An African Rebound

by Dan Doyle

  “It’s definitely Chaney’s Temple Zone,” Jim remarked to Déo. “And this guy can coach it.”

  After five minutes of play, Jim knew that he was as challenged by Banda as his team was challenged by the opposing players. His starters needed help; it was time. “Leonard— check in!”

  In December 1956, Jim Keating was in his first season as head coach at St. Thomas and married to the perfect woman. His alma mater had gotten off to a strong start; 5-1 with an upset victory over Harry Litwack’s Temple Owls in the Palestra. The college basketball world was fast taking note of this savvy, soaring young mentor.

  It was seven years earlier when Jim had first met Bob Cousy. The two had played against each other in the Worcester Auditorium in ‘49, and St. Thomas had come away with a surprising victory. Even in ‘49, Cousy was already established as the most exciting player the fledgling game had ever seen. Jim had taken an immediate liking to the Cooz, whom he found to be a thoughtful person without pretense. “He’s one of the boys,” was Jim’s common description of the budding superstar known as “the Houdini of the Hardwood.”

  During Cousy’s first years with the Celtics, the two stayed in touch. Despite the press of coaching duties, Jim would always attend several Celtics home games as Cousy’s guest, making the drive to Boston. Jim loved to watch Cousy display his Monet-like creativity on the court. The way Edna once described it was “French Impressionism at its best.” The young coach was proud of their friendship and grateful for Cousy’s public praise of Jim’s early success.

  By the mid-1950s, Cousy had become the top box office attraction in the NBA and, along with Bill Sharman, formed the league’s top backcourt. But Jim knew that his friend was frustrated over the Celtics’ lack of a big man, the one missing component that seemed to keep “The Green” from scaling the NBA summit.

  “But Arnold has a plan,” Cousy confided to Jim in the summer of ‘ 55, referring to his coach, Arnold “Red” Auerbach. “Can’t give you the details, but if he can pull it off, it’s a strategy that could take us to the top.”

  For the next nine months, Jim kept wondering what Auerbach had in mind. On draft day, April 30, 1956, he found out.

  A series of moves that would ignite the greatest dynasty in NBA history, and elevate Auerbach to basketball mensa status, began by virtue of the league’s territorial draft rule. Implemented purely for gate reasons, the rule permitted a team to pick a local star. Holy Cross, Cousy’s school, was in Worcester, only fifty miles from Boston and well within the team’s territorial region. The geography allowed the Celtics to select Crusader All-American Tom Heinsohn, a 6’7” scoring machine. In the second round of the regular draft, the club took San Francisco All-American K.C. Jones, a defensive stopper.

  But it was a daring pre-draft day trade Cousy had foreshadowed that sealed the master plan. Auerbach sent two future Hall of Famers, Ed Macauley and Cliff Hagan, to the St. Louis Hawks for the draft rights to 6’9” Bill Russell, Jones’s All-American teammate at San Francisco.

  The trio of rookies—Russell, Heinsohn, and Jones— would all go on to Hall of Fame status and help lead the Celtics to unprecedented basketball success: eleven NBA titles in Russell’s thirteen years as a player.

  On December 19, 1956, three days before Russell’s much-anticipated debut, Edna answered a phone call and heard a familiar voice at the other end of the line. “Tell James that if the two of you would like to witness what I think might be a historic game, I’ll leave two tickets at Will Call.”

  At 6:00 AM on December 22, Jim and Edna departed Philadelphia for the Boston Garden. That afternoon, 13,909 fans jammed into every seat, and the game was nationally televised—the full house and national TV audience both rarities in those days. Thanks to Cousy, Jim and Edna sat in the sixth row, center court.

  Auerbach followed his plan of holding Russell on the bench for the first few minutes to allow the rookie some time to compose himself and observe the flow of action. Jim recalled the anticipation that permeated the Garden and Auerbach’s role in stirring the emotional embers of the fans. Several times, the coach glanced in Russell’s direction; each glance caused an agitation in the crowd like a gust of wind through trees.

  Four endless minutes into the game, Auerbach—the director—finally motioned to his new leading man.Jim Keating would never forget the sequence that followed, one that would be a deep-dye in the fabric of basketball lore.

