DeMarcus noticed the Monarchs pin on Oscar’s jersey, similar to the one Jaclyn always wore. How many of those did the man own? Should he be reassured by or concerned about the assistant coach’s obsession with the team?
DeMarcus rubbed his eyes with his right fingers. “And while he’s warming up, Atlanta will build a huge lead over us. Rick needs to be warm as soon as he steps onto the court.”
“Rick is a great ballplayer and an important member of our team. His game gives us another dimension.”
DeMarcus removed stacks of papers from one of the guest chairs before settling into it. The resentment boiling inside him had nothing to do with his seeing Warrick and Jaclyn jogging together this morning. “Rick hesitates to take the shot, even when he has the look. I need a bold player to fire up the team.”
Displeasure pinched Oscar’s face. He sat forward, leaning into his desk. “You mean Jamal.”
“He’s not afraid to shoot.”
“Even when he shouldn’t.”
“He’s an aggressive competitor.”
“Who gets into foul trouble five minutes into the game.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
Oscar returned his gaze with a silent, steady stare.
How much aggravation was he going to have to deal with to make it through the season? He’d challenged a franchise owner who wanted to move the team from Brooklyn. He was fighting players who’d accepted the idea of not making it to the play-offs before the season had even started. Now he was butting heads with one of his assistants who still acted like the interim head coach.
DeMarcus propped his right ankle on his left knee. “If you didn’t agree with my plan, why didn’t you talk to me instead of substituting your own?”
Oscar folded his hands on top of the stack of papers on his desk. “You wouldn’t listen.”
A weak excuse. “I’m listening now.”
“Then change the plan.”
“ No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t agree with you.”
Oscar sat back again. “We’re oh-and-eight. Your plans don’t work.”
The muscles in his shoulders knotted even as DeMarcus tried not to react to the criticism. “Is it the plan or the players?”
Oscar shook his head. “You don’t know these players like I do.”
“If you know them and what they’re capable of, why didn’t you apply for the head coach position?”
Oscar glared at him. “Didn’t want it.”
He’d hit a nerve. “Didn’t want or weren’t offered?”
Oscar clenched his fist. “That butt wipe, Gerry, offered me the position. And I knew why. I’m a good assistant. A damn good one. But I’m not head coach material. I know that and he knows it, too. That’s why he wanted me for the position. Like you, he wanted me so the team would lose.”
DeMarcus took a deep breath. Oscar had hit back. Hard. “The team won’t lose because of me. But it will if we don’t work together.”
“Rick needs more touches.”
DeMarcus shook his head at the other man’s stubbornness. “You’ve routinely given Rick’s thirty percent of the touches. But for the past four seasons, you’ve been losing.”
“He didn’t have the right players around him.”