by Dan Doyle
“I bet I wouldn’t be here today if I had made the NBA as a player. And if that had been the case, I would have missed out on a wonderful experience, including getting to know you.”
Jim was gratified when Gilbert would often translate a genuine, “and I would have missed knowing you, Coach.”
In explaining the preliminary game idea to each player, Jim said, “One team will be called the Celtics and be coached by Déo. The other team will be called the Bulls and be coached by Gilbert.”
Jim ended each session with an upbeat message: “We’ll have special practices for both teams. Plus, the Celtics and Bulls will be able to work out against the National Team on a pretty regular basis.”
All twenty-four players committed to remain in Project Oscar, and Jim vowed he would attend every practice of the two newly formed teams.
“We’ve got size and speed,” Jim said to Déo and Gilbert at a strategy session at his apartment. “So we’ll fast break at every opportunity and run the passing game when nothing shows up on the break. If Rwanda zones us, we’ll attack the seams in the zone. And in both our man-to-man and zone offenses, we’ll get the ball to Leonard down low.”
“How about on defense?” asked Déo.
“We’ll pressure full court but we’ll change up—sometimes straight man-to-man pressure, sometimes zone pressure. In Spain, I found that most of our opponents weren’t used to changing defenses. It confused them and often allowed us to dictate the tempo of the game. I’m betting that the same will be true against Rwanda.”
Jim paused while the other men scribbled down quick notes. Then he revealed another strategic decision—a real thunderbolt.
“I’m not going to start Leonard,” he said. Two heads turned his way, concern or confusion on the assistants’ faces. Jim smiled and said, “Not to worry, guys. You see, instead, I’ll bring him in at the seventeen-minute mark of the first half. For those first three minutes of the game, I want the two of you to sit next to him and help him relax and observe what’s going on. And by the way, there’s a bit of history to this strategy.”
Jim’s two assistants enjoyed hearing the coach link his tactics to something from his deep reservoir of basketball lore.
“What history?” asked Déo.
“Well, Bill Russell did not play his first game for the Boston Celtics until December 22, 1956, ten games into that season. Russell had captained the US gold medal team in Melbourne, Australia, and the Olympic competition did not wrap up until November,” he told them.
He continued. “Anyway, in his first game, which was nationally televised, a rarity in those days, his coach, Red Auerbach, decided to bring him in after three or four minutes, figuring that a few minutes on the bench would allow Russell to observe and mentally prepare.”
“And what happened?” asked Gilbert.
Jim smiled again. “He was prepared all right. The Celtics won, and he shut down Bob Pettit of the Saint Louis Hawks, one of the greatest players of that era. Russell went on to lead the Celtics to eleven world championships in his thirteen-year career. . . . So, I think this same approach will make things better for Leonard, especially because it’ll be his first real game. And he’s only fifteen! Watching for the first few minutes will hopefully drain off some of the nervousness.”
Over the period of weeks that Jim prepared his team, it became increasingly apparent that many Burundians had not only developed an interest in the “friendly competition,” as the US Embassies in both countries called the game, but were focusing intently on the outcome. Ambassador Foster met with Jim to discuss the fan interest. Both were aware that their meetings in her office had gone beyond formal; they’d become good friends through Project Oscar and were comfortable in both conversation and moments of silence.
“On the one hand, Jim,” she began, “it’s great to see the Tutsis and the Hutus actually bonding in their desire to beat Rwanda. On the other hand, it would be disastrous if the level of interest caused some type of violence to break out— either among the players or the fans.”
“Do you expect many people from Rwanda?” asked Jim.
“Jesse Abbot and the Marines scoped out the space around the Nimbona Court. They figure about 3,000 people can comfortably watch the game. Ambassador Mark Newlen, my counterpart in Rwanda, feels that roughly 250 Rwandans will want to attend. With the help of the Peace Corps and Rwandan government, Amdassador Newlen has organized indent">special train transportation for the Rwandan fans, as well as easy clearance at the border. As part of this plan, he’s insisting that both Hutus and Tutsis travel together on the train. By the way, he’s also staffing the train with heavy security, to ensure no problems,” she said. “In any case, I’ve already talked with Jesse about cordoning off a special seating area for the Rwandan fans.”
“What if we get more than three thousand?” asked Jim.
“Well,” replied the ambassador, her promotional instincts coming to the fore, “let me run this idea by you!”
She grinned and shifted in her seat. “Before we realized the huge interest in the game, I thought it best to not charge any admission. Now, because of the crowd control issue, we’ll give the 250 complimentary tickets to Ambassador Newlen because that’s what he requested. We already have more than eighty media requests for credentials, so we’ll honor all those requests and seat the media at courtside.
“We’ll give away five hundred or so comps to local schools. This leaves us room for about twenty-one hundred more spectators. We’ll sell those tickets on a first-come, first-served basis for one centime. Anyone who wants to attend can afford that. Plus, by selling the tickets, it will keep us from having to turn a lot of fans away. Oh, and the proceeds will benefit Project Oscar.”
“Will we sell that many tickets?”
