Mexico - Richardson exporting his deep basketball knowledge

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Nolan Richardson's close friend, Ricky Cardenas, a retired railroad repairman, hauls water bottles into the gym before Mexico's national men's basketball team begins practice on a college campus in this busy industrial city down the road from El Paso.

A day earlier the team didn't have water during its two workouts, Cardenas says. Richardson, named Mexico's national coach in March, is incorporating his frenzied playing style dubbed "40 minutes of hell," and the exhausted players will need plenty of water.

"Mexico isn't familiar with what you've got to have, things like Gatorade, water," says Richardson, the ex-Arkansas coach who led the Razorbacks to the 1994 NCAA tournament title.

Twenty minutes after practice, players head to the buffet line at their hotel. They aren't looking for food but need ice to numb their aches and pains. No ice was available at the gym, nor was an athletic trainer on site.

No one protests the modest accommodations. They are a long way from the luxuries afforded U.S. stars. But Richardson and his players are on the ground floor of a major rebuilding project, one they think could lead to a spot in the 2008 Olympics in Beijing.

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"This is a monster step," Richardson says of Mexico's commitment to upgrade its national program. Mexico hasn't qualified for the Games in men's basketball since 1976.

This also could be another storied chapter to Richardson's legacy, which is filled with poignant moments and a measure of controversy for his heavily publicized falling out with Arkansas administrators that led to his firing in 2002. After a 14-15 season, Richardson reacted to criticism by basically challenging the university to fire him, saying, "If they go ahead and pay me my money, they can take the job tomorrow."

He subsequently filed a wrongful-termination lawsuit, which was dismissed by a circuit court judge in 2004. The finding was upheld by an appeals court last year.

The El Paso native remains an icon in his hometown, where a middle school is named for him, and he is popular in Juarez, where he played against members of Mexico's national team in the mid-1960s.

"They always treated me as one of them," Richardson says.

Richardson endured segregation growing up in the South but says he escaped it whenever he crossed the border. Later, when Richardson coached high school and college teams, he opened his basketball camps in El Paso to boys from Juarez, a gesture that still resonates in the border area. His wife, Rosario, is Mexican, a link that raises their affinity for Mexico.

"This opportunity is a once-in-a-lifetime for Mexico," former Mexican national team member Rafael Holguin Rico says of the projected turnaround for the basketball program under Richardson. "Everyone has to take advantage."

Panama success paved way

In his final turbulent months at Arkansas, Richardson came across to some as arrogant and brash, traits that are inconsistent with his current down-to-earth manner.

Richardson, 66, unassumingly blends in with locals in El Paso and residents in Juarez, where he can turn a phrase in Spanish easily. Now and again he refers to a player or well-wishing fan as mijo, an affectionate term for son in Spanish.

He has lost about 20 pounds since departing Arkansas and his hair is mostly gray, but Richardson still has an aura about him on the basketball court. Players and assistant coaches say they want to soak up his knowledge, and they listen intently, whether he's preaching uncompromising defense or diagramming plays.

"Forty minutes of hell" translates in any language. Cardenas, also from El Paso, ordered T-shirts with "40 minutos de infierno" imprinted on them.

"With Coach Richardson being here, it helps us get over that hump," says Anthony Lever-Pedroza, an American-born team member who played for Oregon. His mother is from Sonora, Mexico, so he can compete for the national team. "It would mean the world to show, yes, Mexico has a presence in basketball," Lever-Pedroza says.

Richardson is cautious with his outlook. "There is a lot of work to do," he says. "You name the area, we have some work to do there."

Mexican federation officials approached Richardson after watching him two summers ago lead Panama to a berth in the 2006 FIBA world championships. In about 35 days he turned around a program that hadn't advanced to the world championships since 1986.

Richardson agreed to coach Panama for one summer; he didn't accompany the team last year to Japan for the world championships. Panama finished 23rd among the 24 teams. That notwithstanding, it was back on the basketball map.

"He's a person with a lot of tactical and technical expertise," says Eduardo Ottenwalder, executive director of Panama's basketball federation. "We were able to play fast and defensive (minded). We were very satisfied with his work. We regret we weren't able to hang on to him."

Mexicans hope Richardson can duplicate his international success this summer. Mexico has played several exhibition games and will play in a July qualifying tournament in El Salvador for the 2009 World Games to tune up for the FIBA Americas Olympic qualifying tournament in Las Vegas beginning Aug. 22. The top two teams earn Olympic berths, but others could get another chance to qualify through a tournament next year.

Mexico faces a much tougher road than Panama did because there are fewer berths this year. Mexico is 35th among 74 teams ranked on the FIBA website.

Mexico will get a boost if NBA players Earl Watson (whose mother is Mexican) of the Seattle SuperSonics and Eduardo Najera of the Denver Nuggets join the team. Najera's business manager told the Rocky Mountain News Najera is unlikely to play, but Watson says he plans to join the team.

Not ready to leave the game

The team's amenities are far from glamorous, but Richardson worked with less while with Panama. Facilities were hard to come by, and he says he once resorted to practicing in a hotel parking lot. Some players drove up to four hours to practice when the team didn't have housing.

"I was really proud of them to be able to do what they did," Richardson says.

He took several months to mull the Mexican federation's offer. Since leaving Arkansas, most of his summers have been devoted to charitable work and to the animals on his 155-acre ranch in Fayetteville, about a 15-minute drive from where he coached for 17 years.

He says he has returned to the university once — for a matter relating to his lawsuit. He's occasionally in touch with Arkansas basketball coaches but says he has no desire to visit the school.

"I went into Arkansas with my head up," he says. "When I left, I had to get down in the bottom of an SUV — hiding — so I didn't have to answer questions and get followed."

He hasn't given up on the possibility of coaching again at a major-college program or in the NBA.

His résumé is remarkable. Among his achievements: a national title, three Final Fours, an NIT championship at Tulsa, a junior college national title at Western Texas and a state championship at Bowie High School in El Paso. But Richardson carries a rap for his run-ins with Arkansas administrators.

"When you do what I did, when you challenge the university and all its hierarchy and take them to court, you become a baggage carrier," he says. "I understand why a school would say, 'Nolan is too outspoken.' "

Nevertheless, he continues to leave his mark on the game. He's a consultant, offering input to coaches across the country.

Just when he thought opportunities to become an Olympic coach had passed him by, Richardson was given a chance to make history with Mexico and introduce his non-stop pressure, always-on-the-run schemes. Mexico assistant coach Angel Gonzalez hopes that style will spread through the country.

"For me, I'm learning a new system, one that we used to see only on television," says Gonzalez, a coach in Mexico's professional league. "I'm learning how he prepares. Nobody plays like this."

Richardson says he feels right at home.

"Knowing the area, the people, that was the biggest reason for me to do this, and I wanted to do it because I had played over in places like Durango, Monterrey and Torreon with a traveling team."

He says he received assurances from Mexican federation officials that he had autonomy in picking the team, which ends a long-standing institutionalized practice of favoritism, according to veteran player Victor Mariscal, 35.

"There is a big difference when a coach decides," Mariscal says. "There had never been this kind of opportunity for young players. It means no one comes in with a sense of entitlement. Not me, no one."

Every player must pay his dues, as the coach has throughout his life.

"Here am I now, in my retirement years," Richardson says, "loving the game even more than when I was a young man getting started."