by Lisa Leslie
In Cheryl’s first year on the job, our team finished 14–4 in Pac-10 play and won the conference championship. That earned us an automatic bid to the NCAA tournament, and we went in as the number two seed in the Mideast Regional, right behind Tennessee. We caught a break as well. The first two rounds were on our home floor, at the L.A. Memorial Sports Arena, right next to the USC campus. The Women of Troy took advantage of that home cooking and knocked off the University of Portland and then George Washington University to advance to the regional semifinals in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
Our first foe in Razorback country was the University of Virginia. We made quick work of the Cavaliers. That victory put the Trojans back in the Elite Eight, but the question remained, Could we take that giant step to the Final Four? I told my teammates, “We have got to get past this point. We are not here to be crying again. We have got to play!”
USC met up with Louisiana Tech in the Mideast Regional finals. They were a powerhouse team coached by the legendary Leon Barmore. The Lady Techsters had squeaked by Tennessee in the semis, and they were a tough matchup for us, but we got off to a good start in our biggest game of the year. We led by three at halftime and were playing great, but I had been on the floor just about every second. I started to get tired down the stretch, but Cheryl would not take me out of the game. I was drained. I ran out of gas. I played as hard as I could for as long as I could, but I needed a break. I needed just a minute or so to catch my breath, so I asked for a sub, but Cheryl would not remove me from the game. All she said was, “You got to suck it up, big girl.”
That game was neck and neck for a long time, and then Louisiana Tech started to pull away. We could not hold on, and we could not catch up. USC went flat, and the Lady Techsters beat us 75–66 to move on to the Final Four in Richmond, Virginia. I had played thirty-eight minutes, and I was exhausted. Exhausted and disappointed, once again.
My biggest disappointment was that Coach Stanley did not coach me for my senior year. I truly believe that played a huge role in our team’s not winning the national championship. As it was, we never got to play for the national title. We never even made it to the Final Four. Individually, that senior season was my best statistically. I averaged twenty-two points, twelve rebounds, and three blocked shots per game while shooting 56 percent. I left USC as the Pac-10’s all-time leading scorer and rebounder; and I became the only player to be named to the first-team All-Pac-10 list four times. The postseason accolades just kept coming my way. I finally won the Naismith Award as the top player in women’s college basketball, and that was a tremendous honor for me, but in the four years that I played for USC, my teams never accomplished college basketball’s ultimate team goal. That was another disappointment to me.
I did feel a tiny bit better when I was named to the 1994 Kodak All-America team. The Kodak team might not have been the biggest honor to some players, but it was the ultimate award to me. Cheryl Miller had been a four-time Kodak All-America pick. She was the best, and I wanted to be the best. I would always look at what people before me had accomplished and try to do even better. That was my top goal. That is what I had to go for. So one of the goals I had written down was to make the Kodak squad.
I was a three-time All-America pick, but I still coveted the Kodak squad. Every year that I got slighted, I would look at the players who had been chosen, and I would say to myself, “I am at least as good as this player.” But I knew with hard work, I would one day achieve my goal.
I cried in my freshman, sophomore, and junior years when the Kodak team was announced and my name was not on the roster. I faced the same problem every season: USC would fall short of the Final Four, and I would be ignored by the Kodak selection committee. But it finally happened for me, and it confirmed once again that my habit of writing down my goals and staying focused was a good way to achieve them.
In an ironic twist of fate, USC decided to retire my number thirty-three Trojan jersey on November 10, 2006. That was the night that the university opened its brand-new Galen Center to basketball. USC decided to retire Cheryl Miller’s number thirty-one jersey on that same night, in the same halftime ceremony. The Women of Troy hosted Long Beach State that evening, and I sat near midcourt, watching the game and signing autographs. When Cheryl came in, she took her seat right next to me. For the first time, we hugged and congratulated each other with true sincerity. I think we both realized that our struggles had been the same struggles. We may have chosen different paths, but our goals were identical. We both wanted to be the best players that we could be, and we always wanted to win. I think being honored by USC at the Galen Center that night helped us realize that there was enough room at the top for both of us.
When intermission rolled around, the ceremony began. Several of Cheryl’s former USC teammates—Paula McGee, Rhonda Windham, Melissa Ward, and LeAnne Sera—stood on the north end of the court. Some of my former Trojan teammates came, too—Tammy Story, Michelle Campbell, Jodi Anton, Nicky McCrimmon, and yes, Erica “You Pulled My Hair” Jackson—and they were lined up at the south end. The lights went down, and a video montage of my USC highlights was shown on the overhead scoreboard. When I was introduced, the fans erupted. It was an incredible feeling to be honored and appreciated after so many years. I was able to address the crowd and thank everybody for their support and kindness. I also challenged the kids in attendance to “follow their dreams,” just the way that I had and just the way that I continue to set goals and chase my dreams.
