Back in the Saddle Again

November 2009

It started innocently enough. Rafaela, who runs the orfanato, told me that her son played basketball for his high school. A couple weeks later she introduced me to Alex and his friend Aron. While Sharon and Nicole worked with the kids, I took the boys to an outside court with a view of the ocean, and seriously wondered what I was doing. They are both in the last of a three year secondary program. Comparatively, they might make the freshmen team on potential and athleticism.
They then asked me to watch a practice. What a revelation. Their gym has overlapping roof lines that allow the sun and wind and birds in. On one wall the school classrooms on two floors have windows that open up to the court. Practice starts at 12:30 and ends at 2:00 as one session of school ends and another begins. Students wander across the court during practice and others sit at tables chatting. Girls hang out of the windows to talk to the guys during practice.
The coach wanders the campus seeking out truant students and disruptive ones in the classrooms. He asked me if I wanted to show the team anything. I told him I just wanted to watch. They ran two laps to warm up, stretched on their on, and ran a lay-in drill. If they missed, they had to do five push ups. They did a lot of push ups. If they had to do push ups for every bad pass or lazy effort, they would have impressive biceps.
They then scrimmaged for the rest of the practice. To determine sides, the players shot free throws. The first two to make on became the captains. This took over ten minutes of clanging. The scrimmage was the most brutal display of basketball I have ever seen. They walked the ball up the court, shot horrendous shots, ran a sagging 2-3 zone, and giggled. Fricking giggled. No one giggles in basketball!!!!!!
Afterwards the coach rounded the team around me and asked if I would help. Helped they needed. I’m not sure they needed me though. I told them that in Norte America, basketball es muy importante. In Mexico futbol is muy importante. Beisbol es muy importante. The rest had to be translated. As in they would have to work harder, make their mistakes at full speed, and listen and learn. AND NO MORE FRICKING GIGGLING. They giggled.
They practice two days a week. Their season, I was told, begins in January. I showed up at 12:00, watched students wander in and around the gym, and waited for the coach and players to show. At 12:45, I asked Alex to round up the guys. Lay-in drill….full speed, the ball is rebounded with two hands, the ball never hits the floor, rapido, rapido, rapido. Dos Manos. Every drill had to be translated. Eyes had to be on my eyes. They worked hard. They didn’t giggle.
Defense…….take away their right hand. Make them dribble. Pressure…Prescion. My first good basketball word. Girls tried to talk to them. They kept their eyes on me. Their coach showed up fifteen minutes before the end. They still didn’t giggle. We huddled up after practice, and they applauded. After a bird shit on the coaches’ head, they giggled. They shook my hand and went to class holding hands with girls. Latin men. The coach shook my hand, and said, “We have a game tomorrow night at 6. It’s a friendly, but it’s not that friendly.” We call friendlies non league games. They’re not friendly either.

* * *

Tonight Sharon and I had a drink with Jaime at 5. We left for the game at 5:30, but encountered so much traffic that we arrived after 6. I told Sharon I just wanted to watch the game. When I walked into the gym, the opponents warmed up at one end. My team shared the balls with fellow students still in their school uniforms. It was chaos. Where was their coach? Fifteen minutes of Sharon giggling while she watched players sit with their girl friends, Alex walked up and asked me to gather up the boys. We started the lay-in drill much to the dissatisfaction of the girls and classmates.
Eight boys had on red jerseys. Seven of them had names and numbers on the back and a Ford motor company insignia on the front. The other had on a Michael Jordan Chicago Bulls jersey…..red though. The score keeper kept the fouls, individual scoring and game score in a school wire notebook. The official looked unofficial.
Our opponents won the tip off handily. They were huge. We are not, but we are quick. The first quarter favored huge. At the quarter I asked them to deny the right hand aggressively. To run the ball quickly down the court before their defense set up. The second quarter favored quick. We led my a lot. I never saw the score, but we led by a lot.
The third quarter and the fourth quarter looked a lot like the second. A student followed me around during the entire game taking pictures of this mad gringo man. The girls started a cheering section, but I didn’t understand a word they cheered. But cheer they did. When the game ended, we shook hands with everyone, but the two tallest players who were in disbelief. I walked over and shook their hands anyways. Then the weirdest thing happened. We gathered. The boys clapped. The students and parents demanded team photos. There had to be twenty people with cameras snapping the team photo. This was a friendly. I wonder what would happen if they won a city championship? Do they have a city championship?
Sharon and I celebrated at Casa Lucina, a boutique hotel with a view of the water. The owner shared with us pictures of the before look. She proudly announced that their hotel had been selected by Travel and Leisure magazine as one of the best 100 hotels in the world. I ordered my first Mexican martini and they had Bombay Sapphire, but the olives had seeds, but no limes. It’s a start.

* * *

I read the following today in a terrific book about Mexico, God’s Middle Finger. How’s that for a title?

“Hey gringo! How can one donkey have nine names?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bastard, whore, son of a bitch, cuckold, son of a whore, faggot, cocksucker, son of a grand fornicated bitch, son of a fornication between a whore and a black do. It’s a good one, no?”
“It’s fantastic.”

I think this works well if you substitute a basketball official for one donkey.