Catch a Star

by Tamika Catchings

  Entering the NCAA tournament that year, the Lady Vols retained our number one seed in the Mideast Regionals and quickly dispatched sixteenth seed Austin Peay and ninth seed St Mary’s. But in the regional, we faced Xavier and were trounced by fifteen points.

  Another championship had eluded Pat Summitt for another year.

  And I would not play another game for the Tennessee Lady Vols.

  The disappointment of Tennessee blended into my fears about the WNBA draft. When the injury occurred and I realized it would sideline me for nearly a year, I was crestfallen. I knew it would severely lessen my chances of being drafted.

  The summer before, I had done an internship with the WNBA Phoenix Mercury, the team that had drafted my sister, Tauja. As it happened, Tauja was cut from the team right before that season (later to be picked up and then cut by the Miami Sol), but I was committed to the internship in Phoenix and did it anyway. It contributed to my degree.

  In fact, at Tennessee I finished my undergraduate degree early, and for the second half of my senior year I started working on a master’s in sports management. The internship in Phoenix gave me a firsthand look at the management of a pro team. That summer I also learned a lot about the commercial realities of a pro team and what they looked for in drafting.

  The WNBA was brand new, trying to establish itself, draw fans, bulk up attendance. A lot of WNBA teams were marginal financially, and needed all the paying fans they could draw. They needed collegiate stars to draw interest in their teams. Most of all, they needed collegiate stars who would actually play, not sit out a year to get a knee mended.

  I compared it to going to the store—if you walk in to buy something, you want it to be new, not used and broken. WNBA teams likewise drafted for the new, not the used and broken, player. So I knew my stock in the draft had taken a hit, and I didn’t know where I’d place in the draft order, if I placed at all. Deep inside, I feared no one would want me.

  It was all so . . . frustrating.

  There’s a verse in The Message version of the Bible where Jesus said, “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God” (Matt. 5:3). I wasn’t so sure yet about the blessing part, but my injury made sure there was “less of me” on the court with Tennessee, and perhaps this would prove to be true in the WNBA as well.

  It’s always been a struggle between God and me. Some have said I’m kind of stubborn. (Actually, some say I’m a lot stubborn.) I want to control my life, what I do, where I’m going. It’s hard for me to let go of that. So when I wrestle with God, I don’t give in easily.

  But then he is . . . well, God.

  There wasn’t much I could do. But there was a lot God could do. And he did.

  The WNBA draft was held in Secaucus, New Jersey. Despite my injury and fading draft hopes, I had an invite to attend.

  I went, even though I had mixed feelings. I wanted to be part of the excitement and the festivities. But I wasn’t sure I would really be a part of anything, given my draft chances. And it was possible that where I landed in the draft could really disappoint my lifetime of dreams.

  My parents were there to cheer me on. It was in a large TV studio housed by NBA Entertainment, and dozens of college players were there, along with friends and family. We each awaited our fate—a lottery ticket that in some cases would determine where someone would live and play and settle down for years to come.

  The first pick was owned by the Seattle Storm, and it was no surprise they selected the Australian basketball star Lauren Jackson. (A round later Seattle would select Semeka Randall as their number two pick.)

  I was interested, of course, in the fortunes of those I had played with and against. But I also felt I was in for a long night. Waiting, and perhaps not being selected at all. Waiting for disappointment.

  Up second, the Charlotte Sting picked guard Kelly Miller from Georgia.

  Then the Indiana Fever were on the clock. And the announcement came quickly: “The Indiana Fever choose, as their first selection . . . Tamika Catchings from the University of Tennessee.”

  I couldn’t believe it. After all my concerns and worries about being picked at all, I was picked third?

  I had two immediate reactions. One was a shout for joy. The other was panic. I knew that in moments I’d be in front of a camera and a microphone with a reporter asking me to talk about how I felt to be going to Indiana. And what did I know about Indiana? I thought of farmland and cows and corn. What else? What city did the Fever play in? Oh, right. Indianapolis. Wasn’t that where Purdue played? No. Not quite. University of Indiana? I think so. Oh, my!

  I don’t even remember what I said to the media. I guess it was okay. I would learn later how great a place Indianapolis, Indiana, was. In those moments, though, the point was that the Fever wanted me—despite the fact that I wouldn’t be playing for them for a whole year. Quite a risk on their part.

  And maybe that’s partly why I’ve been so loyal to Indiana since. They believed in me. And I’ve given back to them. I’ve been with the Fever my whole pro career.

  So long, in fact, that they now consider me an honorary Hoosier!

  In retrospect, the frantic pace of those days and weeks is hard to imagine now:

  My last college game was January 15.

  My surgery was the day after Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

  The WNBA draft was just a few weeks later, on April 20.

  The Fever would start training camp a couple of weeks after that.

  The WNBA season would start May 31, though I would be watching, not playing.

  Of course, there was this other little thing called moving. I would need to move out of my apartment, say good-bye to Knoxville, and move to Somewhere, Indiana. And so, two weeks after the draft, I moved to an apartment in Indianapolis.

