Wepa: The Miracle at the 2004 Summer Olympics
Puerto Rico knows basketball, too; an Afrolatinx poet speaks on the history of his favorite national team
Most basketball fans know the story of the US at the Olympics. From its inclusion in the 1936 games, professional ballers were barred from competing, in line with the games’ emphasis on amateurism. The US dominated, winning gold every Olympiad they participated in except 1972 and 1988, but the rise of state-sponsored amateur athletes across Eastern Europe prompted FIBA to change its rules and allow NBA players to compete in international competitions.
You know the rest: the Dream Team dominates in ’92 and even with the rest of the world slowly catching up, the US goes undefeated in three straight Olympiads, an average margin of victory of over 30 points. In 2000, we start to really see progress in basketball’s growth as a global game. In both group play and the knockout stage, France and Lithuania push the US; France loses by 12 and 10, respectively, and Lithuania by just nine and two.
Enter Athens, 2004. The US is once again the favorite to win gold. Even with a depleted roster, the team included Tim Duncan, Allen Iverson, and the rising stars from the 2003 draft class: LeBron, Melo, and D-Wade. Then the US loses its first game in group play. It’s the country’s third ever loss in Olympic play, the first to a country other than the Soviet Union. The margin, 19 points, is the largest loss the US has ever experienced in Olympic play. But it isn’t to France or Lithuania. It isn’t to Argentina, by this point the US’s biggest competition coming out of the Americas. It isn’t even to Spain, at this point becoming a basketball powerhouse in Europe.
On August 15, 2004, the US loses 92–73 to Puerto Rico.
Like baseball, basketball’s history in Puerto Rico is directly tied to the archipelago’s colonial status, with American troops having introduced the sport. Though not as popular as baseball, the sport saw growth around the ’80s and ’90s, as games from the Baloncesto Superior Nacional (the domestic league in Puerto Rico) were being televised, as well as with frequent migration between Puerto Rico and the New York metropolitan area — long a hotbed for basketball talent in the US.
That circular migration can’t be stressed enough. Having US citizenship, many basketball prospects born in Puerto Rico end up at colleges (and sometimes even high schools before that) in the US to try and hone their skills, ultimately dreaming like many of a shot at the NBA. A look at the 2004 Olympic roster exemplifies this. It’s a mix of guys both from the archipelago and the diaspora, and the only ones who don’t appear to have played at US-based high schools and/or colleges are Peter John Ramos and Jorge Rivera. Additionally, you can see the influence of streetball (popular in New York and Puerto Rico) on the team by 2004, particularly in the play of guard Carlos Arroyo and the way he handles and passes the ball.
But, for the most part, this is a team comprised of guys with little to no NBA experience, instead playing in Puerto Rico, Europe, and at times Asia. The result is fascinating. You have a bunch of guys playing a style of basketball that mixes both the structured and free-flowing aspects of US hoops with the international style seen elsewhere.
Still, watching this game on YouTube is a little surreal. At times, it’s clear the Puerto Rican team doesn’t belong on the court with the US team. Their big men don’t really have an answer for Tim Duncan down low, evidenced by the fact that the US keeps feeding him the ball despite an off game shooting (4–11 from the field for 15 points) and Duncan amassing 16 rebounds in the game, 11 on the offensive end of the ball. Even the guards, who played well, are physically outmatched, punctuated by a fourth quarter play in which D-Wade out-muscles Carlos Arroyo on a play to steal the ball from him.
There are possessions where the US’s defense flat-out embarrasses Puerto Rico, forcing them into sloppy passes, shot-clock violations, and other turnovers. Overall, this Puerto Rico team is clearly physically outmatched. It doesn’t come as a surprise that they lost to the US 96–71 in a tune-up game a couple of weeks earlier in Florida.
Then there are the uniforms. The jerseys and shorts are unflatteringly baggy, making the Puerto Rican side look they’re all wearing their older brothers’ hand-me-down jerseys that they still haven’t grown into. You almost forget that Allen Iverson, one of the kings of the baggy shorts, is playing on the other side.
The design isn’t anything to brag about, either. The attempt at a Puerto Rican flag draping from the bottom right side of the jersey across and down the left leg of the shorts is one of the few depictions of the flag that I’m not proud of. The names look like they were stitched into separate patches that were then sewn onto the jerseys. And, if you’re not paying attention, you might miss the players’ numbers up near their left shoulders. Compare this to the US jerseys, more in line with the NBA style of jersey.
Between the jerseys and the guys on the court, Puerto Rico doesn’t belong on the same court as the US, which makes what happens in this game even more unbelievable. The first quarter is close, but Puerto Rico somehow comes out on top 21–20. The second quarter is where the game blows open. Puerto Rico — particularly Arroyo — loosens up. Already up by 13 with five minutes left in the half, Carlos Arroyo zips a no-look pass from beyond the three-point line to a peeling Daniel Santiago for an easy layup. With 2:45 left in the half, Arroyo saves a ball from going out of bounds, drives the length of the court, and dribbles behind his back into the paint before pulling up for a shot that he bricks. Carlos Boozer collects the rebound and takes a couple of dribbles before trying to pass it to Stephon Marbury, but Arroyo shoots the gap for a steal and easy layup. Puerto Rico outscores the US 28–7 in the quarter, going into halftime with a 49–27 lead.
