
DATE: Thursday, November 27, 1997           TAG: 9711270868

SECTION: SPORTS                  PAGE: C1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY ED MILLER, STAFF WRITER  

DATELINE: ISTANBUL                          LENGTH:  464 lines

WHAT IN THE WORLD IS ODELL HODGE DOING IN ISTANBUL? FORMER ODU STAR ADJUSTS TO BASKETBALL EUROPEAN-STYLE

Let's talk Turkey.

As in carpet sellers and kebabs and great domed mosques surrounded by minarets that pierce the sky. As in this sprawling, crawling city that spans two continents and has stood at the crossroads of East and West for over two milleniums.

Istanbul is crowded and chaotic, ancient and cosmopolitan. It is young urban Turks, all of whom seem to have a cigarette in one hand and a cell phone in the other. It is cars and pushcarts standing off on the twisting, cobblestone alleyways of The Sultanahmet, inside the walls of the old city of Constantinople. It is the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer, five times a day. It is the haggling that is part of every transaction in the covered market, a maze of 65 streets containing over 4,000 shops, restaurants, and countless touts, peddlers, pickpockets.

Istanbul is all this and much more.

One thing Istanbul is not, however, is a place that comes to mind when you hear the word ``basketball.''

And yet this exotic place is where basketball has taken Odell Hodge, the former Colonial Athletic Association player of the year from Old Dominion.

When the 6-foot-9 Hodge was not picked in last year's NBA draft, he knew he would play overseas. He just didn't know where.

``I never thought I'd be in Turkey,'' he says. ``It was never one of my choices.''

A Turkish team narrowly beat out one from Argentina in bidding for Hodge's services. He's been here since August, and for those three-plus months, life has been turned upside down. On the court, he's had to adjust to being a reserve for the first time in his career. Off it, to separation from family, a strange language, strange food, traffic jams that rival any in the world and a frenetic pace that would challenge a native of Manhattan, let alone a native of Martinsville, Va.

Until last week, Hodge had not been home. But when I arrived in Istanbul, Hodge had just three days until his first break - a precious, five-day trip home.

Three days until his Escape From Istanbul.

Taxi driver: Why you no speak Turkish?

Hodge: I'm USA, man. Basketball.

Hodge does not speak Turkish. He does not eat Turkish. He does not do Turkish.

``I've been here almost four months,'' he laughs, ``and I don't know how to get anywhere.''

He knows what he knows: the area surrounding his apartment. He has a few familiar restaurants, his bank, some movie theaters, malls.

Home is a fourth-floor apartment on the Asian side of the city.

If you think your commute is tough, consider this: Hodge lives in Asia, but works in Europe. Istanbul is divided between the two continents by the Bosporus, a straight that runs from the Black Sea in the north to the Sea of Marmara in the south.

Two bridges span the Bosporus, and under perfect conditions, Hodge can get to the ``other side'' in about 20 minutes. In rush-hour traffic, it has taken him five hours.

Hodge's team, Fenerbahce, plays its home games on the European side. But its offices and practice gym are on the Asian side. Hodge's apartment is just down the street from there, on a quiet side street across from a vacant lot.

Access to the apartment is via an elevator the size of a large phone booth. Inside, the decor is pure bachelor. Three boxes of videotapes sit on the floor. A suit jacket is draped on a chair. There's a space heater in the corner of the living room, because the heat hasn't been working well lately.

The TV gets CNN and NBC Europe. It also has CNN Teletext, an interactive service that lets Hodge keep up with sports scores. The couch across from the TV serves as Hodge's bed many a night.

Fenerbahce played Saturday afternoon. So on Sunday, Hodge's schedule is light. Just a couple of hours of weight lifting and shooting at 6:30.

After a late breakfast, Hodge pops ``Jerry Maguire'' into the VCR. Then, it's ``A Thin Line Between Love and Hate.''

In no time, it's sundown. Outside, a meuzzin wails, calling Muslims to prayer.