Then it was time for a video montage of Cheryl’s legendary career at USC. She spoke to the crowd, too, and then, there we were. Lisa Leslie and Cheryl Miller, two of the Trojans’ most illustrious women’s basketball players, standing together at center court. And get this: USC Athletic Director Mike Garrett and his associate, Carol Dougherty, brought flowers out to us. Then, as the Trojan marching band played the USC fight song, the number thirty-three and number thirty-one jerseys were unveiled and slowly raised to the rafters. I had always hoped to have my number retired at USC, and it was quite an honor to have it retired with as great a player as Cheryl Miller. Cheryl and I locked arms and smiled a lot as we both enjoyed our very special evening. As I look back, I am thankful for the life lessons that I learned while at USC, and I am proud, once again, to be a Trojan.
Chapter 7
Grande Liza!
When my playing days ended at USC, my basketball career did not come to a screeching halt. In fact, it kicked into high gear. That June I played for USA Basketball in the 1994 world championships in Sydney, Australia. It was the first time that our future Olympic team played together, and Dawn Staley, Ruthie Bolton, Teresa Edwards, Katrina McClain, and Sheryl Swoopes were all key members of that squad. Tara VanDerveer was our head coach once again as our U.S. national team went after its third consecutive world championship.
We wound up facing our old rivals from Brazil in a semifinal game, but this time they got the better of us. Katrina had a monster performance, but Brazil hit all ten of its free throw attempts in the final minute and eliminated us. We had to settle for the bronze medal, and we were not happy about that at all. I did get further proof, however, that Katrina was one of the greatest players that I had ever competed with or against. She averaged fifteen points and eleven rebounds in the world championships and shot a very impressive 63 percent from the field. Katrina’s athletic skills were phenomenal, and just between me and you, she might be the only athlete that I ever played against who made me nervous when I knew that I would have to guard her. I was very happy to have Katrina McClain on my side.
The interesting twist to our encounter with Brazil was that all the teams that played against one another had to ride on the same bus. So our team had to share a bus with the very energetic women’s team from Brazil. They put one team on each side of the aisle. We did not know it, but the Brazilian players had made a deal with their coach that if they beat us, the players could shave his head. So on the ride to the hotel after the game, our U.S. team watched from
across the aisle while Team Brazil shaved their coach’s head. That was something you did not see every day, even at the world championships. All the U.S. team could do was watch in silence.
I continued to play for the national team anywhere and everywhere. The Goodwill Games in St. Petersburg, Russia, were a great experience. After our third-place finish in Australia, we were considered underdogs to China and their six-foot-eight center, Haixia Zheng. She was a very big girl who had a lot of talent and took up a ton of space. We went head to head with China in the semifinals, and we beat them. Then we beat France in the finals.
I loved playing with this national team because we were a very sisterly team. We hung out together, played cards, talked trash, and gave each other advice. We had played together for so long that we were like a little family. The veterans played hard, and they were not afraid to teach the younger players like me what they knew. There was no ego; everyone just wanted to win. And the high intensity of their game made me elevate mine.
The next thing I knew, it was late August 1999, and I was heading to Alcamo, Sicily. Representatives for the Sicilgesso team, in the Italian League, had heard of my collegiate exploits and had seen me play with USA Basketball. They offered me a contract worth $110,000. Those were 110,000 good reasons why I was jetting my way to the northwest corner of Sicily, to a spot right near the Gulf of Castellammare. Alcamo was just west of Turkey, a short hop north of Africa, and a long way from home.
My flight went from Los Angeles to Rome, to Palermo, the nearest large city to Alcamo. I packed my huge USA bags with clothes; toiletries and cosmetics; a few boxes of Cheetos, Crunch Berries, Frosted Flakes, and oatmeal; and a few movies to keep me entertained.
My new coach, Vito Pollari, picked me up at the airport, and I stepped into a whole new world. He drove me to a beautiful two-bedroom apartment that the team provided for me. It had one bathroom, a kitchen, a living room, hardwood floors, and a balcony. The weather was warm and beautiful in Alcamo, a lot like Los Angeles.
I could open my windows, let the sun in, and always get a nice warm breeze through my apartment.
I found a former Trojan hoop star in Sicily, too. Cynthia Cooper was my teammate. She had been the best player in Italy for seven seasons with Parma and was starting her first season playing for Sicilgesso. I had met Cynthia when I tried out for the USA Basketball team in 1990. She was very nice to me then, and now she was living upstairs from me in Alcamo.
Shortly after I arrived in Sicily, Cynthia and I went to a luncheon to meet everybody associated with the team. I did not speak a word of Italian, so I just smiled a lot. They must have thought that I was an incredibly happy person, but honestly, I did not have a clue what to do or say.
At this luncheon, they brought out a big bowl of pasta with marinara sauce. It looked and smelled delicious, and I ate my share. It was quite filling. Then they brought out pette di pollo, a chicken dish. When I travel internationally, I try to be open and respectful to the people and their culture, so I ate a tiny bit of pette di pollo to be polite. But that made me feel really stuffed. Next came the salad. Then a plate of vegetables. This was an Italian-style, seven-course meal, and I had not realized it. I had never heard of such a thing, and my goodness, there was enough food to feed a small country. They just kept bringing out food. I laughed and tried to say, “No more,” but they just kept telling me to keep eating.
