." All of us bolted for the tunnel, where there was an additional layer of protection should the roof cave in, but in fact the worse jolt was now over. In a few seconds the rumbling stopped, and while there were aftershocks periodically throughout the afternoon, they were only enough to rattle some glassware. The big one had been a 7.0 earthquake, however, and it had caused widespread damage.

We all headed outside, which was the first clue we had how bad the quake had been. A chunk of the road outside the Arena had been sandwiched together and raised more than a foot. Water shot out from broken mains underground, and a few old brick buildings appeared to be heavily damaged. As we stood out in the street, no cars moving, gaping at the scene around us is when I first noticed that my wrist was bothering me. The sound of sirens, more and more all the time, rose from every direction. Coach decided we should walk the two blocks to the hotel to get out of the way of rescue efforts. Luckily that facility wasn't damaged at all. Damage in LA was extensive, however, and the freeway system had taken significant damage. Needless to say the game was called off.

We sat around in the hotel for two days, anxiously awaiting word from the league on the reschedule. The Arena had been deemed safe, but there were problems with parking and infrastructure and road closures. There was talk of relocating the game, but that didn't seem fair given that it was their last home game of the finals. In the end it was determined that everything would be pushed back a week; we would play the following Thursday, and Game 7 would be the following Saturday. There was only one problem. Game 7 now conflicted with my wedding.

My dad and the Jammer front office tried everything to get the league to move Game 7 to either Friday or Sunday, but the TV contract wouldn't allow it. "I'm so sorry," I told Kelly on the phone.

"It's not your fault... you couldn't have predicted an earthquake. Heck, the Jammers haven't even been to the Finals before."

"I know, but this is our wedding... our special day. Now it's ruined."

"If you win on Thursday, we won't have any problem," she said hopefully.

Unfortunately, my wrist had been sprained when I fell into the stands during the earthquake. I played, but it hurt, and I couldn't hit the broadside of the barn with my jump shot. I also committed an uncharacteristic six turnovers, to the point that Leroy had to run the offense for much of the second half. Marcus Canterbury was a monster in the middle and did everything he could to pick up the slack, but in the end it wasn't enough and we lost by five. The team was upbeat; on the road, with me injured, we had still come so close to winning, and now we got to go home. I on the other hand was dejected. The dream wedding I had wanted for Kelly was going to be ruined by Game 7. I just felt like I had let her down.

"I'm sorry honey," I groaned on the phone. "We'll have to postpone the wedding..."

"But we have so many family coming in from out of town," she sighed.

I frowned. "All right, then we'll just have the wedding. The Jammers will have to win without me."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" she snapped with a ferocity that surprised me.

"Well, we can't have it both ways," I moaned.

"Don't worry about it yet. Just get some rest on the flight back home. Your mother and I have been looking into some things... let us see what we come up with, OK."

"OK," I said with a mixture of hope and fear. My mother and my fiancée were both pretty potent organizers; they could have moved the Himalayas to Manhattan if they set their mind to it. "I just feel like I let you down."

"Stop worrying honey," she reassured me. "As long as you say 'I do' whenever we do walk down that aisle, you won't be letting me down."

"I'll say I do right now," I promised.

"I love you," she said more brightly than I felt.

"I love you too."

Mom and Kelly were waiting for the plane when we landed. Dad and I happened to get off the plane together. "Uh-oh," he whispered to me. "I know that look. You mother and Kelly have been up to something."

They had indeed. We went out to dinner and they laid out the new wedding arrangements. All I could do was shake my head in awe at the arrangements they had hastily pulled together. At their insistence, I spent Friday with the team as I normally would, getting ready for the biggest game in franchise history, while mom and Kelly called every single vendor and guest on the list. But after that dinner I didn't see Kelly again until the wedding. She was superstitious about not seeing the bride before the wedding. She was also afraid that the wedding night wouldn't be special since we had lived together for more than a year. Thanks to the goddamn earthquake, I went into my wedding day not having had any for nearly two weeks.

Saturday arrived, and mom and Kelly's hastily rearranged plans unfolded flawlessly. Our wedding, originally scheduled for 2:00, was held at 10:00 AM instead. The banquet that was to have started at 5 was held at noon—and the entire team was there, our reception now doubling as the team meal. Then we jumped into a limousine and went to the Arena, where the wedding party posed for our pictures right there on the hardwood. And then with a kiss of longing, Kelly and I went to our separate locker rooms to prepare for the game.

