Confessions of a basketball patriot

by Nathan Rodriguez

Forget Christmas in July, I'll take basketball in August.

The start to the Games couldn't have gotten much better than a China v. USA match in the opening round. Watching Yao Ming drain a three at the head of the circle at 9am was a great way to wake up on a Sunday, and reminded me of how much I miss the process of watching football in the Fall: rolling out of bed, grinding up some bean juice and lazily watching some pre-game. For all the masterful build-up and aching anticipation of a night game, there's something to be said for waking up and diving headfirst into some competish.

This is easily the most excited I've been about watching Team USA since the first couple Dream Teams in the '90s. Nothing will ever top the first time such talent coalesced in the original Dream Team with Jordan, Bird and Magic finally sharing same-color jerseys. The second Dream Team was a little younger, a little flashier, but managed to get the job done — same with the third.
Then came the embarrassment.

Team USA had some serious performance issues. We're better than this. But the me-first mentality and one-on-one emphasis of the NBA didn't translate as easily as it used to abroad, and the scrappy international teams whittled away at a collective lack of focus and (possibly) effort by the U.S.
That stung.

Because if there was one thing the U.S. could claim to be the best at in the world, it was basketball. What happens every four years is we send out a dozen or so of our best ballers, and they make us feel a little better about ourselves by mopping the floor with the best from any other nation. That's how this is supposed to work.

There wasn't any visual comparison. One team jerks around mechanically while the other glides with grace, making the improbable look effortless. Team USA did to basketball what Brazil did to soccer. We turned basketball into "the beautiful game," creating art on the spot.

It was kind of fun being the lopsided heavy favorite: It was like rooting for the Harlem Globetrotters against the flavor-of-the-week incarnation of the hapless Generals. The games were action movies, with foregone conclusions and people tuning in for the "Ooh" and "Ahh" factor.
Fast-forward to Beijing, and Team USA has me excited again.

This year we didn't send over an All-Star team with zero prep, we sent over a team that has the unselfish ability to adapt to different styles. Sure, we've got Kobe and LeBron to fall back on when the going gets rough, but we didn't send over guys like Tim Duncan, who can dominate in certain games, but lacks the perimeter skills to hang with international bigs outside the paint. So we may not have sent the best pure players, but this collection is a well-oiled machine with a variety of interchangeable parts.

It's also an exciting year because Team USA's quest for redemption comes at a time when other nations are ascending and the talent gap is narrowing. In terms of pure athleticism, there may not be a close second, but add in thoughtful positioning and a dash of basketball savvy, and the 40-point-plus blow-outs aren't as frequent.

Good teams beat you playing their game. Great teams beat you playing your game. What this team represents is the US taking one of its best bench coaches (loathe as I am to admit it), Mike Krzyzewski, and having him mold some supremely talented team players into a squad that is humble and focused on its mission to reclaim the hoops throne.

The best example of Team USA's attitude in these Olympic games may have come in the form of a commercial. This one featured the team playing nothing but pure, beautiful, unselfish ball: Marvin Gaye provided the soundtrack, while the highlights were only of players finding the open man, favoring the pretty pass over an itchy trigger finger. There wasn't a dunk in the entire commercial.

The main reason I'm so geeked for Olympic basketball is that Team USA has gone back to its college roots. Coach K has turned professional athletes into college players again, in the best way possible. The bloated, diva aura that plagued the past couple teams is gone. They have a team-first attitude, and now play with a passion normally reserved for the playoffs.

As a fan, you live and die with the team. And serious hoops heads will generally admit to some superstitions.

This summer, some people will paint their faces red, white and blue. I'll party like it's 1992, and proudly French roll my acid-washed jeans and don a hypercolor shirt while chomping on some Tear Jerkers, rooting on Team USA as Kriss Kross gently loops in the background — for good measure and poor taste.
Maybe I'm overreacting a tad. Maybe the nothing-but-baseball sports schedule is getting to me.

But this excitement feels genuine.
I don't even like the NBA that much — I'll confess to being a college hoops purist — but this team, this year, finds me as giddy as I was back in junior high while rooting on the '92 Dream Team.

Come to think of it, I've basically reverted into one of the SNL Superfans from that era, favoring a biased-and-proud-of-it fanalysis. Only instead of being all about bratwurst, Ditka toasts and Da Bears, this summer I'm pinning my entire fanhood hopes and dreams on Team USA.

Prediction: Team USA 782, rest of the world 14.