By Kit Pancoaost Nagamura
(The Nishimachi Internationalist Fall/Winter 2009 Vol. 44)
Michael Katsuhisa knows how to handle "the press," both the media sort and the kind you face in competitive basketball. The 26-year-old Nishimachi International School alumnus was big news this summer when he joined the Japanese Professional Basketball League as the fifth pick selection for Osaka Evessa. When approached for an Internationalist interview, he graciously agrees to set a meeting on his home court.
It's a bright October Sunday afternoon, and the breeze in Osaka carries whiffs of takoyaki (octopus dumplings), roasting chestnuts, and steamed crab. Nishimachi International School Director of Development Philippe Eymard and I have traveled to Kansai to watch Osaka Evessa face off against Fukuoka Rizing. Outside the Osaka Prefectural Gym, two attractive women are headed the same direction, and I ask if they've heard of Evessa's new guard, Katsuhisa?
"Absolutely!" they respond.
"But he wasn't in the game yesterday..." says one.
"Maybe he was injured?" suggests her friend.
In fact, we learn that Katsuhisa has sustained a minor Achilles tendon tear, but he's inside the gym, warming up with his teammates. He's easy to spot. At a modest 171 centimeters, Katsuhisa stands out in a sport that routinely recruits guys two-meters-plus. Assisting at free-throw practice, despite the injury, Katsuhisa moves with an easy grace that demonstrates the powerful ball control and velocity that got him snapped up in the draft. "I've always been the shortest on the court," Michael says when asked about his height, "so it's not like I suddenly shrunk or anything. It's always been this way, so I don't notice it."
The Japanese Professional Basketball League, or bj-league (sic), is fairly new—only five years in action so far—but the sport is catching fire across Japan. The crowds typically nudge 3,000, and today the spectators roar when the hot Evessa "cheer dancers" prance out, joined by the Evessa mascot Maido-kun, a visual combo of mythological god of good fortune Ebisu and one of Snow White's dwarves. At the game tip-off, the din is palpable, and the stands shake at every slam-dunk, substitution, or foul. Strategy is crucial for coaches, as each team follows special league rules: no more than three non-Asian players or four non-Japanese players are allowed in the game at any time. Unfortunately, Katsuhisa, considered an Asian player, is benched until his ankle recovers, but he's like a coiled spring clocking the action.
With seasoned US players in the mix, the game is blisteringly fast right up to halftime, when the two women we met outside the gym offer to exchange their front row bench seats with ours further back. We thank them and from where we sit now, we can practically steal the ball. The tension magnifies as Evessa gives up a lead, and the scores even out in the fourth quarter. The home crowd shrieks—and a fired-up Philippe yells out plays—right up to a classic "buzzer beater" finale. In the last second, Californian David Palmer sinks a downtown shot, a three-pointer to cinch it for Evessa with a score of 76-73.
Post-game, we meet Michael and his brother, Nishimachi International School graduate Geoffrey Katsuhisa ('97), in a quiet conference room at the Osaka Nikko Hotel. Geoffrey, on the international marketing team for Japan Sports Marketing, acquires broadcast rights to sell in Japan, manages pro athlete events, and attaches sponsors, so he's quick to assure me he's familiar with Michael's world. Michael then describes his brother for me: "He's a superhero. That's his nickname. He's always helping others, and he's just the nicest guy."
Geoffrey smiles, slightly abashed, but admits that what he really admires about his younger brother is his drive to follow a passion. "Michael knows exactly what he wants to do," Geoffrey says, "and it's a trait I don't have." Michael grins. It's obvious the brothers enjoy blind passing the ball between them.
Geoffrey and Michael, with the exception of three years in Rome, were raised in Japan by their mother, Sherry, from Pittsburgh, and their Japanese father, Hikojiro. When Hikojiro Katsuhisa was tapped to take the job of headmaster of Nishimachi International School, a post he held from 1991 through 1996, his boys came to campus with him.
