The Water's Coming back

Friday
I boarded the plane from Los Angeles to New Orleans with mixed emotions. PeacePlayers International (PPI) was set to launch its first American program in New Orleans in conjunction with the Adidas Nations Experience, an exposure camp for the best high school players from America and around the world. PPI has never entered a new region with any type of publicity behind us and to tell you the truth, it felt as if we were cheating. I desperately wanted to see New Orleans and re connect with the other staff members, but at the same time I have been trying to create a new life for myself as a writer in Los Angeles. I know that in order to reinvent myself I have to move on from PeacePlayers International.


Adidas also invited some of the top college players to New Orleans to play in front of the pro scouts. I tried sparking up conversation with a few of them who were on my same plane, but it was just too difficult. These guys would much rather text away on their blackberries and listen to their ipods then talk to strangers. As we drove past the Superdome, I asked the driver, Marquis, about what happen inside. I believe that whatever type of Lord of the Flies behavior went down in there, will happen again....but with white people. The driver never took his eyes off the road. He only shook his head and said, ”Man, that shit was crazy!"

Each of the college players were handed very, very large Adidas duffel bags as they debarked the bus. The bags were filled with sweat suits and shoes and probably an iPhone. I did not get a bag. Only a pair of white on white running shoes....sorted, thanks!

Over dinner, Zach Leverenz, the Managing Director of PeacePlayers International- New Orleans (PPI-NOLA), laid out the plan of attack. Past PPI-Northern Ireland Program Director Keith Urgo sat to my right, and past PPI-Middle East Program Director Matt Quinn to my left. Zach's biggest concern was ensuring that we recruited enough kids from the local community for our launch on the following Monday. We told adidas we would have over 300 kids attending. The 60 high school players, (30 from USA, 30 International) were there to impress the pro scouts, but we would have them for a couple hours each day and try to equip them with the skills to effectively help us run Monday's clinic. In the process of learning our teaching methods, hopefully we could bridge any cultural barriers that exist between them. My only question, "how come we did not get sweat suits and gear like everybody else?" Zach repeated the purpose of why we were there ....to launch PPI-NOLA.

We capped the first night on Bourbon Street, drinking Hurricanes, (or slurricanes), a popular frosty beverage that tastes like a Slurpee, but leaves one feeling like a crack head. I was amazed to see so many black and white people hanging out in such close proximity with one another. I was about to label Bourbon Street the ‘Great Cultural Melting Pot’ until realized that none of them talked or intermingled with each other.

SATURDAY

We began our first training clinic for the high school players in complete silence to show different methods of communicating. Every competition we taught them demanded an absolute commitment to the concept of team. One of the camp directors from adidas approached us afterwards and said she had never seen Lance Stephenson (the best high school player in the world) smile and laugh so much.

I was surprised by the high schoolers selfless attitudes and terrific work ethic. Jerime Anderson and Dexter Strickland, two top 10 caliber guards, took aside some of the foreign kids who had trouble understanding our directions, and worked with them until they got it. Jrue Holiday is the man. BJ Mullens and Yancy Gates, two of the best big men in the country, were also two of the most stoked dudes I have ever met. They showed tremendous enthusiasm, and because of their towering presence, their energy became infectious.

Later that day, Zach took Matt, Keith and I on a tour of the 9th Ward, the most devastated area of New Orleans. Life can kill by washing away one's spirit. It felt like the third circle of hell, a place where people just sat around and waited. Sadly, it seemed to me they waited for the water to return and finish the job.

I ran towards the first young kid I saw with a ball in my hands. I said, “What’s up shorty, d'you like basketball?" I was prepared to give him the ball to keep but he gave me no response. He only acknowledged my presence by shooting me a stern look after he walked past me, with eyes that bled, "why don’t you go and fuck yourself."

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We found a makeshift community center in the 9th Ward called the Coming Home Cafe. This garage/warehouse had couches, a filthy rug, some bookshelves and coolers containing milk, coffee and water that tasted like hot garbage. When I walked into the main office a good looking, white girl said, “Are you Sean Tuohey?"

“Yeah,” I said with suspicion.

“I’m Karen, I went to Catholic University. I was a freshman when you were a senior. My roommate was obsessed with you."

