An African Rebound

by Dan Doyle

  In detail that Finnegan knew must be edited, Jim reviewed the process: the suggestion of Mathias to travel to Kayanza, the first sighting of Leonard, and the wondrous first session on the makeshift soccer field. When the coach concluded, Finnegan popped the important question, “How good is he?”

  In analyzing young stars, most coaches follow a time-honored practice of temperance—using rote clichés to avoid heaping too much praise on a player of promise. Jim employed one such favorite: “Well, with a lot of hard work, Leonard has a chance to be a good one.”

  Finnegan smiled at Jim’s non-answer. After this failed attempt to draw a candid opinion from the coach, Finbar decided to let the camera tell the story. The crew filmed Leonard’s every move, and the boy unwittingly cooperated, demonstrating extraordinary athletic prowess and skills that were remarkably refined. In the twenty-minute scrimmage that wrapped up the practice, Leonard, as usual, dominated both ends of the court, hitting jumper after soft jumper, blocking shots with abandon, and showing remarkable speed—mastery that the camera easily embraced.

  When the scrimmage was over, Finnegan joked to Jim, “Coach, even to a casual fan, I’d say that Leonard’s ‘chance to be a good one’ is a bettin’ man’s wage!”

  Finnegan wrapped up the filming by interviewing Leonard. In a pre-rehearsed question-and-answer session, the reporter asked, “What do you hope to be doing in five years?”

  “ To play in the NBA,” responded the youngster, smiling broadly.

  When the shoot was done, Finnegan and his crew returned to the CNN office, a two-room storefront adjacent to the Novotel Bujumbura. For the next three hours, the group edited the footage down to a slick four and a half-minute piece. Finnegan’s diverse knowledge of basketball streamlined the editing process and made for a tight, especially engaging story that expertly captured the mission of Project Oscar, the eloquence of Cynthia Foster, the avuncular wisdom of Jim Keating, and the vast potential of Leonard Tangishaka.

  Twenty-four hours later, the piece aired on The World. Forty-eight million people in 110 countries watched the clip, and Finnegan’s earlier prediction to Sid Hawkins proved accurate.

  The diplomatic community was interested in the project; the international basketball community was abuzz over one Leonard Tangishaka.

  35

  Jesse Abbot was short of breath as he slowed from a sprint to a walk alongside Cynthia Foster. He had important information to share.

  “Well, Ambassador,” he gasped, “the good news is that since the piece ran last night, millions of people know about Project Oscar. The bad news is that the group includes every NBA, European, and college basketball scout on this planet. And they all want to visit Burundi!”

  Even Ambassador Foster, wise to the power of the media, was caught off guard by the reaction of the CNN report— especially from the international basketball community.

  “We’ve only been open for three hours, and we’ve already had sixty-one calls and another forty-six faxes from basketball people wanting to come here,” continued Abbot. “And most of them want to speak with Jim.”

  The phone lines were constantly busy, so Jim had not yet spoken with anyone at the Embassy and wasn’t aware of the reaction. However, unlike Ambassador Foster, Jim had expected the flood of responses. He had watched the piece in Abbot’s living room the night before. Finnegan and his crew had done an excellent job portraying Leonard Tangishaka’s enormous potential. So much so that the coach was worried.

  “I know about recruiting, Jesse,” he had said after watching the clip. “Believe me, some people will try anything to get this kid.”

  “Colleges?” asked Abbot.

  “Colleges, the European league, Israel—you name it. If this thing just aired throughout the world, you can bet we’re going to be presented with some potent challenges in protecting Leonard’s interests.”

  As Jim knew so well, the intense recruiting of a young star often robbed the prospect of many of the enjoyable experiences of growing up. Recruiters would dangle every form of bait before the player’s eyes—money, sex, cars, even jobs for family members. And for a once-in-a-generation player like Leonard Tangishaka—an athlete whose skills could mean millions to a college or professional team—the inducements could descend on him like an avalanche. As a result, the courtship of a young prodigy often produced an abrupt transformation from innocence to arrogance.

