by Lisa Leslie
I loved to learn from her, but Tara rarely said anything to me in front of the team. Whenever she had anything negative to say about me, she would pull me aside or she would enlist Dawn Staley, our point guard, to get me going. “We have got to get the big girl going,” she would say to Dawn. “The big girl has got to crash the offensive boards.”
During my private evaluations with Tara, she would say, “Lisa, you are very consistent. I like this about your game. What do you think you have to do next? What do you think you can improve on?” She was constantly challenging me.
I would tell her, “I need to crash the offensive boards more. When I shoot, I don’t go in and rebound.”
“That’s true,” she would agree. “You need to watch film.”
Our team watched more film than Leonard Maltin and Roger Ebert combined, but that was crucial for Tara’s teams. We used to dissect film forever, but it was not Tara’s way to criticize anyone directly. “Good job,” was about the most I would get, but there were a lot of high fives. That was her way of saying, “You really did good.”
The youngest player on our 1996 Olympic squad was Rebecca Lobo. I do not think Rebecca had a really good tryout, but she made the team, anyway. Some say it was primarily so that USA Basketball could use her name for marketing purposes. After all, Rebecca Lobo was the 1995 Naismith Award winner, and she was fresh off of UConn’s undefeated NCAA championship season. Skill-wise, she was considered the best player in college basketball that year, but when compared with the talent on our Olympic team, she was not that impressive.
Most of the players looked at it this way: if you had Lobo on your squad during a scrimmage, you were playing shorthanded. Players would attack wherever she was because she was the weakest link. I think Rebecca sensed that some of the players doubted her selection to the U.S. national team, and I bet she felt a lot of pressure about it. I know I would have.
Rebecca was our backup center, so she looked at me as the one to challenge to prove that she truly belonged. The coaches always encouraged her to play tough against me. They wanted her to rough me up, push me, and get me ready for the physical international competition that was ahead. It was difficult for her, but Rebecca worked really hard, showed a lot of heart, and found a way to fit in. She was nice and sweet, and she gave her best effort every day. That was all you could ask of anybody. Rebecca stepped up, and the team respected her for that.
The team as a whole was enormously talented. Teresa “T” Edwards was the greatest of the greats. I remember the first time I saw her play. She was incredible! T’s intensity level was amazing, and thankfully, it was contagious. She lifted every player up a notch and truly made all of her teammates better basketball players. T was so good that I would feel sick when I missed one of her passes. If I dropped one, I did not even want to look at her face. She would just give me a look, and I worried to myself that she might never pass the ball to me again. Of course, T was not like that. She would not like that you missed her pass, but if you were open the next time down the floor, she would get the ball to you. Teresa Edwards made us all want to play a better brand of basketball.
Dawn Staley was the same way. I hated to miss her passes or mess up a play, because when I did, Dawn would make a face that had frustration written all over it! It made my heart sink. She would walk back down the court, and I would feel terrible about botching things up.
Watching Dawn and T battle each other every day in practice was incredible. Dawn is the most competitive person that I have ever met, and T just plain ole hates to lose. When you put “most competitive” against “hates to lose,” you have got a war on your hands. Both of them possessed so much drive and heart. It was amazing to watch, and I know for a fact that Dawn and T really helped me become the player that I am today.
Sheryl Swoopes was our small forward. I would not want to leave the country without her. With Sheryl on my team in the Olympics or a world championship competition, I always felt confident that we would be victorious.
Katrina McClain was our best post player. She was only six foot two, but Katrina was something to see. She could jump, and in the air, she was graceful and beautiful. Not many women can do the things that she could do. Katrina could do one-hand tip-ins, and she was athletic enough to do reverse layups while she was working in the post with defenders all around her. Katrina could grab tough rebounds and make it look so easy. She barely broke a sweat, but the girl could do it all. She could score, hit the free throw line jump shot, and drive left and right. She could rebound, and she could score down low. Strong! I wanted to be like her. Playing against Katrina forced me to take my game to another level.
