The 1997 tour was probably (definitely) the most challenging of the five. This was a Russian Army team from Moscow. More specifically, it was a feeder program – known as Duble – for the main Army team that competed in Russia and throughout the European continent.
In Russia, service in the armed forces is compulsory among men 18 and over. So, the Army’s basketball program gets its pick of talented young players, many of whom likely prefer the opportunity to train on a basketball court versus the more conventional situation offered by this organization.
This tour was also a bit unusual since it started in my home state of Alaska. Our first game was against the University of Alaska Anchorage, a Division II team. To say the least, it did not go well. I’m sure jet-lag contributed to the 50-point blowout loss. Unfortunately, the entire tour was filled with double-digit disappointments.
Duble’s first game against a Division I opponent was at the University of Oregon in Eugene. Coincidentally, this happened to be Ernie Kent’s first game as the Duck’s new head coach (Kent was a 1977 U of O graduate). Seventeen years later, Coach Kent was hired to lead the men’s basketball program at Washington State University where, coincidentally, he coached my nephew. It’s odd how these things work out the way they do. Josh was only two years old when I first met his future coach.
Anyway, back to the story.
The main challenge I had with Duble was communication. The second main challenge I had with Duble was the team’s vice president.
The most important thing the tour leader does when meeting his team is ascertaining who among the group has the best English language skills. Of course, communication is critical throughout the two-week tour. Especially when important information cannot afford to be “lost in translation”.
Fortunately for me, the teams I led typically had multiple individuals fluent in the only language I know. These tended to be younger players who, after the USSR fell, were taught English in school rather than Russian. But, this was only true of former Soviet-bloc countries outside of Russia itself. Most Russians – like most Americans – have no imperative to learn a second language.
So, of Duble’s entire group, only one individual knew English well enough to engage in constructive conversation. In fact, having attended high school in the Seattle area, the lone English-speaker was extraordinarily fluent. He was also a very good basketball player. Unfortunately, he also happened to be an ill-considerate pain-in-the-zhopa. At least for a time.
I needed him to help convey vital information to the coach and the team. My sense, however, was that my messages were not being delivered. This became apparent one dark, chilly, evening as I stood alone in a hotel parking lot waiting for my team to pile into the vans for the ride over to the arena for that night’s game. Thirty minutes passed before I finally saw shadowy figures approaching from various directions. Evidently, the team was on PITZ Time.
For Division I college games, it’s common for the visiting team to arrive 90 minutes, or so, before tip-off. With this in mind, arena staff watch attentively for the bus (or vans) to show up about this time. Training staff stands ready to provide whatever assistance the team may need in terms of heat, ice, tape, towels, etc. If the expected arrival time slips by, people get nervous. Especially when a foreign team is involved.
For foreign club teams, this schedule is considered unnecessarily early since they are accustomed to showing up 30, maybe 45, minutes prior to game time. My practice was to split the difference by being in the arena 60 minutes prior to tip-off. That night, the Duble team pulled into the parking lot about 25 minutes past my preference. Several relieved faces met us as we walked through the player’s entrance. What could I say? We were a little late. But, we made it!
My translator may have gotten off to a rocky start, but we eventually sorted things out. He wasn’t a bad kid. Just a bit headstrong. We worked together fairly well once he understood that the success of this tour was largely up to him.
As for the team’s vice president, well that was a challenge of a much different stripe. There were rumors he was ex-KGB. He certainly carried himself as if this was a distinct possibility. The team gave him wide deference. So, who knows? What I do know is that he had difficulty observing proper freeway etiquette. This was a problem.
These tours almost always involved the rental of two 15-passenger vans. Almost always Dodge, almost always white. And, in almost every instance, the head coach or team principal drove the second van. As long as the second driver was a responsible adult with some form of operating license, I was good with it. Standard procedure was that I would drive the lead van while keeping an eye on the trailing van to make sure we stayed together throughout, what was often, a long journey.
The day after our game versus the University of Montana in Missoula we hit the road for Montana State University in Bozeman. This was mid-morning on a weekday. The distance was about 200 miles (322km). The route was straightforward – multi-lane freeway driving on I-90 East all the way. The weather was good. It was chilly and overcast, but no snow thankfully. A relatively easy travel day. Or, so I thought.
