thanks

I am trying to limit my Insider posts to Knicks related stuff, but here goes...

(btw, this series is an interesting piece of work by Chad)

In search of the European Jordan
by Chad Ford
Friday, December 20

ZAGREB, Croatia -- All good things must come to an end. Ronzone and I must say goodbye to Belgrade and the hospitable people who made our visit such a rich experience. But our sorrow is small compared to the daily reminder basketball fans in Yugoslavia and Croatia have of what could have been had two countries figured out how to settle their differences with basket, not bullets.

DEC. 19: THE GHOST OF DRAZEN PETROVIC

10 a.m. It's too early to be in another pickle, but that's exactly where Ronzone and I find ourselves. We had planned on hiring a driver to take us from Belgrade to Zagreb today. We are anxious to catch a game between Cibona and Pau Orthez in neighboring Croatia and were assured the four-hour drive would be no problem.

It's a big problem. Tensions have flared up between the two countries again, and the hotel fears their drivers will be turned away at the Croatian border. We try several creative solutions to the problem, but to no avail. There is just one solution left. Ronzone and I must rent a car and drive ourselves.

Numerous people warn us that it might not be such a great idea. The road from Belgrade to Zagreb runs right along the Bosnian border. The wounds between the three countries have festered for so long, the pain seems like it may never go away. Tony and I debate what to do and decide we'll give it a shot. With a trusty road map (in Cyrillic, mind you) to guide us and a tiny Opel to convey us, it's only appropriate that we head to the home of Drazen Petrovic looking for a kid many feel could be the best two-guard to come out Europe since Petrovic exploded onto the scene 20 years ago.

It takes us all of about two minutes to get lost in Belgrade. The road signs are in Cyrillic, and Ronzone and I already are driving in circles. Again and again we stop to ask people on the street which way to Zagreb, but the answer is different every time. We know the highway is only a few kilometers away, but for some reason no one seems to know where it is today.

After some time, we find a sign that says "Zagreb" and head off on the highway. The Yugoslavian landscape is desolate. There are no hills, no trees and no signs of life. The sky has been grey since we arrived a week ago, and I wonder if these people ever will see the sun again. There are no visible signs of the war, but as we arrive at the border, tensions become very real. Soldiers carrying automatic weapons patrol each side. The Yugoslavian border police pull us over and go through everything in our car.

The police are eyeing a bottle of wine that Ronzone has brought from Frankfurt. Ronzone gets the hint and offers the bottle in return for letting us pass to Croatia. A big smile creeps across the officer's face, and we are on our way within seconds. And within seconds we are stopped again, 100 feet away, this time on the Croatian side. Once again, an officer begins digging through our car. We're out of wine. He wants to know why we were in Yugoslavia. Ronzone pulls out his Detroit Pistons card. I am convinced it has magical properties. Everywhere we go, that little card gets us in the door. If you're traveling in Europe, you can't leave home without it.

About 10 minutes into Croatia we see the sun for the first time. The houses scattered along the road are painted in bright colors, and the hills begin to rise on the Bosnian horizon to our left and on the Slovenian border to our right. Our spirits are lifted some, but neither of us can overcome the horrible weight of history. The soil we are driving on has been baptized in blood too many times. At every turn, the ghosts of the past still cloud Europe's collective future.

Just 15 years ago, the former Yugoslavia included the countries of Yugoslavia, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia and Montenegro. Years of ethnic fighting have not only splintered the region, it has weakened one of the greatest basketball powers of all time. During the most recent World Championships, only Yugoslavia actually qualified for the tournament. The team was missing Croatian stars like Toni Kukoc, Gordan Gircek and Zoran Planinic. And it was missing big names from Slovenia like Rasho Nesterovic and Bostjan Nachbar. The Yugoslavians we met in Belgrade, and the Croatians we meet here, often mentioned this with a touch of sadness. As many differences as the countries still share, there's something about "basket" that unites them all.

There are eerie similarities between our two countries. The U.S. has made great progress in race relations in the past 50 years, and sports played a significant, and very public and visible, role.

The NBA always has been on the cutting edge of providing opportunities to African Americans. The importance of the selection of BET founder Robert Johnson as the first majority black owner in the NBA isn't lost on anyone -- including citizens of the Balkans. Over the last couple of days, several people here have mentioned it to me. Their question, ironically, is why did it take so long? While some in America still pine for the days when segregation's grip tore us apart, the drive through the former Yugoslavia is a chilling reminder of the heavy price of hatred.