Katrina is one of the major reasons that I had so much success in the 1996 Olympics. All the other countries knew about Katrina McClain, but they did not know much about me. The other teams had seen her play on ten U.S. national teams and had watched her win Olympic gold in Seoul in 1988 and a bronze medal in Barcelona in 1992. Opponents respected Katrina’s talents and tenacity, so most teams put their main focus on stopping her. That gave me lots of opportunities. I could shoot threes, or I could drive to the hoop. I got so many chances to score because the opposition was dead set on dealing with Katrina. The fact that Katrina was very strong in the post and unselfish with the ball only made her an even better teammate. I loved her game.
Just thinking about that team gives me goose bumps. We were athletic and smart and had excellent skills, but our team chemistry might have been our best asset. I had never seen anything like it before. We absolutely knew in our hearts that every one of us had the common goal of winning the Olympic gold medal, and we were determined to accomplish that without egos or petty selfishness getting in the way. We always wanted everybody to do well, and we cheered for each other, no matter who made a basket. I still do not know how a group of eleven competitive women played together for one whole year and never had a conflict. Before I played for the 1996 Olympic team, I never thought it was possible. But the friendship and the love we had for each other would be necessary to get through the roller coaster of emotions we felt once the Olympic Games started in Atlanta.
Chapter 8
Bombs Bursting in Air
After my whole lost-shoe incident during the opening ceremony, I could tell that the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta would be something very special to remember.
The opening ceremony went on for hours. Thankfully, each country entered the stadium alphabetically, so athletes from the United States and Zambia did not have to stand nearly as long as those from Afghanistan and Aruba. The evening was like a dream sequence of music, pageantry, history, and choreography. It was a big theatrical production, and there was an amazing celebration of both Southern culture and the one hundredth anniversary of the modern Olympic movement.
President Bill Clinton inaugurated the XXVI Olympiad, and there were lots of speeches in several languages, but the highlight of the night came when “The Greatest,” Muhammad Ali, was introduced to light the Olympic flame. There had been a lot of speculation leading up to the Games as to who that person might be, but somehow Olympic officials managed to keep Ali a secret. When he stepped out of the shadows and onto the platform, the fans immediately realized who the mystery man was. The entire stadium went crazy. After all, Muhammad Ali is one of the most recognized and admired people in the world.
This, however, was not the bold, young, and brash Ali from his boxing days. This Ali was heavier and greyer and was moving more slowly. He was not “floating like a butterfly.” He was shuffling and unsteady. Muhammad Ali was living proof that our time as elite athletes is short and extremely precious. I remember thinking at that moment, Wow, even the greatest grow older. I better make the most of the opportunities that I get.
On this night, Ali was standing in Centennial Olympic Stadium, and his body was shaking from Parkinson’s disease. When he grasped the Olympic torch, I worried that he might not be able to hang on to it, but when Ali turned slowly and pointed that torch toward the gia
nt cauldron, the shaking seemed to stop for just that moment. Muhammad Ali ignited the flame and got the 1996 Summer Olympics off to a rock-solid start.
Having played together for a year already, our U.S. women’s basketball team was very prepared. Our U.S. national team went 52–0 on the tour, which covered ten months and over one hundred thousand miles, and led us right up to the 1996 Olympics. We won in Russia, Ukraine, China, Australia, and Canada. We also defeated twenty-one U.S. college teams, beating them by an average of forty-five points per game. So, by the time July 2006 rolled around, we were ready to strut our stuff on our home turf. And we were in the hunt for the gold medal.
Two days after the opening ceremony, we played our first Olympic game. We beat Cuba in our opener. Later in the week, we knocked off Ukraine and pummeled Zaire by sixty points. The Games were running smoothly, television ratings were soaring, Team USA was rolling, and everything was looking good in our quest for the gold medal. Then, something terrible happened that made the Olympics, Team USA, and the world stand still.
