tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34443004199851870592024-02-19T06:03:36.275-08:00Smashing the Model MinorityVerylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-45405161839753179312017-08-18T19:51:00.001-07:002017-08-18T23:03:15.195-07:00Disrupting The Old Boy Network at Collins Court: Lessons of Survival by Intersectional Bodies<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4l_nRQdLnCJvgMdJsGKzkVVyaUm3njGyWaQjDXhbVU4E8HfAtJawm2v62xRTFQ-jJYm8dV95nm2993o1RzbNaq0MXsVN4bpbsv4C8N7f22mOR2PH9yUlsV0KwIdgdFWC_jc02-AmVMFc/s1600/GroupPic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4l_nRQdLnCJvgMdJsGKzkVVyaUm3njGyWaQjDXhbVU4E8HfAtJawm2v62xRTFQ-jJYm8dV95nm2993o1RzbNaq0MXsVN4bpbsv4C8N7f22mOR2PH9yUlsV0KwIdgdFWC_jc02-AmVMFc/s400/GroupPic.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With a few of the regulars of the old boy network</td></tr>
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Every Tuesday and Thursday morning at approximately 10:30 A.M., members of an old boy network congregate for an exclusive pick up game at Collins Court, UCLA's indoor basketball gym. Though many community and student bystanders attempt to join this game, they are all unequivocally denied access. Exclusivity means what it sounds - and in this case, the boundaries are sharply drawn to parallel social markers of success and belonging. <br />
<br />
Two categories of participants play in this game. The first category comprises of mostly white, older-aged men who have reached the upper echelon of meritorious success - current and former faculty members at UCLA (one of whom has been playing at Collins Court for 45 years!), retired senior partners in big law, and former upper-level corporate administrators. The second category comprises of mostly black, young and middle-aged basketball "talent" - an imposing center who uses his size to dominate the paint, shoot-first guards who are training for the G League (formerly known as the NBA Development League), and long-range specialists who routinely make NBA-ranged three-pointers. The constitution of this Collins Court vanguard by black and white men directly reifies stereotypical constructions of entitlement and racial meaning in American society, while simultaneously reinforces barriers that prevent nonconforming racial and gender identities from participation.<br />
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Amidst this context, <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2016/04/the-women-of-collins-court-patriarchy.html">Binny</a> and I have accomplished no small feat. Against all odds, we have made it and have been participating for the greater part of a year in this old boy network. It's not just that the network opened its doors to include just any East Asian man or any woman, which would have resembled a traditional affirmative action plan designed to admit "the most qualified" and "assimilationist" among minorities. Instead, far from being token representatives of "qualified" or conforming minorities, Binny and I live out our experiences on the court as complex, intersectional bodies. As a result, the microaggressions and oppressions we face on the court are unique from what other East Asian men and other women face respectively.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFsc51bkic7WdvrKlPySfRm4TuwGiNj3Qjn-Xzg2Me4zbWc4E6mAiTwOwMuB1abnZ-1MZcsUsEnnDW7PosN_g9XSiWzmPIh43oGLUOxmjnHc-xtJ8zsh8xA_EULuku63XB-UNtSrx-_U/s1600/PicBinny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="1600" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFsc51bkic7WdvrKlPySfRm4TuwGiNj3Qjn-Xzg2Me4zbWc4E6mAiTwOwMuB1abnZ-1MZcsUsEnnDW7PosN_g9XSiWzmPIh43oGLUOxmjnHc-xtJ8zsh8xA_EULuku63XB-UNtSrx-_U/s400/PicBinny.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<h3>
Intersectional Identities</h3>
<br />
<a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-hero-we-needed-our-jackie-robinson.html">Jeremy Lin's breakthrough</a> in the NBA simultaneously ruptures the rigid black-white boundary but paradoxically essentializes East Asian male identity in basketball. East Asian men who routinely join in high-level, interracial pick-up games at Collins Court are "masculine" in appearance and personality: physically strong, athletically built like football players, and arrogant. I, an East Asian, glasses-wearing man with a slender build, am regularly perceived by other men - <i>especially other ASIAN men </i>- to be non-gender conforming on the basketball court, so much so that I have been explicitly called "gay" or denied participation from pick up games implicitly because of my appearance. In other words, I am NOT raced East Asian on the basketball court, and because my presence queers a formulaic understanding of racial identity, I do not belong on the hardwood floor.<br />
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Unlike the droves of East Asian men who play ball at Collins Court - imperfectly resembling the high numbers of Asian students admitted into UCLA each year - women are, in general, grossly underrepresented, and, at any given session, not represented at all. Thus, on one level, Binny experiences the sex discrimination of any other woman who courageously sets foot on Collins Court: getting picked last or not picked at all, not receiving any passes from teammates, or being subject to explicit comments on the basis of sex (<i>she's just a girl, how can you let her score on you!</i>). As South Asian, Binny further experiences uniquely racialized sexual harassment from men who act differently towards other women - including raging men angrily telling her <i>who the fuck do you think you are?</i>, men explicitly asking her to <i>come over to Netflix and chill</i>, and South Asian men patronizingly patting her on the head.<br />
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Because neither of us neatly fall into one single compartmental social identity, our inclusion in the old boy network is aesthetically peculiar but politically significant. Externally, our presence at the exclusion of other black and white men on the one hand, or <i>more qualified, conforming </i>Asians or women on the other, disrupts rigid categories designed to police the game of basketball. It signals to other higher credentialed, envious bystanders who wish to participate in this exclusive game that it is precisely <i>because of</i> our intersectional identities, and the accompanying unique struggles we face, that Binny and I<i> DO </i>belong and that we <i>CAN </i>compete anywhere. Internally, participating in this exclusive game has allowed us to tremendously grow as human beings, recognize our limitless drive and self-worth, and discover our capacity to change how others perceive us.<br />
<br />
<h3>
The Lessons We Carry for Life</h3>
<br />
If, through the world-class instruction at UCLA, Binny and I learned book smarts (and it's debatable that law school taught me even this), Collins Court instilled street smarts - lessons of survival and success that we will carry on for life. For me, these lessons have been brought into sharp focus through participation in the biweekly exclusive games with the old boy network.<br />
<br />
If my journey into basketball could be reduced to one single mantra, it would be this: <b><u>When life presents you an opportunity, seize it</u></b><i>. </i>Years ago, without having any prior knowledge of even the most basic rules of basketball, when I was offered a job coaching the freshman-sophomore team at a major high school in Seattle, I ignored my fear of the unknown and said <i>yes.</i> That simple answer would propel my life from the mediocrity of the familiar to a life of ambition and adventure. In analogous fashion, my invitation to participate in the exclusive game came on a whim: one Tuesday morning at Collins Court, I invited a middle-aged black man, Virgil, to a game of half-court basketball, to which he enthusiastically accepted. Unbeknownst to me, Virgil was a member of the old boy network. As other regulars of the network trickled onto Collins Court later that morning, Virgil introduced me to them and asked me to stay. Having been rejected in successive weeks before by the same members to whom I was now being introduced, I cast aside my fear of inadequacy and said <i>yes. </i>In the eight or so months since I've joined the exclusive game, Virgil has not once reappeared. Had I not seized the opportunity then, I would have still been standing on the sidelines dreaming of a way to get in.<br />
<br />
The initial months of playing in the exclusive game were among the most mentally challenging basketball sessions of my short basketball playing career, which, up to that point, had mostly consisted of pick-up games highlighted by a handful of appearances in UCLA intramural and Los Angeles lawyer leagues. The challenges came in two ways. First, the <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2015/07/ball-is-life-inferiority-complex-of.html">stereotypical constructions of Asian American identity</a> were amplified because I was the only Asian American man in the old boy network. Second, the exclusivity of the game guaranteed a unique form of team basketball to which I had not been accustomed. The haphazard style of pick-up or amateur league games was replaced by a rhythmic sensibility in which every ball and offball movement carried specific meaning. The mix between the two ostensibly clashing categories of regular members - older white men who tended to be methodical on the one hand, and younger black men who tended to be quick and athletic on the other - created a uniquely competitive, hybrid game where individual skills synergistically complimented a team's composition. For the first time, I was forced to play within a system, and if I could not adapt, I would be constructively pushed out of the old boy network.<br />
<br />
With Virgil nowhere in sight to advocate for my participation in subsequent weeks, intimidation to constructively evict me began immediately. During these initial months, I was constantly yelled at by a majority of regulars of the old boy network. Some of the ridicule was a familiar refrain from the ordinary racialized insults I experienced in pick-up games: <i>we lost because of him </i>(it took a few months before members referred to me by name). Yet, the majority of condescending remarks made to me - even if they were made because of my race - contained invaluable insights that ultimately facilitated my development into a smarter and better basketball player. Comments like <i>you are not the first, second, or even third scoring option on our team. You should not be taking the final shot! </i>made me acutely aware of my team's composition and how, as a guard, I would be most effective by anticipating where my teammates are on the floor. Similarly, comments ordering me to basket cut instead of standing around for a shot have made me much more difficult to defend and aware of proper spacing within a free-flowing motion offense. Through listening to the content of berating remarks, instead of dwelling on the emotion behind them, I have come to appreciate <b><u>the value of education from the unlikeliest of sources</u></b>. This lesson restated is profoundly anti-identity politics because it recognizes that anyone, regardless of social power, might impart wisdom and knowledge so long as I remain open to receiving it.<br />
<br />
Once I respected the process, and developed as a team player who picked his spots wisely, I noticed that my biggest critics began to reward me during games, and respect and compliment me after games. When I sprinted down the floor and correctly filled the lane as had been instructed, I would now be the frequent recipient of cross-court and fast-break passes that resulted in easy lay-ups. Similarly, after being yelled at for weeks by a center, I finally ingrained a basket cut after passing into the post every time I played on his team. This now led to the center frequently rewarding me with a return pass for an easy backdoor lay-up. Because I looked for my teammates more than creating my own shot, my teammates increasingly entrusted me with ballhandling responsibilities. The respect that my critics have shown me over time has given me the <b><u>confidence in my capacity to change how others perceive me</u></b>. Moreover, while I have incorporated a baseline level of rules from their game, I have recognized my <b><u>agency to introduce my own creativity into the process</u></b>, routinely integrating step-back jumpers and strong finishes to the basket, thereby enhancing the game while still retaining their respect. Cumulatively, the synthesis between my respect for their rules and the addition of my individual style has very visibly challenged their stereotypes of the unathletic, docile Asian American, as I am no longer target of their condescension. Additionally, because I do not conform to the essentialized East Asian male identity on the basketball court, winning the respect of members of the old boy network arguably exposes the very futility of racial categories and invites the possibility for more intersectional bodies to participate - both in the exclusive game, and in other high-level, interracial pick-up games.<br />
<i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
The greatest life lesson that I learned from participating in the exclusive game is to <b><u>never succumb to the victim mentality</u></b>. I may not be able to escape the omnipresent social dynamics pervading the court, but I sure as hell don't need to fall prey to them. Had I allowed myself to fall victim to abstract structural analysis, I would have robbed myself of the unspeakable pleasure I derive from the act of playing basketball, and the aforementioned growth I have achieved as a player and a human being.<br />
<br />
Finally, though I ultimately discovered my inner strength, it is doubtless that <b><u>love and solidarity</u></b> allowed me to persevere through the most difficult challenges presented by the old boy network. During those initial months, I frequently sat down on the baseline following a game feeling depressed from the chorus of insults I received from members of both teams. The loss of confidence transferred over to other aspects of life, silencing me and increasing my vulnerability in ordinary interactions and classroom discussions. These feelings were often accompanied by larger existential questions: if basketball is no longer enjoyable, what am I doing at UCLA? (Somehow I had tricked my mind into thinking that law school was only secondary, and that ball, quite literally, is life). The genuine love and solidarity I shared with Binny, over sweat, blood, and waterworks - as we collectively vented our frustrations, strategized, and overcame these challenges - has made this experience in the old boy network endurable, and in the end, the most remarkable accomplishment of my past three years at UCLA.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-46061068556437452402016-04-18T18:02:00.000-07:002016-04-18T18:13:54.038-07:00The Women of Collins Court: Patriarchy and Racism in UCLA Pick-Up BasketballI envy those who can so easily <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clU1dsndwHo">put on</a> for their city. I am always hesitant to answer the question, <i>where are you from?</i>, mostly because home has always been about <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhtXWvJwDjE">people, not places</a>. Last summer, New Orleans changed this calculus. The warmth, hospitality, and laid back personality of locals; the rich, vibrant music and Mardi Gras Indian culture rooted in solidarity and struggle; the unrestrained freedom to celebrate and express oneself - all felt like home. It was as if the entire city, much like a close friend, embraced me for who I was, replete with imperfections.<br />
<br />
As much as I enjoyed improvising my leisure time in the spirit of New Orleans jazz, the thing I miss the most about New Orleans was the one regular activity built into my daily schedule: basketball at Loyola University. Each day, I scrimmaged with the Loyola University Women's Basketball team, which had just ended the 2014-15 season with an impressive 27-4 regular season record and its first ever Southern States Athletic Conference (SSAC) Championship title. I became acclimated with Loyola's outgoing point guard <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYwmxfK-kpY">Janeica Neely</a>, as I was always matched up against her. Unbeknownst to me then, she came off a strong season averaging 19.1 points per game and was named MVP of the SSAC Championships. At 5'5", she is one of the few players I've ever guarded where I have a height advantage, albeit ever so slightly. I'll always remember two things about her game because these were exceptional moments in my life when I felt completely powerless to stop another individual taking advantage of me. First, each time she brought the ball down court, she executed a hesitation
move, which momentarily froze me, and then proceeded to cross me over and
go straight to the net. Alternatively, if she didn't blow by me after a hesitation move, she broke me down with an impeccable step back jump shot that <i>always</i> went in. Whenever I decided to counter her step back by leaving my feet to block her shot, she would anticipate my anticipation of her, manage to retain her live dribble after stepping back, and explode past me for a floater or lay up while I was still mid-air. I think I developed my habit of saying <i>fuck my life</i> - which I'm told I say quite often now during basketball - from these two maneuvers of Janeica alone.<br />
<br />
--------------- <br />
<br />
Collins Court, UCLA's indoor basketball gym, houses only three full courts to service a student population of over 40,000. As such, from mid-afternoon until closing, pick up games tend to get rough, competitive, and occasionally violent, as teams play to win in order to remain on the court. During these busy stretches, losing teams might wait upwards of two hours for an opportunity to play another game. In this climate where victory is the sole measurement of success, gender constructions of women as soft, gentle, weak, slow, unathletic, and unintelligent are deployed to effectively exclude women from participation. Moreover, the rampant misogynistic practice of men verbally demasculating other men further constitutes Collins Court as a male-oriented space. Unsurprisingly, I have gone for days at a time without seeing a single woman playing basketball. Far from being an exhaustive list, this post, then, begins to recognize and celebrate the handful of UCLA women who choose to live defiantly and fight against the overwhelming gendered and racist mechanisms operating against them at Collins Court.<br />
