La fête du basket

One day, during la grisaille of the December winter, a colleague named Serge asked me if I would be available May 2nd for a basketball game. Why would my presence need to be secured that far in advance? I thought it a bit bizarre, but then he told me that a professional basketball player from Villeurbanne (Tony Parker?) would be there and could I help with interpreting? With nervous laughter and a sceptical glance, I agreed. I can never be sure if he's joking or not.

The months passed, and eventually a hot and windy May 2nd rolled around. Thankfully, my friend Leslie was visiting that afternoon, so I pleaded with her to come with me. We ventured over to the Chasse gymnasium wondering so many things. Who would the player be? Would I actually have to interpret with a microphone in front of loads of people? My French is nowhere near good enough to interpret, especially with a huge crowd. So I tried to adopt the attitude that is necessary with most situations in foreign countries, which is to shrug, go with it, and hope for the best.

I learned so many things about Chasse that day. Number one being that the nondescript, weathered building attached to the gymnasium is actually a bar. Leslie and I were escorted in and served hot tea in beer mugs. Sipping the tea slowly, I questioned whether or not I should have asked for an alcoholic drink instead. Before I could change my mind, a car rolled up and Serge screamed, "He's here!" A stampede of my students scurried after him, while Leslie and I set down our half-full tea mugs and followed the mass.

Originally from the USA, Chevon Troutman, plays for the professional team ASVEL based in Villeurbanne, France. Serge led Leslie and me to Chevon's car for introductions. The only interpreting I was to do for the entire event occured in that moment. It consisted of me telling Chevon that I was a colleague of Serge and there to help interpret. At that moment, Chevon's interpreter stepped out of the car. I was done, even though I didn't know it at the time. While we were talking with him, I glanced to my left and saw a half-moon of parents, kids, and other townspeople snapping pictures of us.

As Chevon was ushered into the gymnasium, everyone followed. Leslie and I weren't sure of the itinerary, so we simply sat on the bleachers with some of my students, teenagers, parents, and other randoms. Chevon responded to most questions in French (did he even need an interpreter?) and was presented with a medal by a tiny little blonde girl. His interpreter and I received one as well. That was the hardest "bisous" (double cheek kiss) I've ever had to give, as this girl couldn't have been more than five years old and so short. Meanwhile, I got a double thumbs up from Leslie on the bleachers.

Yes, this pic is slightly lame, but they went through so much trouble to give it to me, that I thought it deserved some limelight in cyberspace.

We watched Chevon pose with my students, shoot hoops in flip flops with some older men, and then sign autographs. Leslie and I observed, trying not to breathe in the acrid odor of a French gymnasium. Below, he's high-fiving the girls' basketball team. Chasse is in green!


At the time, the whole afternoon seemed chaotic and awkward, but I realize now how important and special it was for some of the kids to see an athlete who plays on a professional French basketball team. As there is not much going on in Chasse, any event that comes, be it the circus, a fair, a flea market, or a basketball player can be inspirational to the kids.

I left the scene to walk Leslie to the train station, then returned a few hours later to see the end of a basketball match between two girls teams. It brought me back to high school, seeing the scoreboard and parents in the bleachers. I don't remember who won, but I do remember it being quite unexpectedly enjoyable to watch my students run around the gym shooting hoops, swing on ropes, and see them outside the classroom. And best of all, I wasn't in charge of controling them.

I sat alone on the bleachers, because I didn't know anyone. Returning without Leslie was like walking into a battlefield without a gun. But all of a sudden I didn't care and silently laughed at the uncensored Eminem song lyrics coming from the speakers while kids ran around and no one had any idea what awful words were filling the gymnasium.

My worst behaved students were the ones that came up to me, did the "bisous," said hello and ran off. I found it interesting how polite they are outside of class, but not when in it. For quite some time, I sat on my own, sometimes dribbling a small basketball, smiling and waving at my students, until one mother finally took pity on me and walked over. Her son was in my class and she asked why I had such a small basketball. I guess all you need is a prop for someone to come over and talk to you.

When the gymnasium finally got boring, I headed to the bar, where as soon as I walked in, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me. I didn't think it could get any more awkward, but somehow it had. The only person I recognized was Serge. With a simple bonsoir I tried to integrate myself into his group. I was offered a drink and took it willingly, knowing that a drink in hand can only make things less awkward.

After the men had run out of things to say, I wandered over to the slideshow set to music that was playing on the TV screen on the other side of the bar. I was slightly appeased by seeing a picture of Leslie and I giggling on the bleachers while Chevon shot hoops with the kids. Then, after seeing the entire thing about three times, I started to get restless. A random person walked over and brought me another drink, then left. First, I was suspicious, then just drank it. All drinks at the bar cost one euro and were served in plastic cups. I suddenly loved the small town feel to the place.

It took another awkward half hour before people started getting drunk enough to talk to me. I was just waiting for dinner, which was supposed to have started two hours earlier. And which was why I came back. But instead of forks, knives, and plates being set up, dance lights started turning and music started blaring. A disco was stealing all hope of me eating anytime soon.

After the music started, I started making friends. I met the old director of the school who started telling me stories of my colleagues, began planning a going-away party for me, and discussed the differences between a dromedary and camel for way too long. Finally dinner came, and I met Serge's wife who was incredibly sweet and invited me to their house for lunch. I had barely finished dinner when I saw Serge in a hula skirt and gold tinseled wig, while many of the parents were on the tables chanting and cheersing to something I couldn't understand.

I tried to leave after dinner at 12:30, but a mother of one of my students grabbed me by the arm and led me out onto the dance floor where Yelle's "A Cause des Garçons" was playing. Suddenly I was dancing with my nine year old students and their mothers, then the old director of the school, who insisted on waltzing around the floor with me.

I enjoyed the familial atmosphere of the party, where mothers were dancing with their children and everyone was having a good time, but the whole thing had me exhausted and after my waltz, I walked across the street back to my apartment and a good night's sleep.