It was nighttime in Atlanta on July 26. Shaquille O’Neal and I were talking in my room at the Omni Hotel. He was at the Olympics, playing for the U.S. men’s basketball team, the latest edition of the Dream Team. Shaq also had business on his mind. He told me that he was about to leave the Orlando Magic and sign a free-agent contract with the Lakers. I was one of the very first to know, and since I was from the Los Angeles area, I was really excited. The Lakers had fallen on hard times in recent years. Magic Johnson and James Worthy were retired, and the team had not had a dominant big man since the glory days of Wilt Chamberlain in the 1970s and the “Showtime” days of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in the 1980s. With Shaq coming on board, the Lakers would have that unstoppable force in the middle again and a great shot at becoming NBA championship contenders once again.
As we talked, Shaq and I stepped on to the balcony that faced Centennial Olympic Park. It was just across the street from our hotel. In fact, we could easily throw a rock from my balcony and hit the park. It was so close, I could see the corporate venues that were set up for the fans, tourists, and Olympics visitors. Nike, AT&T, and a bunch of other companies had displays, exhibits, and shops in the park. There were rides, food stands, and amusements, too. I could easily see where the basketball courts had been set up for games, clinics, and demonstrations. People were trading pins in the park, and there was a band performing on the stage. The park was a very busy place.
Shaq stopped looking at the people below and turned my way. He had that gleam in his eye and that crooked smile that meant the wheels were turning in the big man’s head. Shaq is a huge guy, but he is also a big kid. He loves comic books, Superman, and all kinds of gadgets. There is a fun-loving, mischievous ten-year-old hiding inside that seven-foot frame.
Shaq looked at me and said, “Wait a minute.” Then he went into the bathroom, soaked some tissues with water, and then brought them out to the balcony. Shaq had that wide grin on his face. “Let’s have some fun,” he said.
Well, I am not a party pooper. We started throwing tissues off the balcony, then watched them drop, floor by floor, to the ground below. Most of them splattered harmlessly on the sidewalk, but some were right on target for unsuspecting people walking outside the hotel. When that happened, Shaq and I would quickly duck down on the balcony to make sure we were not seen. We would look at each other and crack up laughing. We were having a great time running back and forth to the bathroom, giggling, and tossing soggy tissues. Then Shaq’s bodyguard came to my door. My supersized partner in crime had to leave, and our Olympic tissue-tossing event was officially over.
It was starting to get late, but shortly after Shaq left, Mom and her new husband, Tom, stopped by my room to tell me that they were going over to the park. Mom had known Tom through her job for several years. He started out sending her cookies and flowers around the holidays, and eventually, they struck up a friendship and began to date. They had been married just a year, and I liked Tom. He made Mom happy, and I was happy that she had found someone to love. Going out with them to the park sounded like fun, and I wanted to go. But the realities of my situation made it difficult. At my height, there was no way for me to blend in with the crowd, and being recognized had been an overwhelming experience.
When we first got to Atlanta, I tried to go to the McDonald’s that was in my hotel, but there were tons of people there. So many fans wanted to get close, say hello, and get an autograph or an Olympic pin. They were reaching out and calling my name. I was surrounded. I had to have a police escort take me back to my room to make sure I got there safely. That was the first taste for me of what Michael Jordan must have been dealing with every day of his career. If it was that crazy in my hotel, there was no way I was going into the masses of Olympic visitors and tourists outside the hotel.
So I was pretty much on self-imposed hotel room arrest, and I was not happy about it at all.
I told Mom, “Stop by the Nike booth, and see how it looks.”
I endorse Nike. They were supposed to have some big pictures of me, Team USA, and a lot of other Nike athletes in their display. “Take some pictures of the Nike area so I can see what they have set up, okay?”
“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Mom asked.
“I’m sure. I don’t want to go anywhere that involves crowds. Have fun. I love you guys.”