  Yet as Jim considered ways to protect Leonard from the swarm of vultures that would soon circle, he also continued to wonder if his wariness was tied to self-interest. In their lust to recruit Leonard for their team, recruiters would tell him that he would be better off leaving Burundi right away— for America . . . or Italy . . . or Israel . . . wherever—to learn the game in “more suitable conditions.” And while Jim knew that such a move would be necessary at some point, he was also convinced it was premature. By the time Leonard left Burundi, Jim wanted him to know all the fundamentals of the game, and he wanted him to learn them in an environment that would protect his youth and his innocence. Despite occasional pangs of conscience, the coach also wanted to be the person to teach those fundamentals. For Jim Keating knew that no one—not anyone—could do it better.

  As he considered these issues, a startling realization suddenly came over him. The depression that had so engulfed his life was gone—banished by his purposeful work and the presence of Leonard Tangishaka.

  The realization was interrupted when his phone rang.

  “Jim,” said Jesse Abbot. “The reaction has been unbelievable. The ambassador would like to meet with you.”

  By the time Jim arrived, the Embassy had logged in nineteen more inquiries about Leonard Tangishaka. Jim took a seat across from the ambassador in her office, a setting he had become familiar with over the last few months.

  “They all want to speak with you, Jim, and some even asked to speak directly with Leonard,” said Ambassador Foster. “I guess my first question is—do you want to speak with them?”

  Cynthia posed the question half jokingly, but Jim was dead serious in his response.

  “Frankly, Ambassador, I don’t want to speak with them. It’s because I know what some of these people will do to entice Leonard to join their teams. I’m not saying that everyone in the business is bad, but some, if not many, are. And Leonard’s still developing—not only as a player but also as a person. I’m convinced that exposing him to the craziness of recruiting will be harmful. And I’m sure a number of questionable characters are among the callers.”

  Leaning forward, the coach continued, “What we all have to understand is that Leonard is so good that some guys will do just about anything to get him.”

  The ambassador paused for a moment. “So you feel that letting these recruiters come to Burundi would not be in Leonard’s best interests?”

  “That’s exactly how I feel.”

  Cynthia Foster was not unwilling to employ the power of her position. She was also passionately interested in the well-being of Leonard Tangishaka. After reflecting for a moment, she said to Jim, “There’s not much I can do about the media entering Burundi. But I sense you’re not as concerned about the media.”

  “No, not really,” Jim confirmed. “The mistake would be to let the recruiters come in.”

  The ambassador turned her attention to Jesse Abbot, seated next to Jim. “Jesse, call Paul Corcoran at State. Tell him that for the next two months we are restricting American visas to Burundi to the media and diplomatic missions only.”

  “And if he asks why?” said Abbot.

  “Tell him security concerns—he’ll be fine with that.” She turned back to Jim. “Jim, I would imagine that pro teams from places like Spain, Italy, Israel, or Australia would be interested in Leonard as well.”

  He nodded. “Without a doubt.”

  “Okay . . . Jesse, you and Coach work up a list of countries and let’s see if our diplomatic friends will follow suit on this restriction.” She paused. “Jim, it’s possible that some of these
recruiters with political clout, from the United States and other countries, might be able to get around this restriction. But for the most part, we’ll keep the predators away—at least for the time being. This will allow you to coach the young man and get the team ready for Rwanda.”

  Once again, Jim was struck by Cynthia Foster’s resolve.

  Few people in Burundi had television sets; most who did had watched the CNN report about Project Oscar. The day after the report aired, the Bujumbura Gazette ran a front-page story with the headline, “Burundian Basketball Gains World Attention.” The sub-head declared “Fifteen-year-old Leonard Tangishaka is a future star.”

  A Reuter’s story that ran throughout Africa confirmed that the CNN piece was seen in 110 countries. Minister of Sport, Claude Ntahombaye, was quoted in the article as saying, “At last the world has seen Burundi in a favorable light. Leonard Tangishaka could become an invaluable resource for our nation.”