“From what I can gather, it shouldn’t be a problem. If the tickets don’t sell the way we expect, we’ll simply give more away to local schools.”
“Let’s say we do sell all of the tickets,” continued Jim. “Will the word get out so that people know not to show up without a ticket?”
“Good question. We spoke with the Burundian Football Federation people. Before the violence broke out, they had many sold-out games. According to the federation president, as long as the Bujumbura Gazette publicizes the sellout, and we put up notices around the region with the same message, people will get the word. And, as we’ve already found out with Project Oscar, it’s amazing how fast word spreads.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ambassador Foster continued. “Jim, going back to the crowd control issue, let’s talk a bit about the objectives of the game.” Jim detected a bit of an edge in her voice. The conversation shifted from friendly and comfortable back to business—very no-nonsense.
“I know how competitive you are and that you want to win this game. Believe me, so do I. But as we can all see, there’s an even higher purpose to the game that would be shattered by any outbreak of violence. So what I’m asking—and this is a very important request—is that you get the team ready to play its best, but also impress upon them the importance— the absolute importance—of good sportsmanship.”
She continued, “From what I’ve observed, the crowd will often follow the lead of their team and coach in this area. If the coach is harping on the officials—or if a player argues a call—this could send the crowd into a frenzy and could compromise—even destroy—our goals.”
Cynthia Foster leaned over, put her hand on Jim’s forearm, and looked straight into his blue eyes.
“Coach,” she said gently, “We need to employ that John Havlicek ‘don’t punch back, play harder’ credo that you told me about.”
Jim knew that her points were not simply a request, but an order.
“You know,” he responded,”with all of the hoopla surrounding the game, I guess I hadn’t given the issue of sportsmanship much thought. But you’re absolutely right. Rest assured I’ll make certain that all of us—myself included—conduct ourselves with what I’ve always
called ‘competitive self-restraint.’”
As Jim rose from his chair, he turned to the ambassador. With a broad grin, the coach asked, “Just so I’m sure, who’s reffing the game?”
“Sergeant Rush—and a Marine stationed in Rwanda,” responded the ambassador. “They’ve both reffed at the high school level,” she said, returning his smile.
I want my players to approach winning and losing with equal measures of effort and sportsmanship. I also want them to treat either outcome with the same quiet dignity.
Jim Keating had read these words in an obscure athletic journal many years earlier. The writer was a high school coach from a small Connecticut town, and the two sentences struck a chord with him. But because the coach had a sub-.500 record, Jim doubted that others in his profession would pay much attention to the article; high-profile opinion forums were reserved for coaches with outstanding records. He even guessed that most of those who read the piece would dismiss the man as a pious loser. For his own part, Jim was always under such pressure to win that he had filed the message in the deep recesses of his mind.
But as he reflected on his conversation with the ambassador, Jim knew that a key objective in the forthcoming game was for the team—head coach and players alike—to display the highest standards of on-court behavior. As for handling victory and defeat with the same quiet dignity, the coach admitted a desire to display such dignity—but as a winner.
“If we’re going to win,” he said to his assistants, Déo and Gilbert, “we’d better find out as much as we can about the Rwandan team.”
“Mathias will know, or he’ll know where to find out,” said Déo. “He knows almost everything about African basketball.”
Later that day at the Nimbona Court, as the players warmed up, Mathias told the coach, “Throughout the years, they would almost always beat us. We really didn’t have a national program, and they had a reputation of always trying to bring in ‘guests.’ Ringers, as you call them.”
“Where would they get them?”
“Just over the border in Zaire. . . . We would play two or three times a year,” Mathias recalled. “One game would be a ‘friendly’ and the ringers would never show up for that game. But whenever the game was for standing in the African basketball community—well, we always knew to expect some new faces.”
“What about now?” asked Jim. “How can we find out about the team that will play us?”
“I have a schoolteacher friend,” said Mathias. “He’s a bas-ketball man who lives just outside of Kigali—a Tutsi who used to coach the Rwandan sixteen-and-under boys. I’ve not spoken with him in several years. I know that he was pushed off of the Rwandan Basketball Board when the new Hutu regime came into power. They took over everything, including sports. But I’ll bet he knows about the team.”
“Okay. But will he tell what he knows?”
“I bet he will, and I believe I can reach him at his school.”
“Then please go about contacting him, and I’ll speak with Ambassador Foster about this guest issue,” said Jim.
“A good idea,” said Mathias, who paused then said, “And Jim, I also bet the Rwandans will bring a very good team.”
Later that night, Mathias’s scouting report confirmed his earlier prediction.
“My friend says the Rwandans are treating this game quite seriously. The Hutu regime has recruited the best Tutsi players from Rwanda, along with several Hutu ball handlers. Plus, they saw the CNN report about Leonard,” he told Jim.
Jim leaned back in his chair, placed both hands behind his head, and stared out beyond the space of the veranda. He let out a long, steady breath while Mathias continued.
“He also says two big men originally from Zaire will play. The Rwandans will defend this because so many Tutsis are constantly relocating due to the violence in Rwanda and Zaire. Both players from Zaire recently fled that country and are living in Rwanda, near the Zaire border. So, I don’t know how much of a protest you can make.”