Just before game time, Mom came and found me and asked what I thought about a little idea she had for the pregame introductions. I decided it would be fun. We went through our pre-game warm-ups like usual, but then before introduction I slipped over to the sidelines where my mom was holding my tuxedo jacket and a top hat. The lights were out in the stadium, so no one could see me slip them on over my uniform, while Kelly snuck over to the bench. The other four starters were introduced, and then the PA announcer said. "And finally... ladies and gentlemen, today is a very special day in Jammers history. Earlier today, your starting point guard was married at St. Mary's Church. And so let me introduce to you the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Davis Rutherford IV!" The spotlight shone on us, and we walked out to center court, Kelly in her wedding dress, and me in my uniform with the tux and hat over. The crowd first laughed then cheered. The cheerleaders started a chant: Kiss... Kiss... Kiss. The crowd quickly caught on, and soon the whole stadium was urging us to kiss. All the players on both teams joined in. In the spotlight, with everyone watching, I turned to her and she to me, and we slowly reached towards each other, getting closer... closer... and then just before our lips actually touched, I suddenly threw off my hat and jacket and Kelly whipped the wedding dress off over her head, revealing her Jammer Spirit uniform underneath. The music kicked in, and Kelly started doing the usual pre-game dance. The other cheerleaders all raced out to join her, and the crowd went wild. She cheered for the whole game with one additional accessory augmenting her uniform--a bridal veil.

Game 7 turned out to be an all-time classic. Both teams came to win; the lead changed hands over and over. My wrist was still not right and I didn't take many shots, but it no longer bothered me so much that it affected my ballhandling. I dished the ball off to my teammates, and DiMarco's hot shooting kept us in the game in the first half. We rode his hot hand and went to the locker room at halftime trailing by one. As expected, LA made an adjustment at halftime to keep DiMarco from getting so many wide open looks. We responded by playing our three-guard offense; my wrist didn't interfere with my ability to make wide-open layups. Leroy Jackson was on the floor for more minutes than any game all season--there was no tomorrow to save him for.

It was an epic struggle. Leroy and I alternated dribble penetration, sometimes taking it to the rack, other times kicking it out to our shooters. They would get a stop or two and pull ahead, we would respond with a steal or a Canterbury block and storm right back. For the whole game, no team ever led by more than five points. The clock was in their favor, however. They hit a jump shot to take a two-point lead with 40 seconds left on the clock. We hurried downcourt, not wanting them to be able to hold the ball for the last shot. But they played great defense, and by the time I got the ball to Canterbury for a turn-around hook there were only 26 seconds left.

LA brought the ball up; we would get the ball back, but they could hold it long enough to reduce us to a desperation heave. We all keyed up anxiously as they dribbled the ball at the top of the key. At 10 seconds, they set their play. The ball went right, then back across. We had them trapped in the corner with the shot clock going down, they had to try a desperation shot... and lucked out by getting a terrible foul call against Canterbury. Coach went insane; I went over and pushed him back to the bench. "Yeah, it's a bullshit call, but we can't afford for you to get a T right now!"

They went up to the line and calmly drained the first charity shot to take the lead. Coach called our final time out as soon as the second free throw went. 3.4 seconds showed on the clock, and we had to go the length of the floor: two to tie, three to win. We set up two plays, one for if they guarded the inbounds pass one if they didn't, but we expected they would. Everyone knew the Jammers were most dangerous in the backcourt.

We set up. Canterbury screened my man, and Jackson inbounded the ball to me sprinting up the sideline. But they had expected exactly that; and two defenders converged on me as I approached the half-court. I didn't have time to go around them; I would have to pull up and attempt a jump-shot over their center from about half-court. Maybe if my wrist weren't bothering me and I'd been in the zone shooting, I might have taken the shot. But even if I was feeling it, there was probably only a 1% chance of hitting that shot. I was looking to pass the ball, but time was slipping away. I looked down court; DiMarco was setting up outside the three-point like he was supposed to. But the clock in my head told me we had less than two seconds, and DiMarco was a spot-up shooter. He would catch the pass and then begin his shot--and the clock would run out while the ball was still in his hands. I glanced cross-court at option B, but their forward had stayed in to guard our forward, so there wasn't a clear path to even pass the ball that direction. But I could see four of their guys in front of me, and I knew the fifth had been rubbed off on Canterbury's screen and was chasing me from behind. Instinctively, I knew what I had to do.

When I thought about it later, if my instincts had been wrong I might have looked like the biggest fool in the history of the finals. But after playing with Leroy Jackson for three years, my instincts weren't wrong. I could see from the defense that they had elected to leave Leroy Jackson unguarded. Not a bad idea; most players would have just stood there after making the inbounds pass, mesmerized by the pressure of the moment, watching with the rest of the world as the final three seconds unfolded. But Leroy wasn't like most players. He'd played enough street ball to know that crazy things can happen, and I'd never known him not to give his all on every play. I just knew that he would have charged onto the court after inbounding the ball, realized that no one was guarding him, and would have continued streaking right down the center of the court.