[Date Prev][Date Next][Thread Prev][Thread Next][Date Index][Thread Index]
Michael Holley On The Next Bill Russell: Mali's Modibo Diarra
Leo Papile, who pronounced Modibo as a young Bill Russell, also thought
Adonal Foyle would be as good as Tim Duncan...
[The Boston Globe Online][Boston.com]
[Boston Globe Online / Sports]
Out of Africa, into the game
By Michael Holley, Globe Staff, 12/30/98
FITCHBURG - John Kelly, the man standing in the middle of the gym, is
a one-man soundtrack. A booming soundtrack. He wears a sweatsuit and
has a whistle draped around his neck. What nerve. Kelly is a basketball
coach who certainly doesn't need a whistle to get anyone's attention.
He opens his mouth to begin a Notre Dame Prep practice and, soon, the rest
of his face is crimson. If he were your neighbor at this moment, you'd
either cover your ears or ask him to close his mouth. Some of his players
might like to do the same thing. That way, they wouldn't have to keep their
hands up on defense, as he is now telling them to do. And they wouldn't have
to participate in a drill that requires them to hop - on their tiptoes -
along the sidelines and baselines, a drill that has several young men
rubbing their burning calf muscles.
Modibo Diarra, a 6-foot-10-inch center, does all the drills without rubbing
his calves. He does not ask for a break. He remembers the soccer games he
used to play back home in Segou, Mali, so he doesn't mind the sprints. And
his journey here just over a year ago was enough to teach him about all the
things Kelly demands of the young men who will play ball for Notre Dame.
Toughness? You tend to learn what that is when you and two friends have
limited resources and have to get from Mali to a neighboring country,
Guinea, just for a chance to play basketball in the United States. When you
can take a shaky transportation system, you do. When you can't, you walk.
Once in Guinea, you learn about patience when months and months of calling
embassies does not produce a visa. Once the visa comes, you learn about the
resiliency of your spirit because one of your friends, a 6-8 basketball
player named Solomon with dreams similar to yours, does not make it to the
US; he contracts malaria and dies before ever playing basketball here.
And you. You are 18 years old and come from a historic land known for
Timbuktu and Songhai kings. But most of your country is poor and your family
- your father, two mothers, and 13 brothers and sisters - is poor. Health
care is not good at home, and once you arrive in America, you also are
diagnosed with malaria. Initially, you weigh 200 pounds and your eyes are
bloodshot. You speak your native language and French, but at the time of
your arrival the only English you know is ''yes.''
Then there is the reality lesson. Who can teach you about that better than
you? Your father is retired. Like you, he is a Muslim, so no one at home
thinks it strange that he has two wives. And no one finds it strange that
among the man and his wives money is not plentiful. So one day you see a
coach from the United States who talks to you about playing in America,
playing for a man from Leominster named John Kelly. You focus on that. You
focus on it because you love basketball. You focus on it because you love
your parents and say, ''I don't play basketball for me. I play for my
parents. I don't have money now. But one day I will and I'll give it to
them.''
''Keep your hands up on defense,'' you hear Kelly yell. ''Work! Work!
Work!''
It is work. It makes you sweat. But it's nothing you can't handle.
The look of a jewel
After pausing to think about Diarra's story one more time, Scott Spinelli
says, ''If you were to take kids from America to Africa and show them the
type of environment where 'Dibo played basketball, I think they would be a
lot more appreciative of what they have.''
Spinelli, also from Leominster, is an assistant basketball coach at American
University in Washington. He used to be the head coach at Winchendon, where
Kelly was his assistant. Spinelli's game is recruiting and, as he said,
''Every assistant from the smaller colleges is looking to find that jewel of
a recruit.''
NCAA rules prohibit him from saying that Diarra, a Notre Dame junior, is
that jewel. But that fact is obvious from the box that Diarra keeps near a
wooden dresser in his room. Diarra recently removed the box and carried it
to the Notre Dame cafeteria. Once there he spilled its contents onto a
table: The table was quickly littered with letters from eager college
recruiters. Many of the recruiters saw Diarra at a Sonny Hill tournament
last summer in Philadelphia. Diarra was the tourney's MVP, the first junior
to gain that honor. Leo Papile, the Celtics' head scout, compared Diarra to
a young Bill Russell. ''And you know, as the head scout of an NBA team, I'm
not going to throw praise around like that lightly,'' said Papile, who has
nicknamed Diarra ''Good Man'' because of his easy demeanor.