Inside, Martin Lawrence wails, because Lynn Whitfield, the woman he just dumped, has trashed his car.

``You watch, the last part of this movie's going to be nothing but drama,'' Hodge says.

He's seen ``A Thin Line'' before. In fact, he's seen most of the movies stacked on the floor before.

``Watch TV, watch movies, talk on the phone,'' says Dallas Comegys, one of Hodge's teammates. ``That's all Odell does.''

Hodge does not argue. ``It's all about passing time,'' he says.

Nightlife is not for him. He does not like beer, rarely has more than a couple of gin and juices. He does not have much use for the other side, preferring the slower (but by no means slow) pace and cheaper prices of the Asian side.

Besides, he has no car. One was promised in his contract, but it has not been delivered. To get anywhere, he must take a taxi.

Perhaps it's just as well. Driving in Istanbul can be hazardous to your health.

``I drove Dallas' car twice,'' Hodge says. ``I wrecked it both times. I hit a taxi one time, and a bus hit me.''

Next to the boxes of tapes on Hodge's floor are his telephone, and the base for his cellular phone. Occasionally, he has both going at once.

On Sundays, the overseas rates are lower, and so Hodge calls his family in Martinsville. He calls his girlfriend of eight years, Tiffiny Martin. He calls a cousin. He calls Tiffiny back, to get the score of the Washington-Dallas NFL game.

``6-0? Who's got the ball?''

Hodge remains a huge presence in the lives of his family. He phones home a couple times a week - his bill for three months was just under $1,000 - to keep up with every bit of news.

Not all is good. Hodge's father, Melvin, is disabled and recently lost a leg to diabetes. His mother, Velma, works at a furniture factory.

``When we were growing up, Mom would get paid on Friday and be broke on Saturday,'' Hodge says. ``We always had to borrow money.''

Hodge makes $100,000 playing for Fenerbahce, plus playoff bonuses. He is paid once a month and sends half of it home. He's arranged for his mother's bills to be mailed to his bank, where they are deducted from his account.

Melvin Hodge's disability check covers the house payment. So now, Velma's paycheck is a bonus.

``I want to make it as easy on my Mom as possible,'' he says. ``That's been a goal of mine for a long time. (Half a paycheck) is plenty for me.''

Hodge doesn't spend much. The team pays for the apartment. When he first arrived, he became sick - not from eating Turkish food, which he doesn't touch, or from drinking the water, which is a no-no, but from too many trips to McDonald's.

Tiffiny came to visit for 10 days in October, and made him home-cooked meals. She planned to return with him after his break. Hodge's one occasional extravagance is a trip to the American import store.

Comegys told Hodge about the store - and its wondrous but expensive goods. For two months, Hodge resisted. Finally, he broke down and went in. Now he goes when he needs a snack-food fix.

His latest haul: A can of Pringles, a can of cheese balls, a six-pack of Sunkist, a six-pack of microwave popcorn, some Tang, a small bottle of Tabasco Sauce.

The total: 15 million lira, or about $80.

Back at his apartment, Hodge pops a $6 bag of popcorn and a can of Sunkist during ``Jerry Maguire.''

``The guys get on me a lot about staying inside my house,'' he says. ``But there ain't nothing to do out there.''

There is bowling.

Among the places you never imagine life taking you: a bowling alley in Istanbul, with Turkish pop music blaring and the haze from a thousand cigarettes heavy in the air.

The man behind the counter does have a pair of size 49 (metric) shoes, and so Hodge, fresh from Sunday evening practice, is in business. Along is a female acquaintance, Gunsu, and her male friend, who is not interested in bowling.

All Hodge needs now is to round up a teammate, a 6-8, 250-pound Georgian - from the former Soviet Georgia, not the U.S. state - named ZaZa.

As catchy as that name is, no one uses it. ZaZa is known to everyone as ``Tattoo'' for his resemblance to the Fantasy Island character.

