Boys Among Men: How the Prep-to-Pro Generation Redefined the NBA and Sparked a Basketball Revolution

by Jonathan Abrams

  “Is that better than Stephon?” Bryant asked Charles after finishing the slam.

  “Kobe, that’s pretty good, but it’s not better than Steph.”

  “Damn,” Bryant said, turning to jog back on defense.

  Charles forged a relationship with Bryant and his family, serving as a liaison while working with Vaccaro to land Bryant his first shoe contract. Charles sat in the stands surveying the camp’s game in 2000, the year that Cooke made his one-on-one challenge to Bryant. One could watch four games simultaneously from the stands, the courts next to one another. Charles was watching games when Bryant walked in and approached him. Bryant greeted Charles and remained quiet for the next couple of minutes as he watched the action. “Where’s Lenny?” Bryant asked.

  “He’s playing over there,” Charles said, motioning to a court on the far end.

  Charles’s gaze returned to another court. A few minutes passed. Charles forgot that Bryant was next to him. Charles received a tap on his shoulder from Bryant after about 15 minutes. “Oh shit,” he said. “Kobe, what’s up?”

  “Lenny Cooke’s not ready for me,” Bryant said, rising to leave. “I’ll see you later.” Charles finally realized Bryant’s purpose. Oh shit, he came just to measure Lenny Cooke, Charles thought. That shows you how good the camp is and how serious Kobe is. Kobe wanted to see what was up, who was coming along. Charles could have saved Bryant the time. He knew Cooke would not stand a chance against Bryant. At the time, Cooke was probably the nation’s best high school player, but Bryant was one of the best NBA players. Charles had coached Cooke one time with the Panthers. But as he rose within the team’s ranks and his stature grew, Charles predicted future problems. Sometimes, Cooke would wonder why he could not shoot every possession. “Dude, you’re one of five guys on the court,” Charles would say. “Pass the ball. Get these guys involved.” Charles knew the emotions of teenagers spanned a wide range. When kids yelled at him, Charles just yelled louder. Still, he felt he could see the direction Cooke would travel. He decided he wanted to spare himself the grief and allowed Cooke to walk away from the team. Debbie Bortner and her son left the program as well. Tyrone Green, another of the team’s coaches, argued against the decision. “You don’t let the number one player in the country go,” Green said. “Why Lenny?”

  “The other kids will follow our lead,” Charles said. “Lenny won’t. At some point, he’s going to want to do his own thing and I don’t want to deal with it. We’ve got to make a change now.”

  Charles believed Cooke possessed enough raw talent to make it in the NBA. To Charles, Cooke was like a young Mike Tyson, full of swagger and able to intimidate an opponent before even stepping onto the court. Charles looked at how Cooke walked onto Court 2 in the Rothman Center at Fairleigh Dickinson before his game against the kid from Akron. “Lenny was all show,” Charles said. “He was New York with a lot of flair to his game. There was this calmness about LeBron. He was just taking everything in stride.”

  A mix of college and pro scouts sat in the stands, along with a crowd prepared to root for the hometown hero, Cooke. Cooke would play for the Warriors against James’s Suns. Cooke did not think much of the matchup. He had already dismissed the team of Carmelo Anthony earlier in the day. James was a year younger than Anthony and had yet to build the same reputation.

  Cooke was not ready for LeBron James. James opened the game with a three-pointer. Cooke fouled James the next two possessions and James collected on five free throws, putting his Suns up 8–0. The New York–leaning crowd had just settled into their seats and was already worried. Lenny Cooke called for the ball as James dropped into a defensive stance and Cooke whipped the ball through his legs as though it were tied to a yo-yo. James blocked his path to the rim. A surprised Cooke gathered himself again. In most instances, his crossover was enough to provide a path for an easy layup. Cooke tried the move again. Again James was not fooled. The crowd realized the importance of the sequence and started clapping. Cooke attempted the same move yet again. James did not bite. Cooke, almost resignedly, heaved up a long jumper. The ball cut through the net and the crowd erupted. At first glance, it looked as if Cooke had won the possession, but anyone who had watched more closely knew better. James had been a roadblock to Cooke three times in a single possession. After the shot, Charles glanced at James. “He looked like it was no big thing,” Charles remembered. “The game is going on and you can see it in LeBron’s eyes, he was in it for his team to win, whereas Lenny wanted to put on a show. The more that the game carried on, the more I became fascinated with this kid.”

  James controlled the game’s pace though his passing, defense, and timely shots. Cooke’s teammates picked him up, providing a one-point edge as time wound down. James received the ball with a running start and streaked up the court’s right side. He beat Cooke off the dribble. Cooke, scrambling to catch up, tried fouling James by grabbing the back of his arm. James released the ball just shy of the three-point line in an awkward running shot. The ball swooshed through the net.