The US tries to make a run in the fourth quarter, pulling to within nine with about five minutes left in the game, but again Arroyo and Puerto Rico hold them off. With two and a half minutes left and an 11 point lead, Arroyo dribbles behind his back and pulls up over Iverson, draining a jumper in his face. With 1:13 left in the game, he drives to the hoop and gets whacked by D-Wade. He calmly drains both free throws to put Puerto Rico up by 19, a margin that stays consistent for the remainder of the game. While the team is held together by its veteran players like José Ortiz, Arroyo is the star of this game, finishing with 24 points and seven assists.
As much is made of this game — both on the US side and the Puerto Rican side — it’s more of a blip than an indication of anything. Puerto Rico wouldn’t even medal this year, finishing seventh overall, and hasn’t been back to the Olympics since. The national team lost a number of veterans in 2005, and there isn’t really a system in place to help develop Puerto Rican players.
The BSN used to serve that function, but in 2000 it declared itself as a professional league, meaning younger players can no longer play in the league and maintain college eligibility as guys like Butch Lee, José Ortiz, and Carlos Arroyo did. The BSN for a long time functioned as a place where Puerto Rican players could refine their game and learn the international style of play, while also attracting the attention of college programs in the US.
Part of this win is just circumstance. A Puerto Rican team composed of players who had long bonded from BSN and national team experience went up against a US team that didn’t gel and came in thinking it could win on talent alone — in their first game of official competition. It was a perfect storm, and had the margin of victory been within single digits it would likely be blown off as a fluke. So why does this win mean so much, even despite the fact that Puerto Rico didn’t perform well in this Olympics and hasn’t seen that stage since?
Again, it comes down to Puerto Rico’s political status. Officially a “commonwealth” or “unincorporated territory” of the US, in reality, Puerto Rico is a colony (unofficially nicknamed The World’s Oldest Colony). As US citizens, Puerto Ricans can be conscripted into the US military, but cannot vote for president while living in Puerto Rico and do not have voting rights in Congress. At various points, the US has worked with pro-US politicians in Puerto Rico to suppress independence movements (the Puerto Rican flag was once illegal), and all Puerto Rican governors serving from 1898 until 1949 were appointed by the US.
Additionally, there’s the Jones Act of 1920, which requires goods transported between American ports to be American-built, -owned, and -crewed. This makes goods more expensive in Puerto Rico even as poverty is more widespread (something shared by other US colonies as well as Hawaii and Alaska), and the effect on economic activity has helped lead to a more than $70 billion dollar debt in Puerto Rico. In response to that debt, Barack Obama signed into the law the Puerto Rico Oversight and Economic Security Act (PROMESA), which put into place a fiscal control board (or junta) which is not beholden to the government or people of Puerto Rico.
Recent calls for statehood by those not of Puerto Rican descent have often missed that statehood isn’t necessarily supported by a majority of those living in Puerto Rico (despite misleading 2012 and 2017 votes on the matter) because of this relationship.
And that ill-defined but very clear relationship is a huge factor in the IOC determining that Puerto Rico (and other US colonies) are eligible to have their own Olympic committees and national teams, even though they’re US citizens. Though Puerto Ricans both on the archipelago and in the diaspora aren’t in consensus about what Puerto Rico’s status should be, whenever we beat the US in sports, it’s political. Especially at the Olympics, where politics have long played a part in who hosts and is allowed to participate (despite recent rules limiting protests at the Olympics), and especially in basketball, a sport so clearly dominated by the US.
And so rewatching this game, it’s not so much the score or plays I’m drawn to. It’s the moment when, after hitting his two free throws to put Puerto Rico up by 19, Carlos Arroyo pops his jersey’s collar, calling attention to his country’s name. It’s when, with just under 44 seconds left, chants of “Puerto Rico” break out, the camera ironically panning to Carmelo Anthony — the only member of the diaspora on the US side in this game. It’s when, after draining a long three, with under 22 seconds left, Eddie Casiano grabs his jersey by the chest, proud of his heritage.
When Bobby Joe Hatton throws the ball into the air just before the final buzzer, he’s not losing track of the moment or getting overly excited about a group stage game. This is a cultural moment. We beat the almighty US basketball team, tore them apart. And it didn’t change anything about Puerto Rico’s political status or stop the next decade and a half that would see its economy continue to crumble and the diaspora continue to grow as people were forced to leave their homes. But we beat the team representing a country that has long kept us under its thumb.
And that can never be taken away.
