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

[Trackball]

Difficulty: Superstar (may raise to HOF later)
Sliders: Simulation

This is a story I've wanted to tell for a while: the first NBA player to be a diagnosed autistic.

I'm really nervous and scared as I write this one--I've never written a dynasty thread before, not to mention being so open about my disability like this.

Oh, if you didn't know, in 1994 or so, I (the guy writing this) was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, which has recently been renamed by the DSM-5 to Autism Spectrum Disorder. As such, I figure I am uniquely qualified to create a player and give him this condition that I have.

However, because this is such a strange disorder which can make a guy act...differently from how the player is presented in the game, I will have to make some changes to the dialogue. However, obviously, the result will be the same whenever possible and practical.

This will be a dynasty following one man's journey through professional basketball. It won't be filled with HTML tables of who the league leaders are in any one category (though they could be mentioned on occasion). And, like Trekfan and his great dynasties, they will be almost completely text. I can't edit pictures, I don't have a video capture device, and I don't have a digital camera (though I may get one of those soon). Hopefully my writing skill will be able to carry the day.

It's just a story that I felt needs telling, particularly since there is a certain real-life basketball player with a mental disorder, who I WANTED to succeed, but instead became something far worse than a draft bust: he became a complete embarrassment to basketball and the disabled.

His name was Royce White.

And his massive failure is the perfect reason why this character would end up going undrafted.

Think about it: After all the fuss he raised and all the fits he threw, would any team DARE take another chance on a guy with a mental/neurological disorder? He'd just end up screwing up team chemistry, and causing unneeded drama in the locker room--and might not even play for you.

And White just had an anxiety disorder. This guy's freakin' autistic.

So the question becomes: can Matthew Wood overcome everything that stands in his way as he tries to play in the NBA and provide for his family the only way he knows how?

You can read more about the idea HERE. Thank you to the 25 people that upvoted the post (as of this writing), as the immense interest in the idea is what made me decide to write my first dynasty thread.

Oh, and if possible, this will be an offline MyCareer file. No outside VC, just skill points. Why?



That's why.

[vinaa23]

As I told you, I'm following. Good luck, buddy

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Matthew Wood is a weird guy.

Sure, he was tall, but that didn't exactly endear him to those who would use the lazy faculty at schools to their advantage.

He ended up a prime bully target for many years because of his weak, skinny frame, narrow shoulders, and general shyness. He would end up holding his arms tightly to his sides between classes, because the mean kids would poke him in the sides with great force, right at the bottom of the rib cage, which causes a sharp pain and a reflexive jump, leading to laughter at the thought that someone so pathetic could ever possibly have that reaction to having nerve clusters agitated so.

Could he tell someone in authority? Of course. But how much actually got done? They were right back to stabbing him with fingers every chance they got. He ended up paranoid of the bullies. However, it was this general protective instinct that would come to exemplify his eventual skills...

For most of his life, his parents weren't sure what was otherwise wrong with him. Sure, he got mostly As and Bs in school, but he had almost no interest in making friends, and seemed to be more focused on his video games and his hometown Houston Rockets.

He was born on November 3, 1993, early into the season that would nab the Rockets their first of two consecutive championships. But that wasn't why he started watching; it was because, in 1999, his grandmother randomly gave him a fold-out schedule for the 1999-2000 NBA season. He's almost never missed a game since, following the end of Hakeem Olajuwon's career, the start and end of Yao Ming's, and the new start with Dwight Howard and James Harden.

And then, in 2002, a random observation by a medical doctor led to psychological evaluations...and a diagnosis that shook the Wood family to the bone.

Matthew, it turned out, suffered from Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism. It's what explained his shyness, his narrow interests, his high intelligence, and his tendency for his mind to wander and lose focus. He would end up on various medicines, and several different therapists, for years afterward--and likely, for the rest of his days.

However, it was a suggestion at the age of 15 that would end up further defining his life.

