Killer Crossover, page 7
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Junior year, now living off campus as an upper-classman, I returned to UTEP ready for a bigger challenge. One of the people there who helped me was Tiny Archibald, the 6-foot-1 former NBA scoring champ, six-time All-Star, champion, and future Hall of Famer. Now an assistant with our team, he’d given me tips during my sophomore year about scoring angles, footwork, and how to bait defenders on offense. But when I came back for my junior year, he noticed something new in me. “Damn, what happened?” he asked. I told him I had worked all 55summer, playing with pros like Mo Cheeks in the Chicago proams. “You’ve elevated, Tim,” he said. “You’re going to the NBA.” I grinned from ear to ear. Getting that type of praise from such a great baller meant a lot to me, showing my hard work was paying off.
He was a huge supporter for me and Antonio Davis. The plan for both of us was always to make it to the NBA, but we knew it would take baby steps every year in college. We had to work at it, day and night. First it was to get better, then it was to wait our turns for the upperclassmen to move on. Then it was to prove ourselves in the game. Then it was to lead our team. I’d shot all those shots with Billy Barron and improved. And I knew what it took to make the pros since I’d been around NBA guys in Chicago my whole life. I understood their language. But when Coach Archibald told me I had a shot to make the league, well … that’s all I needed to hear.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” he said. “You know how to run a team and how to take over a game. You just have to do it night in and night out now and be consistent. You can’t have a bad game for the next two years.” I nodded and said, “Okay! I can do that.” He told Antonio to keep rebounding and blocking shots and that everything else would come. “Your forte is the dirty work,” Nate said. “Taking charges, playing good defense. That’s how you’re going to change games.” In the end, every word Nate said was correct. Sometimes you just need someone to give you the blueprint.
To kick off that season, I earned my second MVP of the Sun Bowl Invitational Tournament. I finished the year as our team’s second-leading scorer and first in assists, steals, and minutes played. At times, I thought about Jeep and all he’d taught me 56about running a team. When to get your own points and when to get others involved. Playing point guard is an art form. That season, I scored nearly 14 points per game to go along with 2.4 steals and 5.7 assists while controlling the pace of the game and being the team liaison between us and Coach Haskins. Just as Jeep had shown me, I helped teach guys like freshman Prince Stewart on what needed to be done.
UTEP was now my team. It took on my character—rugged, quick, and fun. We were unafraid, and ranked as high as #18 during the season. I was the captain, and Coach Haskins trusted me. Patience is a virtue, and I earned his faith over the years. I brought us belief because I was confident. Writers predicted us to have a down season since so many upperclassmen had left, but I led us to a 23–10 record and earned a spot on second-team All-WAC. One of our biggest wins came on January 8 against the No. 5 team in the country, Wyoming. They had a big 6-foot-11 center and future first-round pick in Eric Leckner, who everyone thought would eat us up. But Antonio kept him in check.
Already on a five-game winning streak, we were up 43–35 in the second half … but they wouldn’t go away. It was 65–62 with just a few minutes left in the game, and though it was a hard-fought game, we managed to hold on, winning in an upset, 68–62. Though they beat us a month later in Wyoming and edged us out by four in the WAC Final, we still made our third-straight NCAA tournament. We were a No. 9 seed, and would face No. 8 Seton Hall, which had future pros in Mark Bryant and John Morton. We knew it was going to be tough. Too tough, in the end. Though only down four after the first half, P. J. Carlesimo’s squad outscored us by 12 in the second, giving them an 80–64 win.
57 While it was far from the way we’d hoped the tourney would go, we’d still had a strong season and I knew my senior year would be one to remember. To start, we got another infusion of talent. Future pro Greg Foster transferred to UTEP from UCLA. Growing up in Oakland, Greg had played with another great point guard in Gary Payton. Then, after two years at UCLA, he came over to UTEP for his junior and senior campaigns. We were happy to have him—he was a highly touted guy and could hoop. He averaged 11.1 points per game his first season with us. But that year, my offense exploded. Still, there was no thought of me leaving after my junior year for the pros. The NBA scouts just weren’t checking for me in that way yet. I felt I was NBA-ready, but I was maybe the only one who did at the time. So I dedicated myself to my final year at UTEP.