  The media buzz made the upcoming basketball game against Rwanda a lively topic of conversation among Burundians. Not only was basketball now a close second to soccer in popularity, but the Rwanda game also had implications far beyond the Nimbona Court.

  The level of interest in the game became tangible. More than five hundred spectators turned up at the first practice after the CNN report to watch the wunderkind, the nickname that had now spread far beyond the team. The hubbub stirred Jim Keating’s coaching instincts.

  “You know,” he said to Bill Foster as the two stood at center court. “I’m happy with all the people showing up. But this commotion will make it tough to get the team ready for Rwanda. We may need to think about closing the practices.”

  As Bill surveyed the swelling crowd of both Hutus and Tutsis, he responded. “True. . . . But, on the other hand, Jim, we’re seeing the fruits of Project Oscar come to bear tonight. Think about a plan that’ll get us some privacy but also foster this kind of mingling of the tribes.”

  Jim was embarrassed that he had not considered the big picture. “You’re right, but there’s still one element of the crowd that concerns me.”

  Jim jerked his head toward the pack of young ladies whose eyes were trained on Leonard Tangishaka. While Leonard seemed nearly oblivious of his appeal to the opposite sex, the coach decided to approach Mathias after practice and raise his concerns.

  “You know, Mathias,” he started, “in our country, the birds and the bees talk, as we call it, is the talk a father or a mother gives a son about sexual activity—and generally not very well. Because Leonard lost his dad at such a young age, it struck me that he may never have had such a talk. And with all the attention he’s getting from young ladies, and with the AIDS virus so common, well . . . “

  Before he could finish his thought, Mathias said calmly, “Jim, in Burundi we also call it the birds and the bees talk. And you can relax because I have already given it to Leonard. I think he understands the dangers of sexual intercourse, but even so, I plan to monitor his activities very closely. What is good is that he is a very obedient boy who desperately wants to please his mother—and all of us.”

  While Jim had great faith in Mathias, he was determined to watch the situation with a father’s care. Regarding spectator interest in the team’s practice sessions, Jim had made a decision that he related to Foster.

  “We need more time together,” he told Bill as they left the court together later that night. “So, as a result of our conversation, my thought is to work out five times a week instead of three. We’ll close three practices to the public. That’ll give us the privacy we need—plus hopefully satisfy the public’s interest in us.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll work with Cynthia and Jesse to make it happen.”

  Through his wife, Foster arranged for the Bujumbura Garda to cordon off the area for the three closed practices. Abbot had the Bujumbura Gazette run a story which, in making note of the importance of the game, implored basketball fans to “respect Coach Keating’s desire for three nights of closed practice.”

  Jim was pleasantly surprised when the public actually cooperated.

  As for his concern about recruiters invading the life of Leonard Tangishaka, Ambassador Foster prepared to relate good news as the two, once again, sat across from each other in her office. When Jesse joined them a moment later, he sat to Jim’s left, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took his seat.

  “Jim, not only is the United States limiting visas to government officials, medical personnel, and the media, but Canada, all of Europe, Australia, and Israel have agreed to do the same. Unfortunately, other nations will be able to send recruiters, but at least we have the cooperation of most of the key countries,” she told him.

  She added, “We’re getting a number of media requests, though, especially for interviews with you and Leonard. Sports Illustrated is sending a reporter. So is The New York Times and several of the large European newspapers. How do you want to handle those requests?”

  Jim clasped his hands behind his head and nodded slowly. Just before he began to answer, Abbot, the media expert, spoke up. “Jim, can I make a suggestion?”

  Jim nodded, and Jesse went on to suggest they set an afternoon aside a day or two before the game for a single general session followed by thirty-minute one-on-ones with Sports Illustrated and The Times. From the looks on their faces, Jesse could tell that both the ambassador and the coach approved of the idea.