<br />
I am reminded of Janeica's fierce competitive spirit in Rachel, an
undergraduate at UCLA who lives on the hardwood floor. Due to the confluence of race (East Asian), sex (woman), height (5'5"), and size (she's tiny), she appears physically unintimidating and seemingly out-of-place. To the extent that <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2015/07/ball-is-life-inferiority-complex-of.html">I face racist social constructions of unathleticism</a>
due to the Model Minority stereotype, she faces additional barriers
arising from race and gender (Asian women are docile, subservient,
unassertive). When I first started noticing her around the court earlier this year, no one wanted to play with her. That she has since found a way to compete with all levels of competition has been nothing short of her perseverance and sheer will to succeed, despite the external pressures against her. Rachel plays with a genuine intensity that so few players in pick up basketball possess. Even with a shorter wingspan, defensively, she plays with active hands and gets a remarkable number of steals and tips. When she steals the ball, whereas many other amateurs would slow things down in fear of mishandling the ball or getting blocked by a recovering defender, she's fearless in pushing the ball forward and scoring off the break. Over the past few months, she's transformed from being a spot up shooter on the perimeter (she is an assassin from three-point range) to developing confidence in taking the ball into the teeth of the defense for a higher percentage shot, or, when contested, making a smart play for others. Her growth in observable toughness and skill is a personal reminder that there is immense power in resisting a victim mentality.<br />
<br />
I can't say enough about Binny, a deadly mid-range jump shooter who has bailed me out so many times whenever I have a rough game. Her basketball instincts developed out of the necessity to make each shot attempt count, lest she be invisiblized or verbally discredited by her male teammates on the basketball court. Thus, her offensive game is very clean and her every movement is calculated. Unlike most players who selfishly dominate the ball and thereby stagnate their team's offense, Binny makes quick swing passes to her open teammate and routinely facilitates scoring for her team. She also moves extremely intelligently without the ball to position herself both within the passing vision of the ballhandler <i>and </i>where her shot is most likely to go in. When I drive north-south into the teeth of the defense, she always rotates to my east-west to an open mid-range spot where she knows - and where I too now know - that her shot will go in. Moreover, like <a href="http://www.wsj.com/articles/stephen-currys-science-of-sweet-shooting-1418766120">Steph Curry</a>, she has the quickest shot release I've yet seen at UCLA. I can specifically recall a few instances when she proved me wrong by scoring from shots that I thought would have been blocked had she had a split second slower shot release. She is deeply analytical and extremely hard on herself when she has a bad game - two sentiments that have helped her survive and compete in a sport that fails to recognize the worth of South Asian women. Her drive to reflect and train on her weaknesses, both in basketball as in life, inspires me to do the same.<br />
<br />
The person who has taught me most about playing ball is Katelyn, a former forward for Occidental College. At 6'1", her ability to shoot beyond the arc allows her to spread the floor well. We've developed a nice pick and roll dynamic, which has expanded my game and made me a more intelligent player because I am forced to make quick decisions based on reading our two defenders. Her versatility in scoring allows her to either pop for a shot or roll to the net with equally high efficiency. She is an incredibly intelligent player and understands positioning very well. When her defender camps in the paint, she'll make him pay by spotting up for an open three-point shot. As the defender adjusts to contest the three-point shot, she'll quickly basket cut, receive the pass, and finish strong at the rim. A former coach herself, she has scrutinized and worked with me on my individual game, from the fundamentals of squaring up to shoot, to looking ahead to pass while starting a break. She has chewed me up for shooting terrible shots, and as a result, I have become a more selfless and balanced offensive player. More than anyone else, because of her attention to detail and her relentless criticism towards me, I have become a more intentional, smarter, and better all-around basketball player.<br />
<br />
Finally, there's CarCar, an absolute scoring machine and one of my favorite teammates to have because she plays the full duration of the game on both ends of the floor. She has taught me, through her personal example, that every second on the floor is valuable and that defensive intensity is as significant as offensive possessions. Cara is an efficient jump shooter from any range, and like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1951264/">Katniss, when she catches fire</a>, her shots will be automatic for the game. As great a shooter as she is, she's even deadlier in the post. She epitomizes patience and intelligence when she posts up. She has a brilliant grasp of footwork fundamentals and executes the pump fake to perfection. She'll comfortably play her back to the basket, get her defender to bite on a pump fake, and go under the defender for a finish. She is living proof that intelligence and poise is routinely a deadlier combination than speed and strength. She is one of the few amateur athletes who is an absolute joy to watch play as it is to play with her, because she'll kick ass even if she is ostensibly outmatched.<br />
<br />
I am so remarkably inspired by the personal resolve, mental toughness, and training regimen that each of these women undertake to actively challenge internalized and externalized patriarchy and, for a few on this list, patriarchy compounded with racism. Their act of showing up to the gendered and racialized space of Collins Court, let alone demanding to play, is courageous, bold, and trailblazing. That they not only show up to play, but put it all out on the floor when they do, demands utmost respect and commendation, given a setting where most men play haphazardly, unintentionally, brutishly, and selfishly. That is all to say that as these women actively break down the contours of acceptability, they simultaneously elevate the game of basketball.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-60169201022782336242015-07-26T19:27:00.000-07:002015-07-26T19:36:32.463-07:00Ball is Life: The Inferiority Complex of Asian Americans in Basketball<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZa4KhBkzWlESzDYECz9GhxxAdtzuxM_I5qXziG9DKG46XAlKMs6BQfFcHdN7Lv5HeRnkP9k2ngGj0kHlmksfo2hf5dolvmyt248ofvqhPPzh6BA5khqPtX6B8QAaRuIQbf7NEkLRbCa0/s1600/JLin_Struggle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZa4KhBkzWlESzDYECz9GhxxAdtzuxM_I5qXziG9DKG46XAlKMs6BQfFcHdN7Lv5HeRnkP9k2ngGj0kHlmksfo2hf5dolvmyt248ofvqhPPzh6BA5khqPtX6B8QAaRuIQbf7NEkLRbCa0/s320/JLin_Struggle.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Image from </i></span><span class="_r3"><a class="irc_hl irc_hol" data-noload="" data-ved="0CAYQjB1qFQoTCPrp1dqe-sYCFUF7PgodqFYKkA" href="http://www.realtytoday.com/articles/10286/20150212/lakers-rumors-jeremy-lin-struggles-in-loss-to-portland-will-they-trade-linsanity-before-feb-19-deadline.htm"><span class="irc_ho" dir="ltr">www.realtytoday.com</span></a></span><span class="_r3 irc_msc"><a class="irc_hl irc_msl" data-i="1" data-noload="" data-ved="0CAgQhxxqFQoTCPrp1dqe-sYCFUF7PgodqFYKkA" href="https://www.google.com/search?q=jeremy+lin+struggle&sa=X&biw=1528&bih=734&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAQSEgkk3HIKRiK5oCHwnEdP-p7V0g"><span class="irc_idim"></span></a></span></td></tr>
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UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of figures"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Ball is life</i>. For most, this popular refrain echoed
across hardwood floors and concrete courts across the nation connotes a
particular way of life, quantified in the number of hours spent in devotion to the
love of the game. Among the most impassioned, this refrain assumes the added
dimension of practicing until one’s breaking point, and then sweating and
bleeding beyond that point, just for a shot to one day get paid for this love. For
Asian Americans who repeat this chorus, though, merely acknowledging their
obsession, self-definition and self-expression through the game fails to
capture the game’s construction along social, political, and racial lines. That
is, if <i>ball is life</i> is existential
for ballers of all colors, Asian American ballers exist in and experience the
game through a racialized prism in which their lack of athleticism, ability,
skill, and basketball IQ have been predetermined under the Model Minority
construct. Playing basketball is not simply a matter of competing at a sport;
playing basketball is about competing against the racist social constructions
of unathleticism and docility/lack of toughness on the one hand, and in turn, the
internalized notions of inferiority and self-doubt on the other. Being
victorious, then, cannot be measured by any number of wins or points one
scores, but by the gaining of self-confidence, mental strength, and discovery
of one’s worth despite these constructions constantly pulling one down. </span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whenever I travel
or relocate, one of the ways I familiarize and experience a new city and its
people is through playing pick-up basketball at a local gym or outdoor court.
Although conversations with local ballers reflect a parochial dialect, the
perception of ballers towards me is a constant from city to city. Upon my
asking to join a game, there is immediate suspicion, at times sprinkled with a
few chuckles, followed by a genuine look of perplexity as the locals struggle
for the right words to say to exclude my participation. “Oh, we’re waiting for
our friends to come.” <i>Oh, so can I play
with y’all until they get here?</i> “Nah man, we’re good.” <i>I’m trying to run with y’all right now.</i> “We’re teammates and
practicing for our upcoming game.” <i>I can
play within your system and be a hard working practice player. </i>This verbal
dance usually lasts anywhere between an uncomfortable thirty seconds to two minutes,
until my resolve forces them to abandon their passive aggression for a more
direct approach (“No. We’re trying to win.” – implying that <i>I’m</i> the loser and unfit to play) or
until they give in to my demand (in which case, they amp up their machismo and
physicality in hopes to dissuade me from playing a subsequent game). This
pleasant pre-game routine foreshadows the truly satisfying in-game experience
that follows… every single time.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Asian American
pick-up basketball experience goes something like this. I am picked last. My
teammates complain to the opposing team that they are effectively playing 4 on
5 whenever the opponent scores. My teammates refuse to pass to me. On the rare
occasions I do happen to have the ball, my teammates insist that I instantly
pass them the rock instead of dribbling or shooting. When I make a smart basket
cut to facilitate offball movement in our offense, my teammate with the ball
complains that I’m clogging up the driving lane. When I get outrebounded or
scored on, I’m reminded that I’m worthless. When I miss a shot, my teammates yell
that I shouldn’t be shooting in the first place. When I commit a mistake or
turn the ball over, my teammates give me dirty looks and don’t transition back
on defense and allow the opponent to score, as if to remind the opponent that
they are winning because I’m the liability. My defender sags off, gives me
space, and dares me to shoot, because I won’t be able to make the shot. When I
do make a basket, I’m lucky, and still unfit to receive passes from my
teammates. The in-game experience is like the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kobayashi_Maru">Kobayashi Maru</a>, a no-win
situation even if I make all the right moves. On days where my play
successfully shatters and transcends preconceived notions of my ability, it
will never carry over to the ‘next time,’ when unfamiliar faces emerge to
reacclimatize me with my inadequacy.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because pick-up
basketball is a game played with different strangers each time, it’s
unsurprising so few Asian Americans consistently turn out to play. The renewed
feeling of Kobayashi Maru each time one wants to play basketball takes a very
real stressful, demoralizing, and emotional toll. Thus, Asian Americans who
enjoy basketball tend to shy away from a true pick-up basketball experience,
instead opting to play amongst Asian American friends. The problem with
self-selective segregation is that it reproduces the Model Minority construct, outwardly
conveying that Asian Americans lack the physiological and mental capacity to
compete with ‘real’ (black and white) ballers; that Asian Americans only play
basketball as a casual, social experience and never as a serious, <i>ball is life</i> lifestyle. Compounding this
problem is that most Asian Americans who fall in this category do play
basketball as a casual experience, such that the level of competition and
effort is visibly different from that of ‘true’ pick-up games running concurrently
on adjacent courts. For Asian American ballers who wish to improve their game, the
self-selective segregated in-house ballgame cannot and does not accomplish this
goal, cyclically reinforcing the obscurity of those Asian American ballers.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The converse is
invariably true: the minority of Asian American ballers who opt for a true
pick-up basketball experience are the bravest, toughest, and smartest players
on the court. They understand that every time they play the game, they are
playing against themselves, their teammates, and their opponents. They must
tell themselves, <i>I’m as good as the next
guy, this is exactly where I belong</i>; and they must play like they truly
believe it, because others pick up on the slightest inkling of self-doubt
because inferiority is the norm and the expectation. They learn to tune out the
insults and disrespectful behaviors of others, and use that hatred to
self-motivate and elevate their own level of play. They learn to reflect on
their weaknesses after every game, and work diligently to eliminate those
weaknesses, because those weaknesses are not perceived as isolated areas of
weaknesses (like it would for other players), but scrutinized as evidence for
their total incapacity to play the game altogether. For the few Asian American
ballers who stick it out, the reward is unparalleled.<i> </i>In the process of improving their game, they learn to control their
body movements, act with deliberation and purpose, and read and exploit their
opponents’ tendencies – they otherwise approach the game with superior
intelligence.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I surprise a lot
of players with my game nowadays. I often receive compliments as a ‘good’ player
and for my style of play. People <i>generally</i>
want to play with me. What these players don’t know is that I started balling
at the age of 22. While this late start may have foreclosed a lot of
opportunities in terms of playing organized basketball, it has given me an unparalleled
understanding of, deep connection to, and mastery over my body and mind. Every
time I would hear opponents yell aloud that I can’t “go left” (that I can’t
dribble with my left hand or finish a left-handed layup), I was pushed to
develop my left-hand. Every time I couldn’t drive past an athletic defender, I
was impelled to <i>read</i> my defender’s
body positioning, and develop a set of <i>reactions</i>
with my footwork to exploit their superior athleticism or wingspan. Every time
I would get blocked, I was forced to develop my athleticism through training my
body to perform a Euro-step, jump stop, or double-clutch layup. Every time my
team would blame me for a loss, I was compelled to develop my court vision and
anticipate the movements of my teammates, such that I would time my pass to
lead to an easy scoring opportunity. Basketball has made me incredibly
intelligent and sharp, because playing with brains and purpose equalize the
playing field when against superior athletes.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whereas the vast
majority of older players complain about losing their athleticism, I have only uncovered
my untapped athleticism – and my body constantly surprises my mind with new
moves and ever-increasing explosiveness. Moreover, my engagement with
basketball has given me the focus, perseverance, and self-confidence to embrace
any challenge. Finally, as an Asian American who has and still constantly
experiences both blatant acts of racism and microaggressions, the game offers
the most effective therapy for confronting racism: instead of talking it out with
a therapist and passively reenacting previous racist instances, I can
proactively and productively liberate myself from the chains of the past by acting
against the aforementioned stereotypes held by players on the court in the here
and now. In so doing, I am not only equipped with a tool for moving past historical
pains, but more powerfully, I am equipped with a state of mind that will
prepare me for inevitable acts of racism in the future.</span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The next time you
hear an Asian American baller say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ball is
life </i>at a basketball court, understand that its meaning entails all that it
traditionally is, but so much more. Because the game occurs within the bounds
of a racialized society, an Asian American’s participation in the game cannot
be apolitical or race-neutral. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ball is
life</i> is a political statement against the Model Minority construct, a
testament to the personal commitment an Asian American makes towards breaking
