Hershel Levinsky was exhausted after 45 minutes of shouting and clapping, and Chaim was standing outside the gym with Pinny, the camp driver. “Please take him back to camp,” Chaim said. “I know the game isn’t over, but this is too much for him.”

The older man wasn’t happy, but he understood. He climbed into Pinny’s car, then rolled down the window.

“Chaim,” he called to his son-in-law. “Listen, I’m proud of you. And also... win. Please make sure we win.”

When Chaim walked back into the gym, he saw Chananya Singer running back and forth, clearly agitated.

“Reb Chaim,” the head counselor said, his voice shrill again, “I was looking for you. They’re mamesh cheating away to win. I can’t watch. You have to do something.”

“What do you mean?”

Singer leaned in close. “I don’t know for sure, but I think they’re moving the clock forward, making it go faster than it should, since they’re winning. You see?” He pointed to the large clock. “That clock has gone black a few times, and then it suddenly flashes back on. I think they’re manipulating it.”

“What’s the score now?”

“They’re up by four, 66 to 62, with six minutes left.”

Singer left Chaim with an urgent do something look and resumed his running up and down.

One of the Brody brothers scored on a sneaky layup and suddenly, Neos Desheh was within two.

Rekod’s massive forward, Nordman, came crashing through the defense and stuffed it to bring the Rekod lead back up.

Chaim Reimer looked over at the bleachers where his campers were sitting. He saw their wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He saw little Ari Harkin, standing at the very edge of the metal bench, with his arms raised over his head and his face furrowed in concentration.

Chaim wanted his camp to win, but he had no idea how to make it happen.

There were three minutes left in the game — and that was without Rekod darkening the clock and speeding things up.

His team had no coach. It was up to him.

Chaim called out to the referee, a Rekod counselor, and signaled that he wanted a time-out.

The Neos Deshe counselors looked at the referee in surprise, and he pointed at Chaim. “This guy asked for a time-out.”

The players ran over to their bench and formed a huddle. “Okay,” Lerner said, wiping a towel across his forehead, “what’s up?”

Chaim stepped into the middle of the huddle. He had no idea what to say.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time he felt like he knew what he was doing, back at Merit Financial, helping people invest wisely.

“Look,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at the five sweaty faces around him, “you guys are all part of this camp, you know what’s at stake. You realize that most of these kids have never seen an inter-camp game and that this can make their whole summer. Imagine they can go to sleep tonight feeling that we are winners.”