Knowing the importance of showing out for my senior year, I was the team’s leading scorer, averaging 22 points and shooting over 50 percent, adding 5.4 assists, and 2.8 steals per game. I made first team All-WAC, and my output had me finishing as UTEP’s all-time leading scorer (though that was later eclipsed by Antoine Gillespie in 1995). But, no matter what, I knew I was one of the best point guards in the country. I also had a great backcourt mate in Prince Stewart. He matched my intensity, and we pushed each other every day after practice, working on moves and shooting. Antonio was great, too, notching 14.3 points and eight boards. We had size and skill. Senior year was the most fun I’d ever had playing basketball. But it didn’t start out that way.
A basketball team has to feel like a family if it’s going to work. And in my senior year, for whatever reason, our UTEP team didn’t gel in that way—not until the WAC Tournament. From 58there, we just took off. I remember one halftime speech in the first game of the tournament—I addressed the team like a wartime general. I don’t know why exactly, maybe it was the pressure of the postseason, but everyone got in line and on my back after that. It was a galvanizing moment, and led to a terrific end to my final college year.
We went 26–7 on the season, and during our last home game, my mom and Yolanda came down to celebrate me for senior night. Endings and transitions can be hard—even when you’re looking forward to your future. The whole thing was emotional. My final regular-season game was at home against San Diego State, and we killed them, 93–69. The fans showed me a lot of love, knowing it was my last game at the Don Haskins Center. We used that victory to springboard into the WAC Tournament, which we won, beating Wyoming, our foes from the previous season, in double-overtime, followed by victories against New Mexico and Colorado State. Those wins propelled us into the NCAA tournament for my fourth year in a row.
A No. 7 seed, we matched up against brilliant guard Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf (then Chris Jackson) and No. 10 LSU. If I needed a breakout on the national stage, this was it. I knew people would be tuning in to see a matchup of two NBA prospects. Mahmoud had averaged 30.2 points as a freshman (he went to the NBA following his sophomore season), but in our game, my team was able to get the better of his. He scored 33 points on a bunch of pull-up jumpers, and I added 31 on threes and layups. I also had three steals and nine assists. Antonio had 13 points and nine rebounds, and Greg added four points and nine boards.
Playing as a team, we won the game handily, 85–74. Mahmoud and I didn’t guard one another much. We both wanted to check 59each other, as if we were at the playground, testing offensives against defenses, but our coaches wanted us to save our energy. It was my first time playing against a guard who was so skilled. He could shoot from anywhere and score with the best. But during this game, I showed the world how quick I was. I used spin dribbles and my tight crossover. I pushed the ball, handling it with deftness. I knifed through defenses, scored with a smoothness, and was the consummate floor general, fitting passes into tight spaces and directing traffic.
Getting our first tourney win since my sophomore year, we faced the No. 2 seed Indiana in the second round, coached by Haskins’s fishing buddy, the always-irritated Bob Knight. Though we went in with high hopes, we lost that one badly, 92–69. But while Indiana looked poised for more, it was the University of Michigan that went on to win the 1989 title against Seton Hall. That Final Four also included Duke and Illinois. I had a lot of friends on the Illinois team, which fell to Michigan. Sharpshooting guard Glen Rice was on a heater that year. Nobody could stop him and my future Miami Heat teammate Terry Mills. That duo went on to beat Seton Hall to make Michigan history and win the whole thing.
For me, my college career was over. In my final season, I’d shown my mettle. I’d led the WAC in both steals and assists, and was at the top in scoring. For that I was named WAC Player of the Year and won the Frances Pomeroy Naismith Award for best 6-foot-and-under player in the country—all after getting no scholarship offers for much of my high school career. Add two more trophies to the case! My stock grew throughout the year, and I began to have a real following. Thousands of fans and a slew of media people were wondering what my next move would 60be. Many appreciated what I could do with the ball, but more began to speculate on where I might be drafted in the NBA.
