Amateur Hour

After the Tel Aviv trip we were all pretty tired. There is something about five hour bus rides and four hour flights, all done during normal sleeping hours, that creeps into your bones. A few days later we had a three-hour road trip to play the 4th place team in the Slovakian league. After the travel we’ve had this season, three hours is leisurely and we sank onto the bus like a second home. We stopped as we always do, bathroom breaks, coffee and candy bars picked up along the way. Our coach put on game film for the last half of the trip, which bugs the hell out of me; film watching is important, don’t get me wrong but right before the game seems a little late and fills up time that should be dedicated to the upcoming game. But I’m notoriously inflexible when it comes to pregame rituals. The latent type A in me comes out in full force. I admit it, its my one fault.

That being said, there are some common sense things that have nothing to do with my game preparation rigidity. The most important has to do with time. Probably because my recurring nightmare isn’t missing college exams or showing up naked to work but instead always retains the theme of being late to a game. That or forgetting my basketball shoes on the way to a game. So, when we are still rolling through small towns at 4pm with tip-off an hour away, anxiety starts seeping in. At 4:10 I lean over and ask my GM who decides what time the team bus leaves Ruzomberok. He says it’s a collective decision between the coach, the manager and himself. I say with as much patience as I can muster at the given moment that I think we need to leave earlier so that after a three hour bus ride we can take our time, get our legs under us, and have a proper warm up without rushing through taping and stretching and maybe even get our mind a little bit focused. And then he answers with a nauseatingly typical, passive answer. “We waited too long at the gas station getting coffee.” As if the damn coffee shop held us hostage and I should bring the issue up with the cappuccino and tiramisu they were leisurely enjoying.

At this point I was pretty close to irate. Especially since after dressing and taping and team meeting, warm up and stretching, we had all of 15 minutes to shoot. The men of the group sat on the bench, content after their dessert break, while we suffered through stiff muscles, still waking up from the long bus ride. I was ready to punch someone. Who the hell is in charge around here?

Sure enough, two minutes into the game our small post player lands wrong and messes up her knee. Just a guess that it might have had something to do with not being warmed up. She’s out for the whole game. Then our main post player, already not the sharpest tool in the shed, gets three fouls in the first quarter, remains in the game for some reason, and fouls out in the 3rd quarter. After her third foul in the first 8 minutes of the game I look over at the bench to make sure they know she’s already in foul trouble. Sure enough, they leave her in the game as if she is smart enough to keep her hands off people. At nineteen years old she hasn’t exactly grasped the idea of trying to stay on the court. She fouled out on a very obvious over the back call. To make a long story short, we won by 1 against a team we beat by 20 the last time we played. We had 17-year-old post players with very little game experience in for most of the game so it was piles of fun. Its then that I dribble down the court counting off the players on my team that I can’t pass too and racking my brain for plays that involve them the least.


Back on the bus it was more idiocy when I hear we have video the next day after the spa. I’d downed about two beers by this point and was very much looking forward to a real day off. Plus I’ve about had it with the amateur hour shenanigans. I explain that the post spa mindset it not one for concentrating on watching game film. I felt like a genius when I proposed we watch it before the spa. Duhhhhhh. I have to hand it to them though, they do listen to me. Usually.

The rest of the week was two a day practices in anticipation of the Israeli game. To be honest by the time the game came, I think most of our team was a little tired. Our coach hasn’t seemed to grasp the idea that sometimes less is more or that sometimes one quality practice is far better than two averages ones. Furthermore, we only play about 7 or 8 players so I think most of our starters play 35 plus minutes every game. Anyway, the game was disappointing to say the least, even more so because we are now eliminated from FIBA cup.

Later in the night, I went to see Jackie, my friend from the other team. I walked into her hotel to find her coaches and management drinking in the bar so I joined them. They kept asking if I was coming to Tel Aviv next year to play and if I had any Jewish grandparents. I joked that I once had a Jewish boyfriend and they proceeded to tell me “no problem, we will find you Jewish husband.” I ended up sitting next to their equipment manager who despite being married and speaking no English had asked Jackie to give him my number earlier in the day. We nodded and smiled and said “shalom” to each other over and over again, which was a lot more entertaining than it sounds.

Needless to say it hasn’t been boring around here.

Tel Aviv pics: