Tortilla Basketball
November 21, 1996 – Santa Barbara, California, USA
Anik Hassan and his two classmates had been grinding through their latest Statistical Mechanics homework for five straight hours. When he first started as a graduate student at the University of California, Santa Barbara, Anik had mostly worked alone, but he quickly realized he could get assignments done faster by working with a group. His homework partners had desks next to his, in the office they shared with other members of their superconductor physics research group.
Anik had reached the last problem of the homework set when Greg Margalit strolled into the room. Greg was close to finishing his Ph.D. and was by far the loudest student with a desk in the office. He spent most of his free time in the UCSB weight room and he liked to show off how he could do one-armed pull-ups.
“Hey, we need you guys at the basketball game tonight,” Greg called to Anik and his desk mates. “We’re playing Long Beach.”
The other students nodded their agreement while Anik stared back at Greg as if he did not understand.
“Do you know about basketball, Anik?” asked Greg.
“I have seen basketball played on television. I have not played myself,” replied Anik.
“Going to a game is part of being in college. It’s part of being in America. You’ll like it and it’s free for students.”
“I will go if you think it is important.”
Greg smirked. “Yeah, I think it’s important. You know where the Thunderdome is? That’s where they play the games.”
Everyone but Anik nodded their heads.
“Be there by 6:30. We’ll meet by the entrance,” said Greg.
Anik used his map of campus to figure out where the Thunderdome sat in relation to the physics building. So far, he had only ventured as far as the apartment complex used for graduate student housing and the two science buildings where his classes were held. The basketball game was sure to be an exciting way to explore more of his new world.
Anik walked to his apartment unsure of whether he should change his clothes for the game. He sat on his neatly made bed staring at the hangers holding his seven shirts and seven pants. At the last minute, he changed into the combination he considered the most formal – a shirt with buttons down the front and gray slacks which were almost new.
Others in the apartment complained about the cramped living conditions, but for Anik it was the most space he had ever known. Compared to Dhaka, Bangladesh, all of Santa Barbara was immaculately clean and practically empty. Anik had been a one-in-a-million math prodigy in Bangladesh, but it had still taken a minor miracle to get him to an American university. His teachers wrote and called everyone they knew with a U.S. connection. Anik studied English sixteen hours each day. Family and friends gave what little money they had to fly him over. Helping Anik become an American Ph.D. doctor made them feel important.
The Thunderdome was in the opposite direction of the physics building. Anik got an early start from his apartment and arrived well before the 6:30 deadline. He stood by the entrance and watched anxiously for anyone he recognized. His officemates appeared one by one, followed by Greg and a group of students Anik did not know. They all showed their I.D.s and were allowed through the doors of the arena.
Anik followed his colleagues to the bleachers designated for student spectators. He took his place between his two homework partners and behind Greg. When they were safely surrounded by bodies, Greg and his friends pulled up their shirts to uncover packages of flour tortillas. One or two tortillas were passed to all the nearby students, including Anik. Greg demonstrated how to throw the tortillas so they landed on the court below.
“We all throw after we make the first basket,” said Greg. “Understand?”
Everyone around Anik and Greg nodded their heads and acted excited to participate. Overhead, loud music blared from the speakers. Tall basketball players practiced their jump shots and dunks. Cheerleaders in short skirts waved their arms and shouted at the crowd. The energy in the building was so strong, Anik’s arms tingled.
As the game was about to start, a portion of the arena’s security team met briefly in the lobby on the other side of the bleachers. They all wore bright yellow jackets and most of them were students. Steve Sakamoto had been working the security gig longer than any of them so he took charge of the group briefing.
“So they want us to crack down on the tortilla throwing,” Steve announced. “As things get going, stand in the student section and specifically look for people with tortillas.”
“There’s no way we can catch everyone,” said one of the other security students.
“They want us to make examples of people. So pick one person you see throwing and kick them out.”
Almost everyone around Steve shrugged their shoulders in resignation, knowing kicking people out would be more trouble than it was worth.
