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Doss listens for two hours, then calms her with soothing reassurances. A contrast to his courtside bellow, they're a tribute to his sensitivity -- and flexibility. Doss is a brilliant, demanding coach. During practices and games he blasts anyone -- players, coaches, officials -- whose performance is suspect. But this girl needs help, not harangues, and Doss delivers: a friend's apartment for temporary shelter, a call to healthworkers about her mother, an invitation to Upward Bound practices. At the last, she demurs fearfully.
"Hey," he says, "have I ever lied to you?"
"Never," she says softly.
"Believe me: you can play with the best. We'll see you Thursday."
"O.K.," she says, finally smiling.
Dropping her off, he presses his last $20 into her hand. "Get those books," he orders.
Home again after midnight, Doss settles down with a videotape of Upward Bound's Junior Olympics wins.
"Look at Estelle's 360 lay-up!" he whispers. "They talked about that all week!"
Onscreen the girls run and jump in fluid harmony, a dream quintet, the ball floating from their fingers like a great bronze bubble before dropping off the tip of its arc and diving, over and over, through the blaze-orange ring. When the buzzer brings them one victory closer to golden futures, their coach doesn't hear. Sound asleep in his chair, Bob Doss is finally finished running.