This never happens…please allow me just one minute to shine.

Karen believed she could find some kids for us....but transport would be tough. The 9th Ward was at least a 30 minute cab ride to St Bernard's. I suggested we stay in touch and try to make a plan if she can round up enough kids. Because of the logistics, I was hesitant to make any promises.


SUNDAY
Zach called every contact he knew in New Orleans to once again remind them about bringing kids to the launch. We spent the morning driving around to churches and places like Wal-Mart to hand out fliers. Every parent we spoke to seemed excited about the program and assured us they would come. It got to the point where we thought we may have too many kids.

In the teaching clinic we ran with the high schoolers, we played the ultra competitive game of "footsketball," an amalgamation of basketball and American football, featuring 10 v10 with no dribbling. Players can pass but you can’t move once they catch it. The team scores when a player catches the ball behind the opponents' baseline...end zone celebrations were encouraged! We then broke the high schoolers into station groups and had them practice teaching the previous days drills to each other. Very few of them felt comfortable standing in front of the group and giving orders. We tried to impress upon them that the key to coaching is the ability to organize group behavior, to diagnose faults and weaknesses, and to make the sessions fun. I explained that we might have to diffuse the racial tension at the launch as we were hoping to get large numbers of kids from the white areas, white kids who have never played with black kids. Zach looked at me and shook his head when as I said this. He had tried initially to recruit white kids but was told they won’t travel to St. Bernard's for a basketball clinic. No way, won’t happen.



MONDAY
In a last ditch effort to recruit kids, Zach called the recreation department of New Orleans again, and a guy answered the phone saying, “Relax, man…I got your kids!”

45 minutes before the start of the clinic, I received a text from Karen, the Catholic University alum from the 9th Ward. I totally forgot about them. Karen had 9 kids who wanted to attend....but they needed a ride. I thought about telling her it might not work out. How many more let downs can these kids endure, I thought to myself? They have NOTHING. I found a taxi driver out in front of the hotel as we were preparing to leave for clinic, paid him a $50, and told him to get the kids.


60 of the best high school and pro prospects in the world filed into St. Bernard's community center, all wearing PeacePlayers International t-shirts. I felt as though I was living in a dream..... that quickly plummeted into a Nightmare! Only 15 kids from New Orleans showed up. We had TV crews, reps from the NBA, Detlef Schrempf was there and the top folks from Adidas World Headquaters. Zach looked as if he had seen a ghost. None of the local contacts came through for a brother. The guy from the Department of Recreation showed up, the same guy who had told Zach to relax, and all he brought were excuses. Matt, Keith, Zach and I huddled and plotted.

Just then, 9 children, dressed in rags came sprinting through the doors. Their faces beamed with excitement when they saw the masses of the coaches. Two of the kids wore only flip flops. My heart almost broke. Always a silver lining.

I took the high school players aside and made no excuses. "New Orleans is a broken vase," I said, "Today is our first day of work down here...help us give these kids the best goddamn clinic they have ever experienced."


We did the best we could, but it was a crying shame more children were not there to benefit.






After the clinic, I took the kids home to the 9th Ward and stayed down there. I ate dinner in a soup kitchen. I blamed myself for the days' failure and needed to talk to someone who could help me understand. I entered a church under reconstruction and interrupted a Reverend while he sat alone in the first pew eating a chicken box dinner. I explained to him what happened…how we just lost on the biggest stage. I asked him what the hell was goin on? The clinic was with some of the best players in the world? It should of been fantastic... all for free."

“First off, your white," he said. Secondly, “You just got here. You think these people are just going to jump for you? They're in shock...all of them, especially the parents. No one here travels outside their neighborhoods. They don’t trust you and you need to understand this before you go any further.”

I thanked him for his honesty and sat there for a moment in silence. Before I got up to leave, I asked him, "How do you succeed here?"

"Look around, man...does it look like I am winning?...I stay around cause my people need me here. I have come to accept that my life does not belong to me. It’s not mine. THIS, is God's beautiful curse." He smiled and wished me well.

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I thanked him, left his church, and walked down to see the levy that broke.

“What the hell am I waiting for?”

I continue to wonder.