boundaries and to the arduous process such a commitment demands. Yeah, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ball is life</i>.</span></div>
Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-21783027712012236592014-08-14T15:47:00.000-07:002014-08-14T21:03:55.400-07:00The Essence of BasketballSomething special happens inside <i>our </i>gym. Only those privileged to be a part of our program sense it, and among them, even fewer grasp its essence. Every game night, most opponents and their respective coaches misunderstand what occurs during the course of the game. They think it's about basketball. Accordingly, they play or coach a game. Similarly, parents from both sides pay admission to watch the fruit of their loins ripen into athletes competing in a physical game. Eager for their child's success, quantified by the stats line, they yell for their child to <i>TAKE THE SHOT, SON!</i> and then berate myself or someone from our coaching staff for benching their child for, coincidentally I'm sure, following parental directive in taking the shot. Our players who take that shot are those who fail to grasp the essence behind that special something that occurs inside our gym.<br />
<br />
Coaches aren't necessarily immune to this sort of thinking or rather, <i>misunderstanding--</i>this fetishism over a game. Back when it all began for me, three years ago, I thought that I had signed up to coach the game of basketball. Everything and everyone around me suggested that this was so. As one loss stretched to two, three, four, five losses in a row, my players questioned <b>my knowledge of the game</b>. <i>Why do we only have one offense? </i>Once their questions couldn't be answered convincingly, the questioning turned into advising. <i>Against an even-front zone, we can't run this offense. </i>Five games into the young season, I didn't even know what an even-front zone meant, and here my players were telling me, their joke of a coach, that I needed to know the game before I could teach it. Unsurprisingly, none of my players respected me as a coach (certainly, none of them referred to me as such), and my physical image, especially then, didn't help my case either. Their coach looked like and approached the game as a stereotypical Model Minority would. To their credit, they stuck with me, though I suppose the alternative would have been worse for them. <i>Better to have a token coach then none at all, if only so that we can complete our abysmal season.</i><br />
<br />
Other coaches in our program questioned the head coach for hiring me. I was, in all matters with respect to the game, substantially worse than the previous coach whom I replaced who, despite his college-level playing experience with the game, just couldn't get it done as a coach. He had, I'm told, something like two wins that entire previous season. Consequently, the remaining assistant coaches believed that the new hire should, to the benefit of our program, have <b>even more knowledge</b> and experience with the game. These coaches made my first year more difficult than it already was. Maybe it was their way to encourage me to resign after the season, but doing so reinforced my players' disrespect towards me. Whenever an assistant attended my practices, he took over, ignored or overruled my suggestions, and taught the game with unflinching confidence and authority that made me seem, next to him, invisible. He would constantly make it known to me that I'd have to step up <b>my</b> <b>knowledge of the game</b>, somehow some way, giving me glib remarks like <i>This stuff is simple. When you see it, you'll understand it </i>rather than taking his time to slowly break down a drill or play beforehand for my comprehension.<br />
<br />
Parents of my players, though, took it to a whole new level. Unsatisfied with me feeling like I was in purgatory, they crucified me and brought me hell for my inability to coach the game of basketball. After about the eighth or ninth loss of the season, in an away game against Mercer Island in which we were slaughtered by at least thirty, a mother decided that she had enough of me coaching her son and refused to allow her son to ride home on the team bus so long as I, in her words, <i>could not figure out how to counter the opposing team's strategy</i>. (MI exclusively ran a 1-3-1 zone defense, a defense that I had never encountered before). Citing my lack of <b>knowledge of the game </b>as evidence, she attempted to get me fired through the school administration and, when she couldn't, rallied other parents to heckle me at home games to make sure that each loss my team incurred would doubly sting for me. <br />
<br />
Much to her and other parents' chagrin, instead of quitting, I acknowledged my ignorance of the game and was determined to learn, understand, and begin mastery over basketball that following summer. Accordingly, I ravenously devoured from the buffet of coaching manuals and DVDs, Youtube practice footage from various high school and college programs, varsity practices, game film, and televised games- basically anything and everything I could get my hands on. The more basketball I indulged, the more the game slowed down for me and the faster I could react to any given situation. The more I saw the X's and O's from other resources, the more confidence I gained towards drawing my own plays. And to everyone's surprise, I came back the following season looking more like a knowledgeable basketball coach and less a seasonal baby sitter.<br />
<br />
All the pressures around me convinced me that understanding the game of basketball would result in victories and that victories were, for a coach and his program, the most important thing about basketball. The thing was, though we won a few more games in my second and third season, the margin of win totals was not a marked improvement from year one and certainly did not parallel the significant amount of knowledge of the game that I gained from year to year. So, in the weeks preceding the spring and summer seasons of my third year, I reflected on my current approach to coaching and why supreme self-confidence in my knowledge of the game did not translate into drastically greater amount of victories for our team.<br />
<br />
And then it hit me. An overwhelming majority of my pre-game, post-game, post-practice speeches were about basketball. Sure I'd throw in an anecdote with a lesson about seizing the opportunity or playing hard, but they had never been the focal points of my teachings. They were merely motivational speeches designed to hype my players up to win the game. Other times, instead of personal stories, I would color my speeches with metaphors and humor towards the same end of achieving victory. <i>We're gonna fucking press them today, and I don't want a half-assed press, but we're gonna instill fucking fear every time they touch the ball. When they inbound the ball, I want Matt to fucking harass him like Freddy Kreuger, and then James will fucking rush him from behind like he's Jason. They won't be entering a basketball game, they will be entering our slaughterhouse. Your hands are your claws and knives, and the two of you will trap the ball handler so hard he feels like he's in a Jigsaw contraption, shits his pants and turns the ball over. Every time. </i>At the end of the day, because I wanted to win games so bad, and felt that this was the external expectation of me and the measure of my success, my eyes were on the prize and the breadth of my messaging reflected that vision. I failed to see that basketball was more than a game. In my approach to the game, I de-humanized my players and took away their agency in the process. By making it solely about the X's and O's, they were my pawns and I was the chessmaster. Clearly, my approach was not working and I was getting too caught up in the bullshit of obsessing over the W.<br />
<br />
I reflected on what basketball meant to me and why, in only three years of exposure, I loved it so much. The answer was not to be found in the game, but in the journey. Basketball had liberated me from my own insecurities and lack of self-worth from being trapped in stereotypical roles constructed by a racist system, but doing so required that I had to embrace the challenge, not back down from intimidation, learn from failure, enhance my mental capacity and reflexes, believe in myself, and find a way to persevere despite the odds. When I really sat down to think about it, basketball wasn't just a game to me, it was a medium for self-growth and a metaphor for life.<br />
<br />
Heading into the spring and summer, I changed my core messaging to my players from basketball to the life values I discovered through basketball. I told them, <i><b>the point is not the points; the point is the process</b></i>. Neither the stats nor outcome ultimately mattered, but the process of how we represented ourselves was what really mattered. My promise to them was that if we could buy into this new understanding of the game, the results would speak for themselves. When my players began to see that I wasn't just changing my emphasis to extract a quick victory, but that it genuinely came from my heart and that these values were about more than the game but would inform their relationship to the world, they started playing the game for themselves and their growth as human beings, instead of playing for me or for the W. They started to exert themselves harder than I had seen that preceding winter, exemplify discipline and patience with their shot selection, trust in each other to help defensively or be at the right spot offensively, and find a way to battle and win games even if we were down by a heavy deficit.<br />
<br />
When I started de-prioritizing basketball and prioritizing the essence of basketball--the meaning of life--the results indeed spoke for themselves. We surprised a lot of opponents, who were bigger, stronger, faster, more athletic, and more skilled, by means of our fearlessness, discipline, focus, and trust and accountability with each other. We finished second place in two tournaments, won our pool in another AAU tournament, and had a seven-game win streak. I began receiving compliments from referees and opposing coaches for my vibrant, high-energy coaching style. While these accomplishments are nice experiences, they ultimately symbolize, and perhaps mask, the fact that for those who really get it, the secret of basketball, as a legend once put it, is that it is <i>not </i>about basketball.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-70552762101783406752014-05-15T23:20:00.000-07:002014-05-15T23:20:09.034-07:00Spock's Sacrifice<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few." -</i>Spock, <i>Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982)</i></blockquote>
The signs were there. It was only a matter of time before it was made official. First came the call to the floor signaling a substitution with six minutes left in the game. Then, the very next match, he rode the pine the entire second half. <i>Coach, I'm ready</i>. I know you are. <i>Please coach, let me in the game. Dee is struggling.</i> But he's done better than you, I think in response.<i> </i>His teammate rushes to me when there is a quick break on the floor. <i>Coach, we need Tod in the game. Dee can't score, we need a scorer</i> <i>on the floor</i>. Hiding my uncertainty and feigning a calm demeanor, I refuse to budge.<br />
<br />
If he ignored the omens then, the very following week of practices should have hit him with frightening clarity. Zero minutes assigned during scrimmaging. Third string on drills designed to improve guard play. My 5'3" point guard never looked his size until now, head down, seated with back sulking in the corner of the gym.<br />
<br />
It's official the next weekend. As they had methodically done for each of the forty games together during our combined winter high school and spring AAU seasons, with 1:30 left on the clock prior to the game, my players rush to the bench from their warm-up lay up lines. <i>Okay, here's who's starting.</i> <i>Randy, Noah, Mike, Klay, Nat. We may be outmatched because our [AAU] opponents recruit stars from all around, but we are from one school, one mind, and one unit. </i><i><i>We play as the better team. Set the tone from the start. </i>Play harder than them, outhustle, outrebound, fight for every possession. Slow their offense down and be in help position. Don't let them get in the paint. Make them fear our defense. Let's go. </i>Tod looks at me in disbelief as if I were the Grim Reaper. He stopped listening after the omission of his name, and treats me with a blank, ghostly stare. While I talk, I return his stare with my own quick, assured glance as if to presumptuously acknowledge, <i>yes I seriously removed you from the starting rotation. </i><br />
<br />
In the moments before tip-off, my mind questions my decision to replace the point guard who started for me in each of our previous forty outings; the point guard who singlehandedly got us back from huge deficits and won us games; the point guard with whom I achieved my most conference wins as a high school coach. My memory races back to January 21st, away game against Bothell. We are down 13 at the half. Bothell's students roar in approval as they anticipate a similar dominating showing for their varsity squad in the game to follow. In one of the most spectacular moments of individual performance during a game that I coached, Tod scores 18 in the second half for a game-high 29 points to lift our team to a comeback victory. After the game, the Bothell coach approaches him incredulously, then collects himself and remarks <i>I'll be watching for you over the next few years.</i><br />
<br />
While this game stood out for the end result, Tod's scoring touch came regularly throughout the winter and, in fact, came to be expected. After a 28 point performance against Redmond one week before the Bothell game, I designed a play strictly for him to score a quick lay up off a post hand off (which he exploited in the Bothell game), or, if that primary option did not work, an open three pointer from a down screen off the same play. For his lack of size, Tod was an exceptional scorer, especially behind the three point line. His shot release was anything but natural and, from my distance, always looked like a struggle; instead of snapping his wrist and producing a high-arcing backspun shot, he had to shot-put the ball with the force of his entire arm. But his straightaway three-point shot would go in approximately half the time, and, in a game where amassing points is key, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijOc9uQMHxc">finesse</a> is not the factor to scoring.<br />
<br />
In the game of basketball, there are off-game shooting slumps; and then there are <i>why-is-this-kid-even-wearing-a-jersey</i>, Black Tuesday<i> </i>slumps. Prior to actually witnessing Tod's plummet, I only believed that the first category, game-to-game slumps, existed. Sure, even the greatest shooters have their off-nights or few in a stretch of games. The latter category, of which Tod embodied, was an issue of confidence. The short-lived miraculous presence of Tod during the winter high school season turned into the never-ending calamitous presence of Tod during the spring AAU season. In about eight spring games, he had successfully scored one 3 pointer in around 30 tries. Despite his broken shot, his instincts told him to continue to shoot himself out of the slump, so he attempted and missed horrible shots outside of his comfortable range. He began missing lay-ups. He made horrible decisions and turned the ball over a quarter of the time off the first pass. Defensively, he could not keep up with the size or speed of any point guard we faced in tournaments. Even in practices, he seemed like a liability, refusing to listen and only sinking deeper into his mental abyss. It was unbearable to watch, as if a loved one with whom you conversed on a daily basis suddenly ended up in a coma. I kept on asking myself <i>how </i>this was even possible and <i>why </i>this had to happen to me, of all coaches, as if my localized team wasn't disadvantaged enough without losing our best scorer.<br />
<br />
With Tod out of the starting line up, we end up blowing out our opponent for our first win in a remarkably tough league of teams composed of recruited players from all around the region (as a comparison, our team is the only unsponsored team in this league). Instead of feeling accomplished from my keen substitution patterns, my pregame skepticism turns into postgame anxiety. I can't help but feel responsible for the slump Tod is in. At the very least, my deliberate lack of practicing and playing him has crushed whatever last inkling of confidence he has suppressed inside. And on the other end of the spectrum, my conscious overvaluing of his offensive capabilities and simultaneous overlooking of his weaknesses, particularly on the defensive end, during the winter season has made him unable to compete this spring against better competition when his offensive ability is stripped from him.<br />
<br />
I approach him as practice ends and place my hand on his shoulder. He looks at me and it takes a minute before words leave my mouth. I don't know what I can possibly say to inspire confidence and shoulder the burden of responsibility for his struggles. The humanity in me wanted to reach out to him because I care for his development, but I failed
to do so with a clear purpose and plan. Without that clear purpose, the cold,
Vulcan logic of coaching took over. I end up saying something uninspired along the lines of <i>Tod, you're a great player. I want to play you more</i> <i>but you gotta focus on defense now that you're struggling offensively. Great defense will lead to offense. </i>In spite of my words, he shakes my hand and thanks me.<br />
<br />
