An African Rebound

by Dan Doyle

  “Okay, let’s do some three-on-three, one dribble only, so you’re working on passing and movement away from the ball,” hollered Jim. “Coaches, you make up the teams. Winners out, first team to score three hoops wins. Then, another team comes out to play the winners. Remember: one dribble!”

  Jim’s assistants knew to move quickly on the head coach’s command. Within in a couple of minutes, the three-on-three teams were set, and Jim reminded the players, “When you pass, you must screen away. Don’t go behind the guy you passed to. We’re lookin’ for back-door cuts; good, hard screens away from the ball; and good, crisp passes. The one-dribble rule will help this!”

  Though a bit rusty, Finnegan had extensive experience in basketball and was a fundamentally sound player. He easily picked up on Jim’s call for back-door cuts, scoring two quick lay-ups off bounce passes from a Hutu guard named Dama Ndikuriyo. Moments later, when Finnegan hit a short jumper to bring his team the win, Bill Foster chortled, “Hey, we got a ringer.”

  Leonard Tangishaka’s team took the court to play Finnegan’s group of three. Once again, Finnegan broke free on a back-door cut, received a pass, and elevated toward the hoop. But this time Leonard was waiting. The youngster vaulted, his right arm extending to just below the top of the backboard. Following Jim’s instruction about how Bill Russell would not only block a shot, but keep it in play, Leonard directed the ball straight into the waiting hands of a teammate. Once in possession of the ball, Leonard’s team went on to score three easy hoops. The last bucket was made by Leonard, who, off a switch, posted up Finnegan and lofted a soft jumper off the backboard and down through the net.

  “Okay, shell drill on defense. Let’s focus on weak-side help,” shouted Jim.

  The twenty-minute shell drill was followed by work on rebounding and ball handling, after which Jim said, “Now, we’ll go five-on-five full court for about twenty minutes. Play straight man-to-man on D. On offense, we’ll use the passing game, and let’s get more ball movement today.”

  Jim assigned Finnegan to Leonard’s team. During the scrimmage, the reporter gained an even greater appreciation of the boy’s potential.

  Leonard controlled the action at both ends of the court, scoring at will, blocking shot after shot, and running the floor with remarkable speed. So superior was his play that Finnegan found himself joining the others in what was becoming an almost standard routine at practice: stopping to applaud when Leonard would perform an amazing feat.

  Ten minutes into the scrimmage, Jim gave Finnegan a much-needed rest.

  “Too much Guinness, Finbar?” the coach cracked.

  Finbar laughed and trotted over to Jim. Bending over and out of breath, he said, “Coach, I played on the Irish National Team that went to the States a few years back. We got trounced by some top-flight D-I teams with some great pivot men. Two of them are still in the pros. This young kid may have some rough edges—not many, mind you—but he has the potential to be far superior than any of the blokes I played against.” Finnegan smiled, shook his head, and walked toward the bleachers.

  When practice was over, Finnegan again approached Jim. “Coach, back to the big lad . . . amazing. Could I ask you about him?”

  “Let’s go back over to the stands,” said Jim.

  Jim was intent on protecting Leonard’s basketball education, and, at this early stage, the coach was wary of any publicity.

  “Finbar, as you just saw, this young man has a brilliant future in the game. But there are issues—not only relating to his own need to take this learning process one step at a time—but also important to his mother’s safety. So, are you okay that we stay completely off the record?”

  “If that’s what all of you want, Coach, then yes,” said Finnegan. “But from what I’ve just observed, it won’t be a secret for long. Can we agree that when the time is right, you’ll give me first shot at the story?”

  “I’m not sure I can promise that because I don’t know the US Embassy’s position on these matters,” said Jim.

  Standing a few feet away, Bill Foster overheard the conversation. “Gentlemen, I don’t mean to be eavesdropping, but Finbar, I think Cynthia and Jesse will be receptive to you breaking the story—as long as we agree on the timing.”

  “Sounds good,” said Finnegan, pulling out his notebook and pen. “Now . . . you know, Coach, even someone from Athy, Ireland, can spot a hoops prodigy. How old is he?”

