Foreign Hoopsters Get a Crucial Assist

With a minute left on the clock at Jamsil Arena in Seoul, Coach Lee Sang-yoon of the SK Knights basketball team is barking rapid-fire orders to the players gathered around him. Two bewildered, towering Americans stare into the huddle, numb to the inscrutable Korean instructions.

But they have help. Han Sung-soo is instantly by their side, interpreting the next play in English at almost the same moment that Coach Lee explains it in Korean. But the bell sounds before the last words are translated, ending the time-out. As play resumes, Mr. Han, brow furrowed in anxiety, can only wait to see whether the foreigners understood him.

Every season, each of the 10 teams in the Korean Basketball League is allowed to recruit two foreign players. These players, usually Americans, are heavily relied upon by their teams, and the league itself depends upon them to raise the quality of play.

But competition on the court is just one challenge for the imported players, who must also adapt to different coaching styles and a completely new culture and language. This is made possible by a staff member often overlooked by cameras and commentators: the team translator, who navigates the language and cultural barriers for the foreign athletes.

Mr. Han, 33, has been the official translator for the Seoul SK Knights since 1997. The Korean national studied at Highline Community College in Seattle, Washington, and North Sydney College in Sydney, Australia. He serves as a voice for everyone: foreign players, Korean players, the American assistant coach and the Korean coaching staff.

His duties extend far beyond the court. He wearily admits that from September to March, "I have no social life whatsoever." Though his presence is required at the team's twice-daily practices, games three times a week and countless meetings, at the core of his job is ensuring that foreign players adjust to the team and to life in Korea. Essentially, it requires being on call season-round.

Peter Won, 26, is in his second season as a translator for the league's other Seoul-based team, the Samsung Thunders. For his services, Won makes a little over 27 million won ($25,700) a year. His business card says "International Affairs Coordinator," but Alex Scales, a Wisconsin native who has played for the Thunders since November, affectionately describes him as "a translator, public relations official, coach, chauffeur, mail boy and assistant."

Jamahl Mosley, the Thunders' other American player, says the laid-back Mr. Won "does something of everything; that's the crazy part about it. If we need to go somewhere, if we need phone cards to call home, a place to stay ― there's no way I'd be able to do that on my own."

The nature of basketball eases the translators' burden somewhat. Technical terms such as "shoot" and "defense" are in English. Plays are standard worldwide, and there are universal hand and body motions. As SK Knights power forward Kevin Freeman, 27, says, "You can tell when you've done something good and when you've done something bad."

But Mr. Won admits that you "can't avoid problems altogether when dealing with a Korean coach and foreign players." Some friction arises over Korea's hierarchical culture.

"There's not as much discussion here," Mr. Won says. "They command, you obey." While Korean players go where they're told, some foreign players have more directly aired their resentment about position assignments, Mr. Won says. He says the rigorous Korean work ethic can also be a challenge for American players, who aren't used to six-day weeks and practices held the day after a game.

Some of the differences are more humorous than contentious. The Americans often grunt and yell on the court uninhibitedly, which confuses the Korean players who "wonder if the noises mean anything," Mr. Won says.

But Mr. Han finds certain elements heartening in the exchanges between athletes. "It's interesting to see how they seem to understand each other, even though they don't speak the same language."

Even the most faithful translator must sometimes make judgement calls. Flaring tempers, not uncommon in the heat of the game, can sometimes be dampened by a translator's soft tones. "Sometimes I don't translate 100 percent of what's being said," Mr. Han admits. "I might spin it so that it serves some constructive purpose. If both sides are saying the same thing and are just going to butt heads, well, I make things easy."

But Mr. Han considers himself lucky to be dealing with easygoing personalities like Mr. Freeman and his teammate. "There are wilder players on some of the other teams who curse at the Koreans," he says, "and their translators obviously need to do more mediating."

Referees are a traditional source of confrontation. "I definitely do get frustrated [with the refereeing], and a couple of times it's probably saved me that I can't speak the language," says Mr. Freeman.

Teammate Kris Lang, 25, confesses to his "fair share of fines and technicals." "They say they don't understand English, but they understand certain words," he says. "That's why I get in trouble."

Mo McHone, the American assistant coach for the SK Knights, says the league wants "Korean players to be the focus." For American players used to flamboyance and attention-grabbing slam-dunks, the change can be startling. Most players adapt good-naturedly, however, and Mr. Lang says he supports the league's philosophy because "I know the Koreans want to see more of their players have the opportunity to play."

Strict league regulations dictate the terms under which foreign athletes can play, preventing the league from turning into an overseas stage for American talent. The two foreign players per team must not exceed 398.78 cm, or about 13 feet, in combined height.

There is also a salary cap of $280,000 that must be divided between the two players. Their Korean counterparts can earn considerably more; Mr. McHone says that star players make between $350,000 and $400,000. "We do the work," Mr. Lang says wryly, "but we're at the bottom of the totem pole."

But it's impossible to ignore the foreign presence on the court, especially on the scoreboard. Mr. Won, the Thunders' translator, says he believes the two Americans take 60 to 80 percent of the playing load during any given game.

In spite of the league's protectionist philosophy, "the coaches are really into the American players," says Mr. McHone, who helps with scouting. The league's restrictions "put a lot of pressure on the team to make sure they take two very good American players," he explains, "and so the coaches spend a lot of time thinking about those two Americans."

But foreign players show little emotional investment in their teams. Their contracts are rarely renewed for a second season, and the coaches consider constant turnover good for the team. Each team is allowed two changes in their foreign roster per year, meaning both players could potentially be replaced mid-season. Teams frequently exercise that option in pursuit of better players. Mr. Won is frank about why Jamahl Mosley was recruited for the Thunders: Mr. Mosley's predecessor "had some good skills, but we needed someone faster."

While the league awaits the day when it can depend on domestic talent alone, it is taking care in the meantime to offer an attractive package for their expat hired guns. "It's not the NBA, but players can come over here and make good money," says Mr. McHone. He says the league is reliable about paying its players, and that there's more team stability than in European leagues, due to the sponsorship of conglomerates like Samsung and SK Corp. "The (league) is very organized and treats the players extremely well," he attests. "They try to make it easy for them."

Off the court, it falls to the translators to help make life easier for the foreign players, arranging everything from accommodations for visiting friends to trips to the grocery store. Mr. Freeman of the Knights describes Mr. Han as "life support," adding, "Sometimes you feel sorry for him because he spends so much time with us."

Mr. Mosley, too, is sympathetic about the demands on Mr. Won's time. "It would probably be nervewracking; sometimes it's like you've got a little kid," he says. But Mr. Won says he is "not only an interpreter for the players, but their manager, or their agent in Korea."

Mr. Won is roughly the same age as Mr. Scales and Mr. Mosley, and their constant companionship is reflected in his demeanor and his speech, which is peppered with American slang and easy banter. "Yeah, we're all good friends," Mr. Won says.

For the players, the translators' caretaking can leave them with a seemingly shallow experience of Korean life. Though some foreign players, including Mr. Mosley, are taking stabs at learning the language, many seem to have fallen into a routine like Mr. Scales's: "I pretty much go home, go to work, go back home, watch some TV or play Playstation."

The Knights' Kris Lang, who is in Korea with wife Shaunte and eight-month-old daughter Makayla, all of whom reside in the team dorms in Yongin, Gyeonggi province, acknowledges that the players are "babied more here" compared to the European leagues. But the Langs are fine with this small sacrifice of freedom in exchange for comfort. "We have to plan ahead for trips to Wal-Mart," Mr. Lang says, "but that's all we've got to complain about."