There was a one-minute difference between the two, but both indicated that we were a tiny bit early. It was two minutes before eight, the time we were supposed to meet Coach Barkley and the rest of the team. All the time we’d been driving around picking up the other guys I could tell that my father was anxious about us being late. He hadn’t said anything, but I knew by the frequent glances at his watch and the way he was driving just a little faster than usual. I had to agree that it probably was important to be on time. Coach Barkley was a fanatic about being on time. Practices started and ended right on schedule. Anybody who wasn’t there on the dot could count on having to run a dozen extra laps. Even worse, if you weren’t there thirty minutes early before a game – even an exhibition game – you’d be watching the whole first half from the end of the bench. “I wonder where your coach is?” my father asked. “Technically he’s not late yet,” I pointed out. “But he’s always early,”