Having finished the security huddle, Steve walked to his usual spot near the court. He ignored a couple of friends who called to him, teasing about his bright yellow jacket. He had taken the security job mostly for the extra money, but he liked the bonus of being able to watch the games right next to the players. It was easy money as long as none of the students in the bleachers acted obnoxious.
The game announcer’s voice rained down overhead, welcoming everyone to the Thunderdome. Someone sang an off-key version of the National Anthem and then the starting lineups for both teams were announced. The players gathered for the tipoff and Steve headed up an aisle of the bleachers, into the heart of the student section.
“We remind you not to throw anything onto the playing surface,” called the voice of the announcer. “Please show respect for our players and guests.”
“Here we go! Here we go!” Greg shouted to the students around him.
The referee threw up the ball and a UCSB player grabbed it. The teams moved toward one of the baskets. The UCSB point guard drove to the hoop and then passed to a trailing teammate. A jump shot from the free-throw line swished into the net.
As soon as the ball passed through the rim, a shower of tortillas sprayed onto the court from the student section. Most of the 4000 or so tortillas were thrown like Frisbees and about half of them actually make it to the wooden floor. The referees tweeted their whistles. The announcer yelled for calm and order. The bleachers rocked from thousands of jumping, screaming bodies.
Anik held his tortilla as he watched others fly past him. After almost everyone else had tossed, he had the sinking feeling that he had missed out on an important ritual. He raised his arm and lobbed his tortilla like it was a piece of cardboard. It landed in the bleacher section below him, far from the tortilla-covered court.
Steve Sakamoto, temporary security guard, was standing about twenty feet away when Anik made his late throw. Steve saw the whole thing and he needed an example.
“You! Come with me!” Steve yelled, pointing at Anik.
No one in the crowd, including Anik, moved. Steve yelled again. The two students on either side of Anik slowly leaned away from him. Then an invisible force seemed to separate more and more bodies until Anik was standing there alone, staring back at Steve. Anik’s face filled with terror and regret.
Steve motioned for Anik to join him in the bleacher aisle. Anik shuffled forward as if he was doing it in his sleep. When he was close enough, Steve put a hand on Anik’s shoulder and pointed him toward the bottom of the bleachers. Anik took one slow step at a time. The crowd pointed, laughed, and cheered. On the court below, a crew of student janitors pushed the mounds of tortillas into garbage containers.
When Anik and Steve reached the floor, they moved to the wide hallway that led to the exit. Anik’s initial shock instantly wore off. He stopped dead in his tracks, brought his hands up to his face, and broke into loud sobbing.
Steve thought Anik must have hurt himself during the bleacher decent. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Anik cried back. “I did not know it was wrong. Please sir, give me another chance. Please, for my family’s sake.”
Steve listened to Anik with awkward surprise. He was used to dealing with smart-alecky UCSB undergraduate students who gave him zero respect. Here was someone calling him sir and begging for mercy.
“I have seen what happens in Dhaka when people get arrested,” Anik continued. “Their lives are ruined. You will send me home. My family will not want to see my face.” Tears streamed down Anik’s face as he became more irrational. “This is the first time I have ever been in trouble. Now I am a failure after only three months’ time.”
Steve motioned with his hands that Anik should calm down. “You’re not in trouble. I was only going to kick you out of the building. Most people I kick out just go find another entrance and head right back up to the stands.”
“Please sir, I promise to follow all the rules. Please do not arrest me,” continued Anik, as if he had not heard Steve.
“I don’t even have the authority to arrest you. You’re not in trouble.”
Passersby began to stare at what was happening. Steve did not want to be a part of a big scene with people accusing him of bullying or police brutality.
“Please, stop crying,” Steve whispered loudly. “You’re not in trouble. I should never have made you leave. You can go back to your friends right now if you want.”
“They are not my friends. They made me do it. Please, you must believe me.”
“You’re not in trouble. Just stop crying. See, I’ll show you that you’re not in trouble. You can come right down to the court and watch the game with me.”