I gave kisses to Mom and Tom. They headed for the park, and I got ready for bed. Sometime after 1:00 AM, I was blasted awake by a loud BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! and violent shaking. The whole hotel shook. My window was rattling. The room was dark. I was not sure where I was. I thought I was in L.A., in the middle of an earthquake, so I got out of bed and ran to brace myself in the hallway door frame. I knew from growing up in California that that was the safest place to go during an earthquake. My eyes stayed locked on that big window the entire time. The glass was closed, but the sheer curtain was open. I kept thinking that window was going to shatter and send glass flying my way. My ears were ringing. Everything was shaking. I was shaking. What was happening?
When the noise and the banging finally died down, I looked out my window and into the park. People were running, screaming. There was smoke everywhere. I was HYSTERICAL! Before I knew it, I was in the hotel elevator. I could not think. I could not remember how much time had passed, but I knew that my mom was supposed to be in that park.
Shaq was in the elevator. “Where are you going?” I asked.
He said, “I gotta get out of here!”
Charles Barkley and Reggie Miller were there, too. All kinds of different people were jammed together: men, women, athletes, and celebrities. All of us were shocked, shaken, and scared. We rode the elevator down to the ground floor and got off. People were yelling and asking me where I was going. I was not sure exactly, but I had to find my mom and stepfather.
I kept trying to get out of the building, but the security guards would not let me. “No! You can’t go out there,” they told me. “We don’t know what has happened or what is going on. It is not safe.”
I said, “Look! I gotta go! My mom is in that park.”
Reggie and Charles chimed in. “Our wives are out there.”
So many people were rushing down in the elevators, most of them with loved ones unaccounted for and no idea what might have happened to them. We stood together in the Omni lobby, half hysterical, pacing, and in shock. Then I realized that I was standing there with a scarf on my head. My hair was in pigtails, and I was wearing pajamas. I did not have socks or shoes on, but I did not have time to be embarrassed. I was too worried for that. I was anxious, frightened, and concerned about Mom and Tom.
Frantic people were hugging, holding hands, and trying to comfort each other. We waited, hoped, and prayed.
Before long, people started to trickle in from the park. Some of those who were close to the explosion were having hearing problems. They were devastated by the noise.
Reggie’s wife and Charles’s wife pulled up in
a limo. They were okay. I still wondered, Where is my mom? I had no idea what was going on, and security still would not let me out of the hotel. So many thoughts were zipping through my mind, and most of them were not good.
Finally, after about forty-five minutes had passed, my mom came running in with Tom. I got to them, and we all hugged. “Mom, where were you? Were you in the park when the explosion happened?” I asked.
Mom was still breathing hard, but she told me, “You are not going to believe this, Lisa. We were going to the park, and Tom said, ‘First, let’s go to the souvenir shop that we saw earlier.’ So instead of being inside the park, we were walking down the street outside the park gate when we heard the noise and felt the ground shake. People told us a bomb had exploded.”
Mom was visibly shaken. Tom was, too. Sirens were blaring! People were still scurrying outside the hotel. I told Mom, “Don’t go anywhere else! Stay here!”
I was a nervous wreck. So much had happened so fast. What were the odds of me having that hotel room facing that park? Most of my teammates were on the other side of the hotel. Just think, a few hours before, Shaquille and I were laughing and throwing tissues off my balcony. If that bomb had gone off while we were out there, we would have been knocked out. The way the hotel was rocking and that window was shaking, who knows what might have happened.
That early Saturday morning in Atlanta was an absolute nightmare. The reports said that a bomb had gone off right by the stage where the concerts were held. Ironically, Jack Mack and the Heart Attack were performing when it happened. Thousands of people were in Centennial Olympic Park at the time. One person was killed. More than one hundred were injured. It was unbelievable.
Our Olympic world in Atlanta had been soundly rocked. Now there was a cloud hanging over the Games, and, unbelievably, our women’s team had a basketball game to play that same day. Tara VanDerveer, our head coach, kept telling us to stay focused. “Do not let anything or anybody take away our joy. You cannot let people put fear into you. We have been through so much this year,” she told us. “These are the Olympics. We came here to do a job. Let’s do what we came here to do.”