Defiance: The Odyssey of Ronald Bazemore

[trekfan]

Ch. 6

June 28th, 1996


He tugged at his suit jacket and took a steadying breath. First press conference as a pro. First introduction to the people of the city he was playing in. First day as an NBA player.

A franchise player, he reminded himself. That was the key. He wasn’t just someone picked to help the team win or someone picked to learn from a veteran on the bench; he was picked because the team — the coach, in particular — valued him as a guy they could build around. They believed he could be great … they made that belief loud and clear when they took him first.

There was a knock at his door and gave himself one final look in the mirror before nodding at his reflection. He walked over — two strides — and opened the door.

The somewhat shorter visage of Coach Bazemore greeted him. Dressed in a black suit and tie — it was all Kobe had ever seen him in — Bazemore flashed a smirk as he looked Kobe up and down. “Looking good. Got a minute to talk?”

“Of course, Coach,” Kobe said as he stepped out of the way. Bazemore walked — well, half-walked, half-limped — into the room. Kobe was still trying to teach himself not to look too hard at the weird way his coach walked. Bazemore didn’t seem to notice, but Kobe was fairly certain the man was just ignoring it. Kobe wasn’t the only one to stare a little.

“We’re about to face the Miami media for the first time out there,” Bazemore said as he leaned against the hotel room dresser. “They’re not vicious or anything; they’ll be fans of yours before the conference is done. But I just wanted to tell you to be yourself — toss in some Spanish in there, if you want. Miami is a multi-cultural, diverse community.”

Kobe mentally noted all that. His agent, Tellem, had advised him to try to appeal to all parties out there — Spanish and English-speaking alike — to keep his endorsement options as open as possible. But Tellem didn’t like being here in Miami at all … and Kobe was, frankly, getting tired of arguing with him.

“I’ve also directed our PR guy to direct questions to you first, if you’re all right with that,” Bazemore continued.

Kobe narrowed his eyes a bit. “You want me to talk first?”

“If you’re comfortable,” Bazemore said, a smirk playing at his lips. “It's your first press conference as a pro … let me tell you, I imagined mine a couple thousand different ways before my injury.” Bazemore stood up off the dresser and stretched his back out. “I never imagined anyone else talking before me. I was supposed to be guy, you know?”

Kobe nodded. “Yeah, yeah … I can do that, Coach. Thank you.”

Bazemore gave him a thumbs up. “I’m going to talk to Shareef, I’ll see you downstairs in … “ He paused to look at his watch, a beat-up old thing. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Fifteen, Coach.”

Bazemore smiled at him. “Kobe, it’s Ron. Not ‘Coach.’ I appreciate the respect, but we’re here as equals … between us, between the team, we’re on a first name base. In the press, use titles if you want, but my name is Ron.”

“Got it ... Ron.” The name fell out of his mouth weirdly … it was going to take some getting used to.

Bazemore — Ron now — gave a slight nod and left the room.

Kobe found himself back in front of the mirror, replaying the conversation he just had back in his mind, looking at it from every angle.

We’re here as equals, he repeated to himself. That idea hadn’t occurred to him before now. No longer just some teenager playing basketball, not someone to control or lecture … he was an equal to the coach and GM of the team.

He liked that.

****

“I was surprised he went for the kid — I bet twenty bucks he was going to take Iverson,” said Sam Saul. He took out a stick of gum and began smacking at it as they waited for the press conference to begin. None of the major players had arrived yet.

But Helena knew all three of them would be arriving together — Bazemore wasn’t about to let his two newest players step into a press conference by themselves and potentially say something they shouldn’t. NBA teams were extra careful with their rookies — new blood had a way of upsetting things if they weren’t properly integrated into the system.

“I figured it would be Bryant,” she admitted as she scanned the notes she had already taken down and the questions she wanted to ask. “Bazemore was going to swing for the fences and Bryant, certainly, is the fence.”

“He’s too damn young. Kid’s just 17,” Sam countered, the smacking of his gum increasing as he shook his head. “We drafted a lemon, I think he’s going to flame out before 20.”

