Color Copy & A Big Smile

I caught the bounce pass and took one dribble to my right.  I pulled up for a soft 15ft jumper.  As the ball tickled the net, I heard someone yell my name.  I looked around anxiously but couldn’t find the voice match.  The scoreboard read 14:32 and was counting down to the beginning of my second pre-season game with Tivon.   I was brought in for a two-game “tryout” and I was fighting for my life to get a contract.  I heard my name again and I was summoned by two of the team’s management to have a quick meeting.  No meeting rooms were available so we stepped out the back door of the gym and found a quiet corner in the alleyway.  It felt very sketchy.  The youngest owner started speaking and explaining the team’s situation.  His broken, yet understandable English began with “Listen, you are not going to become a millionaire playing for our team. We just don’t have much money” He continued to explain that they had chosen to offer me a contract and was excited to have me join the team immediately.  They were impressed with my basketball knowledge and liked how I played the team game.  I was flattered and glad they understood my skill set.  The pear-shaped older owner stepped closer and said “but, we have a problem.”  He continued to explain that I had to sign with them immediately in order to play that night’s game.  It was for insurance purposes and there was “no way around it”.  

I was taken aback by the moment.   They had all day to talk to me but they decided to pressure me into signing a contract 10 minutes before the game.  I was warned of shady behavior by overseas management but hadn’t experienced it yet.  I took a breath, put on my strong face and said: “There is no way I am signing anything without knowing the deal and speaking with my agent.”  They told me I wouldn’t be able to play.  I said, “Listen, you brought me here for a two-game tryout so I am going to play tonight.”  They looked at me like a crazy person.  I don’t think they expected me to stand up for myself because they knew I was desperate to find a gig.  We started walking back into the gym and I wasn’t sure how they took my aggressive “I’M PLAYING BITCHES” type speech.  I tried contacting my agent immediately and was in the pregame huddle holding my cell phone to my ear.  I kind of felt “big-time” calling my agent about a contract offer…

Part of the reason I acting strongly was that I knew they needed me in that game. There were only 7 other healthy players.  The management decided that I could play if I would sign an “official” release saying I was responsible for any injury during the game.  I waited on the sideline patiently as the game began.  I figured they had a legit legal document for situations like this.  I was then handed a blank notepad and told to write the release.  Hilarious!  

The release read: “I, Zach Silverman, take responsibility for my health.”  That’s it… I even made a smiley face next to my signature. 

Five days later, after my trip back to Herzeliya for Rosh Hashanah, I was back up in Tivon to officially sign with the team.  I was welcomed back by my teammates and coaches and was escorted directly to the gym for another pre-season game.  I was quickly nicknamed “the ringer” because I had yet to practice and seemed to only show up for games.  It was my perfect scenario!

The next day began two days of pure utter chaos and errands.  I was at the Haifa mall with teammates when I got a call from Svitka (management) who angrily asked: “Where are you?” I could barely understand his busted Englew (English + Hebrew) so I quickly found a worker at the Office Depot to talk with him and see what he wanted.  I was told meet him immediately for my physical.  The other players joked with me about the physical and explained it wasn’t like the American “cough and look to the left” exam.  Luckily that day I happened to wear shoes because I was quickly brought to the back of the medical facility and put on a treadmill.  They strapped me into a computerized monitoring device and I was told to start running.  After 15 minutes of an uphill fast-paced stride, I was finally allowed to stop.  I was deemed healthy enough for competition. 

Later in the day, I was brought to the management office to sign my first professional contract.  It was a strange moment for me because it had been something I always dreamed about and I was finally accomplishing my goal.  After reading over the contract and mentally pretending that there were about 3-5 more 0’s involved in the monthly wage, I signed and smiled for the media.  The media consisted of management holding my camera phone.  I now know what Lebron goes through on a daily basis…. Jeez… leave me be media!

The following morning I was brought to the Haifa government building to finish my Israeli paperwork and get my ID card.  A team helper named Orpaz was in charge of making sure everything was taken care of.  She slightly spoke English but again I was surrounded by mostly Hebrew.

I ran into a major issue that jeopardized my status.  Remember when I mentioned my accidental fall in the train station where things fell out of my backpack?  Well, it seems that I had LOST MY PASSPORT in the spill.  The issue was not just the missing passport; the real concern was the Israeli Visa that was on page 8.  Without the Visa, I would not be able to receive my ID card, which in turn would not allow me to become an Israeli citizen, which would stall my basketball career until December.  I was devastated.  I sat on the hard plastic orange chairs with my head in my hands.  I was on the brink of tears.  I was in total shock and disbelief of the situation. 

A bulb went off in my head and I realized that I made copies of all my documents before leaving Philly.  Had I made a copy of my passport and visa?  I surfaced from my mini depression and searched frantically through my folders.  BAM!  A color copy of all the documents needed. Thank you, mom, for teaching me how to prepare.  I walked to the front desk, smiled, and handed them a packet of identification.   The man who had originally turned me down quickly shut my smile off and said “no copy… need an actual visa.”  I smiled bigger and said, “please, please try and help me out.”  I noticed a curly-haired mid 40’s woman over his shoulder watching as I nicely asked him for genuine assistance.   She walked over and took a look at the papers.  Within 5 minutes she copied the documents, spoke with management and approved my citizenship.  I gasped at her kindness and asked if I could hug her.  She sweetly declined but I joked that I would hug her if I saw her around town.  I could sense that she was happy to help and was amused by my humor. Before I left she said, “You have an angel watching out for you.”   

With my Israeli ID in hand, we headed to the army base to show proof of citizenship.  Persons under the age of 25 that make Aliyah are made to join the army for 3-12 months.  Luckily, I am 27 and was given discharge papers. I have never been so happy to be old.  To be honest, part of me would like to try basic training but I don’t think my mother wouldn’t allow me… She would fly here, find me, and drag me home pulling my ear…. Right ma?  J

With all the paperwork completed, I was finally allowed to settle into my new home.  For now, I would be living with 3 other teammates and sleeping on the couch… Ah yes… the glamorous life of a professional athlete.