He had grown to 6'4" by this point. Skinny and weak, a high school sophomore, someone in P.E. class comes up to him and suggests "If you love basketball so much, why don't you play it yourself?"

He had barely ever picked up the orange ball by this point. He knew how much physical contact was involved in the game--and how many autistic people liked being touched in places they didn't know were coming?

However, all of his experiences came to a head in this sport. Protective instincts? Check--keep the player from putting the ball in the hoop. Tracking with hands? Check--he seemed to have a natural instinct for putting his hand in the same spot the shooter puts the ball when the latter is about to heave the rock, and blocking the shot. Grabbing at the supplies the rotten bullies played monkey-in-the-middle with? Check--because of his knowledge of one of the fundamentals of geometry, "angle of incidence is angle of deflection," he was able to pull down rebound after rebound, because he was so aware that most shots end up bouncing off on the opposite side.

The one factor that stood in his way was his athleticism...or lack thereof. The fact remained that he was still a skinny weakling, despite being tall enough to play center.

That's when Bob Gilmore, the basketball coach at his high school, showed him some DVD footage of a motivational speaker named Mark Eaton: a 7'4" man who had played 12 NBA seasons, all with the Utah Jazz, and who had become a two-time Defensive Player of the Year.







These speeches changed his life.

With the help of his high school coach, he started to train, building up stamina, vertical jump, and of course tolerance of discomfort--and with the help of his knack for grabbing offensive rebounds and getting putback baskets, he would take the school to the Texas state semifinals in his senior year, where they would lose 74-54 to a running La Marque team.

He finally found something he was good at...and he wanted to keep doing it. However, after graduating, he came to the realization that only one college had offered him a full-ride scholarship: the University of North Texas. Not wanting to take student loans and go into debt, he accepted and moved north to Denton.

Though he couldn't take the DVD with him, he continued to watch YouTube uploads of Eaton's speeches. Playing for the North Texas Mean Green, by now standing 6'11", he chose the number 53 in Eaton's honor.

His story, an autistic man becoming a successful college basketball player, received quite a bit of attention in his home state, and was even a subject of an E:60 news segment on ESPN in his sophomore year, where he led Conference USA in rebounding with 8.6 per game.

It was at this time that he saw how much trouble his family was in financially. Over $10,000 in debt, in addition to the money-pit house, made him realize he couldn't keep playing for just room, board and education. At the end of his sophomore season in 2014, he declared his eligibility for the NBA draft.

However, due to his condition, few agents wanted to be stuck with him. One man wound up reluctantly hired, a near-washout named Will Regan. He had already ended up with two clients that went bust, so this was the only chance he had left.

But then, on the day of the draft, in a run-down apartment he'd intended to be a temporary home, his dream gets the same treatment that rookie Shaq gave to two backboards...

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June 26, 2014

"With the sixtieth pick in the 2014 NBA Draft, the San Antonio Spurs select..."

Matthew was a complete nervous wreck. Here he was, pacing around his shabby cheap apartment, clutching an old Spalding Infusion basketball--the same one his parents had gotten him when he was 15, when he started playing the game. Even with all its wear and tear, he kept it out of sentimental value.

He couldn't bear to look at the screen anymore. His autistic quirks were only getting more and more pronounced with each second that passed. He'd pushed the ball into his chest. He'd bounced it on his head with his hands barely above it. No matter what, he just couldn't stand still.

He'd already figured he wasn't a lottery pick; few players from such small schools were. And the North Texas Mean Green had NEVER produced an NBA player, ever--not even before the National Basketball League and Basketball Association of America merger in 1949 that created the National Basketball Association. He certainly didn't do anything special in the NCAA tournament, like Stephen Curry did with Davidson, or Cleanthony Early (who had been taken early in the second round by the Knicks) did with Wichita State earlier that year.

In fact, the Mean Green only made the tourney in his second year, as a 13th seed, getting blown out by the Texas Longhorns, 92-66. His 14 points and 10 rebounds (four offensive) weren't nearly enough.