The measure of a great coach is in the mantra by which they are remembered to have coined. <i>(Just joking</i>.<i>..sort of.) </i>In my journey to the coaching hall of fame, I recently coined my own saying for my team. <i>The point is not the points, the point is in the process.</i> If I live out the quote, then I must consciously reclaim and reintegrate my humanity in the cold Vulcan coaching process and value the progression of all my athletes. In the end, the results will flow from the expansion of the roots.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-13178100540533132562014-02-17T18:06:00.000-08:002014-02-17T18:06:41.678-08:00Beware of Veryl the BullyIt's 4:30pm. We're en route to Juanita High School for Game 2 of the KingCo 4A Varsity Tournament. The four coaches occupy the first four seats on the team bus. The cheerleaders are sandwiched between the coaches and the team. The bus is eerily quiet. You could feel the focus in the air. Like guerrilla fighters approaching a colossal military force, fate unknown but purpose clear, we are up against the only team to defeat Garfield High School this season, the perennial superpower in our conference that produced NBA phenom <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnGs57A-O0w">Brandon Roy</a> and most recently, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHjF-eD_yLA">Tony Wroten</a>. Undeterred by the mission ahead, the team is fired up from the post-practice talk I delivered a day before. In it, I mention the undisputed, unanimous perception of our team from the students at the alternative high school where I teach: we're weak, we're shit, and we're losers. I mention that each game day, when I wear our team's athletic garb to the alternative school, my students come down extra hard on me. <i>Who you guys playing today? *Insert school here* will fuck you up by double digits.</i> Intent on where my story is heading, I redirect the team to our recent game against Garfield, in which we lost by only two points. That game shut up a lot my students, who expected nothing less than a blowout. Fuck external perception, <i>we</i> know what we're capable of and what we will accomplish. I tell the team that I'm proud that we're not composed of superstars, that we have to rely on each other and our bench to pull out each victory, and that we're the hardest working, blue-collar team in the league. Our 'star' (loosely used here) point guard who, just days before, was awarded a <a href="http://blogs.seattletimes.com/highschoolsports/2014/02/13/area-all-league-teams/">First Team All-League honor</a>, pulls me aside afterwards and tells me I hyped him up. He's ready to play the big game right now. Another coach creeps from behind and pushes me off-balance while approvingly shouts, <i>fucking Veryl. Getting us all pumped</i>. Motivational speaking. One of the tools that I developed and refined through coaching.<br />
<br />
4:35pm. Still not so much a word muttered. For most, the focus is at once intoxicating and infectious, like a meditative journey experienced in collectivity. I'm silent for another reason. I'm pensive. Just thirty-five minutes before, I was confronted by two parents of a player at my level with perhaps an ugly truth about myself. They accuse me of the polar opposite in skills that I picked up through coaching: bullying. They didn't outright label it as such, but the implication was clear. The conversation lasts for nearly half an hour. Just before we walk onto the bus, I talk to two coaches about it.<br />
<br />
4:40pm. The silence is finally broken. <i>They should put up a poster at the school with your picture that says, "Beware of Bullying</i>,<i>" </i>says the same coach who complimented me the day before. This generates a few laughs from the nearby cheerleaders.<br />
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<i>Veryl the bully, </i>the head coach echoes with a huge grin and a dreamy stare, as if recalling a pleasant memory.<br />
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<i>I've learned from the best</i>, I retort in a smart-ass kind of way. <i>Coaching has taught me to become an asshole</i>. I reciprocate the grin.<br />
<br />
I get a lot of shit from parents. But it comes with the territory. Or so the head coach says. In the three years of coaching, I've received the most parental complaints this current season--the year when I'm most confident in what I'm doing <i>and </i>attaining the most conference wins. You don't win enough games, parents question your knowledge and hint at a replacement. A player gets injured, parents blame the hyper-intensity of practices and lack of education towards players regarding sports-related injuries. You don't assign minutes to a player, parents challenge the integrity or fairness of your rotation. After a while, complaints sound like a broken record. They have to, or you begin to doubt yourself, which reflects on your performance and reverberates back negatively to the team. Fortunately, since I teach at-risk youth who experience trauma or systematic and individualized violence for eight hours each day before I coach, these parental complaints sound like <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=First+World+Problems">what they are</a>. Yet, to completely write off these complaints runs the risk of missing a chance for critical reflection and self-improvement.<br />
<br />
Given my own history of <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.ca/2013/08/dear-crystal.html">being bullied</a>, conceptually I hate bullying. Given that <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/education/2008/aug/29/bullying.schools">some studies show</a>, however slight the statistical significance, that those who were bullied in their childhood are prone to becoming bullies themselves, perhaps working in a profession where militarism is a prized value subconsciously increases my propensity to bully. After all, it's so easy to get away with what you say when you monopolize the power through controlling playing time and a player's status within the program.<br />
<br />
Though the parents' accusation rested on a false premise--that I exclusively singled out their son--it made me reflect on how I currently interact with my players and what type of coach I aspire to be. If I want to embody a coach who values each player as a human being with potential to become leaders in their own right, I would need to temper some of my spontaneous quips to my players. I would neither have remained with the program nor become the coach I am today if the head coach repeatedly harassed me for my inconsequential knowledge of the game during my first season. Why should the dynamic be any different between coaches and players, especially since I'm coming from a theoretical framework that values athletes for more than their bodies, but also for their mental capacity as coaches on the floor? I want them to appreciate the game as a symphony from a conductor's point of view, and not as a second violinist obsessed with correctly playing each note from the sheet of music on their stand.<br />
<br />
My fault is that I'm quick-witted with my tongue. As basketball runs on horsepower, I am quickly yelling in reaction to what happens on the floor. There's no time to censor my reaction and my words, because the moment it takes to think of what I should say to mitigate the emotional damage, another action will happen and I would fail to react to something new. In games, I might yell out <i>I can't play this kid</i> loud enough for the entire gym to hear after a player commits a mistake, bench him, and then turn to him with a mean mug and yell out <i>Why did I take you out of the game? </i>If he answers <i>I don't know</i>, I will most certainly come up with a smart ass remark along the lines of <i>I know you don't know, that's why you did it </i>before explaining to him calmly what the correct course of action should have been. I am not adverse to yelling at a player during games for two reasons: 1. I do not want the player committing the same mistake again when I put him back in and he should know that I'm serious as it seriously impacts the outcome of the match, and 2. I do not want his teammates to commit the same mistake as him. Calling players out for their shit is an effective way to get them to play smarter and harder.<br />
<br />
Practices, though, potentially bring out my 'worst' because I am afforded the time to make an example out of a player who commits a mistake. I certainly need to change my approach in this area. I am haunted by one particular practice from earlier this season where what I said had a prolonged effect on the player. I introduced a new drill to the team. After most of my players demonstrated and executed the drill satisfactorily, one of the last players to participate in the drill stepped on the floor not knowing what to do. This player happened to be someone who goofed off and neglected to pay attention regularly in practices, so I put him on the spot...once again. <i>Are you shitting me? Over half the team just did the drill, and you don't know what to do? </i>He nervously stuttered and I heard him start to say, <i>I'm s.... </i>I cut him off and interrupted before he could finish his sentence. He may have wanted to apologize (<i>I'm sorry</i>), but I ran with the <i>s </i>sound to poke fun at him. <i>You're what? STUPID? Or perhaps you wanted to say 'I'm SLOW' since you don't understand what's going on. </i>At that point, he courageously attempted to repeat his original sentence. <i>No I was going to say I'm s....</i> I cut him off again and, with disregard to his feeling, brazenly continued, <i>What were you going to say? I only hear the 's' sound! Were you going to say you're SMART? That wouldn't make SENSE. If you were, then you actually mean you're SARCASTIC.</i> The whole team laughed at how clever the whole sequence was, but I overdid it. One of the next practices, when the same player once again failed to demonstrate knowledge of what was taught, he told me that he did not know what to do because he was stupid. He said it with a straight face, as if he were citing a truth. I pulled him aside after practice to apologize for what I said before, but the damage was already done. When it came to basketball, he internalized his incompetence thanks to me.<br />
<br />
It's 8:30pm. We board the bus to return home from Juanita after losing a hard-fought game. The playoffs are double elimination, so we live to fight another day. Atypical of most players who congregate together at the back of the bus, our 'star' point guard decides to sit in front beside me. We look at each other during the ride home but don't exchange a single word. We respect each other's silence. We pay our dues to the powerful process of reflection, in hopes that tomorrow will yield a better outcome. My mind wanders back to the interaction with the parents from earlier that day and the grander implications it held. I tell myself that if my players cannot experience joy in the game because of the way in which I interact with them, then I fail to get the best out of my players and together, as a team, we will not succeed. As the bus pulls into our school's parking lot, bringing us back to reality, I look to the players at the rear of the bus arising from the trance of deep meditation. I am comforted by how small I am in relation to the whole of the team, and in fact, changing for the better and growing are interwoven into the very fabric of each and every one of our DNA.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-67190583935862660862013-11-13T22:31:00.000-08:002013-11-13T22:31:15.581-08:00Crafting a New Coaching PedagogyIn light of my <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2013/08/are-coaches-necessary-centralism-vs.html">previous post</a> being <a href="http://creativitynotcontrol.wordpress.com/2013/10/25/creativity-and-or-coaching/">re-blogged and discussed among radical educators</a>, I have written its spiritual successor to introduce a new <i>pedagogical role </i>for coaches. I do not waiver from my initial position that coaches are indispensable to their teams' culture and inexorably linked to the success of their teams' performance over time. In this piece, I argue that an essential undertaking of a coach should be to build leaders among men, or more aptly, coaches among athletes. Given the theoretical implications and intellectual treatment of my previous post, I have deliberately chosen to write this current piece in less of my usual tone as an entertaining and lyrical blogger, but more as a calculated scholar. This is the thoughtful song delivered <i>a cappella</i> in an otherwise bass-heavy, thoroughly danceable album. My operational framework for this piece draws upon the organizational legacy of Malcolm X and the case study of Jeremy Lin and the current 2013-14 Houston Rockets team.<br />
<br />
As it stands, the current standard of coaching at the highest levels is top-down, resembling a militaristic organization equipped with its own parallel culture, procedures, and discipline. Communication is entirely vertical. When a coach speaks, the athlete listens. When a coach commands, the athlete obeys. Early this April, when <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mtf6eWtGWh0">ESPN aired footage of Mike Rice</a> physically and verbally abusing his players, Americans appeared to be in shock at how something so inherently fun to watch and to follow during the month of March could be so brutal and psychotic behind the scenes. Like the SEC placing <a href="http://www.c-spanvideo.org/program/ECsC">Goldman Sachs</a> alone on trial for the 2008 financial crisis, Rice was singled out from all corners, most notably the New Jersey state government, culminating in <a href="http://espn.go.com/new-york/mens-college-basketball/story/_/id/9128825/rutgers-scarlet-knights-fire-coach-mike-rice-wake-video-scandal">his termination</a>. In the imagination of the public, Rice embodied the degradation of the profession under only the most atypical and the extremest of circumstances.<br />
<br />
Though some of his methods of discipline were unconventional, Rice's power relation to his athletes and his freedom to impose his will on players are far from anomalous in the profession. Similar to any other worker under capitalist social relations, when an athlete becomes part of the team, they relinquish their rights to their physical body. This is true in both the processes of production and punishment. To train for the consistent production of victories, the athlete's limbs are manipulated and appendages are outstretched to exact specific physiological motions routinely. At the most basic level, practices are designed to build muscle memory and make permanent certain footwork (the jab step, lateral defensive slides). Conversely, when the athlete's body fails to perform a certain way, the body is subjected to punishment (running Monsters or suicides, wall sits, or in Mike Rice's case, ball chucking). Most importantly, athletes are stripped of their agency and the full use of their mental capacity--reduced to cogs in the machine--when their bodies are externally synchronized to a coach's playbook.<br />
<br />
Despite what I laid out as the standard pedagogy of coaching today, <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2013/08/are-coaches-necessary-centralism-vs.html">coaching is an indispensable means to sustained victory</a>. Please refer to my previous post for reasons why I believe so, including the coach's role in reigning in the excesses of superstars, crafting a team orientation, building a culture of effort and attitude, and strategizing on the fly to adapt to the opponent's playbook.<br />
<br />
<b>Malcolm X and the Organization of Afro-American Unity</b><br />
<br />
Malcolm X's vision for his Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU), which was never brought to fruition due to his assassination, serves as an analogous vision for a new coaching pedagogy. Influenced by the state socialist revolutions that swept the Third World, Malcolm's idea of Black Nationalism evolved from an internal African American struggle for political, cultural, and economic independence in the form of a separate state to a Pan-African, internationalist struggle whereby African Americans were part of the majority (and crucially no longer <i>minority</i>) of oppressed peoples struggling for land and independence. Once he formally broke from the Nation of Islam, he constructed the secularist OAAU based on this internationalist conception of struggle to prepare African Americans of all stripes to train for the impending revolution in the heart of the beast.<br />
<br />
Of relevance is Malcolm's organizational vision, which radically departed from the Civil Rights organizations of the immediate years before (1960-1963) and the Black Power organizations to immediately follow (1965-1969). These organizations were dominated by male chauvinism and hierarchical structure. The latter proved especially potent in the undoing of these organizations. With so much concentration of power in the hands of a few leaders, both the Kennedy-Johnson administration and the FBI were given easy and obvious targets for co-optation and repression respectively. Like any good coach innovating and refining their tactics and philosophies, Malcolm was a man of constant learning and growth. He freed himself of these two organizational pitfalls. Upon his return from his second trip to Africa in 1964, he stressed that "Africa would not be free until it frees its women" <i>(*this quote, on a side note, is much more shocking and blasphemous than the Mike Rice revelation due to Malcolm's significant Muslim following)</i>. To succeed in revolution, Malcolm realized that the OAAU needed democratic decision-making, gender equality, and a focus on leadership development. The OAAU, and by extension, the movement, could only grow if more leaders were trained who took to the streets and in turn, reached more youth and workers. Additionally, numerically increasing the amount of leaders would dually prevent the government from any divide-and-conquer strategy <i>and </i>would organically create checks and balances within the organization to reign in the excesses of one or two individualistic, electorally-minded leaders. Malcolm's visionary genius was ahead of his time, and these twin pitfalls still characterize most radical and progressive organizations today.<br />
<br />
Malcolm's shortcoming was that he did not realize his own role as the charismatic head coach in the OAAU. While he was abroad on his trips to Africa and the Middle East to build connections with and emphasize commonalities of the African American struggle to Third World state socialists, he allowed the membership of the OAAU to enact his vision of democratic participation. Rife with interpersonal conflict and indecision, the organization failed to move forward. The nails were already in OAAU's coffin before Malcolm's assassination. Malcolm needed to guide his membership, most of whom joined due to his charisma, to the realization of becoming leaders of a new model of democratic organization. Moreover, he needed to convince his future leaders on the merits of democracy, collectivity, and gender equality in order for them to carry on these tasks autonomously and willingly when Malcolm moved on.<br />
