One of a Kind: The Strange Journey of Matthew Wood (2K15 MyCareer dynasty)

[Trackball]

Wiping the sweat from his face, the endorphins from the feel of playing competitive basketball again still course through his system.

The assistant coach from earlier calls him over. "Hey, Wood."

Figuring it was more likely that he was being talked to than Brendan Haywood being traded to the team during the scrimmage, or player-turned-ref Haywoode Workman being brought in, he turns and walks over. "Huh? Y-yeah, Coach?"

"Some of my colleagues thought that might have been a fluke."

"...What do you mean?" he asks, confused.

"They said there's no way an undrafted rookie could be that good."

That last word is all Matthew needed to get his hopes up. His eyes betray his joy, as he tries to hide it, but he still manages to say "...Uh, o-okay, but...w-w-what do you think, Coach?"

He smiles. "I think you can do it every day of the week."

Matthew is slowly cracking a smile, as the coach then says "That's right. If there's any way we can get you here, we will. Now get outta here--we'll keep in touch."

Short on breath, he mutters "Y-yes, Coach," before turning to head back toward the showers--but once his back is turned, he can't help but curl his arms into his body, doing a little joyful dance of celebration...then stopping himself, reminding himself that nothing's final yet. But wow, this was a good sign.

-------

Back at his apartment the next day, Will Regan suddenly barges in, getting between Matthew and the TV. "Wha--Dude, get outta the--wait, w-why are YOU in such a hurry? What's wrong?"

Will holds up one finger, smiling. "Nothing at all. We got our foot in the door--the Jazz have offered you a ten-day deal."

He needs to hit pause and take this in. "...You're not BSing me here, are you?"

"No, I'm serious--I got the word just as I was entering the building to talk to you anyway, so I thought I'd come to your room personally!"

Oh my gosh. He actually got a shot at the NBA...wait. "Hold on. Just ten days? N-not the rest of the year?"

"Well, you're an undrafted, unproven commodity--an autistic one, too! But they saw enough to take a flyer on you." He starts to circle Matthew's old sofa. "So you have exactly ten days--two hundred forty freakin' hours--to show that you belong. You perform, and yeah, you'll get that shot at a guaranteed deal for the rest of the season, and we both live to breathe another day! You don't, and...you got a shot at being last in that long line of might-have-beens, and I'm probably out on the street, too...living in this rat hole..."

That did some damage to his mood. Rat hole? This was all he could afford...did he think he LIKED living here, with all these roaches and fleas? It was degrading. And dehumanizing.

Will sees Wood's changed expression and lowering head, and changes his tune a bit. "Okay, okay, let's call it a...charming fixer-upper. Now pack your bags!" He claps twice. "We're going to the SHOW!"

Nice reminder. He didn't have to live here anymore...not if he did as well as he did in the scrimmage. So, for just this brief moment, he lets himself go, standing up and doing a little jig in place! Then he does something unexpected--he hugs Will Regan!

"Eh heh heh, okay, I get it..." He pushes Matthew off a little. "You'd better do well--I don't want to ruin another suit on these cou--" Realizing he was about to bad-mouth the apartment in front of his client again, he cuts himself off. "...Let's just get out of here ay-sap. I'll see you at the airport--we're going back to Salt Lake!"

As Regan walks out the door one final time, Matthew takes a good long look around his apartment. Finally...I'm in the league...I'm actually gonna play in the NBA...

Taking a look at his phone, he looks at his Twitter favorites; specifically, one from a guy named Mike Stauffer, which reads:

"So long, Matthew Wood. You won't be missed."

Wood takes a screenshot of that tweet, for future reference. Maybe he should print it out and frame it when he can...but that's for later.

He starts to unplug his PS4, then realizes he should call his mother and tell her the news...

-------

Utah Jazz General Manager's Office, the next day

Matthew Wood sits on a two-seater couch with his agent, facing the man who now has control over his livelihood and his future. He'd quit his job, moved out of the apartment, and gotten on the next plane he could get for Mountain Standard Time. But he was still a nervous wreck, wearing that white-and-green shirt he'd gotten in college at North Texas.

