his
year's women's NCAA Final Four proved to be another showcase for many
young basketball stars. Even though the undefeated University of
Connecticut Huskies were led by four outstanding seniors, these women have
just begun their basketball careers.
There is, of course, the WNBA, where the cream of the senior crop will
play this summer, but there are also less lucrative leagues in Asia, South
America, and Australia. Then there are the notorious and ubiquitous
leagues of Europe, which run September through April.
Some women play for years in Europe, learning new languages as they
switch teams and countries. Others go just to keep in shape and stay
competitive between WNBA seasons. But inevitably, every woman who aspires
to play basketball beyond college makes a stop in Europe.
My adventure - or misadventure - in Europe didn't start immediately
after graduation from Boston College. It was put on hold for a year partly
due to my indecision and post-Olympic burnout (playing for Team Canada),
and partly because of an agent who wanted to place me in Israel. I
reminded him that although there is a great league with generous pay in
that country (which would mean a generous percentage for him), there is
also military conflict. He reassured me by saying, ''Don't leave the
apartment or watch CNN and you won't even notice!''
Thus, my first lesson upon leaving the cozy confines of college
basketball: Don't ever trust your agent.
I chose a different representative, one based in Spain, and after much
hemming and hawing, signed a contract to join a Spanish Division 1 team
that finished in the middle of the pack last season. The small Andalucia
province town, I was assured, was only two hours south of Madrid and one
hour north of the beach, perfect for an adventurous traveler. Once again I
was disappointed, when my train from Madrid took four hours, the coast was
a three-hour drive, and most importantly, the team had tied for last place
in the league the year before.
Nevertheless, I was greeted warmly by the coach and manager upon
arrival and taken to the apartment I was to share with another teammate.
Another foreigner, as we are called.
Depending on the league, European teams are allowed one to three
foreigners, or players without passports from European Union countries.
Why so strict? Because the pro leagues over there are actually club teams
that substitute for high school and college sports systems. My team
consisted of Spanish players from 17 to 30, who got paid for playing while
they attended school or worked part time. Being foreign means you are
typically the best and highest-paid players on the team, often the only
ones for whom basketball is a full-time job, and they always are the ones
depended upon to carry the team.
A learning curve
Thankfully, our apartment was clean and safe, although the phone line
that was promised in my contract took months to be installed, and lighting
the huge butane gas containers for hot water every morning not only tried
my patience but also tested my courage.
My teammates were great: very welcoming and as interested in teaching
me Spanish as they were in learning English, which was ideal considering I
was the point guard. You never realize how much you rely on communicating
to teammates during timeouts and in huddles until you can't. My constant
hand signals, facial expressions, and vigorous body language allowed me to
fit right into the expressive Spanish culture.
I was lucky to have a coach who speaks English, but I would have
preferred he had known a little about basketball. He was an ex-military
general who coached in his retirement ''for the fun.''
He had never played a game in his life, which became obvious when he
came up with only one inbound play the entire season, and had us playing a
sagging zone against the best 3-point shooting team in the league. His
temper tantrums during practice would have been comical, except that a
teammate would inevitably burst into tears, leaving me helpless to
understand why, or how, to avoid such personal attacks. But lack of good
coaching proved to be only one feature of my Spanish basketball
experience.
Whether playing for a Division 1 collegiate program, the Canadian
Olympic Team, or at WNBA training camp, each situation provided me with
knowledgeable and dedicated coaches, terrific facilities, and the
infrastructure to allow athletes the utmost support. Naively, I thought
this would be true in Europe, but some veteran teammates tried to warn me
that you can't take anything for granted across the Atlantic. There are
elite teams in each country that can't get away with treating their
players unprofessionally, and there are a lot of big-name players who
would never be caught in the situation I found myself in. However,
compared to the experiences of the majority of female players in Europe,
the struggle to keep my career alive while keeping my sanity was not at
all unique.
There were 16-hour bus rides, pregame meals of a croissant and hot
chocolate, and fans and coaches who smoked during practices and games. We
learned to tape our own ankles and fingers, wait as our coaches showed up
to practice 15 minutes late every day (and then proceeded to talk on their
cellphones or read magazines instead of watching our workouts), and
practice and play games in gyms that were 37 degrees. Not only did we lack
central heating, but we had a rubber floor instead of hardwood and during
the first 15 minutes of Saturday night home games we'd have to contend
with the sun in our eyes while shooting 3-pointers from the corner. Our
locker rooms, which we shared with community soccer and volleyball teams
in town, were not nearly as nice as the high school locker rooms I've seen
in America, but you'd be OK as long as you remembered to bring toilet
paper.
Paying a price
Players learn to adapt to these unfamiliar conditions - sometimes
reluctantly, sometimes with a laugh - knowing they will make great stories
down the road.
But the untenable aspect of playing in Spain was how we were treated by
management. Our team was owned by a woman of high society who sported fur
coats, garish hats, and high expectations. Winning (which, remember, was a
new thing for this club) meant she might join us on the floor to
celebrate, or pay for tapas that night. But losing meant trashing us on
the radio and withholding our pay. I never once was paid on time, and the
team still owes me two months pay. When she announced she was ready to
pony up, we would all have to line up outside her office marked ''La
Presidente,'' and enter one at a time. She sat at her desk, warming her
feet by a space heater and smoking a cigarette, handing over our
envelopes. I didn't enjoy groveling for my money, calling my agent every
day it was late, or threatening litigation.
There are better situations in Europe than mine and there are worse,
but it is unfortunate that female athletes have to put up with such
treatment to play during the WNBA offseason. Being a professional in some
countries doesn't have the allure it has in North America. I'm hoping that
a developmental league, perhaps an expansion of the new National Women's
Basketball League, will be formed to allow future college players to avoid
the pitfalls of European basketball, and stay at home near family,
friends, and fans to enjoy training and playing in more favorable
surroundings.
Cal Bouchard was a four-year starter and two-time captain of the
Boston College women's basketball team from 1996-2000. She was a member of
the Canadian Olympic team at the 2000 Sydney Games. Bouchard p
layed pro basketball in Spain in 2001.
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