The Joy and Fury of the Drew League/Goodman League Showdown (Also, Cheeseburgers)

(Tim Adkins went to the Drew League/Goodman League yesterday and offers the following report. This is his first contribution to 8 Points, 9 Seconds. He also writes at Backwards from 30 and Do You like Movies About Gladiators. You can follow him on Twitter @the_capital_t.)

It’s 4:30 pm on a blue sky Saturday in August. I’m standing outside the gym on Trinity University’s campus in the Northeast quadrant of our nation’s capital. At least 800 people — maybe a thousand — separate me from the gym’s entrance. I’m hungry. That matters because I’ll inhale the scent of burgers grilling for the next 90 minutes. That’s how long it will take for the homie Jeremy and I to inch toward the doorway. Olfactory torture — and a $28 ticket — are a small price to pay to witness an unlikely, even absurd, match-up of NBA players.

Just after the Blackberry shows 6 pm, I’m inside the gym. A track hangs over the court. It reminds me of the YMCA where I played church league ball in elementary school. If you took out all the bleachers and laid some carpet over the hardwood, Trinity would be a dead ringer for my Y. The jayvee game between two local AAU teams has reached the fourth quarter. These kids don’t look like kids. But they don’t look like men either. There’s something kinda Verne Troyer about them. In a year or two that will be gone. And when it is, some of them will probably make more money in a year than I do in a decade.

(image via @jose3030)

I’m told the gym can hold 3,000 people. It’s not clear if that assumes some onlookers would be standing on the overhanging track or not. Today, that track will be clear so TV cameras and lucky bastards who scored media credentials, like the homie Jose, can have a place to work. The bleachers that climb from opposite sides of the court look like they could suffer a couple thousand sweaty butts. And they are doing precisely that. People sit cheek to cheek in just about every seat. A number of Chocolate City’s finest. A smattering of Georgetown and University of Maryland kids. Some University of Kentucky alums. A bunch of basketball junkies. And about 30 Los Angeles loudmouths. I’m wearing a t-shirt that reads: “CA ALL DAY.” The lettering is purple and gold. I’ll be the 31st loudmouth.

A security guard points out where the place to buy the burgers is. Jeremy and I march up one sideline. Two rows of plastic chairs hug the perimeter of the court. They’re mostly empty. This was what $65 was supposed to buy you. My standing-in-line goggles make them look very attractive. But not quite as attractive as a $4 Kirkland cheeseburger.

Curtains hang lazily behind the plastic chairs parked along each baseline. Perhaps to discourage the folks who bought the $28 tickets from standing too close to the chairs. With at least 500 people — maybe a thousand — waiting outside still hoping to have their tickets honored, the integrity of the VIP seating would be the least of the organizer’s worries. A half dozen card tables have been skirted and are acting as the game’s concession stand. They are arranged within an NBA three-pointer’s distance from one of the court’s baselines. I buy a burger and a water. There is a gap in the curtains along this baseline. Jeremy and I plant ourselves in that gap. We’re one JaVale McGee arm behind the chairs and three total JaVale McGee arms away from the court’s baseline. Which, coincidentally, is where JaVale McGee sits.

The jayvee game is aborted. With about 90 seconds remaining, one of the coaches begins arguing a foul call that has deprived his team of an opportunity to break the tie score. One referee entertains the coach. Players pace the court listlessly. One referee chats up the scorekeeper. The clock runs. And eventually runs out. The score was no different at the end than it was before the game tipped. No one seems to care.

Where we stand in the gap doubles as the gauntlet players must pass through between locker room and court. As I gnaw on the last bit of burger, something causes heads to turn. I look left. And there they are. Men without nations. Very, very tall men. Whose nations would surely have frowned on the exhibition that is about to take place. Insurance on an eight figure contract is neither cheap nor accommodating. Never mind that eight figure contracts tend to contain plenty of clauses that prohibit even mundane activities. The t-shirts these very, very tall men wear make the only statement necessary: “Basketball Never Stops.” David Stern and Billy Hunter can have their squabbles over business models. The men representing the Goodman and Drew Leagues have come to hoop.

(image via @jose3030)

Watching the layup lines … things just don’t look fair. One team has all of the tallest players except for JaVale McGee. They also have John Wall, Ty Lawson and Gary Neal. Oh, and Kevin Durant. It’s as if the team representing Washington, DC is the Globetrotters and the team representing Los Angeles is the Washington Generals.

Goodman League commissioner Miles Rawls, who is largely responsible for bringing all of us to Trinity, introduces the players. Someone’s niece sings the national anthem. The crowd stands quietly. Some men remove their hats. Some don’t. Nine guys whose NBA contracts are not currently being honored crowd around half court for the opening tip. The tenth is nicknamed Baby Shaq. He is a crowd favorite from the courts at Barry Farms and, unquestionably, the best player whose signature is not affixed to an NBA contract.

