FD Guest Lecture: Roots Like Brutal Beards

Today's Guest Lecturer is Brian Phillips, the mind behind The Run of Play. Soccer enthusiasts no doubt already hail Brian and his work; if you don't know the first thing about the sport, be advised that RoP is the closest FD gets to a sister site. Or blood brothers across time and space. Earlier: The PED/NBA debate, and a chance to buy a few of my records.

Here's the contrast that's keeping me up at night: European soccer and the NBA both have racism problems, but they manifest themselves in almost exactly opposite ways. Obviously Europe and America are different societies, variables diverge, math unrolls like a carpet, and nothing can be said about the subject that looks strict in the light of science. But it's a problem I can't stop speculating about, particularly given that so much else about the two sports—Kobe is friends with Avram Grant!—seems to be sloshing in the belly of the same whale.

In the NBA, racism is a substrate, a sentence that only makes sense if you know the words' etymologies. It's something you can talk about, not something you have to talk about, which is why it's so insidious. It's part of the interpretive structure, a deniable anxiety in the atmosphere (Is it a little cold? No. Shiver.), a form of judgment whose assumptions are disconnected from the thought process of the people who pursue it. That is, the suavities of Donald Sterling aside, it's largely covert and unconscious; it stays vague, informing descriptive categories (the "intelligent" player vs. the "athletic" player) and the periodic outrage that inevitably breaks out in a league in which black players are tacitly perceived as dangerous to white fans. It's a fundamental component of the culture of the game, but it doesn't overwhelmingly or frequently run afoul of the swirling taboos that regulate the same forces in society.



Contrast that to soccer in Europe, where it's still not uncommon for fans to throw bananas on the pitch and coordinate monkey chants to taunt black players. This isn't a narrative of progress, in which the NBA has absorbed and begun to resolve conflicts still wild and at large in soccer, because, at least at the level of categorical interpretation, soccer almost certainly has less endemic racism than basketball. It's just that the expressions of racism (and its worldly twin, ethnic hatred) that do occur tend to be obliteratingly direct. Ajax fans in Holland have appropriated Jewish iconography in recognition of the fact that their stadium used to be located near a Jewish neighborhood in Amsterdam. Their opponents' fans hiss in unison to simulate the sound of the gas coming down at Auschwitz.

Which actually opens onto one of the likely reasons for the dichotomy. The agony that's soaked into the rock in soccer isn't race, as it is in the NBA, it's nationalism. In the NBA—let's widen that into American sports in general—the defining figures and moments are generally encoded in the history of race: you have Louis vs. Schmeling, the Jackie Robinson breakthrough, the Globetrotters, Ali and Bill Russell as divergent possibilities for the civil rights movement, Magic and Bird as the salvific dyad of the 80s, Iverson and the mainstream threat of hip-hop paired with the Spurs and the emergent disciplinarian cult of the bounce pass. In soccer, by contrast, you have a litany of nationalist conflict: Mussolini co-opting the 1934 World Cup, FC Barcelona as the posed flagbearing orphan girl of the Catalan resistance to Franco, the '64 European Nations' Cup final between the USSR and Spain as the late last battle between communism and fascism, Rangers and Celtic restaging the Irish Troubles in Glasgow every season, Ajax fans singing about the bombing of Rotterdam, Zidane and the '98 French World Cup team as the expiation of postcolonial resentment.



Unlike American racism, which can be seen as an internal social problem transformed by changing attitudes within one overarching culture, the history of European nationalism was decided by relatively recent battles between armies whose sources of legitimacy were external to one another. Thus, to forestall the unanswerable shame that attaches itself to overt expressions of prejudice in American sports (Rush Limbaugh on Donovan McNabb, even Shaq when Yao first came into the league), prejudice in soccer can fall back on the dim memory of concrete populist ideologies. That's not to say that the shirtless gentleman holding the corner of the "Filthy Gypsy" banner is a learned proponent of any identifiable right-wing philosophy, but there's at least a vaporous sense that attitudes like his loathing for Ibrahimović were not long ago articulated by governments and embraced by respectable people. Which is enough to give them a perverse air of community justification, even when all the institutional forces in the sport are consciously trying (again, much more emphatically than the NBA) to eradicate racism and sectarianism from the game.



Obviously, there are other, simpler factors at work as well—the lack of diversity in certain parts of Europe, the natural territorial rivalry of political entities in condensed space. But I think this internal/external dynamic is important, partly because it points to a psychological possibility for the future of the NBA. Up till now the Stern-powered drive to globalize the league has been felt by American fans as essentially a phenomenon of intake: the best players coming from other parts of the world to play in our league. We know from recent Olympics that the game is being played at a high level in a lot of other countries, and we know from T-Mac at the airport (and I wasn't paying attention, but I'm guessing nine million trend reports in the New York Times Magazine) that it's "getting big in China." And we can see that foreign players like Ginobili have influenced American players to some degree. But so far that feels more like a side story than like a power that will transform our own perception of the sport.