He wondered if that early exit was part of why he kept falling in this draft...it was certainly making him want to cry. He'd left college early so he could help support his family, and now, fifty-nine picks later, he was still waiting.

He had lost the weight, gotten his muscle up, and now stood at 6'11', 225 pounds...yet here he was, hoping that the reigning NBA champions would take him with the final selection.

"...Jeremy Brown, from Okla--"

The resulting scream could likely be heard as far away as the downtown Houston megachurch that used to be The Summit/Compaq Center. He didn't need to hear what college Brown was from. He slammed his old ball down to the floor in disgust and disbelief, hard enough to make it bounce all the way to the ceiling once.

"THIS guy?! I don't even know who that IS!"

That brief outburst of rage seemed to dissipate after that starting explosion, at which point he could only clutch his ball and plop onto the sofa, seeming to sink further and further into the cushions.

"Good night, everyone, and thanks for coming," said the deputy commissioner who traditionally called the second round of picks. The man's name was irrelevant now...and so was Wood's. All that work, all that tiring hustle, all that pain and sweat...all for nothing. What was he going to do now?

He doesn't even notice the sounds of his agent, Will Regan, approaching, having just come out of his bathroom after washing his hands.

With a bit of nerves, Will Regan tells Matthew "There's my guy..."

If the camel's back wasn't snapped in half before, this bit of straw did it. Matthew gets up, shooting Regan a death-glare, and says, with rising intensity, "Your guy? Your GUY?!"

Will gets an oh-shoot look on his face, backing off from the near-seven-footer. And then said tall man walks toward him, looking like he's out for blood! Regan starts walking around the room and the dinner table, trying to avoid his wrath!

"Your GUY was told by his agent that he was gonna be a late-first-round, MAYBE second-round draft pick! Your GUY's supposed to be in New YORK with the REST of those chumps! Your GUY?! Your GUY's about to BLOW HIS FRICKIN' LID because his dream of playing a GAME to support his family IS STILL JUST A DREAM!!"

Will stops in front of the still-playing TV, telling him "Hey, CHILL man!" He didn't even notice how fury tends to make stutters go away. "I know this isn't how we wanted it to go down, BELIEVE me!" Wood finally seemed to have stopped walking, so Regan takes a couple of steps toward him, to deliver a small ultimatum.

"Like I told you--you're my last best hope at the agency! If you wash out, I wash out WITH you!"

That was true enough to get Wood to quiet down. Regan hadn't wanted to be stuck with him, but until this (justified) outburst, they'd gotten along passably. At the very least, Wood seemed to know what a business relationship was, and that some things are better handled by someone who's better at talking and negotiating than he was. Plus, with two past failures, his job was likely hinging on Wood's future. He didn't have a choice but to stick by the center, as quirky as he was.

However, what came next was not expected. "But I was thinking...maybe this was the best thing that could've happened to you."

This baffled Wood enough to speak up again--and judging by the sarcasm in his voice, he was still simmering. "How do you figure THAT, genius?"

Regan states his reasoning: "Better to go undrafted and have a choice, than to be picked late by a stacked playoff team, where your chances of MAKING the team are about as high as MY chances of...I don't know, dating a supermodel. Which, by the way, despite my CONTAGIOUS CHARM, are pretty frickin' slim."

Matthew finally seemed to have calmed down. His shoulders were starting to slump as the realization kicked in. Choice? How many undrafted players even PLAYED in this league? Jeremy Lin was super-lucky that all those injuries happened to force him to be played in New York two years prior. Still, it was something. "So w-what's the move here, man?" Definitely calming down--his stutter was coming back.

Will turned off the TV, so Matthew could focus on his words. "This just affects our timing...okay? You've just gotta keep workin' hard and be ready. Injuries, overhyped draft picks--sooner or later, players are gonna wash out, and they are gonna call you. You hear me?"

