What I Know About Basketball

Clara Montes

Instructor’s Introduction

In WR 415, Public Writing, students consider the many ways in which they are experts—academically, professionally, positionally, and/or experientially—so that they can draw on on their expertise to contribute to public discourse in a variety of genres. When she took the class in Spring 2022, Clara Montes, a violin performance major in CFA, had much to draw on. In her quick study, Clara wrote up new research on violin tone quality for non-expert readers. In her contribution to a Wikipedia article, she expanded an article on Gertrude Stein’s opera, The Mother of Us All. And in her TED Talk, Clara inspired her student audience by tracing musical references from Brahms to Star Wars so much that they nominated her to speak at the cross-section event at the end of the semester. So, in the final unit, I fully expected Clara to write an opinion piece drawing once again on her vast musical expertise.

I was surprised by Clara’s first draft, but I knew right away that it was going to work. Even in the first version, she opened with the assertion that she’s writing about something she is not an expert in: basketball. At the same time, we sense immediately that her story is coming from a place of experiential expertise that still matters. The pieces were all there in that first draft, and in subsequent drafts, Clara worked carefully at the sentence and paragraph levels, based on models we read together and those she located for herself, to revise for concision and impact. The result is a piece that is poignant and personal at the same time that it contributes something new to the larger body of immigration stories.

In her first reflection for the course, when asked what kind of public reader she is, Clara wrote this: “I think that I gravitate towards articles that strike the balance between feeling familiar and introducing me to new ideas, but also ones that I can continue thinking about/bringing into my everyday life after I’ve finished reading.” For her readers, there are so many ways into the story Clara tells in her opinion piece—sports, immigration, family, community. But it’s the openness of the speaker, of that non-expert on basketball, that welcomes us, “[feels] familiar,” and sticks with us long “after [we’ve] finished reading.”

Gwen Kordonowy

From the Writer

During my family’s discussion of the NBA finals a couple years ago, my grandpa told us that, when coming to the United States, his choice of city was based on which basketball team he liked the most. He said that, in a world without the Bucks, “you guys wouldn’t be here, in Milwaukee.” It was a conversation that stuck with me for months afterwards. I’d never paid basketball any mind, yet, as my grandpa revealed, my family is linked to the sport. I wanted to write about this conversation to explore how something I know so little about has informed so much of who I am, broadening my understanding of heritage and home.

What I Know About Basketball

If I were asked to relay all the information I know about basketball, I’d probably talk for all of a minute and a half. I am a certified basketball non-expert. I don’t know the positions, or the players, or the rules, and likely never will. 

I do know that the Milwaukee Bucks won the NBA championship last year. 

A few weeks after their victory, my uncle offered my lolo—grandpa, in Tagalog—his congratulations, as if he’d been one of the players sprinting up and down the court. 

I remember thinking that congratulations was a strange sentiment to offer a fellow fan, but I knew how much my lolo obsessed over the Bucks. Whenever there was a game, he’d disappear. He once snuck out of my sister’s high school graduation party to watch at the nearest bar before rejoining the celebration as if he’d never left. The profile picture displayed on his otherwise sparse Facebook account is fixed with a Bucks-logoed frame. 

My lolo mentioned that he’d wanted to write something for the team when they invited fans to submit their Bucks memories, but thought that there were “too many people like me who have the same experience.” 

He then began to tell his stories to us—about being swindled into paying for an illegal parking space, and about how, when making appointments for his job as an anaesthesiologist, he’d claim to be busy whenever the games were on. 

Then his stories shifted. They were about seeing the Bucks’ first championship in 1971, in the first year he came to America. About how, when meeting with the immigration agency, he was faced with the challenge of choosing where to go. They listed some options: New Jersey, Pittsburgh, New York, Milwaukee… 

“Where’s Milwaukee?” he apparently asked. 

“Milwaukee! That’s where Kareem Abdul-Jabbar plays for the Milwaukee Bucks!” 

“There! I’m going there!”

It was an NBA-based decision. 

Basketball is a big deal in the Philippines. It’s ubiquitous, played on every street and on every television, cluttering walkways and airwaves alike. For Filipinos, basketball has been a central part of life for generations. 

I might not know anything about basketball, but when my lolo moved his life to the other side of the world, basketball was what guided him, bridging the expanse between the place he’d left and the place he was headed. His version of Lady Liberty was clad in a darker shade of green, a towering seven-foot-two, one arm stretched towards the hoop. 

My lolo became a season ticket holder with the Bucks in 1975. Back then, he was the only Filipino in the community who had season tickets, so he went around sharing his seats with everyone—with “Dr. Romero, Dr. Milan, Dr. Maniola, Dr. Chua,” with my lola (my grandma), and with his often-begrudging kids. 

Watching the Bucks was how my lolo made Milwaukee his home. The team wasn’t just what brought him here, but the basis upon which he formed his friendships. It was what he shared with his family. He told us that, in a world without the Bucks, “You guys wouldn’t be here in Milwaukee. That’s why I said I wanted to write something but I decided not to.” 

My lolo might not have submitted his stories, but I’m glad he chose to share them with us. It’s not often that he divulges such detailed accounts of his life. His tales of parking woes gave way to reveal the true crux of his experience as a Bucks fan, one profoundly tied to his experience as an immigrant. 

Learning this has made me, in a way, reevaluate what’s shaped my family history. The reason why I’m here can’t be entirely explained with a family tree—the environment in which it’s planted also affects its growth. My lolo’s relationship with the Milwaukee Bucks, at a turning point in his life, gave my family a home. Years down the road, it gave me a place to be from.

We’re constantly learning about the things that make us exactly who we are, by our nature and nurture, by chance and choice. Sometimes those things are what we’d least expect. 

I won’t ever possess the I-know-exactly-what-that-whistle-means kind of basketball knowledge, but I think there’s more than one way to be a fan. The NBA playoffs are underway, and I’m going to pay better attention this year. 

My lolo and I will both be back in Wisconsin soon. Maybe we’ll watch a game together. Maybe you’ll catch me in Deer District. Whatever the case, I’m ready to explore this part of my heritage. 

Bucks in Six forever. 

Clara Montes is a senior studying violin performance in the College of Fine Arts at Boston University. Originally from Kohler, Wisconsin (think bathroom appliances), Clara spent much of her childhood drawing, painting, and making music—all activities she still enjoys today. She would like to thank Professor Gwen Kordonowy for introducing her to new kinds of writing, and new ways to share that writing, in WR 415.