A familiar, light-skinned Black man with unfortunate hair and a face like a slippery question mark joins them. He’s handed a microphone. Standing in the gap along the baseline, the sounds drifting out of the speakers are muffled. It’s a convenient excuse for ignoring the man. As if that were necessary when Vincent Gray speaks. He is ordinarily the second person most folks in DC think of when they hear the word “mayor.” Marion Barry, the mayor-for-life, always being the first.

Gray throws up a ceremonial tip. McGee, who pays income tax to the District of Columbia, wins it. The ball is retrieved. McGee and DeMarcus Cousins re-gather themselves. The real tip is tossed. McGee wins again. Before anyone can blink, Brandon Jennings has lobbed a pass to a sprinting McGee who slaps the ball through the rim. It is a fitting opening statement full of joy and fury. Rawls, as is customary, has already launched his running commentary.

(image via @jose3030)

The Goodman team wobbles a bit to start. The DC crowd grows anxious for Kevin Durant to do Kevin Durant things. He does. He drives, leaps and rises stretching his endless right arm to slam home his first basket. A jump shot from several steps behind the three-point line is greeted with shouts of “Lay-up!” as it swishes through the net. He glides past McGee to up and under a reverse layup that would have earned Julius Erving’s approval. Durant’s team eventually leads by seven.

On the other end, the Drew team can’t finish anything. Dunks, put-backs, short jumpers, long jumpers, even foul shots. Although Drew’s foul shots are rare as the referees begin to betray a mild DC bias. Whenever good things do happen for the Drew team, Jennings is usually at the center of them.

(image via @jose3030)

Players rotate in and out throughout the first half. Durant, Jennings, Wall, Lawson, Neal, James Harden and DeMar DeRozan create blurs sprinting up and down the court. Clearly, they have stayed in shape this summer. Marcus Banks, Josh Selby and Baby Shaq keep pace. McGee, Smith and Cousins streak a little more selectively. Cousins takes a turn in the post and, on consecutive possessions, abuses the rim as if he were the ghost of Darryl Dawkins come to shatter one last backboard.

Drew keeps it close throughout the first half. The pace of the game reduces the importance of their size disadvantage. Defense is skeletal, at best. But it becomes angrier, less willing to concede as the half draws to a close. Likewise, players on both sides grow frustrated with the officiating.

(image via @jose3030)

With a little over two minutes remaining in the second quarter, Goodman leads by two. Durant and Harden face off about 25 feet from the basket. Durant dribbles teasingly. Harden crouches to claim his territory. The scene is the most familiar of the day. In this instance, Harden swipes at the ball and inadvertently pops Durant in the chest. A non-shooting foul is called. Before Durant inbounds the ball, he clutches his bird chest to catch his breath. He grimaces. Then snarls. Off the inbounds pass, Durant drains a 25-footer to shouts of “Lay-up!” On Goodman’s next two possessions, Durant attacks the rim finishing both times. After his second drive, which produces a score over Jennings, Durant pulls his fists to his ears in search of bicep muscles. If muscles can bulge modestly, Durant’s do. They taunt Jennings and suggest, for the first time, that the rout is on. Goodman takes a 76-65 lead into halftime.

A pee wee dance team scrambles onto the court. The girls are entirely too young to ogle. Some of the women wandering the gym are not. BBQ couture is the style of the day. Light dresses hug curves, but don’t expose them. Shorts showcase legs. Tank tops showcase body parts that hang out above legs. Hair is did, but not overdid. Temptation keeps the head on swivel. Perhaps the hardest to resist is the funnel cake that calls out from the card tables just a few feet away. Sudden awareness of Delonte West or Andre Miller moving through the crowd brings the mind back to basketball. I’ve been on my feet for more than three straight hours now. I weigh the urge to sit down versus the need to preserve my space in the gap. Players begin to emerge from the locker room. We’re only moments away from the start of the third quarter. The space, clearly, is the choice.

John Wall opens the second half with a couple of plays that tighten Goodman’s grip on the game. Basketball is just too easy for him. Among the players assembled, he is the most naturally gifted. He shows it in deliberate flashes when the game needs it from him most. To think of him as merely a showboat is an insult of the highest order. The Goodman lead bleeds toward 20.

(image via @jose3030)

McGee pulls himself up on the rim into a half Shaq/half plank position following a breakaway dunk to cut the deficit to 13. The 30 Drew fans — most wearing Drew Crew t-shirts — perk up. Goodman squeezes again. And then Brandon Jennings happens. Driving, dishing, dropping jumpers neatly through the net. He’s not exactly a one-man crew, but he ignites a comeback and caps it with an And One (sorry, Under Armour) to take a one-point lead for Drew late in the third quarter.

