Incredible piece on Herren.

[JBMetzEA@aol.com]

Subject: Re: Herren
From: <A HREF="mailto:flyndadd1128@aol.com ">flyndadd1128@aol.com </A> 
(Flyndadd1128)
Date: Wed, Oct 4, 2000 11:11 PM
Message-id: <20001004231144.09699.00000231@ng-cb1.aol.com>

i've had this article bookmarked for a while.  some might have already seen it
before.

No Sleep 'Till Denver: Part I


By Brin Hill



A ball bounces across empty hardwood, ancient and stained from years of
run. The rock dies on dead spots laid out like mines, designed for only
the most skilled point guard. The orange picks up rhythmic speed with
quick wrist movements by a fit, pasty baller. The handler lets the rock
settle on a dead spot near the baseline, the gym falls mute.

"I leave ‘em froze, like herron."

Nas was talking about illicit stuff, but, if a letter was rewritten, he
could have easily been speaking of the smooth, well-rounded game of
Denver Nuggets point guard Chris Herren.

Hands work an old rusted crank in the corner of this sweatbox gym. With
each turn, a glass blackboard lowers from the rafters, destined for its
regulation ten-foot perch. Inhale, it reeks of dried sweat, thick air
and pinewood. This is a gym hoop myths are made of.

Numerous headlines pop into mind when his name is mentioned, and
probably most of them have very little to do with his actual on-court
skills. Roll through the microfilm at your local library, you’ll find
all the well-covered stories on his off-court troubles with substance
abuse, as well as a few unfounded accusations of gambling.
Unfortunately, this is how most of the public relates to Chris Herren.
They mention his past and mumble about how great his game could have
been. Could have been?

Ask around Fall River, MA, and you’ll hear countless tales of the Herren
boys’ legacy. First, there was the hot-tempered, highly opinionated
Michael, one of the most prolific scorers in the state’s history. You’re
sure to hear the story of how he once caught wind of a team made up of
future NBA pros that was trash-talking his skills, so he checked into
their game wearing jeans shorts and work boots and gave ‘em 50 in a
half. With that, he turned and walked out of the gym. So the story goes.
Like everything attributed to a Herren, the tale must be taken with two
grains of salt.

"When my brother and I were in high school, we used to get death threats
before big games. We’d get a call saying, ‘Don’t show up or you’re
gonna
get shot,’" Chris remembers. Now, that’s pressure.

The hand crank runs its course; the basket has reached its destination.
For good measure, the Irish kid tests it by throwing down a two-handed
dunk off pure vert. This 6’2" white boy is as athletic as the scouts
say. He cracks his neck and moves to a side-door, tossing it open,
thereby allowing the sun to blast a sheet of light across the dark wood.
Summer heat makes the dense air more humid.

Chris Herren was a legend before he could shave. A schoolboy whom girls
crooned for and peers idolized. With the charisma of a Tom Cruise and
the athletic ability of a top-flight NBA pro, not to mention his light
complexion, this Fall River product seemed destined for stardom. This
destiny might have been his downfall.

"Imagine that you are a 15-, 16-year old kid and you’re suddenly
everyone in your town’s ticket to ride," said Bill Reynolds, a local
sports writer and author of Fall River Dreams, a book on Herren’s high
school team.

There was pressure on Chris from all angles since he was born. He spent
his first years in Fall River, one of Massachusetts’s poorest sections,
living in public housing. In the ninth grade, he was asked to become the
main ticket in this hoops crazy milling town. He was instantly made a
target by rivals of his brother, as well as by on-court enemies from
neighboring working-class towns. Furthermore, white boys everywhere
asked him to become the next great white hope. The more popular he
became, the more his friends required him to live by the tenets of
friendship and loyalty that dominate working-class environments like his
even if it hurt him. He was, and still is, a victim of unfair
expectations. Starting in early childhood, Chris was filled with
unnecessary weight and unneeded burden.

"Chris never asked for all this. He just wanted to be a regular kid and
do regular things, but Chris has never been just a regular kid," says
brother Michael.

In the heat box, Chris moves through a series of dribbling and shooting
drills around a decrepit-looking folding chair. The gym is rich in the
texture and charm that only ancient environs can supply. As the workout
is cranked up a notch, the heat seems to rise with it. Only a basketball
purest could love this place, let alone survive it.

Chris Herren doesn’t ask for pity, after all he is among the most elite
in his profession, but he does deserve some sympathy. The public has
been putting undue stress on him since he was a grade school kid. In
short, his life has not been easy.