What if it does, though? In European soccer the talent-import channel is wide open: the best leagues in the world are all European, and there's deep business in buying up the youth of Africa and South America and caravaning them to the big clubs' academies. In the last couple of years Arsenal has actually fielded teams with no English players. But the global popularity of soccer has combined with modern media overload to create its own anxieties.

The English Premier League now has several times as many fans outside England as it does inside it. A league that belongs to one country but is ardently followed by dozens of others ceases, in a sense, to belong to anyone. Local meanings wash out of the game, which in some ways impairs its social function, and jealousies mount up on the periphery. It's possible to try to ignore that, but doing so has practical consequences in a world where elite leagues exist in multiple countries: Real Madrid's recent attempt to lure Manchester United's star winger Cristiano Ronaldo to Spain almost certainly took courage from the fact that the Portuguese player had been blithely caricatured as a villain by xenophobic English tabloids. So how do fans react when they realize that someone is always watching them? The forms of hostility in soccer have grim historic precedents, but they can also be seen as the overwhelmed fan's furious attempt to blot out the rest of the world.



If the NBA really does become a global league—and there are people in soccer who think it can't be stopped—then what becomes of our relationship to the sport when American history is no longer the orb at the center of the game?

FD Guest Lecture: We Holds These Dunks to Be Self-Evident

Ladies and gentlemen, Joey Litman.

A cynic might suggest that to be an effective basketball commissioner, one merely must pray for good fortune and possess only a basic professional competency. After all, how hard could it have been to preside over Basketball’s prosperity during a time when a player like Michael Jordan flourished on the court and a marketing machine led by multinational companies, such as Nike, extended the domain of the hero and his sport? That, surely, required little advanced training or extraordinary ability; Michael Jordan received no help from National Basketball Association Commissioner David Stern while performing those signature dunks or fade-away jump shots. And it was not Stern whose artistic creativity was manifest in the exhortation for everyone to “Be Like Mike.” Being commissioner does not seem so difficult, it could be argued.

This thesis is a simple one, of course. It neglects the myriad complications that could otherwise impede the growth of a sport and its icons were an able commissioner failing to execute his responsibilities. Upon consideration of what is required to preside over a sports league, most serious observers likely would be quick to point out this flaw. But in committing such an egregious error of omission, the theory paradoxically offers a strong case for a commissioner needing to apply a rigorous, robust education to the complicated legal and business challenges that confront an organization such as the NBA. Given the substance of the NBA commissioner’s job—issues ranging from labor law to international commercial transactions to intellectual property and so much more—ceding the spotlight to the sport and its athletes while keeping the mechanics of league operation beyond the public’s view is perhaps ultimate affirmation of an exemplary executive.

I begin law school next week with the goal of applying my legal education precisely in this capacity. I am gunning for that number-one spot. Bring on the complicated insurance issues, the arduous collective-bargaining process, the troubling bouts of player misbehavior. I’ve seen my future, and it looks a lot like David Stern.



For five post-college years, I worked at jobs that were stimulating, that taught me a great deal, and that brought me into contact with wonderful people who have irrevocably changed me for the better. And during all of that time, despite those many strengths, I never once went home knowing that I was pursuing my passion. I liked my work. I respected my work. But I never loved it.

What I love is the NBA. I grew up in a household where basketball was the religion practiced most regularly; where Julius (Erving) was next to godliness; where the maxims of my early childhood were to work hard in school, read more books, save money by eating at home, and develop a good left. The NBA has always been the arena in which interests that forever drive my enthusiasm and occupy my mind—race, the American socioeconomic system, hip-hop, sneaker culture—have played out. It is inextricably linked to my experience, my identity.

Another way I think about it: life is largely organized by institutions that also give individuals identities. As a child, your family is the organizing institution that provides purpose and a sense of self. Your rules, your restrictions, your education, your time, your values, your ideas are all dictated by family. It’s a constant, though it ultimately gives way to school, which by adolescence becomes the institution that so many people use to augment an identity and find direction. Your friends, your allocation of time, your responsibilities, your activities, your social education, your cultural understanding, your mores—all driven by school, with your family serving as a second institutional influence. This persists through college. You come out of it as many things. Among my identities, I am a New Yorker, a liberal, a Michigan Wolverine, a hip-hop fan, and so forth. As an adult, your job, your marriage, and some other experiences play a similar role in helping to construct identity.



“NBA Lover” is an inalienable part of my identity. As I just described, the Lig is an institution that has given my life shape, has given my person contour. It has influenced my values and my perception of the world. For this, and for the NBA entertainment that has been a catalyst for all forms of relationships in my life, I am forever indebted and deeply invested. I wrote last week that I consider myself to be a citizen of the Lig above anything else.