A few hours earlier, Hodge and Tattoo had shaken the gym floor at Fenerbahce's practice, when they bumped, banged and generally worked each other over in an impromptu game of 3-on-3. Now Hodge is itching to take on the big guy in another venue.

``Tattoo!'' Hodge yells into his cell phone, over the clatter of balls striking pins. ``You need to get over here.''

Tattoo strolls in late, wearing blue and yellow Fenerbahce warm-ups, same as Hodge. The men embrace in a 500-pound bear hug.

Hodge has rolled one ball and Tattoo offers to finish his frame. Actually, he insists, grabbing a ball from the rack and heaving it down the alley from back in the seating area.

Gutter ball.

``No bowleeeng,'' Tattoo says. He waves his hand and lumbers off.

Eight ball is his game. After dinner at McDonald's, the group, which has been joined by Tattoo's blond mother - ``Mama Tat'' - heads upstairs to a pool room.

Tattoo and Gunsu, 20-something in leather pants, take on Hodge and a partner. Tattoo is a whiz with the stick, and his team wins three of four. He and Hodge argue over the rules in English. He gives Gunsu advice on shots in Turkish.

Tattoo also speaks American Trash Talk. When Gunsu makes a shot to win a game, she squeals something in Turkish.

Hodge: ``What'd she say?''

Tattoo takes liberties with the translation: ``She say, `Put ball in your a--.' ''

Fenerbahce Spor Kulubu, formed in 1907, is one of the oldest sports clubs in Turkey. Consequently, it is one of the most popular.

Fenerbahce membership has its privileges, especially with the club's soccer team in first place in the Turkish league.

When Hodge shows up at a crowded Italian restaurant without a reservation, the maitre'd gets him a table immediately. Of course, Hodge eats there two or three times a week. Two days later, the same thing happens at a bank, when Hodge is escorted to the front of the line to change some money.

The soccer team basically pays the basketball team's bills, drawing huge crowds to its home stadium located on the other side.

Soccer players are also well taken care of. When a player scored the winning goal in a key game, word was he received a new Mercedes the next day.

The basketball players don't expect such perks. They're happy to get paid on time. Pay is sometimes late, depending on whether the soccer team has played recently.

It's Sunday night, and payday is tomorrow.

``The soccer team won yesterday,'' Hodge says, as he walks to practice. ``So everything should go like clockwork.''

The club's headquarters is located on several acres along the Sea of Marmara across from some low-rise apartment buildings, not far from a vacant lot where several Turkish men idle.

The complex consists of one building housing a hangar-style gym and offices. There's also a soccer practice field, and a small turf practice field enclosed inside a chain-link fence.

In the lobby is a gift shop with copies of SuperBasket and Pivot, Turkish basketball magazines. On the wall is a poster demonstrating proper volleyball techniques. There are also pictures of past Fenerbahce teams, mustachioed Turks frozen in stiff poses. There's a Michael Jordan poster.

On a Sunday evening, the complex seems more like a YMCA than headquarters of several professional sports teams. Dozens of Turkish teenagers, boys and girls, crowd the basketball court as instructors put them through drills. In the lobby, parents wait for smaller children, who emerge from locker rooms with wet hair, carrying gym bags.

The team must wait for the court to clear, so the players head upstairs to lift weights in a primitive weight room, more modest than you'd see at most U.S. high schools.

Around the corner from the weight room is the basketball office, which overlooks the court. Inside are head coach Y. Murat Ozgul and his assistant, Devrim Kivanc.

Ozgul speaks only a little English, but Kivanc interned at Eastern Michigan, and is nearly fluent.

``We saw tapes of Hodge in two games,'' Kivanc says. ``His emotion and desire to win was impressive.''

Fenerbahce signed Hodge, adding him to a roster that includes two other Americans: Comegys and Henry Turner, a Cal-State Fullerton grad who played two years for the Sacramento Kings.

Thus far, the team has not had much use for Hodge. For one thing, he cannot play in Turkish League games. Only two foreigners can be used in those games, and Fenerbahce has gone with its veterans, Comegys and Turner.

