Fear the Fro

I played high school basketball in the United States.

In Ecuador, I don’t feel like I need to qualify that statement.

Like the fact that I only played two years (freshman and senior year).

Or the fact that I played for a Jewish day school.

Or the fact that I was, at best, the 11th guy in the rotation.

Or that I spent the first half of home games inside the mascot outfit, did somersaults the length of the court and wheeled around the court on a tractor as part of my halftime shtick, and was only called over to the bench for the second half if there was a chance I could get in the game (this typically meant we were losing by 20 points at halftime).

Or that the only time I saw meaningful playing time was when the coach was so frustrated with our team’s offense that he looked over to the end of the bench and asked if we knew how to run the plays. Jumping at the chance to get in the game, I said I did. I forgot to set a pick on our first possession and was promptly removed from the game.

Or that I scored my first basket of the season during a game on a fast day where the only reason I was playing at the time was that the coach had to rotate the players a lot to keep his best players fresh. I was standing at the top of the key, and my coach yelled “Shoot it, Ian.” So I promptly put up a shot and banked in a three. I didn’t call the bank, so some would say that it shouldn’t even count.

So that should make me one of the best basketball players in Ecuador, right?

At least in the group that I am currently running with.

Then again, this group is the local high school basketball team. I am a foot higher than their tallest player, and the shortest player on the team comes up to my hip.

I don’t really care. They practice every day at the coliseum in town, and they let me play with them at the end of practice.

Although practice is a rough term for what they do. The drills lack any sort of fluidity or rhythm. But they’re playing basketball, and that’s all that matters. I don’t want to get too involved in the management of the team because I don’t want to step on the coach’s toes, but if I have the opportunity, maybe I could be an assistant coach.

I think I’m qualified for this. I once looked Coach K in the eyes.

Well, if that happens, I’m sure I’ll cover extensively in this blog. Possible game covers, columns, player features, I would say the possibilities here are endless. So I guess I would double as the assistant coach and beat writer (so maybe more of a media relations position).

So, back to me dominating a bunch of 15-year olds.

The style of pick-up basketball in this country is a little different than what I’m used to.

They play basketball here like they play soccer. They flop all over the court and complain about the slightest contact. If I were playing a legitimate game, I would have fouled out. Luckily, they didn’t count.

Whenever my opponent (in this game, the guys I was playing against was definitely around 20 years old. I think he used to play for the local team and just comes back to play pick-up games) would try to drive to the hoop, I would play defense, which is code for not giving him an open lane to the hoop. When you play against me, you have to earn every bucket. I won’t back down (Fowlkes!!!!) Three straight possessions I was called for a foul. Then on the next one, my opponent pushed off to create some space.

Call me a tool, if you want, but I called him for a foul on that move. He complained, and because my Spanish basketball vocabulary hasn’t fully developed, I just told him, “I felt what I felt.”

After hat, things calmed down a bit. My team won that game 20-8. I was sinking mid-range jumpers like Richard Hamilton and controlling the glass like Ben Wallace, circa 2004.

Which brings me to an explanation of how our styles of play clash a bit. As a child, the basketball teams that I admired had a defense-first, selfless mentality. Whether it was the end of the Bad Boys run, the rest of the Joe Dumars era, or the “Going to Work” era teams with Ben Wallace, I always liked the way they went about their business.

That’s not quite the kind of style that is on display on the courts in Ecuador. The like to go for more of a showboating, flashy look. I like to fight for rebounds.

They don’t really put an emphasis on rebounding. I’m pretty sure there is no word in Spanish for “box out.” When they play pick-up, the standard defensive alignment is a zone (2-3).

The standard offensive set is to have the entire team along the perimeter, passing the ball until one kid thinks he has what it takes to drive against the zone. With the rest of his teammates standing along the perimeter, there is little chance of getting an offensive rebound to keep the possession alive.

My job in the zone defense was the play in the middle. I would say I got in my opponents’ head enough that he though twice about driving to the hole.

On the offensive side of the court, I would let my teammates work the ball around the outside, position myself to get the rebound after they missed their 3-point attempt and make the putback (it’s easy to do this when you have a Tayshaun Prince-like wingspan and a Ben Wallace-like afro). I would say I have great length, but limited upside (at least when it comes to basketball).

Well, this was my first day playing, and I put together a 1,000-word blog post to recap it.

To recap this post, let’s take a look at some of the outstanding references I made.

I referred to Coach Shoe, directly or indirectly, three times
I used the team upside, which my brother hates
I wrote Fowlkes, in honor of the Pistons’ former defensive stopper .
I compared myself to Tayshaun Prince and Ben Wallace
At times, I got way too technical about basketball for a Peace Corps blog
I never mentioned Tommy Amaker’s motion offense or Beilein’s 1-3-1 zone (If I get to be an assistant coach, you know that I am going to try to throw this wrinkle in there. I’ve already started to think about who I want to run along the baseline)
I made a reference to the Jewish Academy’s epic loss to Westside Christian. So many great stories from this game, whether it be the collapsing pull-up bar at halftime or laughing when they almost pulled off an alley-oop against us.

Now, the blog post is 1,200 words and way too technical. Well, I had a good time writing it, at least.