  Oh yes, and there was also this little thing called graduation. I would definitely be there to participate in the commencement ceremonies.

  That was such a bittersweet experience. I guess all graduations are. You’re leaving a place that became so much to you. A place that contained the legend Pat Summitt, who taught you so much more than basketball. A place where you grew up from being a girl to being a woman.

  Three of us Fab 4, who had entered UT together four years earlier, were graduating not only from Tennessee but into the WNBA, Semeka going to Seattle and Ace going to Houston. Our futures lay before us, and our college experience stretched out behind us. But our friendship would continue. Both Semeka and Ace continue to be good friends to me to this day. It was a sad time but a happy time. We cried some tears. And we laughed about the things we’d done together.

  And I think there’s a special bond for those who have played at the top level of competition, who have endured pressure together, and who have reached the height of competitive play. We had gone through a lot together.

  We’d be moving on. But to an even higher-level game. We would all meet again.

  This time we’d play against each other.

  One of four teams inaugurated in the 2000 season, the Fever was just getting established. The year before it had its start with players picked from an expansion draft. In an expansion draft the existing teams can protect five current top players. The remaining players go into the draft and are selected by the new franchises.

  The Indiana Fever had the first pick that year before and wound up with some good players, but it’s inevitable that the new teams would start slow and take some years to develop and draft top talent. In year one, its record was 9–23.

  I was the first regular draft pick of the Indiana Fever. And I wouldn’t be on the court for another year.

  The Fever would struggle again in year two, finishing just one game better than it had its first year. I watched from the bench, itching to play. My recovery from my torn ACL was progressing normally, but “normal” for an impatient me was too slow.

  In early July, I hit a benchmark and was cleared to run straight lanes. No cutting, no pounding
, no sprinting, just a nice casual gait forward. I was too excited! Shortly after that, I joined the team on my first road trip to Houston, Texas, where we would be taking on the Comets the next day. We landed and headed straight to the gym for practice. This would be my first time as a player in another team’s facility.

  I was soaking up every moment. I changed clothes and waited for the rest of the team to get going so we could get on the court. I was mid-gait when I felt something tug in my knee. I tried to walk, but it hurt. It was a sharp pain in my knee and down my leg. Inside I was having a panic attack, outside I was looking around for our trainer—somewhat cool and somewhat frantically (if that’s possible). When I finally located our trainer and told her the pain I was feeling, she checked my knee and the next thing I knew, I was on a plane headed back to Indianapolis. I was devastated. I didn’t even get a chance to stay and watch our game against the Comets.

  The doctor checked my knee and I found I had torn my meniscus. Another surgery required. More time before I would step back on the court. A complete letdown. But after being so close to the game in Houston, I was even more determined to get back. Another test from God.

  My first chance at playing again would be early in 2002, in the off-season. I learned about another women’s professional league, the National Women’s Basketball League (NWBL) that was starting up and got a chance to head back to my hometown of Chicago and play with the Chicago Blaze. I was a little nervous as this would be my first competitive action since I tore my ACL, although I had fully recovered by now and had worked out and rehabbed hard.

  Some people are surprised at the number of basketball leagues and competitions that exist in basketball outside of the NCAA and WNBA. But many different leagues in the United States and overseas are options for basketball players in the off-season. It’s possible for a woman basketball player to play on different teams in different leagues in different competitions nearly year-round.

  In March I traveled to Houston to try out for the United States Women’s National Basketball Team. This team would represent the United States at the FIBA World Championships in China. If I made this team, and we won, I would get a shot at making the team two years later in the Olympics.

  I didn’t know this when I tried out, but I heard later that the coach of the U.S. team, Van Chancellor, also coach of the WNBA Houston Comets, was reluctant to invite me to play. It was because he didn’t want to be responsible if my rehab wasn’t complete and I got hurt again. He doubted I would, or even should, make the team.

  It felt good to be invited to play with some of the top players—including Sheryl Swoopes, Dawn Staley, and Lisa Leslie. The competition was high.

  It was said that as soon as Van Chancellor asked, “Why is Catchings here?” in his southern drawl, there was a loud screech. As everyone turned their heads, they could see I had slid and saved the ball—the hustle play I’m known for. And then he said, “Oh, yes, she can play.” He said later he regretted doubting my fitness and ability to play at that level and kicked himself for nearly keeping me off the squad.

  I made the team. And I thought about how much would have to happen in the next few months—my first year of pro basketball with the Indiana Fever and then at the break being ready to compete in the World Championships.

  It had been a little more than a year since I tore my ACL. I thought about how much had happened in that year. I thought about how much God can do with us during the downtimes of our lives.

  13

  Building

  A lot of players are talented—everybody can shoot, everybody can rebound—but it comes down to how bad do you want it? There’s just a relentlessness to Tamika’s game that really blows you away.

  Nell Fortner, head coach, Indiana Fever, 1999–2003

  There’s a certain amount of pressure (a) being selected as a number one draft pick for a pro team, (b) missing your first year due to an injury, and (c) being looked at in the third year of a new franchise as the savior of the franchise.