  “That shit had to be luckiest shit ever,” Cooke said years later. “Ever. He [hasn’t] hit one of those since he has been in the league. Not like that, no sir. That had to be the luckiest shit. If he would have missed that shot I would have won by one, by two. How would the tables turn then?”

  Instead, Cooke was dethroned, a loser on his own court to an unknown kid from the Midwest.

  “How the fuck you make that shot?” Cooke asked.

  “I just threw it up,” James said.

  Charles finally saw James show emotion, celebrating the win with his team. “He had decided all along that he was keeping it inside and now that he made that shot, he knew he had arrived and the whole world knew he had arrived,” Charles said. “I don’t think Lenny was the same after that shot.”

  “It’s probably the most important shot a high school kid has ever made if you allow history to play out,” Sonny Vaccaro said. “Lenny Cooke was the guy. He was New York. What you saw in those ten seconds was the transferring of the baton and LeBron never let it down. If Lenny wins the game, LeBron is still great and all that, but maybe Lenny Cooke’s life changes.”

  James finished with 24 points. Cooke managed only 9 points.

  “I had no idea,” James said of the importance of the shot. “Only thing I cared about was winning the game, and I was excited about that. I had no idea about what type of impact it had, still don’t.”

  18.

  Dick Vitale was once among the throng of college coaches haplessly recruiting Moses Malone. Vitale thought he had an honest shot at landing him—as did a couple of hundred other universities. He coached at the University of Detroit in the mid-1970s and agreed to talk at an awards ceremony in Virginia honoring Malone. He hoped to land some face time with Malone during the event, except Malone never showed. Vitale began to worry about how he would justify the trip and went to Malone’s house to see if he could meet with him there. The hours slipped by. Night crept in. Vitale continued to wait. Finally, as he prepared to leave, he heard dogs barking. It was Malone, who arrived at his door to find an elated Vitale. Vitale’s happiness was short-lived. Malone informed Vitale that he would sign with Maryland, but was still contemplating forgoing college altogether for professional basketball. Vitale dejectedly returned home. Both found themselves in the NBA a couple years later. Vitale had advanced to coach the Pistons, which played one evening against Malone’s Rockets. “Hey,” Malone called out to Vitale before the game. “Remember that old house you visited me in?” Vitale responded that he did. “Well, we don’t live in there anymore,” Malone said cheekily.

  Vitale’s NBA coaching career was brief. He stepped timidly into broadcasting after a little over a year coaching the Pistons and surprised himself by being a natural. Vitale announced ESPN’s first college basketball game in December 1979 and became the sport’s voice, blending energy and enthusiasm with his catchphrases (“prime-time player,” “diaper dandy,” “trifecta”) that have become
part of the college game’s vocabulary. Vitale’s prominence coincided with the rise of ESPN, a sports cable network that originated with a $9,000 investment from Getty Oil and evolved into a multibillion-dollar enterprise that dominated the 24-hour sports cycle by broadcasting, analyzing, and evaluating games and athletes across the world.

  Vitale was grateful and loyal. He considered himself a company man, but still felt he should speak up against a decision ESPN made in December 2002. The network had decided to air a regular-season high school game on ESPN2 that would pit St. Vincent–St. Mary of Akron, Ohio, against Virginia’s Oak Hill Academy at Cleveland State’s Convocation Center. Vitale knew the hype that surrounded Akron’s LeBron James. The James legend had grown exponentially after his victorious showdown with Lenny Cooke. James provided a type of litmus test for the media and his school’s administration about whether a certain imaginary line should be crossed. By now, the entrance of high school players into the NBA was an annual occurrence. But none had been as widely followed as James. The debate over the NBA drafting athletes right out of high school grew as James’s exploits quickly catapulted him to superstardom. There had been rumors at one time that James would not only skip college, but also his senior year of high school to join the NBA. Was his youth being stolen? Should the media be highlighting him so much? Should his school profit off the talents of this phenom? Should the kid be able to profit from his own talents while in high school? James was named Ohio’s Mr. Basketball for consecutive years and was featured as a junior on the cover of Sports Illustrated, anointed as the Chosen One. Most of St. Vincent–St. Mary’s games had been moved from the high school to the University of Akron’s James A. Rhodes Arena—where they outdrew the college’s team. A handful of the games could be watched throughout northeast Ohio for $7 on pay-per-view. The school argued that it was just trying to meet the demands of its alumni and its growing fan base.