  “He just turned fifteen,” said Jim. Bill nodded, concurring.

  “Well, along with that trip to the States, I played against most of the European National Teams. Never have gone against a player who could touch this kid,” said Finnegan.

  “Don’t doubt it,” said Jim.

  “Next question: How long has the kid been playing the game?”

  “About eight weeks,” replied the coach.

  Finnegan gasped. “Eight weeks? Impossible! How could he have gotten so good in eight weeks?”

  Before Jim could answer, Bill pointed at Jim and said, “You are looking at one of the biggest reasons.”

  Jim shook his head slightly and changed the subject back to Leonard.

  “Finbar, let me break it down for you. First the obvious— Leonard has great size; huge, soft hands and great natural strength. But five other physical qualities would place him at the very top of anyone who ever picked up the game. There are also some special intangibles.”

  He continued, “On the physical side, the five are remarkable hand-eye coordination, an equally remarkable vertical leap, tremendous quickness, lightning straightaway speed, and uncanny footwork—from playing soccer.”

  “And the intangibles?” asked Finbar.

  “What you just observed. He’s a team player who’s a sponge for learning and knows nothing less than 100 percent,” said Jim.

  “In other words,” said Finnegan, “the perfect basketball machine.”

  “Well said,” responded Foster.

  “So, gentlemen, how good will Leonard Tangishaka be?”

  Jim paused for a moment and then said, “Again, off the record, I’ve been around basketball for fifty-plus years, and I’ve never seen any player, college or professional, who is this kid’s equal in terms of potential.”

  “Bill?” asked Finnegan.

  “Same view, Finbar.”

  “Well,” said Finnegan, “What about the timing? What would make the two of you—and Ambassador Foster—comfortable with me doing a piece on CNN?”

  “More time,” said Jim. “We need to bring Leonard along slowly—and protect his mother. Still off the record, we have concerns about his mother’s safety that we’ll get into with you later.”

  Pausing yet again, the coach carefully considered his words. “Finbar, it’s not that I’m against a story at some point. It’s just that this kid arrived here only several weeks ago, and I feel that he needs to acclimate himself a bit more before the world of basketball discovers him.”

  Finnegan’s journalistic instincts were competing against what he was sure was Jim’s proper concern over the young giant’s maturation process. The reporter went straight to the point.

  “Coach and Bill, I appreciate everything that’s been said. But I have a job to do, and Project Oscar is a fascinating story that should be told. So, Bill, if you would clear it with Ambassador Foster, I’d like permission to begin the process of planning the story. Per Jim’s point, the timing would be subject to the approval of both of you and the ambassador.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Foster, and Jim nodded.

  As the conversation concluded, Jim knew he needed to reflect on his own motives for keeping a lid on Leonard’s public introduction. The coach wanted to make sure that the reasons were not selfish.

  34

  An early-morning knock woke Jim from a deep sleep.

  As soon as he opened the door, a smiling, excited Jesse

  “The ambassador just called me. Got to her office early— as always. Awaiting her arrival was a fax from Washington. We’ve
got the go-ahead for a game against Rwanda!”

  The news yanked Jim from his drowsiness. “Great! When will it happen?”

  “Well, the next step is a call with my American counterpart in Rwanda. Mark Newlen, our ambassador to Rwanda, has already talked to the Rwandan basketball people and they’re agreeable. So the call is simply to sort out the date, who’ll ref, things like that,” said Abbot.

  “What about the site?” asked Jim.

  “You know the ambassador,” said Abbot. “She told Ambassador Newlen that since it was her idea, she wanted the game played here.”

  “What did he say?”

  Abbot grabbed Jim’s arm.

  Abbot chuckled. “He knows the ambassador, too. He said yes!”

  Jesse Abbot was well aware of the importance of nurturing good relationships with the press. This was especially true in his Burundi posting where, because of the violence, outsized media attention was focused on the small African nation.