  When the rookie stood up from the bench, the crowd— one and all—stood with him and began to cheer. When he walked toward the scorer’s table to check in, the crowd’s roar exploded, literally shaking the foundation of the old building. What happened next would become one of Jim’s favorite basketball memories.

  When Bill Russell walked onto the parquet floor, every player on the court—teammates and opponents alike—literally stopped to watch him. It was as if they were observing a crown prince entering their midst.

  After the game, the ever gracious Cousy met up with Jim and Edna outside the Garden press room.

  “I think this kid is going to make Arnold a genius,” said the Cooz, adding, “and I think he’s going to change my life.”

  As Leonard Tangishaka trotted onto the court with his team trailing 14-6, there was a reaction eerily similar to that which Jim recalled occurring back in 1956 when Bill Russell entered his first game for the Boston Celtics. On the court, the players stood stationary for a moment, eyes trained on the entry of the young giant. The Burundian players smiled; the Rwandan players feigned disinterest, though Jim was sure he could detect a look of concern.

  As for the fans, Leonard’s entry was greeted by a momentary hush, which quickly erupted into a joyous roar that resounded throughout the grounds. For a moment, Clive Rush held the basketball. He wanted to let the crowd noise subside so his whistle might be heard before he handed the ball to the player waiting to make the inbounds pass. Rush would later confide to Jim that his hesitation was in part due to his fascination with the spectators’ reactions.

  Jim glanced at the Burundian fans. The keeper of the djembe pounded hard on the goat-skin cover. The Burundians, many attired in their rainbow colors, rose up to cheer, clapping and waving their arms. Some of the women twirled their vivid umbrellas, brought to the game as sunshades. The effect was kaleidoscopic. As the coach turned his attention back to the court, he couldn’t help thinking, I hope we have a picture of this.

  Sensing the angst of his players, Coach Billy Banda vaulted from the bench. His trumpet voice alley-ooped the crowd bedlam. “Boshoso,” he yelled to the 6’11” center from Zaire, “you’ve got him.”

  For Mutara Boshoso, there was no need to parse the sentence. His assignment had been made clear by his coach ever since word of the young phenom had been beamed worldwide on CNN. Jim sensed—correctly—that “got him” had double the normal meaning. Usually the term referred only to a defensive player’s assignment. But in this case it encompassed intimidation at both ends of the court. Within the Rwandan matchup zone, Boshoso shadowed Leonard, creating double teams and muscling the prodigy at every step. At the offensive end, he utilized his elbows as weapons.

  “Side front him, Leonard!” yelled Jim.

  Leonard wrapped his left leg around Boshoso’s and positioned his left arm in a direct line between the ball handler and Boshoso’s outstretched hands.

  Boshoso was experienced in the cunning of low-post play. When the ball was quickly reversed to the weak side, both referees followed its flight. With swift stealth, and out of sight of the refs, he uncorked a forearm shiver deep into Leonard’s chest.

  Three thousand people—less two with whistles—seemed to observe the preemptive strike, and the Burundi fans roared in dissent.

  For Boshoso’s part, the attack was calculated, intended to provoke a response from Leonard that the officials would see. Jim’s first reaction was to leap from the bench in protest. But before he could express his complaint, he not only recalled Ambassador Perry’s appeal for sportsmanship, but was al
so struck by the icy composure of his protégé.

  Leonard’s reaction was in direct contrast to the crowd’s response; it was smart, it was mature, it was everything Jim had taught his young star about what he called “competitive self-restraint.”

  “When an opponent tries something dirty, it’s better to be tough and smart than tough and dumb,” he had told Leonard.

  Leonard also thought back to the time he had stood up to Charlé Tinyabokwe to protect his mother.

  If I did not back down from Charlé, who might have killed me, then I surely will not let this player frighten me.

  Despite Boshoso’s forearm to low-post freedom, his teammate traveled and Burundi took possession. A fifteen-foot jumper by Hutu point guard Albert Obadele was long. When the shot was released, Leonard had been boxed out by Boshoso. But he used the Paul Silas roll, the offensive rebounding ploy that Jim had taught him so well. Leonard rolled off Boshoso’s back and vaulted above the rim to tip the ball into the basket.