"Starting in the eighth grade, colleges were sending letters to Chris.
What did I do? I threw ‘em in the basket. I mean, that’s ridiculous,"
says Skippy Karam, his high school coach at Durfee High. "But, Chrissy
was special. Most days, I’d turn to my assistant and ask, ‘Have you ever
seen anything like this, anything this good?’ He’d just say, ‘No.’"

The stories and rumors have followed Chris like they followed his
brother. There’s the tale a kid tells you at a gym in Manhattan about
how the younger Herren was at a house party in high school, only white
boy in the joint, and how he knocked out a nose tackle with one punch
and took the footballer’s girl home with him. This is the stuff legends
are made of. It is a great story, the type one wants so badly to
believe.

Chris will tell you different stories about his childhood. Like the one
about being chased from an Irish gym in South Boston because he was a
race traitor playing on a team comprised of all brothers. Or another
about how he turned it out at a summer game in Raleigh - killed fools -
only to get run off for being the only white boy. Throughout his career,
he has had to maintain a reputation for toughness while living up to his
expectations as both a player and a brawler.

"I love his toughness. Coming from where he’s from, you’ve got to be
tough," Nuggets coach Dan Issel remarks after a Nuggets practice.

Power Forward Keon Clark, an imposing figure in his own right, pipes in:
"I wouldn’t want to meet Chris in a dark alley. I’ll put it like that."

Chris Herren is a complex personality. It’s not easy to define him in a
sentence or with a word. Maybe he is indeed a conglomerate of the
characteristics and ingredients that people seem to attribute to him.

But none of the hardcore, Fall River bravado he seemed to flash so much
at Fresno State comes across when you meet him. Rather, he is an
uncomfortable ball of constant nervous energy, bouncing from one idea,
one locale, to the next. He cannot sit still. In a strange way he is
hip-hop. The swagger, the charm, the raw emotion, the street cred, and
the mystery are all here. Yet, no one can quite put a finger on his
pulse.

But his heart is without question. In downtown Denver, as you walk down
the mall, Chris eyes your kicks and guesses you at about a size twelve.
"I’m wearing eleven-and-a-half; you want these Cons?" He’s literally
going to give you the shoes off his feet, until he realizes that he’ll
be left barefoot. "I’ll get you a bunch at the arena."

Fall River’s heart, like Chris’, is loyal, which is also the town’s
downfall. It clutches to lost American ideals a little too hard. The
town believes in the basic tenants that once made this a proud, brave
country, but since have gone the way of the buffalo as "me-capitalism"
reigns supreme with the now generation. The principles of this milling
community are no longer adhered to everywhere else. Unfortunately, the
Herrens and their friends are a dying breed.

Dripping in sweat, Chris makes countless jump shots from deep NBA land.
Swish. Swish. Swish. He hits and moves, adjusting his spot-ups to bounce
passes thrown on the dead spots. Here, in the empty gym, his raw talent
on display, it is obvious the potential the Nuggets see in this young
point guard.

NBA veteran Chris Mullin has been an advisor to Herren, leading him
through his recently-completed rookie season. As someone who also had
all his dirty laundry surrounding substance abuse aired in public,
Mullin sympathizes, guides and nurtures the talented, previously
unfocused baller. Mullin did not care about the past, the rumors, the
expectations, or the baggage from Fresno, Boston College or Fall River;
he only cares about the moment at hand.

For this, Herren is grateful. "Mully was very good to me. He just let me
know, ‘Hey, man, you’re not the only one who’s been in the public with
this thing.’ He’s helped me with everything from being a good father to
being a good husband to being a good player," Chris says.

"You’d be surprised by how much a little conversation helps from someone
who understands," Mullin admits. "I try to help him and, whether he
knows it or not, he helps me, too."

Chris Mullin probably sees himself twelve years younger in the wound-up,
energy-crazed Herren and knows that his protégé will eventually slow
down. With the veteran’s help, Herren has finally learned to find
balance and structure in his life. This has come in the form of a
family.

Herren finishes his jump shots from way out and starts in-and-out
dribbles at the chair again. He jukes and weaves to the arc for a
fifteen footer. Man, there is fluidity to his game that makes him oh, so
sweet. He is blessed with all those tools that teen ballers dream of,
and they are on display in the old gym.

There’s a town across the bridge from Fall River where some of the more
well-off kids live. It’s called Somerset. To local teens, it’s known as
Camelot because the kids there are untouchable. If something bad
happens, Fall River kids are always blamed, often wrongly. Ironically,
it took a Camelot girl named Heather to pull Chris from the Fall River
fray of false expectations and unfair dreams. She asked him for nothing
other than unconditional love, which Herrens are known for, and to be a
good father to their son, Chris Junior. With these things, she showed
him balance.