Will nearly stepped over the table, but realized that would likely send his client into another tizzy. Matthew, meanwhile, had finally sat down in the center of his sofa again, looking positively bummed out. It had finally hit him; he had been passed up by every single team, including his hometown Rockets, whose GM had the "always take the best player available" philosophy. Which meant he thought Clint Capela was a better player than him...or, was there another reason?

Another look of anger was starting to enter Wood's face. "This is because of Royce White, isn't it?"

Royce White was a standout prospect at Iowa State University before entering the 2012 draft. White had a mental disorder, specifically Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Despite this, the Rockets saw enough in his skill set to take him with the 16th pick that year...and then White threw an emotional tantrum to the team, asking for all sorts of unreasonable accomodations, like riding by bus (which he did offer to pay for himself) to get around his fear of flying. White was eventually assigned to the D-League's Rio Grande Valley Vipers...but he outright refused to report there, claiming among other things that he was too good a player to be there, and that he'd only play at the NBA level. It got so bad, he was eventually somehow traded to the Philadelphia 76ers before ever playing a regular-season game for the team...and then, White was waived by the Sixers.

Royce White did eventually see NBA action for the Sacramento Kings, having signed a ten-day contract with the team the prior season...and played a grand total of nine minutes, joining the ranks of players like Charles Jones, who had more career personal fouls than points scored (zero points, two fouls).

White was a complete embarrassment to the disabled--and few people wanted White to succeed more than Matthew Wood, which made the letdown all the more pronounced. Rockets GM Daryl Morey called White the biggest mistake he'd ever made with the team. It should have been no wonder that no NBA team dared take another chance on a player with mental issues again.

With Will going silent, Matthew finally answers his question, muttering "Yes. I hear you."

"Good," said the agent, who sat down on the coffee table. "Remember...Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team--and made fools pay for it for the rest of his career. And beyond--you heard his Hall-of-Fame speech, the guy's still so petty about it." Regan gets up and walks a little. "Look, my point is, use the draft-day slight as motivation; a chip on your shoulder at the beginning of...a long journey." He adds "And like EVERY journey, this one begins with a single step."

Coming back in front of his client, he concludes. "So your first step...is to keep working hard. And we'll find you a home before you know it."

Taking another deep breath, Wood finally realizes this is the only chance he has left. He manages to utter "Alright...I'm believin' in you, man. Make it happen..." And he only manages a handshake, as Regan heads for the door, phone in hand.

He can't help but think to himself, alone.

Undrafted? Basketball is the one thing on this entire frickin' planet that I'm good at. What am I gonna do now? I don't wanna move back in with Mom...they can barely afford me as it is. This can't be the end...is my dream--my future--really dead...?

[Trackball]

Six months later...

Matthew is sitting in his sofa, playing some NBA 2K15, resting from workouts on this January off-day. Since going undrafted, he had to get a job to support his shelter and what little livelihood he had--and hauling garbage twice a week isn't the most sanitary way to make a living. He would much rather stay clean, of course he would...but when you don't have any roads to go down as far as your actual talent goes, there's only so much you can do. Sometimes, you have to suck it up and swallow your pride. What else could he do, throw a fit like Royce White?

Agent Will Regan is in the room, his tablet and phone with him at the dinner table. He turns and faces Wood. "Okay, I know you've been stayin' in shape, workin' hard on your game, waiting for your shot."

Matthew pauses his game as he says this, and responds. "Y-yeah...but w-w-why are you bringing this up now?" Even after all this time, it was pretty hard to believe that not getting picked was a GOOD thing.

"That's the thing!" he says with cautious excitement. Or possibly nerves. "That's why I'm here today. Now is the time--teams are now able to offer ten-day contracts, and I've been on the phone non-stop! There is some definite interest in you."

"Huh?" says the would-be center. "I-I don't get it...what are you saying? Like, I-I get to pick what team I go to, or something?"