“That’s exactly Ambassador Foster’s opinion,” said Jim. “Ambassador Newlen called her about the two guys. He explained that if he tried to convince the Rwandan basketball officials that the two should not play, it would jeopardize the game. We agreed to drop the matter and focus on getting our players ready.”
“One other thing, Jim,” said Mathias. “The Rwandans have imported Billy Banda from South Africa to coach their team. They feel that if an American is coaching the Burundi team, then they have the right to import a top coach as well.”
Through a conversation with Finbar Finnegan, Jim was familiar with Banda. The Irishman had observed him while on assignment in South Africa. “Since an NBA All-Star Team visited South Africa several years ago, and brought along some superstars like Patrick Ewing and David Robinson, basketball has really caught on,” Finnegan had told Jim. “They have a pro league now. In fact, one of the teams is owned by Sam Vincent, the former Celtics player.”
Finnegan had told Jim that Banda was the best coach in the league. The South African Basketball Federation paid his way to attend several clinics in the States. And when the South African National Team had toured the States last year, Banda was appointed head coach.
Jim had recognized the name and the appointment as soon as Finnegan mentioned Banda. He was a disciple of John Chaney at Temple—disciplined offense, tough zone defense.
“I wonder if he’s a firebrand like Chaney,” Jim thought aloud, reflecting on the information from both Finnegan and Mathias.
“Don’t know,” Mathias said. “But I do know that he’s originally from the Chiawelo section of Soweto. I heard that he battled prejudice and actually received a degree in physical education at the University of Pretoria. He’s quite a man— and a very good technical coach.”
Jim was genuinely invigorated by the scouting information, and the next day his players could hear in his voice the relish with which he approached this game. “Gentlemen, I’ve got good news. Rwanda is a very fine team with an excellent coach. I wouldn’t want it any other way, and you guys should feel the same. It’ll be a real test of our progress, but that’s what’s so great about this game.”
As he spoke, Jim could not help but notice that Leonard Tangishaka seemed visibly energized by the spunk of his words.
“Guys,” the coach concluded, “only eight days ‘til tip off. Let’s work real hard.”
37
The Rwandan National Team arrived two days before the game. With her customary entrepreneurial savvy, Ambassador Foster arranged for the team to receive complimentary rooms at the Novetal Bujumbura in exchange for fifty free tickets in a special VIP area at courtside. She further arranged for the VIP section to be catered throughout the game with hors d’oeuvres and soft drinks. It would be the first such in-game entertainment in Burundian sports history.
At a reception the ambassador hosted at her home in honor of both teams, Jim got his first look at the Rwandans. Most of the players were dressed in the traditional toga with the blue, yellow, and green colors of Rwanda. Many looked to be as tall as and physically stronger than Jim’s athletes—with the notable exception of Leonard Tangishaka.
Through embassy friends in Belgium, including Frank Schwalba-Hoth—the supplier of her favorite chocolates, which Jim had presented to her on his first night in Burundi— Ambassador Foster had organized a shipment of navy blue blazers for the Burundian team, including the coaches. She had made sure to have the Burundian coat of arms sewed on the breast pocket. A yellow lion head on a red background, it stood out sharply against the navy blue coat. Many of the players had never worn a suit coat and proudly sported their new gift at the reception.
Mathias had explained the significance of the coat of arms, which included three crossed spears behind the lion head and a banner with the words “Unity—Work—Progress” in French. No one looked more resplendent than Leonard, whose jacket fit perfectly on his well-sculpted body. In fact, when he entered the reception with Mathias, every eye turned his way, incl
uding those of the Rwandans. They had viewed the CNN clip and were anxious to see the wunderkind in person.
At the reception, Jim was introduced to Coach Billy Banda. Banda appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and his bearing reflected the intensity and focus Jim had observed in many successful coaches. In Banda’s case, he also possessed a pleasing measure of good manners.
“I have a powerful respect for the great American coaches such as John Chaney, Dean Smith, and you, Coach Keating. I have an article you wrote on changing defenses that I review quite often.”
While taking an immediate liking to Banda, Jim was certain this young coach had drilled his team on the various methods of countering the changing defensive system. So much for my surprise! He was also keenly aware that Banda’s comment was perhaps more rooted in gamesmanship than flattery.
Moments after the two head coaches finished their brief conversation, Jesse Abbot approached Jim. “That guy is taking this game seriously. As soon as he got here, he requested a closed practice at Nimbona Court for tomorrow morning. Wanted our assurances that no one other than the Garda would be present.”
Jim had always been amused at the universal paranoia of those in his profession; this time was no exception.
At Ambassador Foster’s request, the athletes shook hands with their opponents. While the Burundians could easily see that the Rwandans were an imposing group, they also realized that none of the players had any physical advantage over their young star. As for Leonard, he was not the least bit intimidated by meeting the opposition—most of whom were more than a decade his senior.
After the handshakes and some genuine words of welcome by Ambassador Foster, Billy Banda politely excused himself and his team, pointing to the need for a good sleep after the long journey.