THE PROSECUTION OF THABO SEFOLOSHA
On an April night in New York City, the Hawks forward was injured and arrested by the NYPD. This is the exclusive story of how, in the aftermath, he became what he never wanted to be: a civil rights symbol.
BY SCOTT EDEN
Five minutes and 22 seconds after Thabo Sefolosha came out onto the sidewalk from a Manhattan nightclub on the morning of April 8, his wrists were manacled behind his back and two policemen were steering him by his elbows toward the rear seat of a cop car.
In the days, weeks and months to follow, Sefolosha, a Swiss native of South African descent and a key player for the Atlanta Hawks, would retell the story of those five minutes over and over again -- to his lawyer, his wife, his parents, his coaches, his teammates, the media, the jury, himself. In his memory, it doesn't seem like five minutes. It doesn't seem to him anymore like a space of time at all. It's as if those five minutes won't ever end. "There has honestly not been a day I haven't thought about that night since it happened," he says. "There's no escaping from it."
The team's plane had landed in New York around 1:30 a.m. for a game against the Brooklyn Nets. Earlier that night, in Atlanta, Sefolosha had played 20 minutes against the Phoenix Suns in the nastiest, most belligerent game of the season. There were seven technical fouls. A Suns player was ejected. Now, at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in lower Manhattan, where the team was staying, Sefolosha didn't feel like sleeping; he was too amped up. When he'd talked recently over the phone to his brother in Switzerland, he'd told him he was excited for the playoffs, which were starting in 10 days. He'd been to the NBA Finals once before, with the Thunder three years earlier, losing in five games to the Heat. Now, playing off the bench for the Hawks, who had clinched the top seed in the Eastern Conference, he wanted another chance at a title. He was a month from turning 31, old for the NBA. Who knew how many more opportunities he'd have. "Man, I've never felt like this," he said to his brother. "We have a real shot. I'm going to give it all I got. I'm going to be a locomotive."
A friend of Sefolosha's, a sports agent living in New York who represents other NBA players, had texted, suggesting they meet at a place called 1 Oak in the city's Chelsea neighborhood. Sefolosha had heard of the club -- the kind of high-end, velvet-rope establishment that paparazzi encamp outside of in hopes of DiCaprio sightings -- but he'd never been there. Sefolosha's friend and teammate, Pero Antic, decided to go along. The club was becoming packed. They took a VIP table. At such tables, the only choice is to buy full bottles of liquor. They ordered one of Jameson and one of vodka. Sefolosha mixed his Jameson with Sprite; he had two or three of these. They got to talking with other clubgoers, whom they urged to pour themselves drinks from the bottles; there was no way Antic and Sefolosha could finish them. An hour passed. His friend the agent rose to say good night, and not long after he left, the house lights came blazing on and the music died. Everyone had to go, the bouncers said, giving no reason, and they all went, exiting orderly through the front door.
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