  He joined the ambassador, Bill, and Jim at breakfast. Even before “Good Morning” was out of his mouth, Jesse asked, “Now that we have approval for the game, can I inform Finbar Finnegan, including a time frame for his interview with Leonard?”

  Ambassador Foster turned to Jim and asked, “What do you think, coach?”

  “Well, I like Finbar, and I like the fact that he knows the game. Plus, I can tell from his comments that he sees the value of Project Oscar,” he said. “You know, Madam Ambassador, Finbar feels that sports actually helped bring the Catholics and Protestants together in Northern Ireland.”

  The ambassador raised her eyebrows, seemingly impressed. “I did not know that.”

  “Yeah, he spoke about a program called Belfast United that had goals similar to what we’re doing. So, he’s a believer in the concept, which I think bodes well for a positive story. Plus, and correct me if I’m wrong about this, Jesse, I don’t think we have much choice!”

  “You’re not wrong, Coach,” said Abbot.

  The ambassador glanced at Bill, who gave her a quick, firm nod.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Jesse, go ahead and contact Mr. Finnegan. I have a feeling this is going to be a big story— make that a very big story. Let’s all hope for the best.”

  As though on cue, they all leaned back in their chairs, except Jesse, who was already halfway to the door. He called Finnegan as soon as he got to his office. “Finbar, we’ve made arrangements with Rwanda for a game! It’ll be played in about six weeks.”

  “Now there’s some real news,” said Finnegan. “Will this mean you’ll be making Leonard available for an interview?”

  “Yes, though we’d like it to be in two to three weeks so we can get him a bit more acclimated.” Abbot went on to explain the grand plan of the game, concluding with, “The State Department has signed off and we’re ready to move forward.”

  Finnegan immediately made an excited call to Johannesburg. The young reporter was not surprised that his veteran bureau chief’s first response was to trivialize the idea. “Show Me Sid,” as Sidney Hawkins was known among CNN field correspondents, was a world-class devil’s advocate. And while his first line of response was generally as cynical as it was predictable, Finbar knew that it was Hawkins’s way of forcing his reporters to flesh out a story before approaching him.

  “I don’t know, Finbar,” said Hawkins in his cement-mixer voice, the result of inhaling too many Camels. “I’m not sure a piece on some fifteen-year-old basketball player will fly.”

  “But the story goes far beyond the boy,” replied Finnegan, who by now had risen from his chair and was pacing about. “This is also a story about an ambassador’s dream, the rebirth of a broken down coach, and the novel use—at least in this part of the world—of sport as peacemaker.”

  “Now Finbar, isn’t that stretchin’ it a bit?”

  “Not at all,” replied Finnegan, ready to play his trump card. “You see, as part of Project Oscar, Ambassador Foster has arranged for a game between Burundi and Rwanda.”

  “A basketball game?” asked Hawkins, his interest now roused.

  “That’s right! And the game will be the first formal interaction between the two countries since the fighting broke out.”

  Hawkins knew that since the centuries-old Hutu-Tutsi animosity had recently exploded—first in Rwanda, then in Burundi—there had been a diplomatic chill between the two small nations. The chill had turned to frost bite when Hutu Rwandan President Juvenal Habyarimana’s private Falcon 50 jet, which carried Burundian President Cyprien Ntaryamira, also a Hutu, was shot down in a rocket attack near Kigali International Airport in Rwanda. The offshoot was a slaugh-terous spree by extremists from the majority Hutus against rival Tutsis. Within three months, the Rwandan Genocide had taken the lives of more than 500,000 Rwandans, and the violence had spread over the border into Burundi. Since the plane crash, the grim wall of mistrust between the two countries had elevated to perilous heights.

  Hawkins realized Finnegan had proposed an important story, and the bureau chief wasn’t surprised. In truth, the Irishman had become his best field correspondent. “He has the nostrils of a bloody Basset,” Hawkins would say, though not to Finnegan; the bureau chief did not want his young ace’s head to swell in this early stage of his career.

  “Am I sensing that you’re looking at a twofer, Finbar?”

