Basketball

Basketball - 5.26.2005

High Level View of the Rosary

Kundiawa Lutheran high school hosted a sports challenge this weekend, inviting all the area schools. The glamour event of the afternoon was the basketball round robin, involving the faculty members of each school.

The teachers of Rosary had a supreme sense of confidence in their chances with the addition of 'The American' in the lineup - and they let me know it.

The pressure was on. The consensus was that I was some sort of basketball superstar. At six foot one, I am pretty much the tallest man in the province. I have also been seen wearing a snappy pair of Cincinnati Basketball shorts, which added fuel to the myth. I can play, but my game certainly does not inspire. A friend of mine has described my game as 'deliberate and jerky', which is just about the most perfect, concise description of anything I have ever heard. My PNG running mates were also under the impression that I could dunk. Highest of high comedy. When I tried to explain to them that I could not they assumed I was being humble. The legend grew.

Saturday came and I was immediately introduced to the PNG style of play when after the first possession, an elbow was swung in the general direction of my face. I felt the breeze as it went by. After that, I realized we were playing prison rules. The two games I played were undoubtedly the most intense, physical contests I have ever been a part of. It was brutal. I spent most of the time in the paint and it was like a mosh pit. If I pulled down an offensive rebound, I would literally get flogged before getting off a put back. My arms were sore for two days. I didn't even bother trying to go after a loose ball. These turned into wild scrums filled with flailing limbs and grunts. They PNG people play hard from one end of the court to the other - despite the fact that some played in their bare feet* on an uneven, gravel playing surface.* My main goal was survival.

There was a referee, but he only blew his whistle for specific violations. On three consecutive trips down the court, a player driving to the basket was mauled. No whistle. And then the ref called the offensive team for a 3-second violation - probably the most obscure, under called rule in the book. On one fast break, I was navigating through traffic and was literally hip checked on two different occasions. The last one put me off balance and I was called for traveling. I was pretty fired up at this point and expressed my distaste in the call. Nothing but laughs.

The PNG players have never seen a shot they don't like. Basically, if you are within 30 feet of the goal and you can see the basket, then you have an obligation to shoot. I have never seen such an assortment of wild shots. Just crazy, rocket launches of heaves that would careen off the backboard in different directions. Even stranger was the fact that some of them went in - and the shooter would casually settle back into defense like he practiced that double clutch prayer from the corner every day in his back yard.

We managed to win both of our games. I played ok. I dominated the glass (and I should have). Despite the physicality of the play, there were no arguments or angry play. The final whistle of our last game was one the sweetest sounds I have ever heard - I was dead on my feet, battered and bruised. I can't wait to play again.

*About 50% of the people in PNG wear shoes. The further you get away from the town centers, the number plummets. I am astounded by the durability of the human foot. The PNG people (kids included) calmly stride over rocky terrain that I would not take unless I had sturdy boots. My tender little hooves ache just watching them walk around town on their bare soles. I try not to look anymore.*