That leaves European Cup games, against teams from other nations. The Turkish League has 16 teams, and two of them compete in the European Cup, three are in the Champion's League, and four in the Korac Cup.

The European Cup consists of eight groups of six teams, for a total of 48. The top 32 play a double-elimination tournament at the end of the season.

Fenerbahce has had only eight cup games since September. Hodge has played as much as 30 minutes, as little as four, depending on the matchups.

Kivanc says Hodge's problems are on the defensive end. He has trouble guarding European power forwards, who frequently play away from the basket, favoring 3-pointers and drives to the basket over low-post moves. He frequently lands in quick foul trouble.

``Professional basketball in Europe is a skills game,'' Kivanc says. ``Odell doesn't have too much skill.''

Hodge was primarily a power player at ODU, most effective with his back to the basket. Not a leaper, he was nevertheless adept at putting in offensive rebounds.

Europeans don't play a power game. Fenerbahce has just a couple of basic offensive sets, Kivanc says, allowing players to create shots for themselves.

``Just feel the game,'' Kivanc says.

He smiles.

``We love this game.''

They also love Hodge, despite his slow start. When he arrived, Hodge was 270 pounds.

``Fat,'' Kivanc says.

Hodge has dropped 20 pounds, and has impressed with his work ethic and attitude.

``First of all he's a good human, a good person, and he's definitely a winner,'' Ozbul says through Kivanc, who interprets. ``He's worked really hard for this team and he's put his best on the court at gametime.

``If you put him in for one second or 40 minutes it doesn't matter, he'll play his best. If you have two players who are equal, or one who is a little better, you always pick the good attitude player.''

For that reason, and because they believe he will adjust to the European style of play, the coaches think Hodge can have a long career overseas.

Whether it will be with Fenerbahce is unclear. If Hodge remains in Turkey, he would like to play in both Turkish League and European Cup games. If Comegys and Turner stay, that's not likely.

For now, he appreciates Fenerbahce's patience.

``From Jump Street, they were real honest about what I had to work on,'' Hodge says. ``When you come to Europe, they expect you to produce. My numbers aren't what they usually are, but never once has anybody said anything about sending me back to the States.''

Actually, it was mentioned once. In September, Ozgul told Hodge that the Fenerbahce board voted to send him back to the U.S.

``They said I wasn't the right player for Fenerbahce,'' Hodge says. ``But coach backed me up.''

Hodge certainly considered packing it in himself. His girlfriend, Tiffiny, visited for 10 days, and that helped him get by. A high school friend, Rodney Hairston, an aspiring player, visited for a month, and even worked out with the team.

But with Hodge not playing much, being so far from home is difficult.

``I'd been overseas before,'' he says. ``But with a whole group of Americans.''

And never in a place so strange.

Hodge might have come home if hadn't found a lifeline and a big brother, all in one street-wise, 6-9 package.

``Dallas Comegys,'' Hodge says. ``If it wasn't for him, I'd probably be back in the U.S., playing in the CBA. He's been a godsend.''

Dallas Comegys starred at DePaul from 1983-87, played a year with New Jersey and one with San Antonio before heading overseas. He played in Greece, France and Italy before landing in Turkey two years ago.

He say he's 30, but is actually 33. His blunt, sometimes profane pronouncements - on Turkish life, on the dubious reliability of the team's business manager, on a squeegee boy who wants to wash his car's windshield at an intersection, during a rain storm - cause Hodge to double over in fits of laughter.

``Dawg'' or ``DC,'' as Hodge calls him, has given the 24-year-old Hodge an education on European contracts (``A lot of things in them are basically negotiable''); on paychecks (``You might get your money late, but you'll get it''); he's also given him rides, and moral support.

``Just trying to help the next man,'' he says. ``Trying to help him have a long career.''

Comegys' career - indeed, his life - was nearly cut short a couple years ago when he was shot while in a nightclub in Bursa, another Turkish city. He's not interested in talking about it.

