Let me ramble here, okay? My first favorite NBA team (and they still are a sentimental fave) were the Philadelphia 76ers. I gravitated towards them for several reasons. In the year 1976, I was in grade school and the Montreal Olympics was going on. It was the USA's Bicentennial Year as well and me mom brought home one day a bunch of books, picture books, and sticker books about the American Revolution as well as a poster of the 76ers.
There was so much hype about the Olympic men's basketball tournament. There were stories on what had transpired four years earlier in Munich. Stories of a robbery on par with the Brinks heist that opened my to things beyond comic books and listening to Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles.
One of the stories I read about then featured Doug Collins who was then playing for Philadelphia. Collins was portrayed as a tragic person; one who tried valiantly to give the US a win over the cheating Soviets. It also helped that in the stories I read about Julius Erving and how he was like an apparition that did unearthly things on the basketball court. So I became a fan of the 76ers (even well into MJ's career with Chicago).
The US team of '76 Olympic year was led by Quinn Buckner of Indiana. The Hoosiers went undefeated that season and they won the US NCAA title that year making it a perfect year for Buckner. I read about how he watched the basketball finals in Munich and how he swore he would right a wrong. What a story, right? Buckner incidentally also played for the Boston Celtics where he won a title in 1984.
But despite the win of '76 in Montreal, Munich had left an indelible mark on the world. Not only was it the pained look of the Americans as the Russians were given three tries to win the damned ballgame but also the terrorists of Black September especially the hooded figure on the balcony of the Israeli compound.
During September 11, 2001, someone said that "the world saw the face of evil that day" as two airplanes crashed into the World Trade Center. I'd like to borrow that line to describe Munich.
I grew up at a time when the Cold War was raging. Mention that today and "Cold War" could be used to interpret global warming. As an impressionable child, I read stories of the Domino Theory, how we could all be nuked into oblivion, Martial Law, and why Voltes V and other Japanimation stuff were cancelled. I discovered the Who and thought that their song "Baba O'Riley" is one of the greatest songs ever (and it still is).
Locally, it was Ateneo-San Beda and Crispa-Toyota. When it game to international basketball it was the US vs. the USSR. Now there's a term you don't hear anymore alongside "glasnost" and "perestroika."
Watching Team USA's Team B go up against Russia last night in the FIBA World Championship got me thinking about Munich and Montreal. And Seoul when Hersey Hawkins went down with an injury the Americans' lost their best outside gunner. I thought of Arvydas Sabonis and how we never saw the best of the Russian Bear (or Lithuanian Bear to be more correct) in the NBA. There was the first Goodwill Games where the Milwaukee Bucks crushed the Soviets and I went "attaway!"
I have to admit that I like this Russian team of no-name players. As I told good friend Charles Tiu, I like underdogs but I can never root for the Russians. I also remember pictures of the 1956 Melbourne Olympics (the last time the Philippines was also considered a basketball power) where the Soviets water polo team bloodied the Hungarians whose country they brutally invaded a month earlier (the invasion was on October 23 (?) while the Summer Olympics was in November -- for real).
If you've watched a lot of international competition then you will know how inefficient and biased the officiating is. Team like the US and even the Philippines never get the calls. It just so happens that the Americans are really talented at the game that they mostly blow the opposition away.
An 89-79 win by the US behind Kevin Durant, Chauncey Billups, and Andre Igoudala over the Russians no-names was still satisfying. Hell, it's a rivalry and it just riles up pent-up emotions. On the exact day of that Brinks Heist job in Munich, the Americans exacted a measure of revenge.
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