This story begins promisingly in the early 90s with Markovitts, a recent American college graduate, who hasn't played organized basketball since high school who he gets the idea to send a tryout tape to some European club teams. Unexpectedly, he makes it and ends up playing for a small market squad in Germany and falling for the ex-wife of the only other American on the team, an aging star hoping for his last shot, along the way. Yet this book never went where I hoped it would. Of course, it's a memoir, not a novel, and you can't change real life, but I couldn't help being struck by the lack of humor throughout - as if Markovits, now in his 40s, can't look back upon this part of his life with anything but a great big, tired sigh. The tone is heavy and dour. You might think that a privileged American 20-something getting paid to play basketball, see a new country, and fall in love would have enjoyed himself at least a little and it's a shame that he didn't, or couldn't - even though nothing bad, tragic, or even unfortunate happens to him.
There are some interesting parts though, especially a thread about how athletes, or anyone doing something at a high level, need to come to grips with the fact that there will always be some one better than you - and not just better, but so superior that competition with them is impossible - but that topic has been covered before and better (notably in David Foster Wallace's famous Esquire piece on the US Open, The String Theory). Basketball fans take note though, this part of the story focuses on the differences between players on Markovits's team, notably between a rising star names Kurt (a thinly disguised Dirk Nowitzki) and everyone else.