<br />
<b>Jeremy Lin and the 2013-2014 Houston Rockets</b><br />
<br />
In this final section, I turn to the current Houston Rockets team to illustrate the potential benefit of athletes as coaches on the floor. On paper, the Houston Rockets have a team that can win it all. They have a top 5 scorer in shooting guard James Harden and a top 3 center in Dwight Howard. However, these two superstars lack the sustained discipline to play with a team orientation. To complicate matters, Hall of Fame inductee Coach Kevin McHale is unable to reign in the excesses of either superstar and is content with winning <i>games </i>through the performances of his two stars. Of course, I deliberately emphasize <i>games </i>and not <i>championship </i>because despite how the Rockets perform this regular season, they will not go far in the postseason with this type of undisciplined mentality under their current coach.<br />
<br />
James Harden is a superstar who needs to have the ball at all times, which is uncharacteristic of shooting guards, since <b>point </b>guards are the playmakers and facilitators on most teams . Coach McHale does not utilize his point guards in this traditional role, and allows Harden instead to freely dominate the ball and decide on shooting or passing the basketball. This is problematic because Harden is currently shooting at an abysmal 27% from 3-point range, which is his go-to shot on many occasions. What makes his shooting percentage so low is because his shot is predictable and is usually guarded tightly, so he ends up shooting with a defender's handing in his face. Coach McHale hopes that Harden will make plays for his teammates, but this conceptualization entails Harden driving to the hoop, and then passing to his open teammate when a second defender collapses to defend against Harden's layup. There are two problems with this "drive-and-kick" strategy. First, Harden is only an average ball handler and a sloppy passer and turns the ball over <b>most</b> among the current Rockets. Second, the offensive formation is essentially stagnant (with four of Harden's teammates stationary looking for a pass), so even if a second defender collapses on Harden's drive, a third defender can quickly predict where the pass heads and defend the pass recipient. Other NBA teams stacked with superstars will still run plays and have strategies that are designed to facilitate offball movement (the movement of other role [non-superstar] players to get them in open spots where they have the highest percentage shots if they receive the pass). In other words, while superstars can create their own shots, plays are drawn up to involve their teammates to get open in spots where they'll have the highest success.<br />
<br />
In contrast to the strategic incompetence of Coach McHale, his player <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-hero-we-needed-our-jackie-robinson.html">Jeremy Lin</a> possesses high basketball IQ and sees the floor like a true point guard, or coach on the floor. I speculate that Jeremy's high IQ stems from being the first and only Asian American basketball player in the NBA. It's a survival mechanism to ensure that he can thrive despite the change of scenery. Early in his NBA career, he was tossed around from team to team like an old rag doll. As such, he's been forced to play under coaches with very different systems, playbooks, and philosophies. He's had to quickly pick up the versatility of the point guard position and thus knows the game on a very strategic level. His roles in the past have included being a spot-up shooter with limited minutes (Golden State), being an aggressive Pick-and-Roll starter (New York), and now being an all-around sixth man (Houston). Because he primarily plays with the Houston second unit (he is a sixth man, not a starter), he is not impeded by the selfishness of his superstar teammates.<br />
<br />
His smarts really come through on this second unit. Though the playbook (dictated by McHale) is still nonexistent, with Lin on the floor, his second unit teammates naturally move around a lot more without the ball because they know that Lin's first instinct is to look for open teammates. <b>His presence makes his team play unselfishly and smarter. </b>Because he creates for his teammates, Lin only shoots high percentage shots (he doesn't force his shots when defended). Unsurprisingly then, he leads the entire team in Field Goal percentage at an astonishing 54% (this is better than Dwight Howard's, who, as a center, only shoots within three feet of the hoop). While racking up assists, Lin is also the second highest scorer on the team. I want to emphasize that his team-orientation is infectious: the second unit of the Rockets routinely outplay the first. When he broke through in New York two years ago, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f51XqJuLqYw">Linsanity</a> was more than Jeremy Lin. It was about how he elevated his team to play together as a unit, believe in each other, have fun in the process, and win games.<br />
<br />
Lin's smarts are rare. I believe that they were developed through struggling against racial barriers and adapting his play to different styles for different teams, which forced him become an analytical general on the floor. A head coach, however, can expedite this process by emphasizing mental, analytical, and leadership development among his team.<br />
<br />
<b>Conclusion</b> <br />
<br />
Hypothetically speaking, what if the NBA had an entire team of team-oriented, high IQ players like Jeremy Lin or Bill Russell, and they faced off against an entire team of statistically superior superstars like James Harden or Wilt Chamberlain? Though the latter will undoubtedly win a few battles, the final victory will go to the adaptive, strategic team of coaches on the floor.<br />
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Malcolm's organizational vision highlights the role of the head coach in creating leaders among men who will, in time, be able to organize in society independent of him. They will appreciate the values of democratic organization, gender equality, internationalism, and revolution <i>on their own merits </i>in contrast to those values under capitalism. The key here is that the pedagogy of Malcolm needed to be intentional for the OAAU to survive and thrive. The case study of Jeremy Lin reveals the championship potential of a team of coaches on the floor and unselfish players. Despite the lack of a cohesive playbook from Coach McHale, Jeremy's informal coaching, through his mere presence on the floor, inspires his teammates to help each other get open for Jeremy's passes. In this way, the Rockets' second unit are reclaiming their bodies and acting with collective agency. To synthesize the lessons from both Malcolm and Jeremy, more leaders like Jeremy need to be created, but it takes a specific type of coach armed with this pedagogy--one with the vision, strategy, flexibility, and charisma of Malcolm<b>--</b>to reach revolutionary championship level.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-7481720564401347622013-09-03T23:53:00.000-07:002013-09-04T00:05:36.182-07:00The Legend of the South End, Mr. LeeWith the exception of our varsity starting point guard, the best jump shooter at our high school is not on the basketball team. Clearly, this distinction belongs to me. <i>I'm the real-life version of an NBA 2K video game mash-up between Stephen Curry and Jerry West.</i> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QKs4-vidUU"><i>Splasshhhh!</i></a> Joking aside, the top <b>two</b><i> </i>shooters at our school are a duo of Somalian brothers who shoot the lights out from any range under any pressure. You just can't guard them, and if you try to put a hand in their face, then prepare for great embarrassment. Like the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqDDsyUHClQ">current backcourt of the Golden State Warriors</a>, these brothers aren't just catch-and-shoot shooters, but possess the dynamism to beat a defender off the dribble, power their way into the lane, or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k6LqeO58CU">step back</a> and create their own shot. What's more, these Somalian brothers started playing basketball in middle school, in contrast to most of the basketball players on our team, who began playing while still in Pampers on their Fisher Price set and were reared into fundamentally sound players by the best training programs that top dollar could buy. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INNCxVpGpyU"><i>White privilege</i></a>. Curious to know the secret behind the brothers' success, I probed into their lives for that elixir, in hope that perhaps my game too could exponentially improve in a short period of time.<br />
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<i>Mr. Lee!</i> came the enthusiastic response of one of the brothers. <i>You've got to meet him! </i>All the Lee's whom I've come across over the years have been Asian, but in this case, my common sense resisted the urge to link my past racialized associations with this Mr. Lee. He was probably white like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRi5qLWDdy4">David Lee</a>, but it's possible that, since these brothers lived in the South End, this Lee was black like Spike. <i>No Veryl, he's as Asian as you</i>. Sure, Asian elders existed who coached ping pong or martial arts like Bruce Lee or Mr. Miyagi, but basketball? He <i>had </i>to be shitting me, so I pressed his brother for the real scoop. <i>Nah V, you just don't know. Mr. Lee is a legend in the South. </i>For those ill-acquainted with Seattle, the South End, though somewhat gentrified over recent years, remains home to a substantial population of low-income East African and Southeast Asian immigrants. A lucky few from the South each year, such as these brothers, win the lottery to go to an academically esteemed public school like ours in the North End rather than a neglected neighborhood public school in their own community. With the pressure off of them to join a neighborhood gang, handle a gat and become sharpshooters, these lottery winners aspire to join a school team, handle a basketball and become jump shooters.<br />
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The legend goes that Mr. Lee never misses his shots. Now probably in his 70s, generation after generation of Holly Park (a neighborhood in the South End) street ballers have come under his wing<i>. </i>Notoriously known for the Holly Park Crips, an East African gang set, only recently have locals enjoyed the landscape of the neighborhood after gentrifying families brought along comprehensive gang sweeps a few years ago and frequent police monitoring. Unlike the cutthroat exclusivity of gangs, Mr. Lee embodies an Africa Bambaata-esque unity. His presence in the local housing project courts alone inspires commitment to the game of basketball, of which he is the very definition. Much like farmers rising to a rooster's crow, the brothers tell me that while they were in middle school, they would wake up to the sound of <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=string+music">string music</a> coming from their nearby project court at the break of dawn. By the time that the boys finished breakfast and arrived at Meany International Middle School in the Central District, Mr. Lee had somehow migrated from that South End project court to Meany, where he would open the gym for a zero hour basketball session before class commenced. Back in their middle school days, Mr. Lee earned his keep as a Bilingual Assistant at Meany, but he earned his reputation for his love of the game. In the darkest of nights and the snowiest of winters, Mr. Lee's court presence never wavered. I've heard it said that passion is contagious. There is no greater proof than in these Somalian brothers who, from literally no experience, ascended to the top of jump shooters in comparatively no time.<br />
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<i>How did he teach you to shoot?</i> I asked. <i>Confidence. Mr. Lee taught us Confidence</i>, came their nonchalant response as if it were painfully obvious. With selfish curiosity to improve my own game, I rephrased my question.<i> Confidence, that's cool, but I mean, what specific techniques did he teach you</i>? Different coaches emphasize different techniques, but nearly every single coach breaks down the shot to a science. Some emphasize footwork, balance, and posture. Others emphasize the placement of the ball in the shot pocket, the squaring of the ball to basket, and the follow through. Still others reduce the shot down to focus and the placement of your eye on a specific part of the rim. <i>No V, you're overthinking it. The reason our shot goes in is because we know it will go in. Every single time. You can try to stop me, but I guarantee my shot is going in. </i>As a coach myself, this sentiment is beyond absurd-- it's unthinkable! I devote a significant amount of time in practice on preaching the fundamentals. I tell my players that if they follow through on their shot every time, then they will consistently hit their jumper. I drill, Drill, and DRILL that technique over and over again. But, if it's scientific to develop theory from reality, who am I to say that the tried-and-true words from a Legend is absurd? Perhaps I should be taking notes from the sensei and simplifying my own game.<br />
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One rainy evening late last winter, I went to the project court frequented by the Legend. Just as I pictured in my head, raindrops pounded the barren concrete court. <i>Even legends have their limits</i>, I thought to myself. Old age had finally exhausted his chameleon-like adaptability to play in any weather. As the school year closed, one of the brothers surprised me with a video recorded on his phone. I see an image of a basket immediately followed by a <i>swish</i>. The camera pans over from the basket to a right arm following through from the shot, and then finally to the shooter. A small, old Asian man turns his head to the phone and, in boastful fashion, tells me, <i>Coach, that one's for you. It's all about confidence. Tell your team to believe in themselves. You believe in them.</i> Funny, that following summer season, the team I coached was the one to beat in Summer League. Perhaps I had been too quick to dismiss the hocus pocus of the street game.<br />
<br />
There's an inside joke that the brothers and I share now whenever we play pick up ball with varsity players at the school. Every time one of our shots go in, the others would yell out <i>Mr. Lee!</i> As all legends do when they reach legendary status, their legacy is passed down to younger generations and transplanted far beyond their original reach. From the South End through the Central District to the North. <i>With less than a second left, he hoists up a miracle from half court. For the win--- it's goooooddd!!! Unbelievable, and they win on the miracle shot! Mr. Lee!!!</i>Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-46436099411066931672013-08-11T00:57:00.001-07:002013-08-11T09:31:32.704-07:00Dear Crystal,You'll probably never read this. I hope that one day this reaches you and you do. You probably don't even remember who I am. Honestly, I don't even remember if your name starts with a C or a K. But you're the one person in my life I never got to thank who deserves my genuine gratitude. And it eats away at me like a cancer because thank you's come a dime a dozen. It rolls off my tongue like a personal introduction. <i>Thanks for taking my money and serving me. Thanks for the compliment. Thanks for your help. Thanks for driving. Thanks for spending time with me. Thanks for listening to me. Thanks for kissing me. Thanks for last night. Thanks for everything. </i>And, of course, the occasional<i> thanks for nothing. </i>I say thank you so much, probably above the average of <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2065313/Thank-replaced-cheers-fab-cool.html">5,000 per year</a>, that those who know me should question my sincerity when I do say it. But I'll never forget what you did on my behalf on the first day of middle school in Virginia, the act to which I owe the thank you, because no one else, <i>not a single soul</i>, stepped up in a similar way to you in all of my three years there.<br />
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I remember it vividly. I moved to the city just one day before. No friends, no foes, <i>didn't know nobody</i>. We had a pep assembly that day, in large part to inculcate school spirit and introduce middle school to us incoming sixth graders, but the only new-blood to get 'hazed' would be me. Because I didn't know anyone and by nature was introverted, I sat alone high up in the nosebleed section of the bleechers. Before the band got going and the cheerleaders got cheering, three boys aggressively approached my position yelling out racial slurs and, when they arrived, pushed me around and continued their taunts. <i>Fucking chink, youse go backa to China. Ching chongy ching chong. </i>One got behind where I sat and put me in a <b>choke-hold</b>. That was the second time I cried in public, and right on cue, kids from
the lower sections of the bleacher turned their heads and laughed. I
remember looking at a teacher in the lower section, telekinetically
crying for help, only to see a chuckle on her face.<br />
<br />
Before that day, I never cursed in public, let alone directly at someone else. You'd probably laugh at this statement if we so much as even conversed today, because the one thing I utter more than <i>thank you</i> is an obscenity. <i>I've got no fucking respect for goddamned social norms, pardon my French, s'il vous plait. </i>But during that moment of that day that is now forever engraved in my memory, I managed to mutter a <i>fuck you</i> and to give them my middle finger while fighting the choke-hold and battling my tears. <i>What the fuck did you just say to us? Do you want to fucking die? </i>While this happened and everyone in the lower sections laughed at the entertaining skit, you intervened and told them to stop. <i>Did you hear what he just said to us? He said 'fuck you,' so he deserves what's coming. </i>You unflinchingly responded along the lines that they deserved the<i> fuck you</i> and that they'd better leave now. They listened and left with haste. I'm honestly tearing up as I'm writing this to you right now, because like I said, you were the only person in my entire three years who stood up for me, who stood up against racism while I experienced it. While it's pathetic that no one else came close to my assistance, I'm glad you came through because I know it was the unpopular option and put you on the spot that very moment in front of the entire section of the gym. Because we were in different classes, I don't even remember interacting with you for the rest of middle school, but I wish that we became friends and more importantly, I wish that I had the chance to tell you how much your brave act meant to me.<br />