``I got shot in the chest, that's all,'' he says when pressed for details. ``Life goes on.''

His season over, Comegys returned to the U.S. He had no qualms about returning to Turkey, where, as one of the top players, he earns a base salary of $450,000 per year.

``It's a beautiful place to play, a great experience,'' he says.

But ask him if he's been to the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia, the Topkapi Palace or any of Istanbul's other famous landmarks, and he shakes his head.

``I'm going to tell you right now, I'm not a tourist,'' he says. ``I'm here for work.

``I probably know one or two Turkish words, in three years.''

Hodge knows a few more, and doesn't mind using them.

``He's too friendly for me,'' Comegys says. ``He'll talk to anyone.''

To a man in line at Wendy's. To a Turkish journalist who sticks a microphone in his face after a game.

And to taxi drivers. Most often to taxi drivers.

Taxi driver: You Fenerbahce? Fenerbahce number one!

Hodge: Yes, number one.

Taxi driver: In football. In basketball, Efes.

Hodge: No, Fenerbahce!

Because he has no car, Hodge takes taxis almost everywhere. His main financial worry is whether the club will reimburse him for the expense, since his contract called for a car.

Isanbul's taxis are cheap compared to those in the U.S - a 50-minute ride from the center of New Town, through the Sultanahmet to the Atakoy district near the airport cost only $2.2 million lira - about $12. And, had more twist, turns and close calls than any theme-park ride.

Yet while taxis are cheap, often, you get what you pay for. The city of 12 million is so vast and its streets form such a labyrinth that many drivers can't possibly find a specific address, unless it's a well-known place.

The trick is to send the driver to a district, and direct him from there.

Hodge has learned to do this. His most-used Turkish words are ``Sola'' (left) and ``Sag'' (right).

On Monday afternoon, Hodge has no need for a taxi. With the next game a day away, the team will spend Monday night in a hotel near their arena. Comegys and Hodge load their bags into Comegys' worn Fiat and head off into heavy traffic.

Destination: the other side.

Tuesday, the other side:

The rock was big, but not big enough. And so the fans of Besiktas, the top team in the Turkish league found a bigger rock.

And shattered the rear window of the Fenerbahce team bus.

``First time I've ever seen that happen,'' Turner says.

Fenerbahce's crime? Beating Besiktas 99-82 on its own floor.

But that was three nights ago. On Tuesday, Fenerbahce is back at home, at Abdi Ipecki, its 12,000-seat arena. A rather drafty place, it turns out.

``When you can't see your breath, it's a good day,'' Turner says.

The opponent is a team from the Czech Republic, which is in last place in its European Cup group.

That Turkish fans would get rock-chucking excited about a basketball game may come as a surprise, but the sport has taken off over the last five years, igniting passions previously reserved for soccer.

``Turkish public opinion gives big importance to basketball,'' says Can Budak, an editor for SuperBasket.

It started in 1990, when Efes, Turkey's leading beer brewer, began pumping money into its basketball team.

With money, came better players. Now, the Turkish League is full of familiar names.

Among the former NBA players now playing in Turkey are Randolph Childress, Lloyd Daniels, Anthony Bonner, Stacey King and Suffolk's own Lamont Strothers, who as of last week was leading the league in scoring. And of course Comegys and Turner.

Opava, the Czech team, has no one of that caliber. Warming up, the ragtag Czechs resemble a down-in-the-mouth NCAA Division I team. They have one player, a guard, who doesn't look a day under 50. Their tallest player, a gangly 7-footer, shoots the ball like its on fire, flinging it out of his hand in a terrible hurry.

Not only that, the Czechs have to deal with the Fenerbahce fans, a group that makes Duke's Cameron Crazies look like they are on Valium.

A full 90 minutes before the game - which starts at 5 in the afternoon - a throng of young male fans have assembled, many wearing Fenerbahce headbands and carrying banners.