  The crowd cheered wildly and adrenaline flowed freely through Leonard’s body. Jim was exhilarated. The boy’s energy seemed visible, like an aura. The coach allowed himself a quick smile. This kid is the real deal.

  In Burundi’s man-to-man defense, Leonard’s assignment was to guard the 6’11” Boshoso. When the ball was passed to him in the low post, Boshoso made a half-turn toward the basket, and up-faked once, twice, then three times. None of his fakes caused Leonard to react. Out of frustration, he pivoted away from the fifteen-year-old and attempted a hook shot. With perfect timing, Leonard soared, and swatted the ball into the hands of Obadele, who quick-stepped up the court for an easy layup.

  Rwanda 14-Burundi 10!

  In the remaining minutes until halftime, Boshoso was made to regret his foul play. Leonard Tangishaka took over the game in a manner that, in the words of Jesse Abbot, “gave the crowd more than their centime’s worth.”

  Over those 15 minutes, Leonard scored 19 points, grabbed 14 rebounds, blocked 6 shots, and dished out 5 assists. Moreover, he played with a ferocious intensity that surprised even Jim Keating.

  Bill Foster described the performance to the dignitaries seated near him as “No dirty play—just good, aggressive basketball.”

  But it was at the end of the half that the overflow crowd was treated to an extraordinary athletic feat, one that caused Jim to revisit the memory of what many thought to be the singularly greatest play in basketball history.

  With only ten seconds remaining, Leonard received an entry pass, drop-stepped by Boshoso, and laid the ball in. His momentum carried him two feet over the end line.

  The moment the ball went through the net, a Rwandan player grabbed it and looked to half court, where he spotted a 6’9” teammate all alone. He hurled the ball to his teammate, who took off toward the opposite-end basket.

  Leonard looked up, only to see that the two Burundian teammates closest to the tall Rwandan were both Hutu guards, neither of whom could stop the opponent. Despite trailing the player by a full fifty feet, Leonard put his head down and sprinted toward the other basket, nintey-two feet away.

  Just as the 6’9” Rwandan began his elevation toward the hoop, from seemingly out of nowhere, and with equal measures of speed and resolve, Leonard tracked down his prey. As the player elevated, the fifteen-year-old leaped into midair and blocked the shot as the buzzer sounded.

  Amid the crowd delirium, Jim walked off the court, transfixed. The Bill Russell-Jack Coleman play from the 57 playoffs. Never would I believe I would see that play again.

  Burundi took a 46-33 half-time lead. Cynthia Foster’s enthusiasm overflowed with the sound of the buzzer and she grabbed President Buyoya’s arm. “Mr. President, we have just seen the debut of a superstar.”

  “And that last play,” said the president, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “It was astonishing. My God, astonishing!”

  During intermission, Finbar Finnegan called his office in Johannesburg. “Sid,” he said to his bureau chief, “it’s only halftime, but you should have seen the kid. He was better than even I imagined. Wait ‘til you see the footage! Wait ‘til you see what he did just before halftime!!”

  In the thick of jubilation that pervaded the tent, Jim cautioned, “Guys, you did a great job, but 13 points is not a big lead against a good team like Rwanda.”

  Yet even as he offered these customary words of caution, the coach knew that no one was about to hold back his protégé.

  Leonard scored the first 8 points of the second half. With five minutes to go, and Burundi leading 75-41, Keating removed him from the game to a thunderous ovation.

  The final score was Burundi 85, Rwanda 54. In his first formal competition, and in only thirty minutes of play, Leonard’s numbers were astounding: 36 points, 24 rebounds, 10 blocked shots, 10 assists. A quadruple double!

  The post-game plan called for a reception at Ambassador Foster’s home for the two teams and VIPs. At halftime, Mathias asked Ambassador Foster for her permission to invite the Angolan coach, who was present at the game.

  “I’ve also seen two or three others who I assume to be coaches as well.”

  “Invite them all,” said the ambassador.

