Damn it Feels Good to be Ashanti
This blog is the first of the Hoya Hoop Club's guest blogger entries. Dmitriy Zakharov is a junior in SFS, and is spending the semester in Prague.
Studying abroad has long been a mainstay of a Georgetown education. Given the wide array of destinations and courses of study to choose from, as well as the potentially negative effects of staying in the Beltway Bubble too long, it seems like studying abroad should be an easy decision. That calculus has been upturned, though, by the coming of the JTIII Era. Suddenly, the cons of continuing one's studies outside the country got a whole lot bigger. Leo's, one can manage without. Ditto constant construction and vicious crosswinds off the Potomac. Even the positives, like Village A rooftops and Chicken Finger ThursdaysTM, aren't deal-breakers. But resurgent Georgetown basketball? That's enough to make a man deeply contemplate what is important in life.
Nonetheless, I found myself in Prague this fall, having decided that the experience would be once-in-a-lifetime and that missing out on watching Roy and the boys wax the floor with schools named after dead (or nearly dead) white men would be an acceptable loss. Still, nostalgia and homesickness set in as soon as details of Midnight Madness made their way across the Atlantic. With the season starting, the diehards among us knew that sacrifices would have to be made. Sleep would have to be rationed carefully - a six hour difference between Eastern and Central European time meant a 1:30 AM local tipoff time for many contests. Money would also have to be invested, as some bizarre (it is crap and it is unfair) rule prevents those outside the country from accessing any of the radio stations that carry the Georgetown feed. So it is that I found myself paying money to the likes of Yahoo radio and GoDucks.com for the privilege of listening to opposing teams' announcers offering their listeners fascinating nuggets of information on the Hoyas. Did you know that John Thompson III is actually the son of John Thompson Jr.? And now he's coaching Patrick Ewing Jr., who is the son of THE Patrick Ewing? And Jeremiah Rivers is actually the son...
The late-night/early-morning sessions of sitting around the old computer, listening to the game, have been poor substitutes for the real thing, though better than nothing, of course. Sometime not long after Midnight Madness, however, an idea sprang into my mind. I had previously read that Ashanti Cook, the Hoya's recently graduated shooting guard, was playing in Germany. Armed with a solid knowledge of the Map of the Modern World, I reasoned that perhaps it would be possible to experience a little bit of Hoya Paranoia while abroad, as the Czech Republic is right next door to Germany. Well, it turns out that Germany is a pretty big place, and the city of Braunschweig, where Ashanti's New Yorker Phantoms are based, is nowhere near the Czech-German border. Luck smiled on us, though: a Saturday-night road game in Nürnberg, only four hours away. The calendar was marked, the bus tickets were bought, and the mental countdown commenced.
Following an a bus ride that was made outstanding by the showing of Mary Kate and Ashley's movie "New York Minute" (the Czechs have "interesting" tastes) and a night spent in the home of an elderly Russian woman (I've got friends in obscure places...), gameday had finally arrived. In true Georgetown fashion, my fellow Hoya and I toured the city's historic sights, visited the massive Nazism museum and joined the teeming mass of humanity that crowded the city's famous Christmas market.
With gametime drawing nigh, we hopped aboard the S-Bahn and made our way to Arena Nürnburger Versicherung, home of the Sellbytel Baskets Nürnburg. I know what you may be thinking, but "the Baskets" isn't any worse of a name than "the Utah Jazz," in my opinion. Thanks to the student discount that is almost universal in Europe, my companion and I obtained seats 6 rows from the court for Â?17.50 each, giving us a pretty good opportunity to make ourselves seen and heard. Admittedly, no one really sat any further than about 18 rows back at the farthest in this converted hockey arena.
The shootaround offered us our first glimpse of the long-awaited Mr. Cook, who looked to be in fine form. The German fans around us seemed to be a bit puzzled as to why a player from Braunschweig should have two guys with signs and matching t-shirts cheering especially for him. The New Yorker Phantoms visiting faithful, which seemed to consist of about a dozen people and the staff photographer, took notice as well. Stationed at the far basket and armed with several drums, they played along, happy for the unexpected support.
We were able to draw Ashanti's attention late in the warm-ups - I have a feeling that "Ashanti!" doesn't rhyme with a lot of German words - though his expression seemed as much puzzled as happy, at least at first. We immediately unfurled our banner, an old MCI favorite: Damn it feels good to be Ashanti! This yielded recognition and a smile, the first of several on the night. The introductions followed and demonstrated that smoke, lighting effects, and Zombie Nation make for excellent basketball accoutrements in all countries. All throughout the night, a solid selection of Jock Jams and other favorites (Jay-Z/Linkin Park mashup, anyone?) brought the feel of basketball to our souls. The Nürnburg cheering section added to the noise with their impressive energy and their possession of several large drums, reminiscent of nothing so much as the lonely and long-suffering Indians fans in Major League. Well, the Nürnburg squad was 0-11 at this point, so maybe the comparison is not so inapt.
Ashanti started the game on the bench, a fact that drew immediate outrage from us. For the first five minutes of the game, the score was even but the performances were anything but, as both teams displayed a rather disjointed style of basketball. Ball movement was limited, shots were often hasty and ill-timed, and offensive rebounding - especially in the case of the Phantoms - was almost nonexistent. Ticky-tack fouls were called repeatedly and led to a significant chunk of the scoring.