Maybe the fans have had too much Turkish tea. In any event, when Comegys and Hodge stroll out to warm up, they're greeted with an ovation of whistles and cheers. There's another ovation when Comegys casually tosses a ball in the hoop.

Turner comes out next, then Tattoo, then a succession of Turkish players. Each gets an ovation, which the players acknowledge with a wave.

The crowd erupts yet again, when Hodge and Turner, playing H-O-R-S-E, (or maybe C-A-M-E-L?) toss in shots from near halfcourt.

It's insanity, but the fans are just getting started. During the game, they chant and sing when Fenerbahce has the ball, hoot and whistle when the Czechs have it. Several young men balance somehow on the railing in front of the bleachers, their backs to the game, leading the cheers. They're one mistep away from a skull-cracking, 10-foot drop.

But the fans don't fall, and neither does Fenerbahce.

The team's starting lineup: Comegys at center, Tattoo at power forward, Turner at small forward, and a pair of Turkish players, Ibrahim Kutway and Leven Topsaka, in the backcourt.

Opava starts its 7-footer but keeps its old guy - who turns out to be 45 - on the bench.

The Czechs play better than they look. Working well as a team, they grab an 8-7 lead, before Turner throws down an alley-oop dunk, which sends the crowd into song.

With Fenerbahce up 23-20, Opava's middle-aged guard begins running sprints behind one basket. He gets in with two minutes left in the half, makes a nifty behind-the-back move and sets up a teammate for an open 3-pointer. The basket cuts the score to 36-28 at halftime.

The crowd whistles.

Hodge, who played only the final 1:56 of the first half, starts the second. Within five minutes, though, he picks up three fouls and is back on the bench for good.

Meanwhile, the Czechs have rallied, going up 45-41. The crowd is dumbfounded.

Not for long. Comegys, who at a slender 6-9 would probably play small forward in the NBA, shows why he's a dominant shot blocker, inside scorer and rebounder in Turkey. He scores on an layup, then sticks a turnaround jumper over the 7-footer.

Crowd: ``FEN-ER-BAH-CE! YA YA YA YA YA YA YA YA! FEN-ER-BAH-CE! YA YA YA YA YA YA YA YA!''

Almost in ryhythm with the crowd, Topsaka, the point guard, begins driving and dishing. Comegys dunks over a Czech player, and is fouled, giving Fenerbahce a 61-49 lead.

It's all over except for the singing, the chanting, the cheek-kissing. Still, the starters remain in until the buzzer sounds. In the Turkish League, ties are broken by point differential, so there is no garbage time.

The final: 77-61. It's Fenerbahce's sixth win in a row. Not bad for a team whose Turkish players are all heavy smokers.

As for Hodge, he did not score, did not attempt a shot. He takes it in stride.

``My main thing,'' he says, ``is growing from this, and still working hard.''

His main thing, at that moment, is getting out of the arena. He and Comegys shower and dress in a flash and are out the door.

The players have still not been paid, but the team's business manager has given Hodge something far more precious: his plane ticket home.

Hodge grabs his bags from Comegys' car and says goodbye. Comegys speeds off into the night, while Hodge flags a cab. A driver flips a U-turn across three lanes of traffic and pulls up to the curb.

Hodge hops into the front seat and barks his destination. He scans the ticket over and over, double-checking the connections, making sure everything is in order. He'll leave in 11 hours.

``Sag,'' he tells the driver. ``Sag. OK?''

Home. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos

LAWRENCE JACKSON/The Virginian-Pilot

The 6-foot-9 Hodge, above, stands out in any Istanbul crowd,

especially with his warmups and a basketball. Hodge, below in

practice, is seeing limited playing time as he adjusts to a finesse

style of play.

LAWRENCE JACKSON color photos/The Virginian-Pilot

Hodge spends a lot of time on the phone - usually calling home. His

bill for three months was nearly $1,000.

Hodge is one of three Americans on his Turkish team. Here he jumps

center in practice against Dallas Comegys, the team's leading