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Thursday, Nov 26, 2009
Filming all these ups and downs is a bare-bones squad of five -- two producers, a production assistant and a single camera crew. The crew looks like a group of guys you might see out on a public golf course or in a good steakhouse. They dress neat and casual and have the mannerisms of former jocks. But these guys are all pros with plenty of experience filming feature content for the NBA and ESPN. They're playing pranks one minute, and dissecting a vérité moment the next. They go wherever the players go: practice, the locker room, the mall.
For everyone involved, there's more work than play. Anyone who thinks ballplayers have ripped abs due to the grace of genetics should watch these guys work. What better way to start the day than with two hours of fast-break drills, five-on-five scrimmages and endless three-point shots? The sessions resemble a typical high-school practice, only here the sounds of swishes fill the gym and guys have to take care not to hit their heads on the rim. Scrimmages are heated, bordering on brutal. Everyone pays attention to the score. "It always gets aggressive," says House. "If you practice soft, then you'll play soft."
These guys work for their money. All $27,500 of it. Yes, that's how much a Lowgator gets for six months of ball. Most of the players could make more dough if they joined a team overseas, but they choose to suit up in the NBDL for the supposed visibility.
"The only way to get back to the NBA is for those people to see me," says Dehere, who came to the Lowgators with six years of league experience in Los Angeles, Sacramento and Vancouver, a solid perimeter game and a noticeable limp. "Right now, I need exposure. The money's not important."
That said, everyone playing ball in North Charleston has money on his mind. They're all aware what's waiting if they can take their games up a notch and crack the ultracompetitive 12-man active roster of an NBA team. These days, the minimum annual salary in the NBA is upward of $330,000. A 10-day contract in the league -- a common arrangement come springtime as players go down with injuries -- can pay nearly as much as a whole season in the minors.
It's hard to think of such riches back at the practice gym. After the final scrimmage -- the blue team wins! -- the trainer circulates through the stands, strapping and taping ice packs to shoulders, knees and other moving parts. The Lowgators slip on sandals and hobble back out on the floor to take 50 free throws before a film session begins. "People think the life of a ballplayer is all peaches and cream," says McKie. "But most of the time, it's just a job."
The team seems to practice in a different gym every day. Today, we're at a local Catholic school, and the film session goes down in a conference room complete with billowing flowery curtains and a three-foot statue of the Virgin Mary. Players file in to watch the team's lackluster second half from the game the night before. The camera crew kneels in the corner and pans across the players and coaches as they mutter and grimace. Coach English has some sharp comments about the team's poor play, harsh words from a guy who makes player personnel decisions. Someone kills the lights and players watch their miscues in silence. There's an awkward privilege to witnessing the moment and everyone in the room seems too consumed by dejection or anger to notice the cameras.
Somehow, the cameras catch many of these raw moments: the halftime pep talk that sparks a game-winning comeback, the shoving match at practice that demonstrates frayed nerves, the telephone call to the girl back home, the aside that speaks volumes. The crew is shooting constantly, logging hours of tape a day. The producers are constantly sifting through the footage and constructing story lines for each episode.
While I followed the team, it was clear that the Lowgators were in uncertain shape with the playoffs looming. Would the team enter the playoffs reeling? Or would they pull it together and end the regular season on a winning note? The crew filmed away, trying to capture the right footage to illustrate either scenario. The process may add a little gloss to the relentless and often boring grind of the season, but the show otherwise seems to capture the NBDL experience in its element.
Whether the players are at practice, napping at the hotel or racing carts through the local supermarket, the ESPN crew is a constant companion, quietly shooting away. They almost always have a camera running, ready to swing the lens in the direction of a developing situation. "If a camera doesn't catch it, it's gone," says co-producer Dion Cocoros. "We've got to stay on our toes."