"Whoa...it's not that easy, Matthew...but there are several teams willing to give you a...a little tryout, to see if it makes sense for them to sign you."

Wood stands up and puts the controller down, pacing a little. Tryout, huh...? It's high school all over again--and that didn't raise many good memories of freshman year, or prior. At least he didn't think he had to worry about getting poked in the sides again...right?

He turns to face Regan. "Well...uh...i-if it's not too much trouble, do you have a l-l-list of teams ready to talk, or...what?"

Regan holds his hands up in a caution pose. "Keep in mind, these teams have varying levels of interest...if you want the ten-day deal, you're going to have to a lot harder to impress some of these teams than others."

"Okay, okay, I get that--w-where's the list?"

"Fine, fine, here's the list! Let me know where you wanna go, and I'll make it happen..." He hands him a tablet with over 15 teams on it, as well as the agent's estimate of each team's interest level in him.

Looking it over, he sees that some teams are ranked unusually high. "The Kings? Huh? What, did DeMarcus do something again?"

"Yeah, he got hurt--I thought you knew. Out for a month, so they're looking for something to fill the gap."

Another team he sees that's high up: the Utah Jazz. Mark Eaton's old team. "The Jazz aren't exactly doing much, are they?"

"No, they could use just about any decent player at any position, really...doesn't look like Kanter's working out too well."

He'd heard stories of how loyal the top executives were to the players, personnel and city, too.

He mulls over this list for hours...

Spoiler

Author's note: Wow, I'm spending more time writing this than I am actually playing the darn game. Note that I haven't even gotten to the scrimmage yet! Which is why I'm asking for feedback before I continue. I've already chosen what team I'm trying him out for, so that's out--I mean in regards to how I'm writing this dynasty. I get it, it's long-winded. But I wanted to make a character people could root for.

On the other hand, if I'm going too far, please tell me so, and I'll pull back on the detail for a while. For now, though, what are your thoughts so far?

[red5]

really cool, I'd love to read more

[jfleming40]

I'm following. This is a great read.

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January 23, 2015
Utah Jazz practice facility, Salt Lake City, Utah

Sometimes, one needs to put sports rivalry aside.

Yes, the Jazz were fierce rivals with his Rockets: he'd seen videos of The Day The Clock Stood Still, as well as Karl Malone's headlock on Clyde Drexler that allowed John Stockton to get open for...THAT shot in 1997.





But you have to swallow your pride sometimes. The Rockets weren't even on the list--what did they need with a center? They had Dwight Howard locked up for two or three more years.

Mark Eaton's words in the iron-workers speech, where he spoke about how loyal the Jazz management was to its players and to the state of Utah, was the deciding factor.

Thus, he took one of the biggest risks of his life: he went into debt. He used a credit card to pay for his plane ticket to Salt Lake City, and reported to the Jazz practice facility. He didn't think they'd allow someone to wear 53 anymore, even in a practice jersey, but he figured they'd change the number on the off-chance he made the team.

It felt so weird putting on a jersey that wasn't a Rockets jersey. But, again, some things you have to do to go places in this world.

He's greeted by one of the assistant coaches as he walks onto the court. Most of the actual team is there, including the starters.

"Man, I saw you at the pre-draft workout, and I can't believe you weren't picked. But that's good for us, 'cause here you are. But the competition gets a little steeper here--you'll be playing against some of the best players in the world."

Matthew takes a deep breath. As if he wasn't nervous enough! He's about to do something that will have effects and implications on the rest of his life--of COURSE he'll be scared and worried. At least he seemed to like his game, despite his condition.

"You'll be running with the twos against the starters. We've got room for maybe one more player on this squad...question is, will it be you?"

"...I, uh, I...I don't know, Coach...uh, sir, uh...um, you know what I mean. I'll...I'll do my best. I know my job and w-what I've been...asked to do. Like Mark said."

"Good. Now get out there and play ball."

Thus, he steps onto a court with an NBA logo for the first time...it's a practice gym a thousand miles from home, but it's closer than he's ever been to the pros.