  I felt that pressure, but I was also eager to get back on the court and play. My experience at the USA World Championship tryouts gave me confidence in my knee, and I was ready for my first season in the pros.

  Nell Fortner was the Fever coach. In 1999, when the Fever was born as a franchise, she was named head coach and general manager. However, she was serving then as head coach for the 2000 USA team—the team headed for the Olympics—so she didn’t coach during the Fever’s first year. She was at the helm of the Fever my first year—the year I sat out. Now I was playing under her, not just watching her coach.

  Nell was a highly motivational coach. She was always a positive person, always ready with an inspirational quote. She would find ways to encourage and nudge you forward.

  One of my goals for the year was to get into the playoffs. You always want to win the championship, but realistically, there were going to be some challenges. The year before the Fever had gone 10–22, and we had a lot of work to do.

  It felt good to play again. My knee was fine, and I enjoyed playing at a higher level of competition. The WNBA drafted only sixty-four players each year; the league represents the top 1 percent of college women’s basketball players. So I was indeed playing against the best.

  In the midst of my first season, we had to take a hiatus for the World Championships. The tournament was held in China, and along with being the defensive specialist, I wound up the second-leading rebounder and the third-leading scorer. With the great talent we had, we swept everyone off the court and won the World Championships.

  When the Fever resumed league play, the good news was that we had the best season in franchise history, finishing 16–16 for the regular season. And yes, we made it into the playoffs—barely. We tied with the Orlando Miracle for the final playoff spot and faced them in a tiebreaker game. We won and made a playoff berth for the first time in Fever history—only to fall in the first round against number one seed New York Liberty, who made it to the finals that year.

  One honor that meant a lot to me in 2002 was winning WNBA Rookie of the Year. Considering the level of talent recruited in 2001 and 2002, and given that I had to overcome the ACL and meniscus injuries, it was an accomplishment I would be very proud of.

  Someone said back then that I “willed” the team into the playoffs. I’m not sure about that. I worked hard, played hard, competed hard. That’s what I know how to do.

  At that time in my life and my career I didn’t think of myself as a leader. I knew I had the talent to move the team forward and I worked hard to achieve what I wanted to go after. But I never really thought much back then about what I needed to do to motivate others. If I led anyone, it was by example, by how I practiced and played, not by words I said or challenges I issued or calling anyone to task for not working hard enough.

  So I don’t know what to say about “willing the team” into the playoffs. I suppose I shouldered my share of the effort, and maybe more than my share. I simply wanted it. You play to win.

  Later I would learn a lesson in leadership—up front, outspoken, lead-the-team leadership—but it wouldn’t be for another couple of years.

  For now I was just a rookie who played hard and wanted to win.

  Indy is a small enough, but big enough, city that I got plenty of attention as a professional player, but not so much media pressure as would be the case if I played in New York or LA. My dad would say it was a blessing I didn’t get drafted by the Liberty or the Sparks, the teams in the big cities where the lights of the media are intense and searing. Even so, being Rookie of the Year and the Fever getting into the playoffs for the first time generated a lot of excitement and I could feel the cameras on me.

  I was a long way away from my childhood years of wearing huge hearing aids and being made fun of. Yet I still was not comfortable with all the attention.

  But Tauja was there—always on my side.

  She had chosen to come back from playing abroad in Valenciennes, France, when I tore my ACL. She mo
ved with me from Tennessee to Indianapolis to help in the pursuit of my professional basketball dreams. We shared an apartment in Indianapolis, and she was a rock for me in those early years. Most of all, it was the beginning of a recovery of our deep relationship as sisters after years separated by divorce and playing on competing teams in the NCAA.

  During my ACL recovery, I had time on my hands. I talked to our Fever community relations director about opportunities to be engaged in the Indianapolis community, and that’s where I found myself in conversation with one of the city’s park managers after a team appearance with the youth. He tossed out the idea of me starting a basketball camp for inner-city kids. I went home to Tauja, excited about the possibility. In fact, that was something we had talked about years earlier when we were kids. I had dreamed that one day I would be able to host my own “Tamika Catchings Basketball Camp.” Now the idea of a youth basketball camp didn’t seem so crazy. It seemed completely possible.

  We put together a plan and spread the word about a five-day camp in December. Tauja was amazing in figuring out how to do it. As I’ve always said, I’m good at basketball; Tauja’s good at everything. She just has a great deal of know-how about how to organize and make things happen.

  The camp was amazing, though exhausting—every day with kids, all day, for five days (how do teachers do it?)—but afterward we got so much positive feedback from parents. So much positive feedback that the parents asked for more programming for their kids.

  Tauja and I put our heads together, and the next year we added a “fitness” clinic. Indiana ranks high in incidence of childhood obesity, and we wanted to address that. At the same time we wanted to help kids learn about exercise and fitness, we knew we were working in some challenged areas of the city, working with families who often didn’t have money for basketball camps and such. So we made the fitness clinic “free.” All the family had to do to earn admission for their kids was to donate ten cans of food.