As we logged miles leaving Missoula, the traffic thinned out. I activated the van’s cruise control and relaxed a bit. But, only for a moment. Glancing in the left-side mirror I noticed something peculiar. My travelling-twin, about 250 feet (76m) behind us, was perfectly straddling the dashed white lines separating the “slow” lane from the “fast” lane. Maybe he was just being super careful changing lanes. I took a second look. Then a third. Nope. This was deliberate. It also explained the strange looks I was getting from other drivers as they quickly passed by.
It’s bad enough traveling behind a slower vehicle. But, it’s mindboggling being stuck behind someone taking his half of the road literally out of the middle. Occasionally KGB would drift over into his proper place allowing a few cars to speed by. Then he would invariably steer the van right back to middle ground.
I don’t know if this maneuver is common practice in the Motherland or if he was just enjoying himself on the open road. I do know it was creating some unhappiness for other drivers using that particular stretch of I-90 East. So, I made a command decision. It was time for lunch.
We exited the freeway and pulled into the ubiquitous fast-food joint. Asking PITZ to join me at KGB’s table, I attempted some small-talk as we devoured burgers, fries and super-sized drinks. I always carried a pen in my shirt pocket (you just never know). So, using my last clean napkin, I drew two long parallel lines bisected by a dashed line down the middle. Then, using a ketchup packet, I demonstrated the optimal way to utilize America’s interstate highway system.
Receiving affirmative nods from KGB and tepid assurance from PITZ, I felt we were ready to give it another try. Fully fueled and better informed, we loaded up and headed out.
We made our way back onto I-90 settling in at a reasonable cruise speed. There was no particular hurry since driving distance was relatively short and the game at Montana State was not until the next evening. I felt good about lunch. KGB seemed like a decent guy. I was even thinking we might have had a breakthrough in our driver-to-driver relationship. With a satisfying smile, I glanced in the mirror.
#&@%!!!
Any illusions were shattered. He was having his fun and I was getting played.
How was I going to explain this to law enforcement if he gets stopped? What if he pisses off the wrong driver? We have a lot of miles to go before I finally drop these guys off at the Seattle airport. Is this going to be an ongoing issue? What if he really is ex-KGB? All kinds of thoughts were being processed – mostly, how do I solve this?
In that moment, I could not have known we were rapidly approaching the solution.
A word or three about road gators. These are long strips of rubber tread (loosely resembling an alligator) that have separated, or delaminated, from the sidewall of a truck tire. Delamination can occur as a result of low air pressure creating excessive heat which degrades the tire’s structural integrity as it rolls down the road.
Road gators are quite common along America’s freeways. It’s important to keep an eye out for them.
Just as I was contemplating KGB’s unique driving characteristics, a road gator suddenly came into view. Fortunately, it was perfectly centered in the lane to my left. No problem for the lead van. But, the trailing van was headed for a direct strike.
Emulating a cross-eyed cartoon character, I had one eye firmly on the road in front of me and the other fixed on the left-side mirror. All KGB had to do was make a slight course correction to the right to bring his van fully into the proper lane thereby avoiding the errant hunk of rubber. That’s all he had to do!
But, it was not to be. He ran right over the top of it with both left-side tires. Unbelievable! Actually, quite believable!
I’m sure this made a huge racket inside the van. Probably woke some guys up. It might have even frightened KGB as he immediately maneuvered the vehicle into the right-hand lane.
I knew road gators were hazardous to fully-inflated tires. So, after the impact I kept a close eye on him. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road. I did the same. But, by now we were hundreds of yards (meters) up the road in front of him. Placing the van in reverse, I carefully maneuvered the vehicle back toward its stricken twin.
By the time we got there, the guys had already pulled the spare tire out of the back and had the van jacked up ready to swap wheels. It was a beautifully choregraphed ballet, almost like an F1 pit stop. These guys had obviously done this once or twice before. In no time at all we were back on the road again.
So, what was learned? Well, KGB learned the value of keeping the van in his own lane and I learned that Russian roads must have gators too!