With the season complete, and doing my best to shut out all the noise, it was time for some personal reflection. It had been a wild ride over my four years in El Paso, one I’d never forget. I’d made the tourney in each of my four years and left as the school leader in points and steals (which I still hold). The city taught me good values and the people embraced me. Before I left campus, I said goodbye to my teammates—that was hard. College had made me into a better player and a better man, thanks to everyone who helped. But after graduation and saying my final goodbyes, I left on a personal road trip. I wanted some space to think about the next steps. I knew, though, that it was time for me to go on to the next level, my college degree (in criminal justice) in hand.
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4 With the Fourteenth Pick …
The NBA had never been my dream as a kid. But now that I had a chance to make it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. After all the work I’d put in at UTEP, I knew I could succeed at the next level. Once you enter the draft, there are about a billion hoops you have to jump through before you can hear your name called (if you’re even lucky enough to get that opportunity). One of the first things I had to do was play in the annual senior game in Seattle, Washington, which would be seen by tons of scouts. One of my teammates during the senior game was Michael Smith. He played at BYU, a team I was familiar with from the WAC, and was drafted that summer by the Boston Celtics.
He was supposed to be the next big thing behind Larry Bird. Like Bird, he had this unorthodox shot. But in the senior game, he was a good wingman for me. We played well together, and I ended up winning MVP honors. After the game, I flew back to El Paso with my trophy. My next trip would be to Portsmouth, Virginia, for another tournament.
62 Like the senior game in Seattle, I took home the MVP at the Portsmouth Invitational. In fact, I was the last person ever to get the award despite my team not winning the championship. We lost in double-overtime, but I still got the MVP nod—that’s the type of show I put on—scoring, assisting, and running the break on all those NBA hopefuls. I was making a name for myself among the attending NBA scouts. If they didn’t know my name before, they sure as hell knew it now. The final tournament I played was in Orlando, Florida. That was a big invite for me, even with all I had already accomplished that summer. I was looking forward to seeing some big-name guards on the court. My last opportunity before (hopefully) stepping onto the NBA hardwood.
I wanted to match up against Syracuse’s Sherman Douglas, UCLA’s Pooh Richardson, Iowa’s B. J. Armstrong, Florida State’s George McCloud, and Oakland’s Mookie Blaylock. I took every matchup personally. Unfortunately, aside from Richardson, the other guys didn’t end up playing in Orlando. Sherman, Mookie, and George bowed out (I don’t think McCloud even came), and B. J. broke his hand. I was mad at those guys for missing the game. I really wanted to go against them and show that this 6-foot guy from UTEP was the best point guard prospect in the country. But I made the second All-Tournament team and, again, increased my stock in the process.
Next, it was time to visit individual teams for workouts. A bunch of them wanted to take a look at me, but the two that showed the most interest were the Indiana Pacers and expansion Minnesota Timberwolves. Team executives had already seen what I could do in a college game. Now, they wanted to see me shoot and whether or not I could dunk. They wanted to see how 63quick I was and what my lateral movement was like. They’d all heard about my skills, but now wanted to see them up close. The word was that my jumper was flat, without any rotation, but that it always went in. So I just had to prove that I could make the shots when they counted.
The more jumpers I made, the higher my stock rose. In the interviews, teams wanted to know about my motor. “Why do you always play so hard?” they asked. I told them that my drive came from always being doubted and underestimated. I said I liked to turn a negative into a positive. Rumor had it Doug Collins liked me for the Bulls, but the team ended up picking center Stacey King with the No. 6 pick. Then they got B. J. Armstrong later at No. 18. He was probably a better fit to put around Michael Jordan in the team’s offense anyway.
The day of the draft, I still didn’t know where I would land. The day before Tuesday’s draft, the Golden State Warriors wanted me to fly from Chicago to Oakland to do one last-minute practice. I tried to get on a plane, but there was a problem: a typhoon had arrived in Chicago and all flights were cancelled.
After waiting for hours in the hopes that I’d still be able to get out of Chicago, I went home at two in the morning, as no flights were leaving O’Hare.