The Drew Crew is standing and yelling. The rest of the crowd is seated and quiet. Shouldn’t Durant do something here? He does. He bricks a tomahawk dunk. Could it be that home cooking won’t be served tonight? Jennings, Harden and a surprising Marcus Banks continue eating. Drew leads 110-103 at the end of three.

(image via @jose3030)

Goodman sends Durant, Wall, Neal, Baby Shaq and Cousins out to start the fourth quarter. It is their best line-up. Early in the fourth quarter, John Wall does a John Wall thing. For a moment, it brings everyone in the gym onto their feet. If you’re cheering for Drew, you suddenly feel about three inches shorter. Kobe Bryant is not walking through that door. Neither is Paul Pierce. What’s worse is that you remember you only have two fists and two feet and that’s simply not enough to fight off a couple thousand people who smell blood. That feeling lasts about three short breaths. The vibe of the crowd has been entirely too fun-loving all day. Besides, this is a Miles Rawls event. Inside that gym may be the safest place there is in all of Washington, DC.

McGee swats away two Goodman shots. But it’s not enough. Momentum has shifted. DeRozen heaves a knuckleball at the rim as a random voice shouts, “No Jay Simpson!” The shot clangs in the direction of Wall. In transition, Neal receives a pass and slips a 15-footer through the net. The lead, like momentum, shifts back to Goodman. They take a six point lead, 119-113, with seven minutes remaining. Durant has made some plays at the rim thus far in the second half, but he seems quiet. Like maybe he’s waiting for the clock to prompt him to seize the game one last time.

(image via @jose3030)

Jennings won’t wait. Neither will Marcus Banks. Banks drops a three. Then Jennings. And Banks again. Yes, that Marcus Banks. Drew goes back up by one, 122-121.

Wall and Durant take their cue. Durant leaks out for two easy breakaway dunks. Wall drives and scores. Goodman leads by five, 129-124, when Smith subs in for a panting McGee. Smith, who has struggled to finish all evening, misses two bunnies. Goodman fails to stretch their lead.

With Jennings, Harden and Banks on the attack, Drew pulls even, 133-133. Less then a minute remains in regulation. Free basketball feels possible. Even likely.

On a Drew possession, Harden gets fouled. The entire Drew team has struggled at the free throw line during the game. None more than Jennings. Although Harden has made a sincere effort to match his futility. With less than 40 seconds on the clock, Harden splits a pair. Drew leads by a hair, 134-133.

Goodman gets the ball back. Wall and Durant don’t say anything to each other, yet are clear about what will happen next. They have already conspired to re-take the lead and, in all likelihood, win the game. A whistle blows. Durant is fouled in the act of shooting. He calmly drops in both free throws as if they were those 25-foot “lay-ups” the crowd likes to sing about. Goodman is back on top, 135-134.

(image via @jose3030)

The shot clock is off. It never needed to be on for this game. But it is definitely off right now. Twenty-one seconds remain. Drew can take the last shot if it wants to. And it wants to. Jennings, in particular, wants to. He is a streaky player. He streaks up and down the court and into the paint whenever he pleases. He also can interrupt long sequences of missed shots with brief flurries of makes. At his best, he is streaking toward the rim creating desperate confusion for the defense.

In the closing seconds of the battle between the Goodman and Drew Leagues, Brandon Jennings chooses not to be at his best. With Wall staring him down and daring him to go back instead of forward, Jennings takes the bait. He misses a step-back jumper badly. Harden collects the ball and gathers for one last heave. He, too, is off target. The buzzer sounds. Goodman survives. The final score: 135-134.

(image via @jose3030)

The drums for Jadakiss’ “The Champ Is Here” crash out of the gym’s speakers. Players dap each other up. Some exit the court quickly. Some pause for interviews. Or to scribble an autograph. We are told that Kevin Durant has been named MVP. The declaration sounds redundant. Perhaps insufficient. Watching Durant move through the mob, it becomes evident that Vince Gray is the third person some people in DC would think of when hearing the word “mayor.”

I have been on my feet for five straight hours. I am tired. I am thrilled. NBA players played basketball. I don’t know whether they were fairly compensated for their efforts. I do know their efforts were sincere.

I wonder, for a moment, how much time will pass before I get this close to a real game played by such very, very tall men. It’s 9:30 pm. I am hungry again.

CORRECTION: Derrick Williams did NOT play in this game as was originally asserted. Whoops. Thanks to Kyle Wiedie of Truth About It for pointing that out.