Latinos Out To Find Inroads Toward Big-Time Basketball -- Yakima Valley Competition Heated, But Who's Watching?

TOPPENISH - "Tiralo, tiralo!"

The little boy dressed in red screamed in Spanish from the stands, imploring his father to take the open shot.

His shrill voice echoed through the gymnasium; through the double doors, where a man bit into a warm taco; out to the parking lot, where players wearing baseball caps backward laughed as they carried bags and balls to the gym; out into the nearby fields of hanging hops soon to be harvested.

The warmth of the late spring day in the Yakima Valley was matched by the heated competition inside the two school gyms during the recent Washington Latino Basketball Tournament.

On the other side of this predominantly Mexican-American town on the Yakama Indian Reservation, another tournament game was going on at the middle school. Jam Session was rallying against Los Charros. Tejano music, a rhythmic blend of polka and country developed in south Texas, blared as players discussed strategy during a timeout.

The teams from Washington and Oregon often exchange players. But this was no friendly affair. Complaints to referees, elbows and profanity punctuated this championship semifinal.

This was as close to big-game pressure as they ever would get. It would be back to work come Monday.

No college scouts, no coaches - and just a glimmer of hope of moving to a higher level of the game.

Oscar Rodriguez and Rolando Contreras know the scene well, as two of the Northwest's best - and most overlooked - Latino players.

Rodriguez and Contreras are among the Latinos trying to break into the college and professional ranks of basketball, where Latino participation is rare.

A breakdown of minorities playing NCAA Division I and II men's college basketball shows that 78 Latinos out of a total of 5,175 student-athletes on basketball scholarships played in 1996-97, the last season statistics were available. That's 1.5 percent. The numbers were even smaller for Native Americans (22, or .04 percent) and Asian/Pacific Islanders (14, or .03 percent).

Even fewer Latinos are considered NBA prospects. Eduardo Najera, a Mexican-born forward at Oklahoma, and Diego Guevara, North Carolina-Charlotte's three-point specialist of Puerto Rican heritage, are among them, as is Sharif Fajardo, a 6-foot-8 forward at Texas- El Paso who is of Puerto Rican background.

Terry Lyons, NBA vice president of international relations, believes players from Latin American countries like Brazil and Argentina could make an impact a decade from now.

As for today, he said, Latinos "need to have a role model, a success story. It could happen at any level."

A candidate for that "success story" is Felipe Lopez, the Dominican Republic native who starred at St. John's University and had a strong rookie season with the Vancouver Grizzlies. But Lopez is the only Latino in the NBA who plays regularly, and he gets little exposure because Vancouver is such a small, isolated market.

Though soccer and baseball are more commonly associated with Latinos, basketball is in their blood. Centuries ago, Mayans played a ritualistic game involving two teams, a rubber ball and a court between two rings. The object of the game was to shoot the ball at the rings, without the use of hands. The team with the most points was declared the winner; the losing players sometimes lost their lives to sacrifice.

College-age players like Rodriguez, Contreras and Henry Barrera also play basketball with a passion.

Barrera, 21, a 5-8 point guard from Grandview, is one of the leading scorers and top assist man for Multnomah Bible College heading into his senior year at the Portland school. He hopes to play overseas after college, not only for the love of the game but to spread his Christian faith

Barrera believes many Latinos don't play at higher levels of basketball because many do not want to leave their communities.

"People want to stay around their families," he said. "They don't see what's out there."

Barrera credits perseverance and his Multnomah Bible coach, Chris Reese, for helping him explore opportunities in countries like Australia and Argentina.

While Barrera's prospects look promising, he feels for others less fortunate.

"I know there are guys on my team who could play anywhere," he said of his club team, Jam Session.

Rodriguez and Contreras, also 21, were stars on their Woodburn High School team that played for the Oregon Class 3A state championship in 1995. Regarded, along with friend Enrique Sandoval, as three of the best players to come out of Woodburn, a town of about 16,500 people, they were offered scholarships to play at Clackamas Community College near Portland.

These days, however, the two have found the junior-college level to be a challenge, both on the court and off, yet still want to play for larger schools, if only to continue to prove that Latinos can play with anyone, no matter what ethnic background.

"Lots of people don't think Mexicans are 'ballers," said Contreras, a slashing 6-2 guard/forward. "They (coaches and scouts) think we play against weak competition."

Contreras has used his first two years of eligibility but has found that leaving home in Woodburn is difficult to do, though he wants to continue playing.

"I know I can play," he said. "I just want to be recognized by my peers. Everything has to be perfect for me to leave. It would be cool to leave, but Woodburn is family."

Contreras believes Latino players need to better apply themselves, because coaches often overlook them.

"Coaches go for white kids because they go to camps. A lot of Latinos can't afford shooting clinics or camps," he said.

Tournament director Anthony Veliz, also of Woodburn, also believes costs are a major factor in keeping Latinos off college rosters.

Veliz, 32, takes satisfaction in what he calls showcasing the talent of the Latino community and providing role models for youth. But he, too, recalls his desire to move on to the college level in football after a standout high-school career - without the resources to do so.

"The team was already picked out," he said of the Portland State squad of the mid-1980s. "We don't have people advocating for Latino athletes."

Rodriguez hopes to walk on at Southern Oregon or Western Oregon. At 5-11, he is undersized as a shooting guard, but makes up for it with a silky-smooth jump shot from long range.

"Some people are satisfied with tournaments," he said. "As a Latino, you know it's going to be harder. They (coaches and scouts) may not say it, but they look at you differently as a Latino player."

Rodriguez also underscored the importance of academics, which he said is a factor when it comes to Latinos being offered scholarships.

"We know we gotta hit the books," he said.

Many of the players at the tournament knew one another. For some, the inaugural event was a chance to reunite with old friends, a place where the best of friends became the bitterest of rivals, until the final buzzer. Then they would walk out of the gym together to socialize.

One of the tournament's tallest players, 6-5 Cesar Torres of Renton, uses the term raza, an empowering term Latinos use to refer to their people, when describing the joy of the first-year tournament.

"This is cool, raza getting together and letting 'em know we can play hoops," he said.