I was only being a little sarcastic.

Citizenship implies ownership and endorsement. To be a citizen is to participate in a society while espousing its values and acknowledging that you are of those people. At least, to some basic, shared extent. Citizenship can become a challenging concept when the institution to which you are tethered has violated your compact in a way such that you are no longer comfortable countenancing its values and practices. On the U.S.’s citizenship exam, for example, applicants are asked which of the rights ensured in the United States is the most important. The answer is the right to vote, something that seems appropriate for a country that was born amidst concerns about tyranny and government that did not reflect the will of the people. In effect, to be a U.S. citizen is to adopt this perspective, and to disagree with it would likely encourage disaffection.

Devoid of a constitution or foundational documents that articulate not just rights but ideology and common values, the NBA may be an institution whose citizens cannot as easily identify the shared tenets that unite them. I’d imagine that appreciating the Lig’s prevailing styles of basketball and the attendant culture—the celebrity, the cultural overlap with music and fashion, etc.— that accompanies the NBA in America and abroad would be fairly basic requirements. However, I am wary of writing anything too rigid because there is a certain attitude that is ineffable but very much apparent among seemingly everyone who would describe themselves as NBA citizens.



The notion of citizenship has been particularly salient as I’ve watched the current Olympics, an event that has provided a theater for my own national angst. A vocal polemicist during these last eight Bush Administration years, I do not fit the profile of your stereotypical American patriot. And beyond partisan politics and this particular regime, I find America’s persistent racial and economic divisions, and the ever more blissfully ignorant mainstream culture, to be so distressing that they often make me resent the United States even while I remain keenly thankful for the constitutional rights that come with living here. There are few days when I’d quickly answer in the affirmative when asked if I loved the United States of America.

Thus, you would think that I’d happily watch the Alicia Sacramones of the world fall on their asses, some kind of karmic punishment for America’s wayward policies. But my disappointment and indignation have recently run into even stronger feelings: fear and powerlessness. The ongoing economic downturn, the changing global power dynamics, and the macroeconomic factors that argue for America’s continued slide have aroused a certain kind of petulance and frustration that has led me to vocally cheer for athletes like Jason Lezak and Lauryn Williams. Further, and uglier, I’ve found myself indulging my worst xenophobia and resenting the success of the others from foreign nations, such as China, that suddenly appear to be challenging the United States’ well-being (even if we have done a lot of this to ourselves). Rising global prosperity may not have to sum out at zero, but it has certainly felt that way as news is now dominated by concerns over resource availability and the sluggish American economy. Almost out of desperation, I have been cheering loudly for the American athletes. It’s taken on a symbolic significance, as it is both cathartic and, when considering the large-scale factors, hopeful.

I’ve reveled in no success as I’ve reveled in Team USA’s (or “the Redeem Team” if you’re into that. I’m not.) However, my emerging anxiety over the health of America and my subsequent Olympic rooting interest are wholly distinct from the excitement I’ve experienced while watching basketball. This is something different.

Seeing Dwyane Wade throw off-balance alley-oops to Kobe, or watching LeBron conquer a gauntlet of defenders for a layup, or looking on as Chris Paul has made it impossible to put the ball on the floor near him has exclusively appealed to my pride as an NBA citizen. Unlike my national ambivalence, I experience no pangs of loathing or deep resentment when I consider the NBA. Instead, I have affectionately looked on as the only team comprised solely of NBA personnel has dominated by playing the NBA brand of basketball, our brand. For a league that has often endured reputational punishments that exceed the severity of its crimes—with international basketball often serving as a catalyst for the excessive consternation—this has, thus far, been sweet vindication.

To be an NBA citizen and watch this team is to share in the swelling joy. Team USA’s run has validated a deep-seeded part of my identity, as riding with the NBA again seems cool and worthwhile, just as it would be personally fulfilling for the United States to use its defining characteristics in a manner that bred success. In that regard, having committed to the Lig and having been counted among its citizens for some time, Team USA’s success is directly connected to my own happiness and pride. It legitimizes all the hours spent watching the games, defending the Association, championing its code and culture. It has uplifted its citizens.

Aim for the Body Rare

The US Olympic team infuses me with a level of glee mostly incommensurate to the amount I care about the competition itself. On a basic level, the sight of Kidd throwing full-court outlets and Kobe molesting Euroleaguers taps into a fantasy for games to become extended YouTube clips, as if these games existed solely so we could imagine alternate universes in which LeBron has four all-star teammates and hamburgers eat people.

Yet, for as much as these games hold my interest, I struggle to make any legitimate observations about them that trumpet the importance of Olympic basketball. Because these games are so thrilling as showcases for our glorious nation’s best talent in a competitive atmosphere, I try to think up ways to make players approach the All-Star Game more like this, without the overbearing need to “put on a show” that turns many mid-winter classics into collections of the greatest turnovers in history. Likewise, when a foreign team beats the Americans, I try to imagine how aspects of those teams’ games can be applied to the NBA.