  “I am, Sid. The initial piece will review the background of Project Oscar. I’ll get the ambassador and Keating on camera—and the kid, too.”

  “Does the kid speak English?”

  “He’s learning the language and he knows enough for us to get a good answer or two out of him. But,” Finnegan continued, “Leonard’s major role in this first piece will be to show the world that he might someday rewrite the NBA record book. And I’ll make sure that we get some shots of him doing his stuff.”

  “And the second piece? Some clips of the game—and the historical significance of the competition?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And what’s the timing of all of this?” As he posed the question, Hawkins reached across his desk for a pack of cigarettes.

  “Well, my embassy contact thinks the game will be played in about six weeks. It’ll be an outdoor game, and they don’t want to risk running into the rainy season, which will start in about eight weeks.”

  “Why will it take six weeks, then, to put the game together?” asked Hawkins, lighting up.

  “First, both teams want plenty of training time. Plus, Ambassador Foster and her people really want to hype the game. With Hutus and Tutsis playing with each other on the two teams, the ambassador hopes the game can be a good first step in getting the two sides to begin talking again,” he explained. “So, to answer your question, Sid, I’d like to run the first piece in about three weeks—introduce our viewers to this interesting plan by a US ambassador, to Coach Keating, and to Leonard Tangishaka. Then we’ll go with the second piece on game night.”

  “How can an Irishman be so damned sure this kid is so good? I mean, what if he chokes up in the game?” barked Hawkins, his final protest.

  “I scrimmaged with the team, Sid. Trust me. The first piece will send a buzz through the basketball world, if not the diplomatic community. As for the game, he’ll dominate. Wait and see!”

  Hawkins inhaled and then let a few more seconds go by. He didn’t want Finnegan to follow the lead of some other correspondents who were often—too often, he felt—motivated by a scoop mentality. But Finbar had him hooked.

  “Well . . . all right . . . sounds like it has legs. We’ll go with it,” said Hawkins, satisfied that Project Oscar was a major story, but unwilling to share his view with his cub reporter.

  Finnegan smiled as he hung up the phone and spoke to himself in his native tongue. Did I actually detect a wee note of enthusiasm?

  After getting the go-ahead from Sid Hawkins, Finnegan called Abbot.

  “I’ve got the okay for two pieces. The first will focus on Project Oscar, and my boss want
s it to run in about three weeks. We’ll start with the ambassador explaining her vision of Project Oscar and the game against Rwanda, then we pick it up with Coach Keating, who’ll lead us into an interview with Leonard, where we cut back and forth between him and clips of his scrimmages,” he explained.

  “And the second piece?” asked Abbot.

  “About the game itself, and it will air within twenty-four hours after the final buzzer. So, for the first piece, we’d like to film a practice. We’d start at seven sharp on a Wednesday— three weeks from today—with an interview with the ambassador. The piece will then run the next night. Would that work for her schedule?”

  “No problem,” replied Abbot, well aware of what a piece on The World could do for his boss’s career, and pleased the ambassador would not have to be late for her 8:00 pm poetry session.

  Three weeks later, Finnegan—wearing his Project Oscar t-shirt—and his crew arrived early at the Nimbona Court. Twenty minutes before the start of the workout, they were fully set up.

  “Remember our deal, Finbar,” Jim said upon spotting the correspondent.

  The deal involved the crew filming the entire practice so Jim could use it as a teaching tool, especially with Leonard, who had never seen himself play on video.

  “You got it, Coach!”

  By 6:50 pm, all the players had arrived, and a buzz ran through the court over the presence of the CNN camera crew. At 7:00 sharp, with the players moving through the lay-up line in the background, Finnegan interviewed Cynthia Foster. The ambassador eloquently addressed the “chipping effect” that Project Oscar would hopefully have on the violence.

  Jim was next. Finnegan began his series of questions by asking, “What’s it like for a sixty-something American coach to ‘re-up’ in Burundi?”

  “Great! I feel like I’m in my first job again.”

  With the camera focused on Leonard Tangishaka, Finnegan asked Jim, “How did you find this young man?”