How Do NBA Players Come Back to Work? It’s His Job to Figure It Out.
By Ben Cohen / WALL STREET JOURNAL
May 6, 2020
There is one moment from the night his business changed forever that’s burned into the mind of the man they call Saint.
The Oklahoma City Thunder and Utah Jazz players were coming off the court on March 11 after learning that Rudy Gobert had tested positive for coronavirus when Thunder star Chris Paul locked eyes with Marc St. Yves. He walked past him, stopped and spun around.
“Saint,” he said, “have you ever seen anything like this?”
Few people in the league have seen as much as St. Yves. He’s been on Earth for 53 years and in the NBA for 41. His official title is Thunder vice president of logistics and engagement, and his less official title is the franchise’s glue guy—the human adhesive who holds the team together. But not even he’d seen anything like what happened when American sports stopped.
Since that night he’s never had so much time and so much to do. And his job has never been so essential.
Marc St. Yves is the person responsible for bringing his colleagues back to the office. His colleagues just happen to be NBA players.
It’s a peculiar truth that the people who have put the most time into planning the future of American sports also have the greatest understanding of how tricky it will be to pull off. St. Yves has come to realize that almost every detail of a team’s workplace environment must be reconsidered and reimagined.
Take, for example, dirty underwear. The Thunder always used the same cart to transport clean and dirty laundry. But after calling local hospitals for advice, they updated their policy for the pandemic. That meant buying another laundry cart to prevent contamination.
“I never would’ve dreamed you’d need two laundry carts,” St. Yves said.
He also wouldn’t have dreamed that he would become Oklahoma City’s hottest fashion designer. His unexpected foray into textiles began when a friend visited with a mask for his mother-in-law and mentioned that she was running out of material for her new hobby. This gave St. Yves a brilliant idea.
“Can we use uniforms to make masks?” he thought.
Every team has a small mountain of jerseys that can no longer be worn, and St. Yves calculated that one Thunder uniform could be four Thunder masks. He presented his local embroidery shop with several options before Donnie Strack, the Thunder’s vice president of player and human performance, realized that only some masks would perform well in the summer heat.
They picked a lightweight nylon from the Thunder’s old warmups, made sure there was room for a filter and personalized the masks with players’ numbers.
But turning pants into face masks was only the beginning of the creative process. When his lettering shop ran out of elastic, St. Yves tapped an unlikely supply of earloops: the shoelaces of sneakers. “Now we’ve got enough masks on site for all of our players and staff,” he said.
That careful attention to lots of little things is one reason that St. Yves has spent his entire working life in the NBA. He started as a ballboy for the Seattle SuperSonics in 1979 and was promoted to equipment manager at 18. Chris Paul was right to ask if he’d seen anything like the scene two months ago because there is almost nothing that St. Yves hasn’t seen. He even had machine guns pointed at him one strange night in 2002 after the Sonics’ equipment truck took a wrong turn into the parking lot of the U.S. Pentagon.
He moved to Oklahoma City when the Sonics became the Thunder, and now it looks as if he’s spent the last four decades preparing for this moment. St. Yves has always viewed his team of equipment managers, facility supervisors, security officials and travel coordinators as the overlooked engine that powers NBA organizations. The world changed. The job didn’t.
St. Yves has a motto taped on the wall above his home desk: “Be prepared to execute our standards in a new normal.” That was his team’s philosophy even during the last days of the old normal. In the first week of March, Thunder senior facilities manager Johnny Shults secured two cases of cleaning wipes and one 55-gallon drum of disinfectant spray, which St. Yves said he probably wouldn’t have been able to buy a day later.
A quick look inside the Thunder’s practice center reveals logistical challenges lurking pretty much everywhere. When he swept the building, St. Yves counted 17 refrigerators, or 17 potential homes for a highly contagious virus. The more he walked around, the more vectors he noticed. The racks of balls, the shelves of towels, the containers of gum—they were all “community touchpoints,” as St. Yves now calls them.
The plan that St. Yves devised for the team’s return eliminates the most popular community touchpoints by situating eight tables around the courts to give the players their own personal space for drinks (water or Gatorade, cold or room temperature), basketballs, towels and their favorite brand and flavor of gum.
The locker room is another problem. The bottles of soap that were luxuries two months ago now appear to be liabilities. The faucets and toilets might have to be touchless. The showers alone are worthy of epidemiological study.
Even getting into the building requires a surprising amount of strategy. Some employees swipe ID cards when they get to the office. Thunder players scan their fingerprints. Or at least they did. Suddenly their fingerprint readers have the appeal of a subway pole. “We’re researching thermal imaging cameras,” St. Yves said. “And we may end up eliminating doors altogether.” They have already identified four doors they can open to circulate fresh air, and St. Yves ordered screens that arrived this week.
What comes next is deeply uncertain. The NBA has said teams in some markets can reopen their gyms for limited workouts as soon as Friday, but not even St. Yves knows when Oklahoma City’s players will be permitted to come back.
“The short term is daunting,” he said. “The long term is very daunting.”
He’s been weighing that balance since March 11. In the morning, he went to the Jazz’s shootaround, where he learned that Utah’s assistant equipment manager had a new position: hand sanitizer guy. “He literally had a backpack full of hand sanitizer,” St. Yves said.
His day would only get weirder from there. St. Yves visited the officials’ locker room before the game to show the referees how to disinfect the ball during timeouts. They wouldn’t get the chance. Gobert tested positive, Strack stopped the game seconds before it tipped and the NBA suspended the season.
In the chaos of that night, Thunder general manager Sam Presti told St. Yves to make the Jazz feel at home, and so he did. When they didn’t know if a hotel would take them, he arranged for the Red Cross to bring cots. Only after they were tested, found rooms with real beds and were cleared to leave the arena did St. Yves follow the Jazz buses outside. It was 1:30 a.m. on March 12.
He’s been working to get his co-workers back inside ever since.