Helena shot him a surprised look. “Have you see this kid’s high school tape?”

“Have you seen his college tape? Oh, wait, he ain’t got none. Now, Abdur-Rahim, that kid has talent. Great post moves, going to give the team an inside presence we’ve never had.”

“Hell, I could wheel a wheelbarrow of rocks out there and it’d provide more of an ‘inside presence’ than we’ve ever had,” Helena said with a smirk. The Heat’s bigs were about as soft as soggy toilet paper — had been since their inception.

“Still, we’re better off than that Oklahoma team … the Dustballs, right?”

“The Thunder,” she corrected. She shot him a glare. “Ease off them, Sam. The whole city needed a win after the bombing … I still can’t believe it’s only been a year. Seems like it happened yesterday.”

Sam just shook his head. “I don’t see how a basketball team is going to make them heal any faster.”

“Sports is a great unifier. The NBA did the right thing sticking a team there, they’ll act as the glue to help put that community back together.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue that point, but he quickly shut it when Lowe, Heat PR director, came in. He surveyed the room and waved in the rest. Bazemore came in first — dressed once more in his black tie and black suit — while Bryant was next — dressed in a fetching dark brown suit — followed by Abdur-Rahim, dressed in a simple charcoal gray suit.

Rahim seemed to tower over all of them, but the man’s face was gentle looking.

The three took their seat, in the same order they came in, and Lowe cleared his throat. “Per usual, we’ll start with the local press first.”

Helena kept her hand down as Sam’s shot up — she had agreed to let him have the first question here as a simple courtesy. Both Lowe and Saul had requested it, which meant this was a softball deal, but it was better to have friends than enemies in her business. She’d get hers.

“Sam Saul, Miami Today. Kobe, what are your expectations for yourself and your teammates now that you’re part of the Heat?”

Bryant looked to Bazemore, than to Abdur-Rahim, and said with a smile, “I want to win. We want to win. That’s the goal here, to win and to do so consistently. Coach, Shareef, and I, we’re all about that. I’m going to give my best, every day, to them and I know they’re going to do the same.”

Helena’s hand shot up and Lowe nodded towards her. “Helena Ramirez, Miami Herald. Shareef, do you see yourself as a starter on this team for upcoming season?”

Abdur-Rahim took a moment to think about the question, then answered, “I believe I can contribute and I can do so immediately. Coach and the staff, they’ll determine if I’m ready for that responsibility. I just want to help us win, like Kobe said; we’re here for that goal.”

Diplomatic, Helena though amusingly to herself. For just a 19-year-old kid, Abdur-Rahim was being careful not to ruffle any feathers.

Helena raised her hand again and pointed to Kobe. “Same question: do you feel you’re a starter this year?”

“Absolutely,” Kobe said without hesitation. “I know there are veterans in front of me, there are guys who have tenure on this team, but I’m going to prove to them — to Coach, to everyone — that I’m ready for this. I don’t plan to be on the bench at the start of the game,” Bryant said with an all-too-charming smile. “No one ever scores a go-ahead bucket on the pine.”

Bazemore only flashed a smile at that last bit.

Helena took a seat and began to scribble down some notes. Bryant seemed all-to confident and Bazemore didn’t seem perturbed at all by that.

That, in of itself, was very interesting.

[Kumode]

Damn, Kobe being Kobe! Great bit, trekfan!

[trekfan]

Quote: Originally Posted by Kumode

Damn, Kobe being Kobe! Great bit, trekfan!

Thanks. Getting Kobe's voice right was a challenge -- I have lots of articles bookmarked featuring quotes/interviews from those early days. Kobe was confident and he was damned good.

This Kobe will start in the same vein, but I imagine his path will differ.

Working on the next story post, featuring Coach Bazemore making a pair of free agent pitches and then we'll follow that up with the big bombshell of free agency.

As always, stay tuned.