"You did well in the workout, and in the scrimmage," said the GM, matter-of-factly.

Regan gets up, walks toward the GM, and gestures to Matthew. "He's a baller! You give him a legit shot, and he is gonna make the most of it. I mean, when it comes down to crunch time, there's no one--"

The GM holds up his hand, shutting him up. He points to the sofa. Will sits down quietly. Matthew can only roll his eyes at what he just said...he's not THAT good.

"Ten days, Matthew." The general manager stands up from his fancy office chair. "We'll see if you can swim with the big fish...if you do, you might have a shot to be signed for the rest of the year; might even find yourself a spot in the rotation. If not, son, it's back on the streets. You ready?"

Wood has a hard time keeping himself from squirming and rocking back and forth in place from being so emotional, but he stands up anyway, holding out a hand. "I-I-I'm ready, willing and able, sir. Th-th-thank you...for everything."

The new boss shakes it, but briefly. "Good. Now get outta here." Then he turns to Regan, who also offers a hand--but this one isn't taken. "You too."

And on the secretary's desk, he signs his name--in cursive, which he hoped he'd never have to do again, but might be required here--on the contract, and with that, he is now officially a member of the Utah Jazz.

For the next ten days, anyway.

[Trackball]

January 26, 2015
EnergySolutions Arena, Utah Jazz locker room
Salt Lake City, Utah

It's finally happening. Matthew Wood, the undrafted autistic weirdo, is going to play in a real, regular-season NBA game. He's going to have an entry at basketball-reference.com forever. He'd bought his parents NBA League Pass for the rest of the season so they could watch him play--Utah wasn't subject to Texas' blackout rules.

He's been a complete nervous wreck all day. He had to work really hard to hide his intent to squee upon receiving his jersey. They had called him earlier that day, upon arriving at the hotel, to ask him what uniform number he wanted, because 53 had already been retired in honor of--guess who--Mark Eaton.

He chose number 50.

And there he sat, in that jersey, which read "WOOD 50" on the back, unable to face the rest of the players there. Butterflies in his stomach, chest, throat and brain, unable to be cocooned into a single internal organ. They might break out of his skin soon.

Autistic people have a hard time looking people in the eye as it is...but now, he couldn't even so much as look away from his own locker. He just sat there, on the wooden bench, facing all the stuff in his duffel back, as well as his spare jersey should one get torn somehow.

He doesn't even see starting point guard Trey Burke approaching him from behind. Trey had developed soreness in his knees the day before, which turned out to be tendonitis, so he was listed as "doubtful" for tonight's game against the Celtics.

"So you're the rookie that's gonna shock the world, huh?"

Wood jumps a bit in his seat as he realizes the sophomore is talking to him. "...I...I don't know about that, but...I-I just wanna...g-get my...m-make my place here, you know?" He's practically shivering as he sits there, tilting his head in that awkward way he does when he's particularly emotional.

"Good, I'm glad you're here. Just remember: it's all out there for ya. Work hard, listen, watch how we do, and you've got a chance to be something special. Now let's see whatcha got."

Tired old clichés, that's all it sounded like to him. Matthew's surprised this guy is spouting stuff like this. Maybe some old guy in the organization told him this...no, this isn't the time to bad-mouth those higher up--certainly not his employers, who took a chance on him when no one else would for six months. Even a guy with as few social skills as he does realizes he needs to build as much good will as he can--if you make everyone mad, that's a quick way to show your butt the door.

"...Th-thanks...I'm...h-happy to, uh, be here, man...I'm scared, but...thanks, man." It's all Wood could muster.

"Now come on, let's go," Burke told him.

-------------------------

Larry H. Miller Court at EnergySolutions Arena
Utah Jazz vs. Boston Celtics

There he sat, in his warmup jacket. Ever since the pre-game shootaround, he'd been looking up to the rafters every so often.

The Utah Jazz may not have any championship banners, but there was one banner he couldn't help but revere.



He'd inspired Wood to get his act together. Now he's playing on the same team that treated his long-distance mentor so well.

As he waits on the Jazz bench, he watches the game in progress...