"Everyday, Chris comes to practice with a story about his little boy,"
says Nick Van Exel, Chris’s immediate mentor on the Nuggets.

"I play for my family. I live for my family. Everything is for my
family," Chris says emphatically, ignoring the Denver women catcalling
him from a Trooper.

Chris dribbles down the lane and throws a two-handed jam home. His ups
are unreal for someone his size. He enjoys the moment, but something
catches his eye. Always bouncing, he bounds across the floor and tests
another dead spot. The ball just dies. Herren lets out a cackle.



No Sleep 'Till Denver: Part II


By Brin Hill


Chris Herren has been on an odyssey, but he still has a long way to go.

Watching old tapes of him at Fresno, you realize how awe-inspiring his
game can be. His performance against Duke, ranked number one in the
nation, is a prime example. He nails 3s from deep NBA range and then
attacks the rim, slicing through Duke first-round draft picks like
they’re ghosts. Then, to the delight of former ACC stud and ESPN
broadcaster Len Elmore, Herren jukes William Avery, weaves past Trajan
Langdon and throws it behind Elton Brand’s back to a surprised big man
for a dunk. Chris has all the tools to be great in the show.

Herren’s potential as a pro is huge once he realizes how good he is. As
a rookie in Denver, playing without job security, he looked timid at
times. He chalks this up to learning the system and the position of
point guard. "This is only my second year playing the point," he says.
"I’m learning to distribute when I have to and take what they give me. I
can’t yank shots or I’ll be next to Issel."

Still, the coaching staff wants him to look for his offense. Assistant
coach John Lucas points out that "Chris needs to shoot the ball. He’s
such a good shooter that we can really use him. At the end of the
season, he started to make shots. It’s only a matter of time before he
realizes he can be an All-Star."

Some might argue that the tale of Chris Herren is a sad one. Others
might shrug and say who cares about him, there are plenty of lives that
are worse than his. Chris, at times, probably wishes everyone thought
this and the attention might evaporate. But, if one really looks at his
story, a source of inspiration can be found.

How can the story of a back-up point guard inspire? Chris is an
underdog, but not one with the traditional collar. Yes, he was a
McDonald’s All-American, he was the top guard recruit out of high
school, and he was in a crop of players that turned out Ray Allen,
Antoine Walker and Felipe Lopez. Yet Herren has been forgotten. And the
forgotten is always the underdog.

Chris Herren faced his lofty expectations, and his problems, and made it
to the League. He looks wrong in the face and does the right thing by
his family and his name. For these reasons, he’s someone to root for.
But, if this is not enough, check out his game. It’s filled with
cockiness and skills that would make Jason Williams blush. He is White
Chocolate without the falsities, without the hype and with restraint. If
only Chris could recognize this, we might have another great guard in
the league.

Herren is running baseline to baseline with a deft quickness. He
switches to defensive slides and guards an imaginary player as he
zigzags across the court. Floorboards creak under the guard’s weight and
his sneaker squeaks echo throughout the gym.

All this bouncing around, the seemingly excess energy of an ADD case, is
for a reason. Chris has always been a target of pressure, threats, peer
desires, expectations, the wrong crowd, naysayers and playa haters, and
he’s merely trying to dodge all this attention. This fair-skinned
point-guard has had a book written about him, two movies made about him,
countless articles scribed in his honor, and has been interviewed by
Mike Wallace on 60 Minutes. All this, and the kid isn’t even 25. Even
Jordan, that walking corporate sales-pitch, can’t lay claim to that kind
of exposure in his younger years. Granted, not all the attention has
been good or necessarily wanted, but it can’t be denied.

He’s finally stepped from the limelight and he’s surely happy about
that. Regardless, the daily articles in the Fall River papers will not
stop, the bar room arguments about his abilities with not end, and his
friends and family will not stop defending his name. However, Chris
Herren’s life in Denver is simple – just basketball, a wife and a son.
He can just be a guy in control. Bouncing or not.

This old armory gym, once his father’s home gym in high school, is now
Chris’s personal training room when back in Fall River. It was here that
he worked hours upon hours to prepare for the NBA draft. It was here
that he developed into an NBA pro. Herren ends his workout and lets out
a scream – a symbol of being alive and free. He can’t undo the demons of
the past, but he exorcises them. No better place than an old gym. Chris
leans against a bleacher and enjoys the moment alone. It is in this old
sweatbox that Herren finds peace in Fall River. At least, that’s how you
imagine it. You see, you’re not there because you don’t want to intrude
on a life so many times invaded. Chris Herren deserves to have his
workout in peace and quiet.