It was that demeanor that attracted Spinelli early in 1997. The coach had
developed international contacts while recruiting a forward from Mali named
Saliou-Benet Telly, now a sophomore at American. Those were the days when
Spinelli would call AT&T and request a translator who could communicate with
prospective players in West Africa. Spinelli went to Africa again in '97,
trying to persuade a 7-2 center from Mali to come to America. The player
opted for pro ball in Slovenia. So a dejected Spinelli took a trip to the
basketball courts in Mali, planning to watch a pickup game to ease his mind.
That's when he saw a young man whose facial features reminded him of Golden
State Warrior Adonal Foyle. No one knew his name. All they knew was that he
was easily dunking on everybody and blocking nearly every shot that went in
the air. But this was far from polished basketball. Many of the players wore
sandals on the court. Others were barefoot. And, admittedly, Diarra had been
playing the game for only a couple years. He could pick it up quickly; the
problem would be getting to the States. He would be a perfect fit for the
program Spinelli's friend, Kelly, was starting at Notre Dame. But
authorities determined that Diarra's visa would have to come from Guinea,
where he also has family, not Mali. All he knew was that he would have to
leave. Somehow.
''You can play [pro basketball] in Africa,'' he said. ''You can make some
money. But not like in America. I like to play basketball. I like to play
defense and get rebounds. If I don't do that, I don't want to talk to
nobody. People ask me if I play for the chance to make money. No. I play for
the chance to help my parents. The money is for them first and then me. I
play for them.''
Obviously, Diarra did leave. He arrived here, mourned his friend, was
diagnosed with malaria himself, eventually put on 35 pounds, and then began
to play basketball. Kelly and Notre Dame athletic director Bill Barton
pushed him hard early, but he didn't mind. Kelly drilled him on postups, the
importance of rebounding and shot-blocking. Actually, he drilled them on
shot blocking. ''At times in practice, you learn that it's not a good idea
to take the ball to the hole on 'Dibo,'' said TeJay Anderson, a 6-5 Notre
Dame forward who is also Diarra's roommate.
Barton became one of his English tutors. That has worked out for Diarra,
too, because he was able to give a 20-minute interview without help from a
translator. His understanding of written English is still at a grade-school
level, but his comprehension of the spoken word is unusually high. So much
so that he now says his two favorite subjects at Notre Dame - a 90-student
school about 30 miles west of Boston - are math and English. He also has
mastered American pop culture. When a public phone rang in his residence
hall, he quickly picked it up and tried to figure out who was calling whom
and what their intentions were. He loves playing a video game called
''Resident Evil'' and he likes to sing along with a rapper named Jay-Z, who
sampled parts of the musical ''Annie'' and put them into a song called
''Hard Knock Life.'' He likes Karl Malone because ''he has nice moves and he
runs a lot. I like to run, too.''
Anderson, a 17-year-old from Dorchester, said that sometimes he likes Diarra
to teach him some things. So sometimes they listen to his music from Mali
because ''the drumbeats help me think.'' Music is not the only thing Diarra
knows. He said he likes many things about America, but the common approach
of parent-child is not one of them. He believes in total submission to his
parents. For life. That is why he is here, ''trying to make things a little
better.''
The NBA will have room for Diarra one day. There are not many 6-10 centers
at any level of basketball, and not many who enjoy rebounding, blocking
shots, and defending, excess points be damned.
Kelly will have one of his practices again soon. He will raise his voice. He
will demand excellence. He will make his team run. Some players will grumble
that the coach is pushing too much. Diarra will not be one of them. He will
practice. Then he will sweat. And then he'll write a letter to his parents.
This story ran on page D01 of the Boston Globe on 12/30/98.
© Copyright 1998 Globe Newspaper Company.