The NBA bubble life in Florida is taxing the physical, mental and emotional strength of the athletes, like LeBron James, and members of the news media. Photo / AP
COMMENT:
It all sounded so breezy when the Los Angeles Clippers' Patrick Beverley arrived at Walt Disney World and promptly scoffed at the idea that working and living at one of the foremost playgrounds on Earth could somehow be complicated.
The bubble, Beverley unforgettably declared that day, is what you make it.
Nearly two months later, no one on the NBA's Disney campus can be that cavalier when talking about the surroundings. The league has managed to keep the coronavirus out, which undeniably is a significant achievement, but not without levying an emotional tax by severely restricting access.
Beverley's first-glance view suggested that bubble inhabitants, with the right mindset, could make this all seem as magical as a typical Disney trip. Now consider the review that the Los Angeles Lakers' LeBron James offered up Saturday night — after the league emerged from a three-day walkout during which numerous players gave serious thought to closing down the bubble completely. The near shutdown wasn't motivated solely by the players' social justice pursuits; also factoring in was the simple desire to return to the outside world.
"I've had numerous nights and days of thinking about leaving the bubble," James said. "I think everyone has, including you guys."
James was referring to members of the news media and, without question, he was right. The word I have used to describe this assignment, over and over, is "unmissable." That sentiment remains true, because I'm not sure I'll ever have the chance again to cover NBA playoff games in August and September in arenas without fans. But "interminable" also applies. I can't deny that there have been times during my 54 days here that I tried to picture the finish line and couldn't.
Lakers’ LeBron James on whether he was ready to leave bubble after Bucks refused to play: “I’ve had numerous nights & days thinking about leaving. I think everyone has, including you (media) guys. There’s not 1 person who hasn’t (thought), “I’ve got to get the hell out of here.’” pic.twitter.com/qKIZzlzRp1
— Ben Golliver (@BenGolliver) August 30, 2020
It's not because of the workload. My role at the 2016 Olympics in Rio, leading ESPN's coverage of the US men's basketball team for SportsCenter and ESPN.com, made for even longer days in some ways. What gets to you in the bubble is your lack of control, combined with the long-term isolation, all exacerbated by copious regulations and restrictions.
So many rules to follow. So much time alone with your thoughts. An Olympic excursion, typically bucket list territory for most sportswriters, also lasts only three or four weeks.
Of course, nearly eight weeks into my stay in the 314-square-foot Casita No. 4151 at the Coronado Springs Resort, I am getting nostalgic and predictably sappy about it all — even the tough stuff. My time in the NBA bubble is almost up. On Thursday, I am scheduled to fly home to Dallas. My colleague Scott Cacciola has begun his seven-day quarantine, replete with its daily throat and nostril swabs and bagged food drop-offs, and is poised to replace me as the bubble representative for The New York Times.
A few of my pals from other outlets are scheduled to cover this NBA restart from the first dribble to the last, so I feel guilty that I am leaving while they have 40 days to go, as do the two teams that will ultimately reach the NBA Finals. I am also trying, without much success because I am so darn stubborn, to convince myself that 50-plus days in one place with no license to leave is not an insufficient commitment.
Some proof: I have been a Disney resident long enough to start seeing Facebook notifications urging me to "register now in Florida" because "your vote can make a difference in your community."
I am obviously not eligible to vote in Orange County, Florida, but there are aspects of bubble life that will stay with me for a long time.
Wednesday, for starters, brought the last of my daily coronavirus tests, but I suspect I will want to keep taking my temperature and oxygen saturation readings every day for a while — just to be safe.
I will miss living in a first-of-its-kind NBA village with a bunch of teams that aren't travelling and, because of the tightly controlled borders, can't avoid interactions with the media even though there are so many more barriers to reporting access than we're used to.
I will miss the solitary convention center hallway, connected to one of the three team hotels, that the news media could not be barred from — and all the chance encounters with key NBA figures that took place there.
I will miss the garish orange carpet in that hallway and how Sports Illustrated's Chris Mannix and I frequently laughed at each other for spending more time camped out there than we knew we were supposed to.
I will miss the tiny lizards scampering around our feet while walking the less-than-1-square-mile of the Coronado grounds allotted to reporters.
I will miss the daily downpours that amazingly made Central Florida's vaunted humidity easier to stomach than what awaits me upon my return to North Texas.
I will miss the limited food options that helped me lose 4 to 5kg, which history says I will quickly find upon returning home.
I will miss the delicate touches of the housekeeping staff, like the way they wrapped the remote control in my casita in a little plastic bag.
I will miss the serendipity, such as turning a corner on the way to the meal room and seeing, say, Denver Nuggets coach Mike Malone whizzing by on a bicycle.
I will miss going to Phoenix Suns practices before it became fashionable and hearing Devin Booker talk about how ready he was to do damage back when no one would have dared to suggest that the Bubble Suns could go 8-0.
I will miss that buzz of total culpability, mixed with daring and satisfaction, after intercepting Philadelphia's Joel Embiid for a covert interview near the 76ers' team bus.
I will miss bearing witness to so much shotmaking greatness. It was a privilege to be among the very few inside the three gyms at the ESPN Wide World of Sports Complex to watch Utah's Donovan Mitchell and Denver's Jamal Murray trade haymakers for seven games, and to see Portland's Damian Lillard erupt for 51 points and then 61, and to watch Dallas' Luka Doncic dazzle in the NBA playoffs like 21-year-olds almost never do.
I will definitely miss a place where panic about the coronavirus has faded drastically. That is only possible because of the daily testing, mandatory mask-wearing and all the other precautions that have cost the NBA an estimated US$180 million ($266 million), but the league is more than halfway to pulling off its ambitious restart without a reported infiltration of Covid-19.
We're learning more and more about just how much goes into preserving that sort of streak. James, after all, is hardly the only player to publicly acknowledge the mental strain that stems from all of the league's safety measures — and the struggles to gain needed distance from the job in this all-basketball environment. Yet there are naturally a variety of perspectives on a trip like this.
"It gets monotonous — I get it — but there's definitely worse things in the world," Orlando's Michael Carter-Williams said. "To be honest, it's kind of cool to say that I was part of history — to say that I was part of being in the bubble and part of protesting a playoff game."
As one of the select few bubble reporters here to chronicle it all, I could certainly feel some of that coolness, too.
Written by: Marc Stein
Photographs by: Marc Stein
© 2020 THE NEW YORK TIMES
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