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You see, the remainder of middle school was hell for me. It's funny, now that I live in the Pacific Northwest, I frequently encounter people who adamantly dismiss my experience living "in the South." They tell me that it's <i>barely the South </i>and that it's <i>not really Confederate</i>. I distinctly recall, in one of my initial weeks in Virginia, that one of the big news items was a cross burning in a black man's front yard. These Northwesterners are something else, I tell you. Mostly passive aggressive fucks, in contrast to the racists from our childhood state. To a degree, I appreciate the racist honesty of Virginians than the affected "anti-racist" mannerisms of Northwesterners. I would've been a confused motherfucker if I spent my whole life here, blind to institutional racism and forgiving of the occasional epithet.<br />
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Virginia genuinely fucked with my head. My neighborhood in Virginia taught me how to internalize racism to survive. Down my street lived a popular kid from our school, Josh O'Grady. If you don't remember his face, I'm sure you recall the name. He had his posse of cool kids constantly around him. There was Mike, who practiced WWF finishing moves on me. <i>The Undertaker's Tombstone. The Stone Cold Stunner. </i>I grew up loving the WWF, but once this kid turned it into my existential reality, I ceased watching it immediately. Then there was Geoff or Jeff. I was older than him by two years, but he used to kick my ass every day and push me into a berry bush afterwards. I now have a few good friends who love picking and eating wild berries at first sight, but they have no idea what these berries convey to me. Weakness and insecurity. Oh, and how about big Mason. He made up the chant that everyone on the block used to sing when they saw me. <i>Veer-o, Queer-o, Where'd he get his ear-o? </i>What the fuck did this even mean? Yet somehow, this nonsensical saying was something I embraced, like Aladdin's call for Genie, because I knew that beyond the hurt of the call lay the fact that I had a group of boys to hang out with that day. My friends were kids who called me <i>chink</i>. Moving to the Northwest, I heard every other epithet or stereotype for Asian <i>except </i>the word <i>chink</i>, which surprised me. Apparently there were limits to the racial jokes that the Northwest employed. But while in Virginia, I accepted being a <i>chink</i>, laughed along like Sambo (<i>hey, that's me!</i>), and hung out with the <i>chink</i>-callers<i> </i>when they accepted me as a tenth wheel.<br />
<br />
My parents didn't help much either. I used to be angry at them for validating my response of internalizing racism. But, I realize like any immigrant trying to get by, they had to survive in this nightmare any way possible. I hated being Chinese though. We would be in Chinese restaurants in Virginia and I would tell them to speak in English. Fucking crazy. <i>Shhh, be quiet; white people never talk this loud. </i>Fuck, Crystal, I'm tearing up again recalling all of this because I'm ashamed. Josh O'Grady used to make fun of me for anything he could conjure up, including living in the <i>worst house in the neighborhood</i>. But because he was popular, I used to imitate him. He had this head nod thing he would do because of his asthmatic condition (if my memory holds up), and I would imitate his head nod gesture thinking it was cool. One evening, his father rings our doorbell. Both my parents answer. His father tells my parents that I was quoting Jewish racial epithets from a novel assigned to us by our English teacher. I believe the book was Agatha Christie's <i>And Then There Were None </i>and the epithets, whatever they were, were mild enough to be included in our seventh grade reading curriculum<i>. </i>His family was Jewish. I remember doing this as my <i>only </i>weapon to get back at my predator, and when I do this <i>one </i>thing, I get busted. My parents apologize on my behalf and tell me to apologize to Josh the very next morning at the bus stop. They explain to me that they worked so hard to foster a good relationship with the neighbors, which, by the way, is funny considering that they were never invited to any neighborhood events. But being the obedient kid I was, I apologize to him the very next morning. Asian supermarkets were a rarity in Virginia, and I remember we would get these special brand of Japanese rice crackers that I grew up on only when we visited my hometown of Toronto every few years or so. My parents gave away our remaining stash of Japanese rice crackers to the O'Grady's that next night.<br />
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This fucked up mentality of hating myself stayed with me through high school even when the geography changed to the "Asian friendly" Pacific Northwest. I remember during Christmastime of my freshman year of high school, an attractive girl from my French class, who was a junior then, gave me a teddy bear and told me she thought I was cute. I threw the teddy bear back at her and, instead of saying my customary thank you, I ran away from the situation <i>knowing </i>that I was ugly. Girls throughout my middle school in Virginia laughed at me to my face, often spreading rumors about another girl by accusing her of liking <i>me</i>. The ultimate diss. So throughout high school, I didn't ask anyone out and I shut others out. In my senior year high school yearbook, another attractive girl wrote that she had the biggest crush on me during her junior and senior years. And as I read it, I took it as some cruel, malicious joke transported from my past. Today, even as I've overcome a lot of my insecurities and self-deprecating internalizations, aspects from the past continue to haunt me. <br />
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We don't know each other, but I hope you get to read all this. You may never have thought about what my middle school experience was like or its extended impact, so here's that perspective. As a middle schooler, kids tend to run with the pack, but you broke from it. I don't know where you are or what you do, but I hope as hell that you still break from the pack and stand up for what's right. I'm all about breaking stereotypes now. Back then, you showed me that not everyone had to be racist in a racist society. Thank you, or rather your middle school self, for being who you were and being defiant in the situation.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
VerylVerylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-26205539815509233702013-08-04T14:22:00.000-07:002013-08-04T14:41:40.754-07:00Are Coaches Necessary? Centralism vs. Democracy in Competitive SportsAs standardized education spreads at a breakneck pace across the nation to anoint a new generation of robotic workers for the digital age, progressives resist with freedom schools and community campaigns against standardized tests and the gutting of public schools and their budgets. To be sure, these fights to restore creativity, critical thinking, the Socratic method of questioning <i>anything </i>and <i>everything</i>, and, in a word, democracy in education, are integral to redefining education in terms of personal growth and learning through experience and debate. Of course, these fights point to the greater irony of America's critiques of East Asian education models being too rigid, fact-based, and formulaic--petty excuses to mask the fact that Asian students (future workers of China, Japan, South Korea, and India) will soon be at the helm of the global economy, and by extension, that Asian capitalism <i>is</i> the new America. All for the purpose to allow American dreamers to continue dreaming sweetly at night.<br />
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Like many political revolutionaries, I myself am schooled by Paulo Friere, author of <i>Pedagogy of the Oppressed</i> (1970). How one is educated is inherently political, he writes, and in a capitalist or colonial society, schools reflect the political agenda of those in power. Students in these societies are likened to a bank in which teachers deposit facts, ideas, and agendas that inhibit creativity and resistance while fostering complacency to an oppressive status quo. Friere flips the script on this traditional banking model of education and advocates for a dialectical education process where students teach teachers and vice versa. As an example, in the context of at-risk youth, it is key for the young to educate the older teachers who likely come from the outside (if not geographically then generationally), for the goal of education is for the youth to empower themselves, control their community, and overcome the system that produces their state of risk in the first place. This can only be done if teachers are willing to be taught and advise as needed, and if students accept the role of empowerment and are willing to learn through experience and struggle. Democracy in the classroom translates to democracy on the streets. Our public schools preach the rhetoric, but deliver authority figures who choke out creativity and breathe in standardization. I'd say it's ironic or hypocritical, but I think the best adjective to describe such contradictions is simply, it's <i>American</i>. In the words of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCxaXqwRhvw">J. Cole</a>, <i>Look at this nation//that's a crooked smile even braces can't straighten.</i><br />
<br />
So if democratizing a classroom and unshackling it from standardization is the ideal, then what of democracy in competitive sports? What if players on a team mutinied against their coach and declared democracy on the floor? Or perhaps more moderately and in direct application of Friere, what if coaching became a mutual process in which athletes also coached the coach?<br />
<br />
This summer, I assisted in coaching a high-level AAU boys' basketball squad. At least one player on my team, our center, will be a future D1 college basketball player, and his dominance in games both inside the key and beyond the arc allowed us to compete with talent above our own. Towards the end of the AAU season, immediately after we defeated another high-level AAU team, our head coach (the same high school varsity coach referred <a href="http://smashingthemodelminority.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-racist-anti-racist.html">here</a>) pulled me aside and snickered, <i>So Veryl, do you think coaches make a difference?</i> For someone who usually hits hard with words, this question was an unusually passive aggressive way to doubly insult my coaching ability and praise his own. Exactly one week prior, I had lost to the same opponent. Our coach was conspicuously absent that game. Actually, we didn't just lose that game, the opponents imposed their will, crushed our spirits, and made us disbelieve in our ability to play the game. We left the court like it was a funeral service, solemn and silent, doing the walk of shame. <i>Recently deceased, Veryl and his basketball team, 2013-2013.</i> Cries were heard from all over the city. <i>How tragic, they were oh so young.</i><br />
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I want to establish, first and foremost, that coaches in any respectable program are the ultimate authority, the final word. Unlike <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ViGNBLQpGWE">Kanye's delusional mind</a>, coaches <i>are </i>gods in flesh. What coach says, players execute. Fail to do so once in practice, it's a barrage of insults questioning your intelligence. Fail to do so twice in practice or if another player makes the same mistake, the barrage turns into an onslaught. They are pulled out of the drill, someone else gets subbed in <i>who better get it right</i>. If they fail, then the <i>"midget with glasses"</i>, Veryl, gets to play and run with the big boys while those triers and not doers sit out the rest of the drill. The failure to execute a play or perform your hardest during a game is another matter. Coach has no qualms about benching star players for extended periods of time or the entire game if they don't transition back on defense or cut to the basket hard. Winning is <i>NOT </i>an individual effort. It doesn't take star players to win if our team outplays, outhustles, and outruns our opponent. If all five players on the floor commit to locking down the paint, pressuring the ball, playing the middle on defense ready to help stop drives, then our offense will flow from our defensive intensity and win us the game. During the regular high school season, we shut down the star future-D1 players in our conference like Zach Lavine and Tucker Haymond because our five guys on the floor stopped them, had their eye on them at all times, not just the one defender 'assigned' to them. If you think the natural conclusion to draw about winning is that it is a team effort, then either I have understated the point of this paragraph or you've been internalizing one too many cliches from an ESPN color commentator. Make no mistake, <b>coaching is the difference and the key to winning</b>.<br />
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If players buy into a coach's philosophy--in our program, effort and attitude at all times--and if the coach keeps players honest by rewarding those who execute this philosophy regardless of talent, then the team will upset teams appraised higher by analysts and statisticians who look solely at individual stats and team personnel to determine the outcome of matches. In contrast to our program, which devalues star players and emphasizes team effort, many other programs live and die by their star players' individual performance. This may work against another team with similar minimalist or non-philosophy, but against a team that plays team defense with integrity and intensity, they will often lose because their star players get shut down. And for those star-power driven teams, since offense runs through their stars, when they are shut down, then team offense stagnates. Just look at the Miami Heat's road to the finals this year, and how the Indiana series was so tough for them because Miami ran the majority of plays through one or two individuals, leaving the rest of the team frozen like statues beyond the arc. More importantly, coaches of these superstars tend to give them a carte blanche to shoot themselves out of a slump <i>or</i> to solely play a one way game and not worry about defense. At the State Tournament this year in the Tacoma Dome, I saw the star-endowed teams of Seattle Prep and Lakeside, whose coaches allowed their superstars total control on the court, lose to teams that were more disciplined and better coached.<br />
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A coach's personnel decisions are crucial to the game's outcome. Better coached teams are unafraid to sit out their star players when needed because coaches know it's harder to defend a team of five players who move on the floor, set screens for each other, and patiently look for a good shot. The 3A Champions this year, <a href="http://www.king5.com/sports/high-school/3A-Boys-State-Final-Highlights-Rainier-Beach-62-Lakeside-59-OT-194586401.html">Rainier Beach, defeated Lakeside</a> not only because they played much more cohesively, but equally as important, their superstar, Louisville-commit Shaqquan Aaron, who has a tendency to play loosely on defense, did not play at all during the second half or overtime. I will be in the minority in saying this, but I truly felt that the Miami Heat <i>upset </i>the San Antonio Spurs during the NBA Finals this year. Up 3 games to 2 in a best of 7 series, San Antonio Coach Popovich made unforgivable personnel decisions that cost them the title. Overplaying superstar Manu Ginobli and rising star Danny Green (who started the series with unbelievable three-point shooting but ended the series completely cold) and underplaying Kawhai Leonard and Boris Diaw, role players who were smart and secure with the basketball, especially during the final stretches of the game. Taking out Tim Duncan in the final seconds of regulation in Game 6 who had the size to potentially get a defensive rebound; instead allowing a second-chance opportunity by Miami that led to an unbelievable game-tying shot by Ray Allen. Taking out Tony Parker in final seconds of Game 7 and allowing Manu Ginobli to not only handle the ball, but drive the ball on his weak side, leading to a turnover and basket at the other end that all but closed out the Spurs. Perhaps in the case of San Antonio, without a coach in Games 6 and 7, the players would've decided to keep Parker and Duncan on the floor, thus winning the championship. But, this hypothetical scenario is an exception to the rule that good coaching involves smart substitutions and no loyalties to superstars. Because of their professional distance to players, coaches are ultimately poised to make the tough decisions to bench a star for the greater good of the team.<br />
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The aforementioned aspects of coaching--the philosophy and personnel decisions--come second and third to coaching strategy. Games at the highest level are duels between coaches. Players are pawns in a bigger chess match, and when the pawns do not run the play exactly as the coach called out and envisioned, then they are substituted with another on the bench. Some programs are defined by their strategy. Syracuse's 2-3 Zone. VCU's relentless full-court press. But most coaches have dozens of plays in their arsenal and a few aces up their sleeve for guaranteed buckets. They have thought and rethought how to attack certain defenses, how and where to utilize screens to get their best shooter open, and how to stifle an opponent's offense before they get going. Some coaches change defensive formation in the middle of the opponent's same offensive possession. Others change it up after every made basket. But the key is change and adaptation at a moment's notice. The skill and brains required for the task is extremely difficult and requires immediate decision making by an authoritative voice. Additionally, unlike chess players whose pieces from game to game remain the same, coaches have the challenge of creating, tailoring, and ultimately innovating their strategy to best fit their players from season to season. A "timeless, tried-and-true" response to situations created by the opponent, without regard to your own personnel, is not enough of an adaptation to win the duel. In its purest form, when players are executing a coach's strategy perfectly, coaching is art. Watching Mike Krzyzewski (Duke) duel Tom Izzo (Michigan State) is like watching <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086879/">Mozart duel Salieri</a>, Alexandre Cabanel duel Claude Monet, or Biggie duel Pac.<br />