Though both boys attended Japanese nursery school, neither of them found the transition to their new school difficult. But what about having their headmaster dad's shadow hovering over them every day?
"It was actually really nice," Michael says, "cause Dad was always right there all the time and we could hit him up for money for snacks and stuff." I ask the brothers if they ever got into mischief, and they shake their heads, but Geoffrey laughs in a way that's slightly suspicious.
"Yeah, well, Michael had a girlfriend in sixth grade," Geoffrey says, shooting his brother a look, "and I was made to stand out in the hallway once." The transgression? Not handing in a paper in class, on purpose.
"See," Michael says, "A superhero. There you have the worst he's done in his life!"
I soon learn that Geoffrey did well in school. "I was good in school, too," Michael pipes up. "I was a straight-A student until they started giving homework in third grade, and then I wasn't so good. But," he continues, "sports is also a crucial part of school; it teaches you so many things that you sometimes don't learn from just studying: teamwork, leadership, responsibility, and accountability."
Long before grades figured in their lives, both Michael and Geoffrey were, so to speak, on the ball. "In first grade at NIS, everyone was playing basketball," recalls Michael. "I picked it up, started watching Michael Jordon, Magic Johnson, and NBA stars, and from then on that's all I wanted to do. I knew it would be my life." When Michael talks B-ball, it's easy to see why Geoffrey envies his brother's unswerving focus. "But Geoffrey was the better player of the two of us," Michael notes, and there's a ticklish pause. "Back in the day, I mean," he qualifies, laughing. Geoffrey rolls his eyes; he knows.
Michael and Geoffrey spent a lot of time on the court together, along with a tight group of buddies. "Most of my friends played basketball," Michael recalls. "Yushi K. ('96) and Sang-Dae R. ('96), Kaz K. ('97) and Kuni C. ('97). There were others, and I don't want to leave anybody out, but those guys always looked out for me, and we're still best friends to this day."
Both brothers remember their Nishimachi International School teachers fondly, but speak of basketball coach David Priest with keen affection. "He was always fair and had a nice demeanor," Geoffrey offers. "He was silly and easygoing, and always made us laugh with his Priest jokes," recalls Michael.
Though laidback, coach Priest was hardly lackadaisical when it came to competitive basketball, as Michael reveals: "His style was to practice three to four times a week. He was serious about the game, but he never yelled at us. One time, though, I was playing too passively, and I was one of the better kids so I knew that I kinda had to take a leadership role and put the ball in the hole. I finally made a strong move for a lay up and [Priest] really got on me, saying 'That's what you really need to be doing all the time, every game!' "
Michael learned then to tap into his more aggressive edge, but when he talks about his childhood filled with long hours of playing the game, it's clear that basketball has offered him an invaluable layup of a different sort: "Me and Geoffrey and a couple other kids would stay outside and play basketball until it got dark every single day," he reminisces. "Those were the best times."
After Geoffrey graduated, the Katsuhisa family moved to Seattle, where the boys attended Bellevue High School. "I had an easy transition because of basketball," Michael says. "I'm not that outgoing, but the sport helped. People saw that I was all right at it, and they thought, 'He must be cool.' " At Bellevue, Michael encountered a coach who expanded on the fundamentals Priest had taught. "There, our coach taught us, maybe ten different defenses, twenty different set plays, and practice was just so in-depth and detailed," Michael recalls. "I liked the system, and though I like to play a little more freely now, using my instincts, I learned a lot from him. At the level I play now, you can't not have a system and win. You can pick the five best players off the street and put them together, but any team that has been practicing together is going to kill them."
In high school, Michael set his sights on landing offers at colleges. "I never doubted myself from the moment I picked up a basketball," he says. "So, after high school, I thought I could play at a high level somewhere. But I didn't get a single offer at any big colleges. A couple community colleges wanted me, but that was it, and at that time, I wasn't interested." Reassessing his options, Michael says, "I decided I'd like to try living in Japan again. I looked up the best division-wide schools that would take me as an English majorー'cause my Japanese wasn't that good. I learned the Japanese ball system and hoped it would lead me to a pro career here." He chose to enroll at Senshu University in Kanagawa Prefecture.