[trekfan]

Ch. 7
June 30^th, 1996

Nothing could be signed yet, but as Ron stood in the hotel room, he couldn’t help but feel he had this in the bag already. Rumors were flying about where certain players would go and – if even half of it were true – that meant that the man he was pitching would be much more inclined to sign with him.



That is, if he wanted a challenge.


“Dikembe, I know you have more to offer than just swatting shots,” Ron began, careful to meet the man’s eyes – hard as that was, staring up at the 7’2” man. “You’ve been vocal on wanting to be involved with the offense more – I’d like that.”


“Would you?” Mutombo’s voice seemed to echo in the room. “You draft Bryant. You draft Rahim. You speak about building for the future.”


Ron didn’t let that hang in the air for long. “And I want you part of that future. You’re a player who can affect the game with more than just blocks – I don’t want you to just sit back and swat at things. You’re a two-way player, not just a defender.”


Mutombo’s nodded and, even sitting, seemed to tower over him. “I’m listening.”


“It’s simple – you’re an ace defender, one of the best in our league, if not the best. It’s easy to get lost in that, to only feature you there. But you’re also a player who can get to the rack – you stuff it just as hard as you send shots back on the other end.” Ron opened his binder and flipped to the section of it where he had diagrammed some plays. “I want to run this with you – get you inside the paint, get you close to do damage.”


Mutombo studied the diagram intently for only a few seconds before a big smile appeared. “Run me to the rim?”


“Right down their throats,” Ron confirmed. “It’s simple, it’s easy, and – more than anything – it gets you involved. I’d like you to the touch the ball and threaten the opposing defenses with getting posterized.”


Mutombo laughed loudly. “I like that.”


“And,” Ron continued, not letting his momentum lag for an instant, “you’ll be surrounded by talent. Kobe and Shareef will blossom into stars with you manning the middle.”


The big man stroked his chin, nodding along. “They are talented, yes. I see good things in their future.” He pointed at himself. “But I’m not going to babysit – I want to win. I want to succeed.”


“That’s something you’ll have to work for with them and with me,” Ron conceded. “We’re a young team – we have talent, but we lack experience. You’ll provide us with that. Our new division will be difficult to win in it early on … but you’re the only player out there who could possibly stop Shaq and we’re going to be seeing a lot of him now.”


“O’Neal is very tough to guard.”

Understatement, Ron silently added. “He’s going to be a handful. But you’re the best defender I’ve seen face him and I feel, with the talent we have on this team, we’ll present a real challenge to him. Many, however, would shy away from facing Shaq.” Ron leaned back in his seat. “They fear him.”


“Fear?” Mutombo seemed almost insulted by the word. “I do not fear him or anyone else. I am not afraid of O’Neal. He is big and powerful, but slow. He cannot move as fast as me or as high as me. He does not love defense like me.”


“Of that, I have no doubt. But the question is: do you want to prove it on a regular basis? Prove to the world that O’Neal doesn’t scare you?”


Mutombo cracked a wide grin. “I can prove that. Can you prove to me you really want me?”


Ron straightened his tie and pulled a pen from his pocket. “Let’s talk numbers.”

****

It was nearly 10 at night, but the player he was waiting for had arrived – finally. Georgia wasn’t too far from Florida, but the player in question had family obligations he wanted to keep. That was expected for someone in his mid-30s; Ron had a few friends who were in the midst of raising a family and it was always hectic.


The limo door opened and a hand waved Ron in. Jacket in hand, Ron didn’t wait for a second invite and went inside. The door shut and the lights inside the limo dulled into a warm glow – not hard on the eyes, and more than enough to see.


“Coke?”


Ron nodded. “Straight from Atlanta?”


Dominque Wilkins popped his can and took a deep sip. “Tastes like it,” he said with a forced grin.


Ron could tell that the pain was still there from how the Hawks treated Wilkins. He couldn’t imagine – to be leading the conference and then have management trade you right before the deadline to the Clippers, of all teams? Two years had passed since that trade, but the Hawks weren’t the same without Wilkins.