The scrimmage was to be six minutes--if it ended in a tie, there would be no overtime, because this was for evaluation purposes only.

His side starts with the ball (there was no tipoff), and immediately, he gets an offensive rebound on the first shot that goes up. However, after kicking it back out and someone shoots again, he's beaten to a second by Gordon Hayward--the Butler guy who'd just had an offer sheet matched by the Jazz for big money. He runs down the court as fast as he can, but on defense, he gets a rather rude awakening: Enes Kanter takes a 15-foot jumper from the side, right in Wood's face, and Wood doesn't jump to contest the shot.

Swish.

As Wood slumps his shoulders, he mutters "ohhh crap" before realizing he needs to get back upcourt.

Getting the ball in the post, he doesn't have enough confidence in his skyhook (if it was good enough for Kareem, it was good enough for him) to try it against Kanter, so when he sees Steve Novak cutting into the paint, he passes it to him...except it goes right past him, and into the hands of Trevor Booker, who then shoots. Clank--Kanter beats him to the board.

Back on D, Trey Burke stops at midrange on the side, and pump-fakes, which Wood falls for. However, Burke passes out to Kanter, who's just inside the arc. Getting back to his man, Wood spreads out his arms and is ready for Kanter to come closer to the hoop--except he unexpectedly shoots a fadeaway jumper, which misses, and one of the guards somehow gets the board.

As the guard heads upcourt, Wood follows, and sees the name "Exum" on his jersey. This is the Australian guy they drafted...at first he thinks he has to prove he belongs here as much as he does, but that thought's pushed out when he remembers that point guard and center are extremely different positions. Everyone has a role.

He suddenly becomes glad he squashed that thought, as Wood is passed the ball by Exum, and seeing no one else open, takes a jumper ten feet from the hoop--and regrets it the instant he leaves his feet. What am I DOING?!, he thinks, as he realizes he has to let fly, and does......swish.

The sigh of relief he exhales could almost be classified as gale-force winds. There's a Lance Stephenson joke to be made in there somewhere, but he doesn't have time to think of one--it does, however, give him some more confidence going into the rest of the scrimmage.

After trading baskets for a bit, there was just over a minute to go. On offense, a shot was taken, and Wood knew he couldn't be taking any chances anymore with these potential boards, so he plants his feet, gets between Kanter and the hoop, jumps--and YES, he nabs the offensive rebound! Instinctively, he jumps back up, but it's so physical under there, he doesn't quite get high enough for a dunk, so he tries to lay it up...

...and he blows it.

In that instant, all those disgusting memories of riding around on a garbage truck, dumping fly-infested trash into the compactor, getting made fun of for his awkwardness and gangly build in school...no, no, NO, he was NOT going to prove those jerks right! He was NOT going to go back to that disgusting menial job! He CAN pull his own weight, and he will PROVE it!

He jumps again, an opponent's forearm on his shoulder, no whistle, and--GETS the rebound again! Bounce back up--layup--GOOD!

He's running on instinct and rage now. He dashes back to defense. He's not going to be yet another bad example! Dang it, he's not putting UP with that anymore!

Turning around, Trey Burke drives, he lifts off--NO! Wood SWATS the ball away! He will NOT let them score that close again! NO!

A teammate grabs it, and hustles back to the other side of the court, a shot was taken by someone, and it bricks--but Kanter out-muscles him to the ball, and quickly hurls it downcourt, to a driving Hayward, who gets the fast-break layup before Wood's even at halfcourt.

Reality bites. As they say in hockey, no one's faster than the puck. Or ball, as it were.

Back into position, he wonders when this scrimmage is going to end, but he can't take his eyes off the play to look at the clock--Exum passes to Novak, who tries a 15-footer, and Matthew's thankful that it hits, because he got boxed out again.

The starters inbound, and--there's the whistle. Final score: Wood's team wins 12-8.