2016 May 29
The day is full of meetings about the situation. Conversations about who did this, what should
be done about that, and the ever popular, how can we fix this? All of these are
above my pay-grade. All I know, somehow, miraculously, we escaped that arena
without a serious injury. The guys would be pretty happy just going to the
airport and sitting there for two days waiting for the plane back to the USA.
Unfortunately, the show must go on. Police are involved. The Chinese Sports
Administration is involved. FIBA is involved. Mr. Gao is in full blown crisis
control mode. He gets assurances that arena will have extra security and the
refs who worked last night will be replaced with FIBA officials. I tell Robert
and Mr. Gao that our first choice is not to play to play the game. It is
unsafe. However, if we have to put on uniforms and go out there, it will be
strictly procedural. We will look like a team, but we won’t play with anywhere
near the tenacity and athleticism they are accustomed to. We will play a
compact zone, we will advance the ball to the other end of the floor, and we
will shoot. We will lose mightily.
Honestly, I don’t think they heard anything after, “We will
play.” So when it came time to set the schedule Robert was surprised to hear I
wanted the bus at 6:30. “How will you warm up enough,” he asks. “We don’t need
to warm up for what we are going through tonight, in fact we are not coming out
of the locker room until it’s time for introductions and anthems,” I tell him.
Again, a funny face. He tells me because of the bad publicity from last night’s
riot, we need to have a ceremonial handshake with the Chinese team on the court
before the game starts. It will show that there are no hard feelings. I take great
pride in not looking as crazy as I feel. This was one of those moments. I was
pretty sure no player would want to see, let alone shake hands with, the
Shandong team. “You can do it Beebe,” he says, “just use your American way of
dealing with them.” So clearly, there is supposed to be some magic in that old
green clipboard still. I ask a couple players and they are not as good at
concealing their immediate reaction. I move to the next room, more rejection. I
change my strategy knowing I am at the last room where any possibility exists.
Jordan and Tyler have become best friends on this trip. They
are the tall and short of our squad and they seem to be really enjoying
everything as much as they can. I walk in with one bullet in my gun. Before I
ask the real question, I ask if they are able to be bribed. Curious faces
indeed, and they ask for what. I explain to them that Chickie and Pete’s is the
best sports bar in Philly and one is opening up right near my house by the end
of the summer. The next time they swing through Philadelphia, I will buy them
dinner. They get excited about the free food, and assure me that they can get
to Philadelphia, and then they remind me that I haven’t told them what they
need to do. When I tell them they will
be shaking hands with the Shandong players for a photo op to assure China that
our actions were simply a misunderstanding, not a threat to national security,
I got the face. “Tell us more about the restaurant.” Thank God. Behold the
power of crab fries.
Game-time
The arena is quiet. Spooky quiet. I assumed even before last
night situation, that tonight’s attendance would be down. Without a Chinese
team to watch, how many basketball junkies would come out? I also wondered how
many people had seen the video on the internet, yes there is video on the
internet, and would come out to see if would happen again or just to heckle the
Americans. We get to the same locker room, albeit quite tidy now, and I go to
look at our bench area. I have been assured there will be 10 uniforms right
behind the bench the whole time. What I see is both impressive and scary. There
are 10 SWAT member with helmets, face shields and large arm shields, the kind
with the rectangle peep hole to see who they are running over. Ok, check off
better security. I go back inside the locker room and wait with the guys. This
is when I ask who is interested in playing time tonight. Usually, this question
evokes childlike enthusiasm with hand waving and shouts for attention. Not
tonight. It’s quiet. I wait it out. Letting a question breathe is a teacher’s
friend. Getting the answer first doesn’t make it right, getting the answer
right makes it right. There is a pregnant pause. There is a pregnant with twins
pause. And then, Jordan is in. quickly followed by Tyler, and Byron, and Aly,
and Cal, and Marshall. You can imagine my relief that the number was over 4.
Steve, Kyle and Darren took the stand that we shouldn’t be here and their
playing would only signify a change of position. I respect that.
Our strategy was to play zone, advance the ball, and get a
shot. Not to think about the score, or the other team, the National Team of
Tunisia. I decided to bring Marshall off
the bench, his left eye still bruised from yesterday. The crazy part was, we
were winning 8-4 in the early moments. I know every coach will tell you his
team had a chance, and this may have been the best team we played the whole
month, but I sincerely believe we would have beaten this team too. It became
clear to Tunisia what our strategy, or lack thereof, was and they forced the
ball inside and converted basket after basket. We fell behind and slowly fell
off the pace as Team USA jacked up three pointer after three pointer. On a plus
side, I got to see Byron play extended minutes. His game is smooth: quality shooter,
quick, good defender. By the end of the night he had 30 and didn’t look like he
pressed to get it.
By halftime, we were down 25. There was a brief flirtation
by the players to turn on the jets and beat these guys. We had done that once
before already, but Tunisia was a better team, and this was no time to try to
prove a point. Besides, we were already proving a point by being there and
participating. I reminded them our plan was to get this game behind us and go
home. Stick to the plan.
The second half was more of the same. We fell farther and
farther behind. For the players, it was the perfect game. Shoot any shot you
want, play soft defensively, and the coach isn’t barking and stomping his feet
at them. I smile at this, because what if they had won? Imagine if this little
Lord of the Flies moment created a victory. Well, fortunately for all coaches
everywhere, we kept losing ground. But, midway through the 3rd
quarter, Darren asks to go in. I was surprised, but I told him to go in right
away.
I am from Philadelphia and we have been known to boo. We
take pride in knowing who and when to boo. We are good at it. So imagine my
surprise, when after watching this horrible game the fans start to boo each
time we touch the ball. I almost kicked myself for not thinking of it. If I had
spent money for a ticket to this, I would be booing too. The first time during
the boo-fest, we come down and miss a shot. Tunisia converts at the other end.
We inbound and the booing begins anew. Marshall has the ball and as he crosses
mid-court he launches a rainbow that hits nothing but the bottom of the net. The
place goes wild with applause. I am sure our field goal percentage was in the
30’s, so there wasn’t much to cheer about, but at least the fans knew something
might be coming along any second. Didn’t matter. Final score 137-58. (Side
note: 20 three’s in forty minutes would have generated 60 points. We shot
poorly)
So now, there is a hubbub because we lost. When we were
rolling teams, there was quickly someone in my ear telling me to hold back,
don’t embarrass them, put in some subs, or call a timeout. I did not see anyone
slipping a note or speaking quietly to the Tunisians. Why were they
unchecked? The after game hallway
meeting with Mr. Gao, Robert, the arena, and the Chinese Sports Administration
was spirited. I didn’t want to throw our sponsor and translator under the bus,
so told everyone who would listen: “Tonight was a show of respect. Our team was
there to fulfill its commitment, but the conditions and treatment we received
last night were unacceptable and dangerous. If you had any respect for us you
would not have put us in this position in the first place. Furthermore, that
while there was ample security, two of the referees were the same as last
night. Our players don’t do this as a hobby, this is their livelihood. This is
how they feed their family. They are too big, too strong, and too fast to let
these referees ruin their future. You
lied to us to get us here, and we played. We are leaving.” I had practiced most
of that all afternoon knowing someone would ask why we were not competitive.
The part about the referees was a bonus. Two referees were, in fact, at last
night’s game. I am good with faces and spotted them right away. The fact that I
could slip in the part about being lied to was great.
We got back to the hotel, ate, packed, and dreamed about
apple pie.
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