I am certainly biased, but I have to say that, in my opinion, the quality of the game increased as soon as Ashanti checked into the game. I would attribute this to the fact that, of the Phantoms players, the former Hoya guard was the only one who looked comfortable bringing the ball down the court and setting the up the offense. Indeed, only two of the players on the nine-man Braunschweig roster were listed as guards. Of the two, it was clear who was to be handling the ball from the point, as the Phantoms coach made clear: "In erster Linie wird er auf der Point-Guard Position zum Einsatz kommen." Offensive rhythm and pacing suddenly made an appearance, although bad shots still flew with alarming regularity. The score at the end of the first 10-minute quarter stood at 15-14 in Nürnburg's favor.
Both squads seemed looser in the second half, and shot selection continued to improve, although there was still none of the intricacy and design familiar to observers of American college basketball. Nürnburg, in particularly, continued to rely more on energy, transitions, and put-backs for their offensive production. Despite contributing only two points in the first half, with one successful drive to the basket and one that ended with the ball bouncing around the rim before falling away, Ashanti's offensive contribution was palpable and obvious. By the time he exited the game with about two minutes remaining in the half, the Phantoms had worked themselves into a rhythm and were able to maintain their slim lead. The tally at halftime read 36-34 in the visitors' favor.
Halftime went by with a speed not seen since Kenner League, leaving me barely enough time to make one lap around the arena concourse. Clearly, there was not a great deal of sophisticated coaching being done this night. The highlight was my stumbling into a five foot-tall statue of a hotdog wrapped in the American flag squirting mustard and ketchup on himself. Whether this is some sort of deep artistic commentary on the self-cannibalism of American consumer culture or an advertisement that only makes sense to Die deutschen Volk, I don't know. I made a quick stop at the arena merchandise stand, wherein I found the magazine for the Basketball Budesliga. Quickly flipping through the pages for a sign of our hero, I found him in the team profile for the Phantoms. Das Talent read the headline for the short article devoted to the American import. Indeed.
The bulk of the third quarter was spent with Ashanti on the bench once again. Unsurprisingly, the quality of the game again went downhill. Braunschweig seemed to abandon the offensive boards entirely; on one incredible occasion, a Phantoms player, rather than boxing out, managed to be boxed in by Baskets personnel. Ineptness was demonstrated on both ends, as rushed shots and poor passes were matched by poor control of the boards and numerous fouls. As in the first quarter, free throws made up a good bit of the scoring. But whereas the home team shot 20 of 33 on the night for 60.6%, the Phantoms drained 21 of 26 from the stripe (80.8%). Thanks to this advantage, they were able to outscore their opponents 16-12 in the third quarter, extending their lead to 52-46. Ashanti checked back into the game late in the third-quarter, never to come out.
It would be accurate to say that the agile and precise Mr. Cook was the motivating force behind the Phantoms' fourth quarter. He again assumed the role of offensive engine and traffic controller, reintroducing order into the visitors' attack. This time, however, Ashanti's teammates were so nice as to give him the ball back as well. He buried a pull-up three to extend the Phantoms lead to 11 early in the fourth, and followed that with a deep two off-of a breakaway. The pace of the game picked up considerably, which played to Nürnburg's strengths, and they again scored a number of baskets off quick dunks and fast breaks. By this point, however, Braunschweig was able to also get into the flow, and they matched the home team almost point-for-point. With time running down and the lead still hovering in the three-four possession range, the Baskets were forced to initiate a heavy press defense. This proved successful for a time, and the Phantom's lead precipitously dropped, but they were able to score a few critical baskets and put the home team in the position of having to foul. Here, the Braunschweig free-throw shooting proved decisive, and they were able to ice the game. The final margin was 78-69, the final quarter's tally having been 26-23 in the favor of the Phantoms.
For the game, Ashanti had 11 points on 3-for-4 shooting (1-for-1 from beyond the arc) and made all four of his free throws. He grabbed one board each on offense and defense and collected a single foul. Most importantly, he collected a team-high 3 assists (Braunschweig had only 7 total). He also had a steal and no turnovers in his 25:18 of playing time. Using the Bundesliga's efficiency calculation, EFF = ((PTS + REB + AST + STL + BLK) - ((FGA - FGM) + (FTA - FTM) + TO)), Ashanti was tied for the title of the victors' most-efficient player at 16. Nürnburg's Corey Rouse, formerly of East Carolina University, was the only "more efficient" player in the game, but this was due mostly to his 13 rebounds. As for the most telling team stats of the game, two spring to mind: the pitiful number of total assists (9 for Nürnberg, 7 for Braunschweig) and the glaring disparity in offensive rebounds (only 9 for the Phantoms, as opposed to 21 for the Baskets).
Ashanti himself was very gracious after the game, asking us about how it was that we were there and thanking us for our support. It was pretty clear, based on the comments we could see him getting from some of the players, including Nürnburg's American contingent, that the damn-goodness of being Ashanti was widely seen. Certainly the Braunschweig photographer had a field day with the unexpected display of support. All in all, my comrade and I were probably the two happiest people leaving the arena that evening. As we left our seats, one of the locals commented to us in near-perfect English: "worst basketball game I've ever seen." We couldn't agree less.
Dmitriy Zakharov (F'08)