3:30 p.m. We arrive in Zagreb. The feel and the look of the city is very different from Belgrade. The architecture here is an interesting mixture of Germanic and Mediterranean styles. The streets are more lively, and the city has a very busy feel. The traffic is terrible and it takes Ronzone and I another hour before we're able to make our way through the city. At one point I'm convinced that we're driving in circles as we see the same buildings again and again. It is absolutely impossible to change lanes, and we're stuck driving miles out of our way before someone allows us to cut in.

The ghost of Drazen Petrovic seems to have gotten the better of Pietrus tonight.

After the game, I console Pietrus, who is taking the loss, and his performance, hard. His agent called him before the game to tell him ESPN was coming to watch the game and do an interview. Pietrus is looking for excuses, but admits that the visit, his first with ESPN, distracted him some.

"I wish I did not know that you were there until after the game," Pietrus says. "I don't care about the draft or the NBA now, I just wanted my team to win. I struggled with my focus."

Pietrus goes on before I can get a word in. "I can't take 1-for-8 shooting. I need to get back in the gym and get back to work. I won't take a vacation this Christmas. I just need to get back to work."

Pietrus is being too hard on himself. I actually think he played pretty well. His point guard never got him the ball, and when he did touch it, it was usually with the shot clock winding down and a defender in his face. His defense was great, and it was clear from watching him warm-up that the 1-for-8 stuff was an aberration.

Still, first impressions count, and Pietrus was hoping to put on a show. "It's a bad game for me for Christmas. Don't worry, I'll keep working hard. You'll see. I'll change. Next time you come I'll be more focused on basketball."

What Pietrus doesn't realize is there may not be a second time. If he was playing at UCLA, we'd be able to break down every play that he made during the season. Too often, the kids here have just one shot to impress.

Now I'm feeling a little bad. Most of these kids aren't used to the attention they're getting this week. There are no LeBron Jameses in Europe. All of this talk about the draft, interviews and ESPN is bound to make their head spin a little bit. We see the dark side of that tonight.

Pietrus sits down on a small bench by the door and puts his head in his hands. His older brother, Florent, emerges from the locker room a few minutes later and tries to console him. Of course, Florent has his own problems right now. Florent came to Pau two years before his younger brother. He too is blessed with great athleticism (he's an amazing offensive rebounder ... amazing) but he doesn't have the offensive skills of Mickael. He's only 6-foot-7, and most scouts believe his size will keep him from getting drafted in the first round. I've been told that if he was just two or three inches taller, he'd go in the high lottery.

Spending 10 minutes with the brothers, it's clear that all of the attention Mickael is getting wears on Florent a bit. Florent is actually the second of three brothers to play on Pau. Basketball runs in the family. All of them came from the West Indies to France when they were ready to join Pau's junior team. This is just Mickael's second year with the senior team, and it's already clear that in most areas, he has eclipsed Florent on the basketball floor.

When Florent realizes that I'm here to interview Mickael, he first steps back. But when I invite him to sit down with us, it doesn't take him long to get something off his chest. "I know what the scouts think about me, but I just want to say that I think it shouldn't matter if I'm 6-foot-7 or whatever. I'm just a basketball player. Can one or two inches make that big of a difference?"

After he gets that off his chest the mood lightens a little. Mickael starts smiling a little, revealing a tiny diamond embedded in one of his teeth. We start talking about the NBA, and Mickael and Florent start arguing.

"I like Ray Allen," Mickael says. "I know most people like the guys with the fancy dribble, but anyone can do that. But not many good athletes are also good shooters. That's what I want to be."

Florent picks Kobe Bryant as his favorite player, and the two start gabbing at each other. "Please," Mickael says. "Kobe is overrated. Look at the Lakers this year. Ray Allen is a better shooter."

"You just like shooters because you shoot too much," Florent says laughing.

The two clearly are enthused about all of the recent attention. They'll make their first trip to America next week to catch their first NBA game in Phoenix. Their dream, like so many others here, isn't just to get their foot in the door. They want to dominate. For their country. For their pride. And for the soul of basketball.