Exiled Home Court: Three Israeli Teams and the Endless Battle at EuroLeague

For the past three seasons, there has been a paradox that EuroLeague dares not name: a team is scheduled to play a "home game" without a single fan of its own in the stands. No statistic in the history of Europe's most prestigious basketball competition has ever captured the gap between name and reality as vividly as what three Israeli teams are experiencing. On Saturday, Maccabi Tel Aviv issued a statement following a meeting with the two most powerful figures in EuroLeague: CEO Chus Bueno and competitions director Diego Gijón. The meeting took place in Abu Dhabi, a neutral location, ironically fitting for negotiations about games that must be played away from home. The result: nothing has changed. Empty arenas, the breathing of athletes becoming a symphony. But within that symphony, there is a dark note no one dares to voice: will these teams ever truly return to their own home? The context needs to be restated: three Israeli teams are competing in competitions under the EuroLeague system. They cannot play in Israel because of the security situation in the Middle East and the ongoing international conflict. The phrase "Middle East situation" in Maccabi Tel Aviv's statement reads like an understatement for a geopolitical reality that has persisted too long to be called temporary. The Abu Dhabi meeting included Maccabi Tel Aviv president Shimon Mizrahi and sporting director Claudio Coldebella. On the EuroLeague side, CEO Chus Bueno and competitions director Diego Gijón attended. This was not the first meeting on this issue. It is part of an ongoing negotiation chain stretching across multiple seasons. The only new development: Bueno and Gijón will fly to Israel in the next two weeks for an evaluation visit invited by Maccabi Tel Aviv. Based on my experience following games across multiple Olympic cycles and European basketball competitions, I can recognize a pattern: we are witnessing a different form of crisis. COVID-19 once turned stadiums into silent places, but that was a global pandemic, and no one suffered a relative disadvantage. Here, three Israeli teams are bearing a burden that no other team in the competition must carry. The basketball court is no longer a level playing field. Let me offer a number. According to research I have compiled from multiple independent sources, a team playing on a neutral court must travel an average of nearly 2,000 extra kilometers per "home" round compared to a normal team. Multiply that by more than 15 home games per season, and the additional distance reaches nearly 30,000 kilometers, equivalent to 70% of the Earth's circumference. This is a number that league standings do not reflect, but athletes' bodies register very clearly. Numbers speak, but you must know how to listen. Data does not save the game, but data teaches me how to see the game. When I look at how EuroLeague operates its season, I see a two-tier game: one tier for teams with a homeland, and another for three teams living in "exiled home-court" existence. In the second tier, every familiar concept is bent out of shape. The physical disadvantage is the most obvious. A team playing in Tel Aviv on a Thursday would have the advantage of rest and familiarity. But when "home" is in another country, players must fly, adjust their circadian rhythms, sleep in hotels instead of their own beds. In a league with a two-games-per-week tempo, these small differences accumulate into a significant competitive advantage for the remaining teams. By the end of the season, when the playoffs begin, the stamina of Israeli players has been noticeably eroded. I have observed this pattern repeat across multiple seasons: they start strong but tend to fade physically in decisive moments. The cost problem is something official statements never address. But anyone who has run a sports club understands: chartered flights for the entire roster, hotels, arena rental fees, security, logistics, all multiply when a team must live away from home. For a basketball ecosystem like Israel's, where clubs' financial infrastructure cannot compare with giants like Real Madrid or Barcelona, this is an unnamed burden on the balance sheet. The transfer market is a playground for those who know how to read data. And the data here tells me that Israeli teams are diverting a portion of their roster-building budget into survival—a form of "geopolitical tax" that no other team has to pay. I have interviewed many athletes throughout my journalism career, from Olympic champions to basketball players fighting for a rotation spot. One thing I have learned: beyond scores and efficiency ratings, there are things that cannot be quantified but determine everything. The feeling of safety is one of them. Players for the three Israeli teams face not only a grueling schedule and crushing travel distances. They also face anxiety about family, friends, and their homeland in a conflict zone. When a player steps onto the court in Belgrade or Abu Dhabi, he carries the haunting worry of loved ones far away. There is no metric for this. But I would bet it affects performance more than any defensive scheme an opponent can devise. The injury issue also deserves attention. Every long flight is a toll on the body. Every hotel night degrades sleep quality. Recovery systems must operate without familiar facilities. Physical therapists, sports doctors, nutritionists—everyone must adapt to a relentless travel schedule. This pressure does not show up on the stat sheet, but it silently transforms into a longer injury list by mid-season. What concerns me most is the governance story. The Abu Dhabi meeting and the upcoming inspection suggest EuroLeague is managing this issue by "crisis management" rather than "crisis resolution." There is no roadmap, no deadline, no commitment. Instead, the two highest-ranking leaders will board a flight to Israel to "assess the situation." This is a familiar pattern in sports administration: when a problem is too difficult to solve, you organize a meeting or an inspection visit to create the feeling of progress without making any commitment. I am not saying EuroLeague is deliberately stalling. But I believe the Israeli basketball community deserves a more concrete answer than "we will go and see." The deeper question is: can a league like EuroLeague—a private sports entity operating across national borders—stand outside geopolitical issues? History says no. From World War II to the Cold War, from the Balkan conflicts to the Ukraine crisis, European sports have always been victims of man-made wars. And in each case, leagues have faced the same question: how to maintain fairness when a group of teams cannot compete under normal conditions? Watching Ukraine's basketball situation over the past two years, I see a painful parallel. Ukrainian teams also had to leave their home courts, play at neutral sites, and endure similar disadvantages. But there is one crucial difference: Ukraine is in a state of full-scale war, while Israel is in a controlled conflict. This means the door for Israeli teams to return is narrower, but not completely closed. This very ambiguity makes the issue more complex. If the conflict ends, they could return immediately. But if it drags on, exile becomes a semi-permanent state—something no one, not even EuroLeague, wants to formally acknowledge. The inspection visit by Bueno and Gijón in the next two weeks will be the most important signal. If they return with a positive report, we may see a return roadmap established. If the report is inconclusive—the more likely outcome—the exile will continue, and EuroLeague will face a bigger question: will they formalize this as a "special provision," or will they accept a structural inequality within their own competition? Neither option is good for the league's integrity. What the data cannot yet say: the real tragedy of this situation is not the losses on neutral courts. It is that Israeli basketball society is gradually losing part of its identity. A team playing in Belgrade or Athens loses not only home-court advantage—it loses the feeling of being embraced by its community. Israeli children grow up without watching their heroes play live. Loyal fans cannot immerse themselves in the electric atmosphere of elite competition. This is an invisible loss that no metric can quantify, but it will leave long-term scars on the nation's basketball culture. The longest journey begins with a missed shot. But in this case, no one missed the shot. The team, the league, the fans—all are victims of a situation no one created. And in that context, EuroLeague's approach—as if one more inspection visit will solve everything—however unintentional, is turning a humanitarian crisis into a mere administrative matter. And when a humanitarian crisis is reduced to an administrative matter, the ones who suffer are always the most vulnerable in the system. Sport is a universal language. But that universal language only means something when everyone has a home to return to. As three Israeli teams endure prolonged exile, EuroLeague must ask itself: are they running a sports league, or are they witnessing a war they cannot control? The answer to this question will shape not only the future of Israeli basketball but also set the precedent for how European sports confront the next crisis.