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On the subject of duels and strategy, winning in sports is like winning in war. The few moments that are enshrined in leftist history, where popular democratic militias were created such as in the Paris or Shanghai Communes, do not make good case studies for democracy in wartime since these militias were severely shorthanded in size. Nonetheless, without authority in situations of crisis and the ability to make immediate decisions that are enforced by the militia, parity in army size will not make much of a difference in the outcome. Currently, many progressives, in critique of the hierarchical structure that has plagued traditional revolutionary organizations, are making a big push for horizontalism--the dispersing of knowledge and the fostering of leadership among all members. On a sports team, it's ideal to have players understand why they're doing something (i.e. why they run a particular play against a zone defense) and be able to help teammates out when those teammates are clueless. But in times of crisis, in the heat of the moment, it's far more important to have players doing the right thing and being in the right spots even if they don't understand why they're doing it.<br />
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The game of basketball is so counter-intuitive to everything for which a political revolutionary stands. And it's so ironic, or to invoke an earlier phrase, so <i>American, </i>that I love basketball so much. If you ever go to a public court at a park and spectate a pick up game, you'll discover pure chaos. It's so ugly that sometimes I don't even recognize that 'basketball' is the game that is being attempted. Even in glorified pick up games featuring NBA players, such as the summer Pro-Am League in Seattle, there is no sense of urgency, intensity, effort, or defense. Players don't run plays and those who believe that they are heroes play selfish hero ball; the other players implicitly consent to extended conditioning sessions where they run up and down the court without touching the ball.<br />
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In <b>basketball</b>, structure and organization is beautiful. Even an unpredictable offensive strategy like a motion offense has rules within it, basket cuts that are imperative after each pass, and reactions players make based on reads on the defense. It's undeniable that the beautiful all starts with centralized leadership, the coach, who makes his players understand and respect the system and in turn, become the best players that they can possibly be. But not everything is counter-intuitive. Like all things with a centralized leadership, too much power can be abused and athletes pick up life lessons and perspectives, and not just the sport, from their coach. Some of these problems will be alleviated as society changes through struggle and newer democratic and liberating values are normalized. But in a competitive culture requiring quick planning and quicker action, coaches are as indispensable as the hoop itself.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-37647183589085852482013-07-29T02:26:00.000-07:002013-07-29T02:26:24.712-07:00Jay-Z's Historic Performance at GlastonburyI'm currently perusing <i>Decoded </i>by Jay-Z, what I would classify as a seminal text in the ever-expanding literature on hip hop history. Reading an insider's perspective from a rap behemoth offers fresh insights on the creative process that I previously hadn't contemplated; how, for example, "a 'dumbed down' record actually forces you to be smarter, to balance art, craft, authenticity, and accessibility" (130). Littered with lyrics to illustrate this point that even songs appealing to the lowest common denominator have multiple layers, it's changed the way I listen to club bangers, Jay-Z, and his latest album, <i>Magna Carta... Holy Grail</i>, perhaps his most hedonistic-themed album to date. Anyways, I digress.<br />
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I wanted to share a moment of hip hop history as described by Jay-Z in his book. This moment captures the tension between race and culture. In contrast to the conservatism of other artistic subcultures, Jay-Z embodies the wide and inclusive appeal and reach of hip hop endemic since its roots...since Afrika Bambaata released "Planet Rock" in 1982 and ushered in waves of rockers, wavers, and European tourists from uptown to downtown dance clubs where he and the Soulsonic Force would perform. According to Jeff Chang, "Planet Rock" was "hip-hop's universal invitation, a hypnotic vision of one world under a groove, beyond race, poverty, sociology and geography" (<i>Can't Stop Won't Stop</i>, 172). Here, in a display of uncanny wittiness to open his set, Jay-Z defiantly breaks down stereotypes of what<i> </i>music <i>can </i>and <i>should </i>be played at an English rock festival. Hova not only shows how ridiculous his baiter sounds in his elitism, but also how silly, or rather anachronistic, his music sounds in the 21st century. A historic moment indeed.<br />
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In Jay-Z's words:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
In 2008 I was invited to play at the Glastonbury Festival in England. I took the gig because it was a chance to knock some doors down for the culture. It's a huge festival, one of the largest outdoor festivals in the world. It started i the seventies and mostly featured rock music, even though the definition of rock music wasn't always clear--what do Massive Attack, Radiohead, the Arctic Monkeys, Bjork, and the Pet Shop Boys really have in common? Well, here's one thing: None of them rap. When it was announced that I'd be headlining Glastonbury, Noel Gallagher of Oasis said, "I'm not having hip-hop at Glastonbury. It's wrong." That quote that went around--"I'm not having hip-hop"--said a lot, like he had a veto...<br />
...As planned, I played that show in front of 180,000 people. I stood backstage with my crew and we looked out at the crowd. It wasn't like any other crowd I'd played. There were tens of thousands of people staring up at the stage but it might as well have been a million--bodies covered my entire field of vision. We were under a dark, open sky. Their cheers and chants were like a tidal wave of sound crashing over the stage. It was awesome and a little ominous.<br />Before I came out, we played a video intro reel about the controversy that included Gallagher's quote that I had "fucking no chance" of pulling off Glastonbury. Then I walked out on stage with an electric guitar hanging around my neck and started singing Oasis's biggest hit, "Wonderwall." It went over big. Then I tore through my set, with my band, a band, by the way, that's as "Rock" as any band in the world. The show was amazing, one of the highlights of my career. It was one of those moments that taught me that there really is no limit to what hip-hop could do, no place that was closed to its power. My purposefully fucked-up version of "Wonderwall" put it back on the charts a decade after it came out, ironically.<br />The whole sequence felt familiar to me--that same sense of someone putting their hands and weight on me, trying to push me back to the margins. Telling me to be quiet, not to get into the frame of their pristine picture. It's the story of my life and the story of hip-hop. But the beautiful thing at Glastonbury was that when I opened with "Wonderwall," over a hundred thousand voices rose up into that dark sky to join mine. It was a joke, but it was also kind of beautiful. And then when I segued into "99 Problems," a hundred thousand voices rocked the chorus with me. To the crowd, it wasn't rock and rap or a battle of genres--it was music. (163-166)</blockquote>
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The Introductory Video Played before Jay-Z Entered the Stage:<br />
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The Opening Minutes to Jay-Z's Performance:<br />
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<br />Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-11276672971464613962013-07-24T14:49:00.000-07:002013-07-26T00:16:48.041-07:00Our Jackie RobinsonIn my two years of coaching high school boys' basketball, I have encountered exactly two Asian players at the varsity level. Last year in the playoffs, when we played against one of them (a starting point guard), our point guard was told to sag off on defense, over-help on defending other players, double the post when needed, and give this Asian player all the space he wanted for a shot. From purely a coaching standpoint, the very thought of leaving a point guard undefended is anathema to the profession. <strike>It's like</strike>, <i>no, IT IS </i>handing over a free win to your opponent. All this in a loser-go-home, do-or-die, playoff game. For those who don't follow the beautiful game of basketball, the point guard is a team's primary ball handler and decision maker, the quarterback for the team and the coach on the floor. Even if the point guard is not a good jump shooter, you've got to play honest defense on him because 1. any varsity guard can surely take it to the rim for an easy lay up or pass to an open teammate off the drive, but, more importantly, 2. we need to pressure the pass inside and prevent their offense from setting up. Shockingly, our varsity coach's counter-intuitive strategy paid off and by the end of the game, the crowd erupted into a jeering session of <i>Jeremy, Jereemy, Jereeeemy </i>every time their point guard touched the ball. This poor kid was obviously rattled and pressured by our lack of pressure, passing up not only open jump shots but also open lanes for drives. Instead, he quickly passed the ball to a teammate every possession and disappeared from the offense, giving us a <i>de facto </i>five on four defenders' advantage.<br />
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That Asian athletes don't get respect from opponents should not surprise anyone. Every time I play pick up basketball with unknown players, I am <i>always </i>the last pick. To put it into perspective, then, making it on a 4A varsity team and get respectable minutes is an extremely rare accomplishment in itself. Prior to last year, asking someone to name a professional Asian basketball player was similar to asking them about any other commodity on the market: <i>Yao Ming and Barbies, both Made in China</i>. Broaden the question out to Asian athletes in any sport and it would sound much like Japanese car imports: Ichiro <b>Suzuki </b>Motors. As successful as these Asian athletes got in North America, even they were the exotic exception to the rule in their respective sports. When their stints were done, those athletes went back home and the athletic floodgate did not open like the brain drain of computer technicians, engineers, and doctors from Asia. For many young Asian Americans, those athletes were glimpses of what our race could achieve when opportunities were given, but also a reminder of the stark reality that those gifts, when offered on the rare occasion, were only to Asians abroad. Those Asians did not struggle in the same way from childhood on against a culture dominated by blacks and whites and a society with expectations for you to become a Model Minority. We were still, to invoke <i>The Dark Knight</i>, looking for our hero, not the hero we deserved, but the one we needed to overcome the initial barrier of racist exclusion against Asian Americans in professional sports. Someone who lived under institutional racism and overcame; someone who went unpicked or undrafted yet broke through; someone who could not escape home after the run was done because home is here.<b> </b><br />
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<b>February 4, 2012</b>, should be a date that is forever engrained among Asian Americans, for that is the day we got our hero. Our Jackie Robinson. That evening on basketball's biggest stage, at Madison Square Garden, bench warming, soon-to-be-demoted-to-the-D-League, Asian American Jeremy Lin came off the bench with 25 points, 7 assists, and 5 rebounds to carry the underwhelming New York Knicks, then on a two-game losing streak with an abysmal 9-15 overall record, to victory over the Nets. The next six games, with Lin inserted into the starting lineup and without their injured superstar Carmelo Anthony, the Knicks emerged victorious. And with 136 points in his first five starts, Lin set the NBA record in that category.<br />
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I am truly perplexed at some of the reactions I get from Asian Americans regarding Jeremy Lin. Many simply don't care; they are not sports fanatics and give a blase <i>oh, that's great</i> <i>that he made it</i>. Another reaction I commonly hear is <i>he's nothing special for a point guard. He's not as athletic as D. Rose, as smart as Tony Parker, as clutch as Kyrie Irving, or as shot-savvy as Stephen Curry. Jeremy's overrated and commits too many turnovers.</i> All these responses reflect a greater ignorance among Asian Americans towards the racism in not only sports culture, but the system in general. Many Asian Americans buy into the model minority stereotype because unlike other racial stereotypes, it is perceived as positive and endowed with its own perks. They don't realize or care that the stereotype was perpetuated to divide and conquer people of color, to reinvigorate the myth that America was equal, post-racist or colorblind by counteracting the image of militant blacks revolting on the streets with the image of docile Asian immigrants working professional jobs, and that it continues to reinforce a racial hierarchy that maintains capitalism. In other words, many Asian Americans internalize these racist stereotypes about themselves and accept that they are physiologically inferior to other races in order to ascend the corporate ladder and live the American Dream. They don't appreciate the enormity of Jeremy's impossible climb because they never faced what it was like to dedicate one's life to breaking a racist stereotype and being free to do what you love in spite of the odds overwhelmingly stacked against you.<br />
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When the system entitles a large proportion of Asian Americans to maintain its racist division of labor, it's difficult to view Jeremy Lin as our Jackie Robinson. But his very presence on the floor challenges social roles and racist economics in general. More specifically, his presence challenges the racism of professional sports, the social Darwinist assumptions of the Asian body, and the complacency and softness of Asians. He represents the spirit of Asians that is currently suppressed under the system, a spirit of revolt both in mind and body, a spirit of toughness, intensity, and leadership both on the court and on the streets. He is not the hero we deserve, but the one we desperately need when so many of us willingly play the assigned role.<br />
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The first time I heard of Jeremy Lin was through the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/08/sports/basketball/jeremy-lin-has-burst-from-nba-novelty-act-to-knicks-star.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0"><i>New York Times</i></a>. Over the course of the last NBA season and a half, I've experienced with Lin what many do in the course of an extended romantic relationship. <b><i>The sheer thrill of the encounter; love at first sight.</i></b> I remember e-mailing the <i>Times </i>article from my work computer to personal account, then printing out a dozen copies or so to keep and hand out immediately upon returning home.<i> <b>The honeymoon period</b></i><b>.</b> For the remainder of the 2012 season, I religiously followed Jeremy and the Knicks, going Linsane in the membrane every time he set foot on the floor. <b><i>The discovery of faults in the other; the disappointment and let down in that it didn't turn out as expected</i>.</b> After being awarded an unspeakable three-year, $25 million contract by Houston for his performance over just 26 games as a Knick, expectations were sky high but Jeremy's first full season in the league ultimately underwhelmed. <i><b>The break up.</b> </i>Towards the end of the season, I consciously stopped defending Jeremy to all my players whom I coached who had been attacking him all season long. I accepted the inevitable; his numbers were down, his effort was inconsistent, and my admiration of him suddenly died. <i><b>Reevaluating the relationship from afar and getting back together again.</b> </i>Linsanity may not happen again and Jeremy may not currently be among the top starting point guards, but this past season was only his first full season. And as I will mention in the following paragraph, he played on a team that devalued and disrespected his best assets. Already with smarts beyond his years, Jeremy has a remarkably high potential and will only learn from his mistakes, but unlike those players, he will also have to deal with the racism of the league and the pressure of being a historic figure, the first Asian American in the NBA.<br />