Anik wiped his face with a long sleeve of his shirt. “You want me to follow you back inside?”
“Yes, follow me back inside.”
“This is not a test? You are not tricking me?”
Steve laughed. “No, I’m not tricking you. Come on. You’ll have fun. And you know what, maybe I can have you shoot a basket on the floor. Would you like that?”
“No. I would not.”
“Sure you would. It would be fun. Come on.”
They turned around and Steve led them to the edge of the court. Anik stared with wide eyes at the surrounding crowd of people and how much bigger the players looked up close. Standing nearby was Ginger, the student who was in charge of the promotional contests that happened during timeouts and halftime.
“Are you looking for someone to do the halftime contest?” Steve asked Ginger.
“Yeah. I was about to grab someone from the stands.”
“I want you to meet Anik. He’s new. I think this is his first basketball game ever. It might be the first time he’s ever left his house. He’d be perfect for taking the shot. How about letting him do it?”
“Can he shoot a basketball?”
“Does it really matter?”
“I guess not. Sure, he can do it.” Ginger smiled at Anik. “Nice to meet you. Do you want to practice?”
“Practice what?” replied Anik.
“Throwing the ball. Have you ever tried to throw a basketball very far?”
“I have never held a basketball. Why do I have to throw one?”
Steve laughed and said, “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
Ginger retrieved a basketball and handed it to Anik, telling him he should get used to the weight and feel. He stood, holding the ball with both hands and not sure what was in store for him. He wished he had stayed at the office in the physics building. The clock above the court sporadically counted toward zero.
A loud buzzer sounded as the first half’s time ran out. The basketball players jogged off the court and then the cheerleaders performed a dance routine.
Ginger was now holding a microphone and she turned to Anik and said, “Follow me out.”
Ginger skipped onto the wooden floor, waving her arms and shouting a greeting to the crowd. Steve grabbed Anik’s shoulder again and steered him to the half-court line. Anik took shuffling steps and kept his eyes on the basketball in his hands.
“Santa Barbara, are you ready for the half-court challenge?” Ginger yelled into the microphone.
The crowd in the stands clapped and cheered.
“Alright, you know the rules. Make a basket from the half-court line and you win a new car, courtesy of your Santa Barbara Ford dealer.”
The crowd cheered again in anticipation.
“So far, we’ve had zero winners this season or last season, but I’m feeling good about today’s challenger. I’ve got Anik with me and this is his first time at a basketball game. Anik, how are you feeling?”
Ginger put the microphone below Anik’s mouth but he did not make a sound.
“He’s a little nervous,” said Ginger with a laugh. “Would you like a new car?” she asked before again holding out the microphone for Anik.
Anik now realized he was part of a contest and there was a prize involved. He had seen such things on television. “Where is the car?” he asked quietly.
“He wants to know where the car is,” Ginger announced to the crowd. “Don’t worry. If you make the basket, we’ll show you the car. Now, are you ready?”
At that point, Steve felt obligated to offer Anik some advice. “If I were you, I would throw it overhand as hard as you can. Aim for the backboard.” Steve grabbed the basketball from Anik’s hands and mimicked a throw toward the far off rim. “And you have to stay behind the half-court line.”
Anik nodded and accepted the basketball when Steve handed it back to him. He took a step backward and concentrated on the orange rim. A thousand voices in the student section began chanting, “Anik! Anik! Anik!”
With one tremendous heave, he swung his right arm over his head and let the basketball go. It floated in the air forever before smacking hard against the backboard and ripping through the rim and net. The crowd exploded more loudly than when they had thrown tortillas. “Anik! Anik! Anik!”
Steve raised his arms triumphantly over his head while Ginger gasped. Anik smiled and nodded toward the students chanting his name. He had changed his mind about remaining in the physics office.
“Looks like we have to show you that car!” shouted Ginger. “Where’s the first place you’re going to drive it?”
“I cannot say. I do not know how to drive,” replied Anik in a loud voice.
Ginger looked out toward the crowd. “I’m sure one of your new friends will teach you.”
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