From Foul Line To Firing Line

On the face of it, Chris Spatola got the short end of the stick. When he enrolled at West Point in the summer of 1998, the country was at peace and attending the academy meant a chance to play Division I basketball, something he hadn't thought possible for most of his high school career.

Now, in the winter of 2006, he wakes up every morning in Baghdad, accustomed to the notion that "indirect fire" may land in the compound where he works; knowing that his job -- keeping two key historic buildings in the international zone secure -- could involve suicide bombers or an attack by insurgents.

"The first couple of months I was here, I had a lot of trouble sleeping," he admitted earlier this week. "The first couple of times when a couple of rounds of fire lands in your area, it's frightening. I think everyone who comes over here goes through that. But after a while you settle into a routine. It isn't as if the danger isn't there; you just get up and do your job every day and try not to think about it."

Spatola is a captain in the Army, just as he was the captain of the Army basketball team in 2001-02. Even though he was only 5 feet 11 and maybe 160 pounds, he became a very good college player. He scored 1,543 points during his college career -- fifth on Army's career scoring list -- and was the Cadets' leading scorer his final three seasons. At the end of his sophomore season, when he had emerged as a consistent three-point threat, he had to make a decision. At any of the military academies, any student can leave after his or her sophomore year and be free and clear of any military obligation. Because he had proven himself, Spatola had opportunities to leave.

"I probably thought about it at some point just because you have to," Spatola said. "I knew there were chances for me to go other places and play and not have that obligation. But to me, doing that would have gone against everything I had learned at West Point about loyalty, about duty, about camaraderie and about honor. There was no way I could do it."

Among the schools that would have taken Spatola at that point was Duke. Of course he was dating the coach's youngest daughter. Spatola first met Jamie Krzyzewski between his junior and senior year of high school. He and his younger brother, J.P., had gone to the Duke basketball camp for three years, where he first met Jamie.

It also turned out to be a key component in Spatola's future because Jamie's dad -- Mike Krzyzewski -- recommended him to the Army coaching staff. He and Jamie, who is two years younger than Chris, dated throughout his four years at West Point and were married 18 months ago, after Jamie graduated from Duke. Much to the consternation of her mother, Jamie frequently made the 18-hour round-trip drive from Durham, N.C., to West Point, N.Y, on weekends to see Chris's games.

"She just knew he was the guy almost from the start," Mickie Krzyzewski said. "I kept thinking they were both too young to be serious, but I was wrong. She made a great choice."

Spatola's dream is to be a basketball coach when he gets out of the Army. His dad, Mike, was a high school coach, and Chris always played the game like a coach's son, making the most of his physical skills. Looking back on his decision to go to Army, he still considers himself lucky.

"I hear a lot from people about the sacrifices I'm making because I'm in the Army and I'm over here," he said. "I really don't look at it that way. I honestly believe that going through what I went through at West Point and doing what I'm doing now is laying a foundation for my life that will benefit me greatly down the road."

Spatola's family ties certainly won't hurt him when he becomes a civilian. Krzyzewski has made it clear he wants Spatola to work for him when he gets out of the Army, most likely in the summer of 2007. His current assistants -- Johnny Dawkins, Chris Collins and Steve Wojciechowski -- joke that one of them had better have another job by then. In the meantime, Spatola keeps up with basketball by getting up in the middle of the night to watch games on armed forces television.

"I stayed up late to watch the Duke-Bucknell game because I wanted to see how a team I had competed against in college would do against Duke," he said. "I was sitting there drinking iced tea to stay awake, watching the end of Texas-Memphis. Sure enough, they switch over to Duke-Bucknell as soon as it's over. About a minute in, all of a sudden they switch to some soccer game with the commentary in Arabic!"

When an armed forces tournament was organized in the international zone over the holidays, his men knew of his college background and persuaded him to play.

"It all came back fast," he said. "I don't think the other teams thought much when they saw me. In our first game, some guy really banged me coming off a screen and got my adrenaline going. I called time and put my team in a junkie 2-3 zone."

He paused for a minute and said, "Don't tell Coach K I did that" before continuing.

"I knew the other teams wouldn't be able to shoot. After a while I was coming down and launching from 25 feet. It felt great. The coaches [at Duke] sent a bunch of gear for everyone when they heard we were playing. We won the whole thing. Everyone got a medal. I've got mine on my wall. I'm looking at it right now."

Spatola has managed to keep his spirits high even though what he sees most days is grim. On Christmas, he and all the men in his command had the chance to call home. For many, it would be the first time they had spoken to their families since their arrival in Iraq. Before anyone called, Spatola got his men together.

"When you call home today, I don't want you sounding down," he said. "Your families are worried about you, and if you feel down, it will make them feel worse. Be upbeat. Tell them you miss them, but you'll be with them soon."

Later that day, Spatola called Jamie, who was spending Christmas with her parents. He got to talk some basketball with his father-in-law -- "Boy, did that feel great," he said -- and then his mother-in-law got on the phone. "I can't believe how up you sound," she said.

"I am up," Spatola said. "Think about it: It's Christmas day, and all of us over here are serving other people. What could be a better thing to do on Christmas?"

Mickie Krzyzewski had to hand the phone off at that point. She couldn't find any words.

Six weeks later, Spatola sounded emotional remembering the conversation.

"It was emotional for me, too," he said. "When you're away like this, you do wonder on occasion if people have forgotten you. Not completely forgotten you, but whether you're on their minds much because they are on your mind all the time. . . . When I heard how excited and emotional everyone was to talk to me, it got to me. I knew I hadn't been forgotten."

For the moment, Chris Spatola is gone. But he certainly isn't forgotten.