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As a warning to my non-basketball readers, this section of the post is technical. I do not think that the Houston Rockets is a good fit for Jeremy. He is devalued by the coaching staff, and this has translated to his teammates not trusting him with the ball down the stretch of the season despite being open on the perimeter. The Rockets offense primarily runs through James Harden, a former Sixth Man of the Year and who emerged as a superstar last season for the Rockets. The most common play is this: Jeremy would take the ball up court and hand it off to James Harden or Chandler Parsons, who will come off a high pick and roll with Omer Asik. Jeremy will then rotate to the weakside corner and sit there for the remainder of the offensive possession. Once in a while, he will get the ball but he is the fourth or fifth option for scoring. In short, the Rockets don't run offense through a point guard, even though James Harden actually led the league in turnovers last season. It appears as if Jeremy were expendable to the Rockets' coaching staff, and towards the end of the season, even though Jeremy started games, he barely played second halves and frequently didn't play in the fourth quarter at all, despite having strong starts. This is all the more confusing because Jeremy played more aggressively as the season waned, transporting fans back to the excitement of Linsanity, and Lin shot an impressive 40% from three-point range in his last 37 games. His usage rate was ranked 38th among point guards, which situated him along backup point guards in terms of minutes per game. Despite this, he averaged 13 points and 6 assists a game, which are average numbers for starting point guards. Ironically, when James Harden was out on illness or injury, the coaches reverted back to point guard play and leaned on Jeremy, who averaged 22 points and 7 assists in those games, including a 38-point performance against the San Antonio Spurs. This is a double standard to which many Asian Americans relate. <i>You are invisible to us unless we are shorthanded and you are needed. You better rise to the occasion in these rare opportunities or be forever forgotten.</i><br />
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When Linsanity happened in New York, Jeremy was the primary ball handler and, like smart point guards, excelled at involving his teammates on offense. In his first week of playing with Jeremy, Tyson Chandler's numbers climbed up to 14 points and 9 rebounds. Steve Novak became a three-point sensation overnight after Jeremy's aggressive drives would pull in help defenders, leaving Novak open for the three-point shot from a Lin dish. Defensively, during the Linsanity stretch, the Knicks climbed up to #1 in both PPG and FG% allowed. Having an unselfish teammate to run the point and allowing everyone opportunities to score on offense encouraged and enabled everyone to play their hardest as a team defensively.<br />
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With Dwight Howard coming to Houston next season, Jeremy will likely see less of the ball. D12's teammate this past season, Steve Nash, <a href="http://espn.go.com/los-angeles/nba/story/_/id/9464504/steve-nash-says-dwight-howard-never-wanted-los-angeles-lakers">claimed</a> that Howard did not want to run the pick and roll. Considering that Houston Coach Kevin McHale was an elite center, Houston may mix more post up play for Howard, which could leave Jeremy stacked on an overloaded weakside corner as the last option for scoring. Finally, I'm reading a <a href="http://bleacherreport.com/articles/1672713-will-patrick-beverley-push-jeremy-lin-for-houston-rockets-starting-pg-spot">plethora</a> of articles advocating that Patrick Beverly, who closed many of the games last season, should start over Jeremy. Beverly is not an offensive threat to opponents, but considering that Jeremy was not seen as or assigned by his coaches the playmaker role, it's conceivable that Beverly gets the nod as the starter.<br />
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Though he possesses both, Jeremy is not our hero because of his skill or ability. It is the continual challenge he faces, the reminder to all Asian Americans that despite accomplishing something, nothing is guaranteed for the future. Having proven himself in New York, he signs with Houston only to find his talents misused and unappreciated. Now, the league devalues him and he is stuck on the same team where he must struggle to maintain minutes, let alone the starting position. He is a reminder to Asian Americans that though many of us may have it good, our social roles are confined. When we challenge it, as Jeremy does, we must work ten times harder than the next person whose skin color equates to a professional or social advantage. We cannot afford to have an off day in performance without a barrage of criticism or depreciation in status. Whenever we see how hard Jeremy works on the floor, the plays where he sacrifices his body for a defensive charge call, and the hard falls that frequently accompany his flights in the air while making a contested layup, we should know that he's doing it for us, for our future generations, to allow us to be perceived as something other than a cookie cutter model minority. And that's why I am humbled and smile whenever someone who plays me in basketball calls me after my hero, our Jackie Robinson, Jeremy Lin.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-41608118037302192252013-07-06T20:55:00.000-07:002013-07-07T15:20:15.960-07:00The Racist Anti-RacistOxymorons. Gotta love them. I strive to become one. Oxymorons are about defying stereotypes, turning conventions upside down, proudly flaunting contradictions, and being human. The line between an oxymoron and a moron is day and night, red pill and blue; oxymorons laugh at the face of criticism and judgment, morons are by the book, seek order and fit in.<br />
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At first glance, there is nothing inherently oxymoronic about sports culture. The couple years before coaching, I spent my time exclusively around political leftists and organizing circles, debating the merits of anarchism versus Marxism or united front versus popular front, all the while building organizations to fight against *insert fucked up issue here* (citywide budget cuts, workplace oppression, illegal detention centers, police brutality). Like reading a line from a script by a revolutionary playwright, personal introductions ran like <i>I'm anti-racist, third world feminist, for workers' liberation, for democracy from below...oh yeah, did I mention that I'm also for queer and trans liberation, how silly of me to forget.</i> As the months went by and I became involved in new campaigns, it seemed like I would add more adjectives in my self-descriptive introductions. It was preaching to the choir, or to those new or apart from the scene, <i>what the fuck</i><i>?</i> I knew more about Huey Newton and Malcolm X than Michael Jordan and Lebron James. The idea of sports culture repulsed me to my core. Everything about the culture went against my 'revolutionary ascetic': the elitism of jocks, the hierarchical militarism of coaching, the homophobia, the machismo, the privilege. This culture created the bullies who drove me suicidal and depressed in my younger years.<br />
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Naturally then, when I joined the coaching staff of a high school basketball program, these stereotypes rang true. Like a lone ship battling against Poseidon's vicious storm, I felt like having to navigate myself in a sea of 'morons'. The heaviest anchor weighing me down was the racism that I both saw and felt. The school I work at is situated in the North End of Seattle, economically better off than Central and South Seattle. According to Wikipedia, 60% of the school is white and only 9% black. On the ground, the ratio of whites to blacks feels even more pronounced. The basketball program reflected these demographics.<br />
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The first impressions I got from the head varsity coach didn't exactly assuage my feeling. With film favorites like <i>Team America </i>and <i>Scary Movie</i>, the man is crude humor epitomized. Apart from comics by profession, this coach packs more humor line-by-line than Slim Shady when he is not instructing. The catch is, like Trey Parker and Matt Stone, there are no bounds for him, and, race is, when I'm around, a go-to topic of his. All my facial features, from mustache to eyes, have been subject to the laughs of all players. When he needs a computation of number of hours that players should be conditioning per week, I'm the go-to guy during practice. <i>Aren't you Asians supposed to be good at these things? </i>During one of our pregame talk sessions, while waiting for our varsity guys to gather around, he drew a penis to the side of the white board. Spotting it, one of the players asked him what the drawing was. He said it was an amplified projection of my penis, but he needed a magnifying glass to view it because it was so small. No limits for him, but he is funny and, to his credit, indiscriminate on his targets. He'll make fun of little kids at Hoop Camp to their face as he will his newly born daughter. <i>I expect you guys to deny all penetration in the paint, like I will deny penetration to my daughter when she's all grown up on her prom night.</i> Who the fuck really says this? Think the <i>classic </i>Samuel L. Jackson from <i>Pulp Fiction </i>and <i>The Boondocks </i>cast as Coach Carter and you'll get a sense of who this guy appears to be on the surface. Suffice it to say, my anti-racist proclivity, hardened through the previous couple years of organizing, made me feel extremely uncomfortable around him and reinforced the 'moronic' one-dimensional culture of sports that intimidated and drew me away.<br />
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<i>Actions speak louder than words</i>. I have always heard and used this adage in the context of a person who walks the talk and practices what they believe. Activists who talk the talk but fail to walk are disdained as 'armchair revolutionaries' or worse, 'mactivists' who mistake picking up women for organizing with them. Pastors frequently remind congregations that <i>faith without actions is dead</i>. There's a reason why organizers and pastors repeat this theme. The 'cause' requires intense dedication but the practitioners often meander, setting limits to their walk (<i>as long as it doesn't involve too much of my money or time</i>). So it came as a complete shock when I discovered that the principle was also true when words ran entirely contrary to one's actions. To knowingly say one thing, but to do another. A true oxymoron.<br />
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And that is exactly what the head varsity coach is. An oxymoron. A walking contradiction. For under the veneer of a frat boy-who-never-aged racist jokester was an anti-racist man in practice. Coaching basketball has been the most challenging activity of my life<i>. </i>Last year, my first, was the most difficult. Since I had minimal exposure to the game of basketball prior to coaching, I underwent a literal baptism under fire. The parents were brutal. One in particular would get other parents rallying against me during games, snickering at me and giving me dirty looks whenever opponents scored. Others would, in a typical Seattlelite fashion, passive aggressively give me looks, offer to volunteer their coaching experience, and/or fail to acknowledge me altogether. After an away game in which we were blown out by the opponent, the parent refused to allow their son to ride home on the team bus (a mandatory policy), bluntly telling me that I needed to learn how to score against that particular zone defense that shut us down before their child should have me as their coach. A few nights later, the parent went directly to the varsity coach (whom I was beside at the time) and told him that I should not be a coach in a reputable boys' basketball program, I had no experience, I was a babysitter when the job required a leader, and that all I did was yell at the kids without purpose. I'll never forget the coach's response. <i>Here's the deal. When you say that Veryl's doing a poor job, you're saying that I'm doing a poor job. Is that what you're saying to me, m'aam? Because that's what I'm hearing. </i>That shut the parent up for the rest of the season and prompted them to join the passive aggressive jeering section of the audience.<br />
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This one experience was NOT an anomaly. Parents at the varsity level questioned his ability to run a successful basketball program because of my hiring. His job was on the line and the school administration was involved. I still don't fully understand why I was offered the coaching position, and, like the parents' attitudes last year, to this day I think it was a crazy hire. Him and I recently conversed about this and he told me, <i>I don't say this to many people, but Veryl, you're the type of guy I would lose my job over. I don't give a shit what others think. I know what I'm doing. I'm all about effort and attitude, and you've got those both.</i><br />
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In my time organizing with anti-racists, the quality guys who walked the talk were the ones who listened to me and trained me to be a leader. It was important to break the perception of the model minority, and I credit them for my transformation from a docile yes-man to a free-thinking public speaker. This coach has done no less. In a profession dominated by anything but Asian, he stood alone defending me against valid complaints and redirecting my focus from the haters to the learning process and the growth. He inspired confidence in me, believed in my character and potential instead of judging my skin color, saw through and willingly broke the stereotypical projection to which I actually embodied having no athletics experience, and in the process, allowed me to experience and achieve something I had never even dreamed of doing. I absolutely love the game.<br />
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Some morons turn out to be oxymorons. Perhaps they never were, and I was the moron in thinking so. This year has been a markedly different experience, with many of last year's crop of parents coming around and supporting me. As I become a better coach, I hope to shatter more stereotypes among athletes, parents, and others I meet. It is the life force of an oxymoron. But I will never forget the racist anti-racist who started it all.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444300419985187059.post-24657400093586377712013-07-04T16:37:00.000-07:002013-07-05T11:39:52.559-07:00First Impressions<span style="font-family: inherit;">Growing up, I was taught<i> </i>to<i> 'Never judge a book by its cover.' </i></span>I bought into my parents' idealism, rooted in the Christian principle that the big G-O-D up there judged a person on the inside. Through my elementary school years, I never wore Nikes, Reeboks, or Jordans. I wore turtle necks and wool sweaters during the cold season, and multicolored boxer-like short shorts when it was hot. I remember looking in the mirror before school one morning at my Asian hair, haphazardly stuck up on the back of my head (a feature that defines my mornings to this day), complaining to my mom about how ugly and disoriented it made me look. <i>But mom, other boys my age had straight hair.</i> I naively believed her when she told me that my hair would straighten out by the time I went to school. I didn't get my first pair of Nikes until 7th grade, and even then, they were the $19.99 clearanced ones from JC Penny's. For the next few days, I proudly wore the brand with a huge grin on my face, as it was leaps and bounds ahead of the Payless shoes I had previously worn, until my classmates made fun of them during PE. <i>Nice girl shoes, chink</i>. They were purple with a flowerly design on the heel. My attempt to assimilate, as it were, miserably failed. Someone had to make the next uncoolest kid at school seem cool--You're welcome, Everett.<br />
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I'm not sure why I applied that principle to my life for as long as I did. Looking back, I was always judged by my skin color before I even uttered a single word. Because no one really listened to me, I didn't think my words mattered. I moved to Virginia Beach exactly one day before middle school started. During the first day of school, I sat alone way up in the nosebleed section during a pep assembly. Little did I know that I would be the overture to the assembly, but before the formal festivities began, a group of boys approached me, taunting me before pushing me around. <i>Fucking chink, youse go backa to China. Ching chongy ching chong. </i>That was the second time I cried in public, and right on cue, kids from the lower sections of the bleacher turned their heads and laughed. I remember looking at a teacher in the lower section, telekinetically crying for help, only to see a chuckle on her face. I got my ass kicked for the first time later that afternoon.<br />
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High school in the Pacific Northwest wasn't substantively different. By the time we're full-fledged adolescents, stereotypes predominantly influence how one perceives you. It became second-nature to me to live by the stereotype. In hindsight, it was the safe option, the survivalist option, not to defy it and to use it to my advantage. I got straight A's, I won the International Baccalaureate student award, I excelled in piano and violin, and I mostly kept to myself. I was the Model Minority.<br />
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Over the last few years, I've been learning to challenge and actively smash the model minority myth. I don't want to be a robot defined by the creation of a racist society. I don't want to be constrained by a label and denied opportunities to experience, to grow, to find out what I can achieve and who I could be. That is the first impression I want to leave after each new encounter.<br />
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Three years ago, I had never been around sports as a spectator, let alone playing it, but now, I coach a couple 4A high school sports. I am the only Asian who coaches boys' basketball in the conference. It's been a crazy ride from there to here and I've got quite a few stories to tell and reflections to impart.<br />
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I have never written a blog before (although I've contributed quite a few entries for other blogs), but lately I find myself drowned in many thoughts with so much to say. To all who stumble along my blog, greetings and much gratitude. This will be a regular part of my life, so I look forward to conversations to come and new people to meet.Verylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02632557921842300654noreply@blogger.com0