An ordinary player who’s anything but
college basketball with only one arm, relying instead on his other gifts: a rangy, 6-foot-6 frame; kangaroolike hops; and a basketball IQ passed down from his father, Hansel Salvador, a longtime standout in the Dominican Republic professional league.
And how many other college players have collected 1.4 million Instagram followers, walked the red carpet at the ESPYs or taken a star turn in a sports drink commercial broadcast during last year’s NBA Finals? (For that matter, how many have a seven-figure endorsement portfolio, which he does, according to his agent, that also includes sportswear, sunglasses and cellphone companies?)
That visibility has been mostly recent, after he moved to the United States from the Dominican Republic less than three years ago speaking little English. He became an internet sensation through dunk videos while he excelled at Life Christian Academy in Kissimmee, Fla.
This is a life Enmanuel did not think possible after, at age 6, a wall he was climbing collapsed on him, pinning his left arm. By the time he was rescued, it was too late to save his arm. It was amputated just below the shoulder.
“When the accident happened, I was thinking, like: ‘What am I going to do now?’ ” he told The Associated Press in December in the only print interview he has done this season. “I was thinking: ‘It’s over for me.’ ”
Small milestones — such as tying his own shoelaces — gave way to bigger ones, such as maintaining his equilibrium while running. And then learning to do basketball tasks with one hand, such as dribbling, passing, shooting, rebounding and blocking shots. When Enmanuel moved to Florida, where his mother had immigrated years earlier and he also hoped better opportunities awaited, he more than held his own on the court.
This was true even at a 2021 summer recruiting showcase near Indianapolis, when coaches in the Big Ten, Big 12 and Mountain West sat in folding chairs along the court and marveled at how capably Enmanuel played — even as they were skeptical that he could play for their teams.
“Sometimes coaches second-guess themselves and what they’re looking at,” said Rick Catala, who coached Enmanuel for SOH Elite, a club team based in Pembroke Pines, Fla. “I’ve seen Hansel destroy high-major kids, but then they’re still questioning him. I told one coach, ‘I don’t know why you keep asking me, “Is he a D-I basketball player?” ’ ”
A year ago, Isaac Haney was on the Missouri State team bus having a spirited debate with a teammate over the same question. Now, as Enmanuel’s teammate at Northwestern State, he has a clearer understanding.
“You’re recruited because a coach sees an ability in you to do a specific job, and sometimes guys aren’t willing to do the job that’s asked of them,” said Haney, a sophomore guard. “I look at Hansel and see a guy who has an unbelievable work ethic, but also a willingness to serve and a willingness to do the little things. That’s what really makes him an asset and invaluable to this team.”
Enmanuel’s duty is to provide energy through his play — and his smile.
“His biggest job,” Haney said, “is to bring that ‘it’ factor.”
If Enmanuel was intent on a quiet assimilation into life as a college athlete, it would be hard to find a better place — or one farther off the basketball grid — than Northwestern State.
A public university with an enrollment of 9,389, serving mostly students in one of the nation’s poorest regions, Northwestern State is tucked away in a city that claims to be Louisiana’s oldest settlement. Its closest airports are an hour’s drive south to Alexandria and a little more than that north to Shreveport. The Demons, who had not had a winning season in seven years, have neither a media following nor many fans, drawing perhaps 1,000 to their home games.
There are, to put it kindly, few distractions here.
“Hansel likes quiet,” said Jhoancy Zapata, his business agent.
There were other options to consider. Memphis, which has national championship ambitions and would have offered a bigger stage but perhaps less playing time, extended a scholarship offer. So did Tennessee State and Bethune-Cookman, historically Black universities that would have provided a unique platform. Northwestern State could promise only one thing: that it would treat Enmanuel like a basketball player.
“I guarantee you we’re not recruiting him for a dog and pony show,” Gipson told Enmanuel, his parents, his club coach and his business advisers in a video call last spring. The coach has heard the inevitable tongue-clucking from other coaches that signing Enmanuel was merely a publicity stunt. “We’re recruiting him because we think we can develop him and we think he has the right ingredients to fit into the program.”
Northwestern State’s president, Marcus Jones, was also on the call, easing Enmanuel’s mother’s concerns in Spanish, which he speaks fluently. Jones hosted Enmanuel and his parents for breakfast during his recruiting visit.
“The main thing — and I think we’ve held true on this — is they did not want their son to be treated as a number or as someone who would be exploited because he was popular on social media,” Jones said.
One accommodation has been enlisting Christian Paez, a Colombia native and honor student who has played saxophone in the school’s jazz orchestra, as a graduate assistant with the team, helping ease Enmanuel’s integration. Paez doesn’t know much about basketball, but he knows what it’s like to drop into small-town Louisiana when your English is a work in progress.
“When I came to the airport and went to a fast-food place, I knew how to order, but I was afraid to mess up and have people laugh at me,” Paez said. “He was the same when he got here. But he’s not somebody who is afraid. If he wants to develop a skill, he can do it.”
Enmanuel has been adamant about not receiving any special treatment on the team.
When Gipson told him he could do situps instead of fingertip pushups as punishment for a mistake in a drill, Enmanuel resisted — completing the task with the help of a teammate, Cedric Garrett, who supported him around the waist.
Earlier this season, the Demons were whizzing through an NCAA survey for college athletes, eager to get out the door. As they did, Enmanuel remained behind, painstakingly using a translation app on his phone so he could diligently answer each question. “He looked up at me with this distraught look on his face going, ‘Man, this is hard,’ ” Haney said. “But he doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy.”