Indiana, which had the No. 7 pick, and their coach Dick Versace liked me, as did Minnesota and Bill Musselman, which had the No. 10 pick. I’d destroyed my workouts with both teams, opening eyeball after eyeball. The day of the draft, I was invited to New York to be on site, since everyone knew I would get picked in the first round. There was a big buzz around me. But when I fell to Golden State at No. 14, I was surprised, especially since I hadn’t made it out to Oakland that night because of the 64typhoon. It wasn’t that I was mad that I “fell” in the draft—I’m a confident guy, but I also take nothing for granted. That I made the NBA at all was a gift. I just didn’t know the Warriors wanted me like that.
What I came to find out was that the Warriors coach Don Nelson put out word to whomever would listen that I had bad knees. Apparently he wanted me that bad! When I found that out, I was pissed. Years later, I talked to Bill Musselman’s son, Eric, who told me even decades later Bill was still mad at Nellie for that. Another team that passed on me was the Celtics. When I’d heard about their interest ahead of the draft, I was intrigued. My dad had long been a Celtics fan. He liked Larry Bird and the way the Celtics moved the ball. But they passed me by, too, in favor of Smith. Later, when I played against Boston, Bird told me he was upset with their GM, Red Auerbach.
Larry said he went into Red’s office and cussed him out. “Man, we needed Tim Hardaway, what were you thinking?” he told me he said to Red. But sometimes fate works in your favor, even when you think it won’t. In the end, I found the right home in Oakland with Nellie. The 1989 draft, which was the first to be broadcast live by the NBA, and was definitely a momentous occasion for everyone involved—especially those of us who got drafted. It was an additional honor to be just the third player from UTEP ever taken in the first round. And while I was happy to be going to Oakland, I knew Nellie had messed up my money since later lottery picks make less than those taken in the top spots. But I’d soon find that Golden State was the best in the world for me to go. It was a run-and-gun team with a great deal of upside.
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If I had gone to the Timberwolves, I could have been the expansion team’s first star. If I had gone to the Pacers, I could have played with sharp-shooter Reggie Miller. But instead, I went to a team with fourth-year wing Chris Mullin and second-year guard Mitch Richmond, as well as a slew of other interesting players, including 7-foot-7 center, Manute Bol. It was a squad coached by run-and-gunner Don Nelson, a former signal caller with the Milwaukee Bucks in the 1970s and 1980s. He’d recently come down from the general manager’s office in Golden State after letting go of previous head coach, George Karl, to take on the role himself for the upcoming season.
Nellie’s style was all about pace and scoring, which was great for me. When I got to meet him, one of the first things he told me was, “You know I lied to everybody to get you.” He said it almost matter-of-factly, but there was a little smirk. “I told everybody you had bum knees.” I just shook my head. “And I know I took a lot of money out of your pocket, but you’re going to benefit from coming here. You’re going to be alright.” I believed him, too. I knew Nellie was a great coach and I was excited to learn.
The day of my introductory press conference, when I signed my rookie contract, I was itching to play basketball so bad that I asked Chris Mullin, Mitch Richmond, and Rod Higgins if they wanted to play pickup. Mully had the key to the gym where Jason Kidd went to high school—St. Joseph Notre Dame in Alameda—and so we went over there and got a run in. We must have played for three or four hours, and I clicked with them right 66away. Chris was an unbelievable player in college at St. John’s. Mitch was coming off winning Rookie of the Year honors and could do it all. And Rod Higgins, who I knew from the Chicago pro-ams, was a terrific big man. He was Mr. Fundamental even before Tim Duncan.
I was already getting geeked for the year. Being a rookie is intimidating. But in my back pocket I had a vote of confidence from one of the greats. Going into my senior year at UTEP, I was playing in a Chicago pro-am at Illinois Institute Tech with guys like Nick Anderson, Byron Irvin (who played for Portland), and a few other standouts. That’s when a friend turned to me and said, “MJ is coming to play today.” I said, “MJ who?” And he said, “MJ, fool. Michael Jordan!” I replied, “Yeah, well, y’all still going to get your asses whooped!” The other team also had Terry Cummings and Craig Hodges, along with Mike. They were trying to stack their squad against us.
