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kept his eyes locked firmly on the court like he was today and the hair raised on Dylan’s neck when she realized her was watching every move Cat made.

“Bastard,” she mumbled as she turned to watch Cat with an assist to Chaney that brought the Badgers another two points.

Somewhere, from deep inside, the Spartans decided that this was not the game they came to play and even though every member of the Badgers played

the best game they ever had, when the half time buzzer sounded they were down 33 to 22.

Even as the medical staff checked over strains and minor sprains, Dylan took the floor in the center of the locker room.

“It’s okay, they just changed their strategy midway through. So we’re going to change ours and go back out there and kick their butts.”

Everyone one agreed and paid close attention as Dylan took her place by the dry board. “They’ve got weaknesses in their defense. All we have to do is

exploit those weaknesses and turn them into holes. The first thing we need to do is concentrate our efforts on making that Amazon forward of theirs work

harder. She has a tendency to lose her concentration if we force her to do two or three things at once, so I want you to be giving her five or six things to

do.”

Her hands flew across the board, diagramming plays and defenses that would play on the big forward’s weakness while shoring up their own weaknesses

and, hopefully, turning them into points. Her manner was quick, concise and crisp, and her hair, worn down and free for the occasion, fluttered over her

shoulders like a pennant banner. Cat decided she liked the look, and paid more attention to the coach than to what she was saying. That was alright,

though. She had the words memorized anyway.

When the second half began, Dylan had all the players so charged up, their energy could have lit up Manhattan.

Their coach watched with a great deal of pride as they broke the Spartan defense and ripped their offense into tiny little pieces. Coming back from an

eleven-point deficit was going to be a trick but the coach had faith and as she stood there shouting orders and words of encouragement, not once did she

bother to look up to the skybox. Right now Horace Johnson wasn’t even a blip on her radar.

The Spartans were becoming increasingly aggressive as the second half ticked away, earning shouts of protest not only from Dylan and the other members

of the coaching staff, but from the fans as well. Caulley, in particular, was coming dangerously close to earning the Badgers a technical with her catcalls

and her striding right up to the sidelines, almost daring the ref to throw a T at her. Dylan managed to pull the red-faced coach back by one arm, and the

look she delivered her assistant had Caulley briefly considering another line of work. Stoking the fires of Hell while Satan’s minions whipped her bloody,

perhaps.

When one of the Spartan forwards shoved Cat, Dylan’s hands went up for a time out and she called everyone to the bench before a fight could get started.

While the tired players sipped water, and toweled sweaty heads and shoulders, Dylan knelt down and got all their attentions focused on her. “Don’t let

them bait you. Let them play rough if they want, but don’t fall for it. We’ve dealt with this before and we’ll deal with it again. You’re all making them

nervous and they have to work for this now. Let them work.”

“We’re working pretty hard out there too Coach.” Chaney offered before slugging down more water.

“Yeah I know, and you’re doing a hell of a job. When we win this one it’s going to be by the skins of our teeth, but you’re going to feel great when you take

them down. Just don’t let them take you down with them.”

The whistle blew sending them back to the court. The Spartans continued to vary and change their methods of play, causing the Badgers to struggle to

keep up even after their tough comeback in the beginning of the half.

With the score tied 40/40 Cat could feel the strain of trying to keep up the blistering pace that was set, but she better than anyone knew exactly what was

on the line and she decided that she was going to help her team win this game, or die trying.

Stealing the ball, she sent it down court to Angela who passed it off to Mackey who in a pinch sent it back to Cat. Cat looked for someone, anyone who

could take the ball; instead she found an opening and charged through it making a mad dash for a lay-up of any kind and hoping like hell to hit the net.

Even as she let go of the ball she lost her balance and sight of the ball, coming down hard to the floor, she listened to her teammates and the crowd to see

if she had made the basket. When she saw Tippens smiling face leaning over her, she had the answer.

“You okay short stuff?”

“I think so,” Cat groaned, taking Angela’s extended hand. Once she was on her feet she walked off the pain in her back, and, glancing up at Dylan’s

concerned face, she shook her head to indicate that she wasn’t injured and just had the wind knocked out of her.

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