  “The whole plan sounds fine to me, Jesse,” Jim said. The ambassador nodded in agreement.

  “Then I’ll arrange it—and you can focus on getting the team ready.”

  “That sounds even better,” said the coach.

  As Jesse and Jim arrived home, Josiane greeted them at the front door. She bore a smile flushed with joy, and there was an energy in her twinkling eyes as she spoke.

  “Mr. Coach, the Embassy just tried to patch a call through to you from your daughter in America. She saw the report on American television and she is thrilled—and very eager to talk with you. I believe she will be calling the Embassy back any minute, and they will be patching the call through to your apartment.”

  “Thank you, Josiane,” said Jim, as he moved quickly toward the door. Moments later, he heard his favorite voice come through in a surprisingly clear connection.

  “Daddy, oh my God, this is so incredible,” Sarah gushed.

  “It is incredible, and I’m so happy to hear from you. You know, I tried to call you earlier but couldn’t get through to the overseas operator. We’re being inundated with calls about the CNN piece.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Daddy. In fact, I’ve gotten a bunch of calls here and . . . I mean, Leonard—he looks so great. On our last call, I sort of got that impression, but wasn’t sure. Is he that good?”

  “Sarah, he’s even better! And you’re right, I didn’t want to say too much on our last call. I wanted to be sure myself. But now I’m sure.”

  “You know, Daddy, it’s so strange . . . but somehow . . . well . . . I knew something great like this was going to happen in Burundi.”

  Since less than one percent of the population in Burundi had phones, the country’s telecommunications system resembled what Jim recalled in his youth in America. And during the current strife, all overseas calls, except those that were official government business, were limited to five minutes.

  Mindful of the time constraints, father and daughter quickly and lovingly caught up on details of each other’s lives. Jim then said, “This call . . . hearing your voice . . . you know, it means so much to me.”

  “Me too, Daddy.”

  When the two hung up, Jim looked at a note from a US Embassy staffer who had done him a favor.

  “Coach, I checked out your request about the distance between Bujumbura and Rochester, New York, where your daughter lives. It’s approximately 7,114 miles.”

  A long way, thought Jim. Yet he had never felt closer to Sarah Jane Keating.

  36

  Spared the burden of dealing with recruiters, Jim devote
d his full attention to preparing for the Rwanda game. With three weeks to get ready, his first job was to cut the team down to twelve players, never an easy task—and one certain to hurt feelings. But an idea by Bill Foster eased the difficulty.

  “We’ve got thirty-six guys regularly showing up for practice at the various courts. If you keep twelve for the Rwanda game, we could split the remaining twenty-four into two teams—play a prelim before the big game.”

  “Great thought,” said Jim, “But how do you think the players who don’t make the big squad will react—especially the older ones?”

  “They’ll be disappointed, Jim, but they believe in you and they believe in Project Oscar. As you’ve said to all of them, their role in the future can be as coaches—working with younger players. So, even though some will be disappointed, I’ll bet they’ll all remain in the program—play the prelim and stay with Oscar in the future—as players and, in many cases, as youth coaches.”

  “I know my top twelve right now, and I’d like to meet with each guy we cut,” said Jim. “Tell each guy about the preliminary game, and let ‘em all know that we want ‘em to stick with Project Oscar.”

  “Well,” said Foster, “We’ve got a day and a half before the next practice. I’m sure we can find all of them before then, but it’s going to mean a lot of time in the jeep.”

  “True. But as you said, Bill, all of the players who are cut will be let down. This way, we can show we care about ‘em and that we really want ‘em to be part of the program.”

  Often jolted and bounced over rutted, rocky roads, Jim and Bill, along with Rush, Roberts, Déo, and Gilbert, found every player who was to be cut. And while all expressed varying degrees of disappointment (two even broke into tears), each man recognized the special effort Jim had made to bear the bad news. Many were quite moved when their coach related his own disappointment at being cut by the Pistons decades earlier and by his message that such disappointment can often produce new and meaningful opportunities.