When I mentioned these issues to Shoals earlier this week, he accused me of practicing a subtle form of Amerocentrism. Frankly, he’s right: there’s no reason to deny the fact that the United States’ recent international losses are just as important as victories for Greece, Spain, et al. But this Amerocentrism seems at least somewhat indirect. After all, my interest would only increase if Dirk replaced Michael Redd on the roster without the aid of reverse-Kaman shenanigans. This interest isn’t about jingoistic fervor – it’s about a belief that the NBA features basketball far more relevant than anything the Olympics can produce. And, if this opinion can be held by hardcore basketball fans in the country in which the sport is most popular, then what importance does international success really hold for developing national basketball scenes? Do Argentinians secretly pine for the day when Walter Hermann decides to skip the Olympics to pursue his erotic dreams?



To be sure, the short-term national pride that follows a medal plays a huge role here, particularly for those countries that lack a long history of athletic success. But big victories every two or four years can’t substitute for the evergreen international relevance of having an insanely popular league operating on your soil. On some level, an internationally legitimate pro league must be a basketball culture’s ultimate goal, if only because the constant attention afforded to it presents basketball as a worthy alternative to more traditional sports in those nations. As important as Greece’s FIBA win over the United States was for the Greek game, the Childress deal (and any future continent-jumpers) is a more telling sign of that country’s basketballular development. On-court and financial milestones certainly operate in a feedback loop, but year-long financial competition will eventually provide the biggest challenge to the NBA monopoly on talent.

If you’re like Ugly American Me, it’s very hard even to try to see the world through the eyes of someone who talks funny and lives in a far-off land, so let’s look at a similar example of something a little closer to home: American soccer. For the majority of high-level European club teams, Olympic soccer is a two-week nuisance of a tournament that only serves to injure players in meaningless games. Simply put, the leagues don’t need it to succeed in the marketplace, with one league, the German Bundesliga, initially refusing to release its players and only acquiescing after a FIFA-issued mandate. The NBA’s global ambition lends Olympic basketball more importance than soccer clubs give to their tournament, but all these leagues, at their core, would still dominate without the Olympics. Now, soccer has the World Cup and various continental tournaments to serve that global role, but the general idea is the same: club teams take the lead, and international tournaments serve mainly to drive interest in the players who perform year-round for their clubs.



The US Men’s National Team has featured few, if any European stars outside of goalkeepers, which puts them in a position roughly analogous to that of the Greek basketball team that defeated the Americans two years ago. If US Soccer were to defeat, say, the Brazil or Argentina in Beijing, it would be an upset on the same level as that of the Greeks. Even if such an event was talked about in terms of national pride at the time, the overriding national sentiment would be that these soccer players are legitimate and deserve to be seen more than once every two years. The MLS Cup wouldn’t shoot to the top of the Nielsens for the month, but Olympic success would undoubtedly help drive some interest in the league. From a strategic standpoint, Olympic success is the means by which less successful national soccer organizations reach a critical mass within their own countries. It follows that American and African national teams typically put much more stock in Olympic success than other countries, if only because international tournament stand as rare chances to ignite national interest around pride and build stronger soccer infrastructures within their countries. On some level, the English federations no longer need the Olympics – the World Cup is enough.

Except that, even though the Premiership dominates the international marketplace, clubs like Liverpool release for participation key players who they could legally block from participating in the Olympics. Moves like these show exactly why this league is seen as the best in the world even though it arguably features an inferior product: they understand direct marketing to parts of the world where people cannot easily view these players. Not surprisingly, the Bundesliga is slowly losing popularity in every country outside of Germany, which suggests that their refusal to release stars like Brazil’s Diego is a sign of a larger problem.



Let’s return to basketball before I start referring to alley-oops as volleys. When we look at Olympic basketball through the prism of soccer, we can see that things like China’s steadfast decision to make Yao Ming play a full national-team schedule every summer is understandable, as it is the best way for them to increase their national – and therefore international – hold on popular athletics. Without sustained success in international competitions, these countries are doomed to occupy a middling spot in basketball culture for the foreseeable future.

But, even if the Americans lose this tournament, it’s hard to imagine David Stern and the NBA not coming out of this tournament as the biggest winners. The fact remains that the league and, lest we forget, Nike are exposing themselves to the largest untapped marketplace in the world, and my fantasies of All-Star Game perfection are exuberance is exactly the kind of reaction that Stern seeks to provoke from more than a billion people. This is a Dream Team in the truest sense of the name: they’re in Beijing to make minds race about the possibilities of the league, a place where Kidd hits Melo in stride from 90 feet away and CP3 and Deron one-up each other even as they reach for the same goals.