  But when Mathias went to the area where he had seen the Mediterranean-looking man, who he had assumed to be a scout or a coach, he could not find him. He asked several people if they knew the man’s whereabouts.

  “I saw him leave just before halftime,” said one fan.

  Now that is quite strange, Mathias thought.

  As soon as the game was over, Ambassador Foster, awash with delight, was escorted to her car by Bill and two Marines. She politely asked for a few minutes of privacy so that she could write a brief letter to Consolaté, telling her of Leonard’s great play. She wrote, “You should be so very proud of your wonderful son, my sister. You have raised him well!”

  The letter would be hand-delivered to Consolaté by a group of Marines the next day.

  40

  The two Marine security guards outside Ambassador Foster’s home were never so challenged.

  “Bet there’s at least 250 people in there,” said Sergeant Matt Kocay of Auburn, Maine.

  “Yup, more’n I’ve ever seen, but I feel good we’ve checked ‘em all careful,” added Private Mark Epstein of Clemson, South Carolina.

  The post-game reception, originally planned for “approximately one hundred” per Ambassador Foster’s directive to her chef, Audace Bugaza, had swelled amid the high spirits of victory. Fortunately, Bugaza had had an inkling that the original estimate was conservative. He responded to the challenge by preparing extra helpings of Burundi specialties like spiced carrots mixed with mustard seeds and chili peppers, and bamabara, a traditional rice porridge flavored with sugar and peanut butter.

  The gathering was testament to the remarkable success of Project Oscar. Hutu and Tutsi mingled easily, all sharing a sense of pride in Burundi’s win.

  Victorino Cunha, the Angolan coach who was clearly there to scout, sought out Jim. It was obvious that the American coach was still in a state of euphoria.

  “Coach, your team was well prepared, and you will be a force to be reckoned within the FIBA African Tournament. You probably know that the winner goes to the Olympics.”

  Jim had been so engrossed in preparing his team for the Rwandan game that he had never considered the possibility of qualifying for the Olympics. After his sojourn in Spain, Jim was well versed in the structure of international and Olympic basketball, but he figured a refresher about the Olympics from an African perspective couldn’t hurt.

  “I actually didn’t know that,” Jim admitted. “Tell me about the process.”

  “Well, as you know, only twelve countries actually make it to the Olympic Games in Men’s Basketball, and only one team from Africa.”

  “How many times have you been to the Olympics?”

  “Oh, just once. We came in tenth, but played good basketball. Just making the ‘terrific twelve,’ to echo your famous �
�sweet sixteen’ phrase, is a great honor for many countries. And after watching your team tonight, my guess is that you will have a very good chance as well. But it all comes down to the winner of the FIBA African championship.”

  Cunha smiled and added, “That kid in the pivot is a force, to be sure, but I still hope we both make it to the finals. While we’ve been fortunate to win it, we’ve never faced a player like your Tangishaka.”

  Jim was struck by Cunha’s sincerity. As the two coaches were wrapping up their conversation, Mathias approached them and extended a hand to the Angolan.

  “I’ve been eavesdropping,” Mathias said. “Coach, I know your reputation well. You are a great strategist and we are honored that you attended this game. . . . I also overheard you mentioning the Olympics. At the game, I did notice one fellow, a Mediterranean-looking man. I thought he must be a coach from somewhere in the Middle East or perhaps Morocco. But he left at halftime.”

  “I did not notice him,” said Cunha. “But he surely must not be a coach, for no real coach would leave at halftime of the historical debut of Leonard Tangishaka!”

  “Very true,” said Mathias, again giving momentary thought to the curious early departure.

  As the center of interest at the reception, Leonard inwardly took pride at the attention accorded him. But he also acted as a gentleman, even offering a friendly handshake to Mutara Boshoso, the powerful center who tried to intimidate him—and whom he had “devoured,” as the Bujumbura Gazette would report the next day.

  As Jim watched his protégé soak up praise that bordered on reverence, the coach felt button-popping pride over the boy’s performance on the court—and his courteous manner at the reception. And Jim knew something that the player most likely did not—that this night, at the very genesis of his career, would be one that Leonard Tangishaka would forever treasure.