Cynthia was sitting at the end of the table, trying to translate for me. “Do they always serve this much food?” I asked her.
“They always serve a big lunch and a small dinner. You’ll get used to it.”
(And I did.)
Driving was also a new experience for me in Alcamo. The team had promised me an automobile, but I did not know how to drive a stick shift, and there were no automatics to be found. Apparently, you had to have some serious money over there to get an automatic transmission in your vehicle.
The owners of Sicilgesso eventually bought me a Fiat to drive, but it was so small, they had to cut out the driver’s seat, slide it all the way to the back of the car and then weld it in place just so I could squeeze inside the thing. There was absolutely no room for anything behind my seat. One of my team managers eventually took me into the hills and taught me how to drive a stick shift. After a few hours of trying, I eventually got the hang of it and drove myself home. But for my first month or two in Italy, whenever I needed to go out, somebody from the team would pick me up, or Cynthia would give me a ride.
Cynthia and I had a really good relationship. Players over there would always ask me, “What is it like playing with Cooper? Is she mean to you? Does she pass you the ball?”
I have never been much of a gossiper, and I was not going to fall into that trap. I heard so much of it while I was playing with USA Basketball. Athletes talked about one another all the time, like they had nothing better to do. I did not want to keep that going. But there was nothing to say, really. We only ever had one minor dustup. It was, of course, on the court in Sicily.
In practice, I would rebound the ball and toss it out to half-court, to Cynthia. She would catch it, put a crossover move on a defender, then do her one-two step and go in for a layup at the other end of the court.
We followed that routine in almost all of our games. It was so effective that there was no reason not to. In one game, though, I threw several of those outlet passes to Cynthia and everything was good, but the one time that I did not pass the ball to her, she got angry. I had looked for Cynthia after clearing the boards, but I saw a defender coming up behind her. I knew that I could not get the ball to her cleanly, so I threw it to our other guard. Cynthia went nuts and yelled at me, “Pass me the f–ing ball!”
At the next time-out, I immediately went over to sit next to Cynthia on the bench. I told her, “Look! I pass you the ball nine times out of ten, and you get on my case the one time that you do not get the basketball? You were covered. Don’t ever yell at me about getting you the ball. You should be able to trust the decisions that I make. If I don’t throw it to you, there must be a reason.”
Cynthia came back later and apologized. That was it, end of story. We never had another confrontation or problem. I think we just had a high level of respect between us. I totally respected her as a veteran of the international game. I was a good, young player in my first season overseas, but I was never mouthy, brash, or arrogant. I was always polite, I always listened, and I always wanted to learn and get better. I deserved respect, too.
I never spoke to anyone about the incident with Cynthia because we really had a good relationship, especially on the court. We each went out of our way to be helpful to one another, but we did not try to force a friendship that was not there. We did not hang out like we were buddy buddies, but we were there for each other, and that was important. If I needed a ride, Cynthia would drive me. Sometimes we cooked and ate together, and it was not uncommon for me to bring her a plate of food pregame, and vice versa. The mutual respect was very cool.
Cynthia did most of the translating for me when I got to Italy, but I wanted to learn the language. I bought some books, and when I was not practicing or playing games with my team, I was learning Italian. I got a lot of help from Guisi, a very nice, young Italian woman who lived across the street from my apartment. We got to be such close friends that her family called me their new Italian daughter. I loved hanging out with Guisi and her brother, Alfredo. They were older than me, but we all got along great. Guisi wanted to speak better English, so we worked together and helped each other. I would go over to her place for lunch, and some nights we would head out to the discotheques.
I loved to dance and Guisi did, too, so we would dance all night. The men loved to blow kisses at me since we did not speak the same language. And the ones who did speak a little English liked to recite common American phrases, which never seemed to fit into the conversation at hand. It was always a great time, and getting home at three in the morning was the usual.
My coach, Vito, was no
t a big fan of his players having fun, however, especially one of the team’s high-priced stars. Vito told me, “Liza [they spelled my name with a z over there and pronounced it Lee-za], we do not want you going out to the discotheques.”
I asked him, “Why not? How many points do I average for you?”
“Twenty-two points.”
“How many rebounds?”
“Eleven.”
“Is that what you hired me to do?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am doing my job. As long as I do my job, you cannot tell me what to do in my personal life. I can do whatever I want to do.”
Wherever I might be staying or traveling, if I decided to go out, I would go out regardless of how big or small the town was or who knew about it. If I wanted to go out dancing, I was going to go dancing. I knew I was not doing anything wrong. I did not do drugs, and I was not drinking. As long as I came to work and performed to the best of my abilities, how I spent my personal time was my business.
After listening to my side of things, Vito agreed.
That was a big victory for me, because at that time in Italy, the owners and coaches really wanted to control their players. In fact, they did control the Italian players. Those ladies had a laundry list of rules to live by, which hampered their social lives completely.
The Italian fans called me Grande Liza, and they were very loyal supporters. Watching our Sicilgesso team play basketball was the big thing to do in Alcamo. It was a huge social event, a chance to get together with friends, maybe drink some wine, blow off some steam, and root for the home team.