Michael almost makes his return to Japan sound like the easy option, a stepping stone to the pros, but as we talk, I start to comprehend the guts and determination his success has required. First, it is sobering to learn he has endured four serious surgeries, two for hip injuries, and one on each ankle. "I got banged up in college," he says. Next, he has had to attend pro league tryouts against 300 other players throughout Japan. The first cut brutally weeds out 250 wannabes. Then, a second cut ensues. Finally, in the third, the survivors are scrutinized during play by pro team coaches who take notes on their every move. Makes a chorus line look easy.
Ultimately, Osaka coach Kensaku Tennichi approached Michael and eight other players, inviting them to a workout with his home team for an even closer scan of their skills. This summer, Michael found himself at the mid-June draft. The team with the worst record picked first, the second-worst picked second, and when Osaka made the fifth pick, coach Tennichi chose Michael. It's a stupid question, but I ask it anyways. As to how he felt, Michael answers enthusiastically: "It was the best day of my life."
These days, Michael finds himself with very little free time. The team trains every day, and Michael intends to increase his strength, speed, and bulk. His favorite player is a guard like himself, Stephon Marbury, who he says "is like a Ferrari with a monster truck's engine, small, powerful, and fast." It won't surprise most at Nishimachi International School to hear that the exercise Michael dreads the most is one that targets the abs. "Our trainer is a former body builder who weighs 100 kilos," Michael explains. "We lay on a bench holding a medicine ball, and he rests his weight on top of us and then we have to muscle him out of the way and touch the ball to the top of the bench. We're screaming, literally!" When I ask to get a peak at the pro abs, I am informed that they are currently in hiding. "There's a six pack in there," Michael tells me, and we all laugh.
I ask Michael what his strongest moves are, and what singles him out on the court. "Catching the ball on the wing, triple threat, and jab-step," he says, then pops up to demonstrate. "Now you guard me," he instructs. Feeling vaguely foolish, I take a stance that makes me look like I'm greeting a beloved five-year-old toddler. Philippe mumbles some comment about "girls' basketball," but I ignore it. "I take a 6- to 12-inch step forward," Michael says, lunging toward me, "and if you don't react, if you don't step back, then I just go by you. But if you step back, I have a jump shot." In this case, because I don't particularly want hip surgery, Michael would have had a clear shot.
Does Michael imagine a day when an all-Japanese basketball team will emerge and challenge the world, as in baseball, I ask. "I don't think that coaches teach kids the fundamentals at an early enough age, and there aren't enough good coaches here yet for the game to really take off," Michael says. So, in the meantime, foreign players are necessary? "Well, that's something we all think about a lot," Michael admits. "We want the sport to get bigger, attract more fans, but I think to give the fans high quality games, you have to put in American players at this stage." And, with his bilingual skills, is Michael often called upon to translate for the foreign players? "Nope. My coach gambatte speaks English. I love that coach—he won't let any translator get in between him and the players."
Stomachs start to growl, and Geoffrey needs to catch a Shinkansen back to Tokyo, so I wrap up by asking Michael about his future plan. "I want to play as long as I can, but then I want to coach when I'm done and maybe work as an NBA scout—I have a good eye for talent. I always want to be involved with basketball." And his advice to young players at Nishimachi International School is this: "If you love to play, things will come naturally and you'll work hard. You'll watch NBA players, steal moves, and play a lot, spend a lot of hours in the gym. In that sense, there's a bit of luck in the kind of coaches you get. But you can always go to basketball camps in the States. Just love the game and play a lot and you'll find the way to go."
Facing the "triple threat" of Philippe, Michael, and me, Geoffrey postpones his train, and joins us for dinner at Barbacoa Grill Shinsaibashi. If you visit Osaka, you will find a "plate of fame" with Michael's signature on it in the restaurant. Michael's parents, whom he claims are his main heroes in life, must be so proud.
