To Raising a Flag for the Love of Ball
There’s this dude at every New Orleans Pelicans home game waving a Croatian flag. I love that. I love that he’s there. In New Orleans, watching the Pelicans. We are likely the only two Croats watching.
Me, in front of the TV — noticing. Him, flapping our nation’s flag in the stands as anything but a standard bearer. He’s going against it, the standard I mean.
For those of you who don’t know, Croats are suckers for home grown players. Those playing abroad and competing in any of the major national sports — primarily football (soccer). Comes from being a small, sports proud nation, I guess. We used to love basketball, too. I remember, it stuck.
A nation that will willingly ingest about 1,200,212 articles on Luka Modrić scoring a penalty during a Real Madrid training session. We blindly root for teams that feature Croats on the roster, as if the Croat in us was playing. Never understood why. You follow a team because you fell in love with a moment, a move, a player, but not necessarily a checkered, red and white name on the back. Maybe that’s just me, against the standard.
You should be able to love what you uncontrollably and unquestionably fell in love with, without inherited bonds of servitude to nationality.
We will also do this for any article pertaining regional players, such as Luka Dončić (Slovenia) and Nikola Jokić (Serbia). They seldom score penalties, because, much like hate mongering and comment inducing articles, basketball is a different game entirely. But I digress.
I’m a hooper. A basketball lifer. I follow tons of sports, but the orange round ball is my lifeblood. Ball gets me out every time I get down. Shooting on an empty court is the only Zen moment I need.
I cherish its sounds. The ball bouncing in rhythm, rattling off the rim, satisfyingly swooshing for a perfect deuce. Love the elegance of it, the movement, the speed, the slowdown. I study film, listen to basketball podcasts and often bore my friends to death with Lebron James and Bill Russell.
If there’s anything on my TV on any given morning, it’s likely an NBA game from the night before. This, as with many other mornings like it in 2024, I put on the Pels. Why not, right? Big Z finally reaching fitness Mount Zion, Brandon Ingram showing glimpses of Slim Reaper 2.0 plus a very good supporting cast — makes them a fun watch. What they don’t have is a market like Los Angeles or… a single Croatian player on the roster.
Now we circle back to our flag bearer. Here is also where we split from reality and you allow me to proceed by making wild, uncorroborated assumptions for the sake of my narrative.
The Bearer lives in New Orleans. He is likely an immigrant or a son of immigrants who found new fortune in the States. With the recession still eating up work, I choose to imagine him holding a steady job that allows season ticket purchases and the person sitting next to him as a friend for life. The Bearer looks happy and in good health. Even if this is everything he’s got going, we put him in a good spot.
A conclusion remains. The Bearer is just there for basketball. Night in, night out. Supporting one of the most talented teams in basketball, because of basketball. With a flag that, alongside everything typical, symbolizes personal choice and sacrifice.
A basketball brother. I see you.
Bearer, my deepest apologies for assuming your life. But whoever you are, I salute you.
You deserved a story.
From one hooper to another, for the love of the game.