Wilkins had taken his talents to Boston the season after, but the Celtics were a shell of themselves. The man had spent the last year during the lockout in Greece, playing for Panathinaikos B.C., where his team had won the championship.


“Dominque, I want you on my team as a starter,” Ron declared. He wasn’t going to dance nor was he going to pretend he was here for any other reason. “I want you to be the veteran leader that this team – that I – need out there on the floor.”


Wilkins scratched at his recently re-grown mustache – the man looked in really good shape, better than many his age. “You really want a 36-year-old guy on this team?”


“I want a veteran player who knows what it’s like to play in a league that’s not the NBA.” Ron took a sip from his coke and set it down. “Look, I’m a coach from a completely different part of the world; a lot of these guys are used to doing things a certain way. You, better than anyone, know that the foreign game values ball movement way more than isolation scoring.”


“Yeah, that’s true.” Wilkins eyed Ron hard. “You ain’t a hard *ss are you? I don’t want that. I don’t have many years left in this league … and I sure as hell don’t want to be traded again.”


“You’ll get a guaranteed no-trade-clause in your contract,” Ron assured him. “I don’t want you here as a puff piece; I want you here to help teach these guys how things work overseas. I want you to be an example and mentor to the younger guys. You still got game, Dominque.”


Wilkins narrowed his eyes, weighing the choice before him. “You got some nice young fellas, I’ll give you that. But I don’t want to be some freeloader – you sign me, you better play me, Coach. I don’t have the time to waste sitting on the bench.”


Ron cracked a smile. Got him. “You’ll get plenty minutes. I think, at this stage of your career, you can handle the role of a three – and on the nights we play the Hawks, you can go as long as you want.”


Wilkins flashed a smile. “Music to my ears.”

[studbucket]

Great job by Ron! It may be a little unconventional, but I look forward to seeing 'Nique at the three. Can his legs handle some of the young guys he'll be facing like Grant Hill or Larry Johnson? Can he still throw down thunderous dunks, or will he just look old? Will he rely more on outside shooting?

Mutombo is a great signing and is definitely the kind of thing you need when playing Shaq. You basically needed him, Hakeem, Ewing, or Mourning to deal with Shaq, and Dikembe was definitely the easiest to acquire.

I look forward to seeing this Heat team face off against teams like the Knicks and Pacers. Can they play physical enough? Mentally tough enough?

[trekfan]

Quote: Originally Posted by studbucket

Great job by Ron! It may be a little unconventional, but I look forward to seeing 'Nique at the three. Can his legs handle some of the young guys he'll be facing like Grant Hill or Larry Johnson? Can he still throw down thunderous dunks, or will he just look old? Will he rely more on outside shooting? Mutombo is a great signing and is definitely the kind of thing you need when playing Shaq. You basically needed him, Hakeem, Ewing, or Mourning to deal with Shaq, and Dikembe was definitely the easiest to acquire. I look forward to seeing this Heat team face off against teams like the Knicks and Pacers. Can they play physical enough? Mentally tough enough?

I really am looking forward to using 'Nique. I think he can hold his own at the three for the majority of time -- even if he has problems, I can sub in Malik Sealy to spot him (young legs, yo).

Mutombo is going to be a huge addition to the team (pun totally intended). His defense will really set the tone, but I have to hope he doesn't get in massive foul trouble playing Shaq (always a concern).

The East is going to very, very interesting this year -- especially with the free agency bombshell that's going to hit. As always, stay tuned.

[ThreeBallisLife]

Would you say the East or the West is the superior conference talent-wise? Today, it's definitely the West, but looking back the east was probably the better conference.


Sent from my iPhone using Operation Sports

[trekfan]

Quote: Originally Posted by ThreeBallisLife

Would you say the East or the West is the superior conference talent-wise? Today, it's definitely the West, but looking back the east was probably the better conference. Sent from my iPhone using Operation Sports

In the 90s, it was all East. The West wasn't a slouch, but they couldn't match the East talent-wise. This will prove to be the case here, as well, I think.