  ESPN would broadcast the game nationally. The pressure would be extreme on anyone, let alone a kid from a small city. The network also wanted Vitale to partner with Bill Walton, a talented basketball player in his own day who was now an analyst. The duo had never worked together before and Vitale figured the temporary partnership was intended to expand interest if the on-court product faltered. Vitale worried about the precedent being established and favored an NBA age minimum of 20. He voiced his hesitation, but then relented. “Fine, if you want us to go, I’ll do the game,” he said. “But, remember, this is a high school kid. We don’t even do college games together,” he said, referring to being teamed with Walton for the broadcast. Criticism mounted as the December 12 game approached. “If CBS had asked me, I wouldn’t do the game,” Billy Packer, a college basketball color analyst, declared to USA Today. “This is what sports have become—hyping someone before he’s accomplished something. James didn’t even carry his high school team to the state championship last year and now the NBA’s Stu Jackson wants to consider having him on the U.S. Olympic team. Come on.”

  The idea of showcasing James on ESPN and national television had come from outside the company. Rashid Ghazi worked as a partner for Paragon Marketing Group, an agency that focused on corporate consulting, athlete sponsorships, and endorsements. Ghazi was a basketball junkie and grew up an avid DePaul fan who paid close attention to college recruiting. His background included creating high school athletic events, like a showdown between the top players in Chicago and New York, seeking out sponsorships, and selling the packages to local television distributors. Ghazi had also produced a documentary series for Fox Sports in Chicago that centered on high school basketball stars in the city—one being Eddy Curry. One day a friend approached him with the possibility of broadcasting one of James’s games, noting that James was a big deal in Cleveland. Ghazi had been interested in taking high school sports national for some time and thought there would be an interest in Oak Hill, the number-one-ranked team in the nation. “I’d seen a lot of success in our high school games in Chicago,” Ghazi said. “I’d seen a lot of success on the documentary series that we did on the inner-city basketball kids in Chicago. I thought, Why not call up ESPN?”

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea for you,” Ghazi told Burke Magnus, ESPN’s director of brand management. “Would you guys be interested in televising a high school game with LeBron James? Everyone has heard of him, but no one has seen him play. Best-case scenario, you’ve got the next Michael Jordan or Magic Johnson to showcase when he was in high school. Worst case is you’ve got phenomenal footage for your NBA draft, because all indications are he’s going to go directly to the NBA. What a great way to promote that you’ve got the NBA draft coming up. If he decides to go to college, you guys are in the business of college sports. What a great way to promote a kid that will definitely change the landscape of college sports if he chooses to go that way. There’s a huge interest in watching him and this is something completely unique that hasn’t been done before. You guys are the network to try this.”

  Ghazi found little downside to broadcasting high school games. The exploits of high school players, he figured, had already been publicized for years. “The moment you quit [covering] high school sports, and you just record the box scores in the papers, is the moment I’ll stop publicizing games,” he would tell newspaper reporters who argued he had tainted the purity of amateur players. Besides, he rationalized, other sports had shown players at a young age. “I don’t see one person complaining about an 18-year-old tennis player being on TV, or a 16-year-old vying for a gold medal,” Ghazi said. “But all of a sudden, when it comes to basketball players, everyone starts to rush to judgment. They do that when it comes to television, to their careers, and whether they should go pro or not. Everyone seems to feel like they’ve got an ownership over basketball for some reason versus the other sports.”

  At the time, Magnus was primarily responsible for the network’s men’s college basketball program and scheduling. The network, Magnus figured, had already broadcast the Little League World Series for years. Those kids were much younger than James, who had been exposed on a national level already. It struck him as an odd ethical debate. It’s not like we discovered him out of the blue, Magnus reasoned. He had already been on the cover of Sports Illustrated. He was well known in basketball circles and he was really taking his notoriety and the phenomenon that he was to the broader, general sports audience. “The concerns were twofold,” Magnus remembered. “One was you have the real conservative thinkers that thought that we were somehow ruining the purity of high school athletics, or maybe shining a spotlight on a kid too early. They weren’t the loudest voices, though. There was another faction that thought that there wasn’t a national audience for it. We are in the viewership business and there’s a lot of people who said, ‘I don’t care how good the kid is, this is not going to get traction nationally.’ We just decided that it was worth the risk, and the risk was very low.” To Magnus, the thought that the kids would suffer from overexposure was ridiculous. The best kids had already been recognized at the local and statewide level for years.

  The network decided to go all-in on James. It would have Vitale and Walton broadcast the game with Dan Shulman and Jay Bilas. “I don’t know what the solution is,” Vitale would say years later. “You can’t hide talent. That’s the one thing I want to make very clear. A lot of people say, ‘Too much publicity. Too much notoriety.’ But you can’t hide talent. When a guy’s that gifted and that talented, you’re going to get exposure, and handling that exposure includes the responsibilities of the coaches, the administrators, everybody around them to give them an education of the process. You can’t just let it go on without having a person that educates them about that because it’s a valuable part of it, just learning how to communicate, how to handle a microphone, how to handle interviews. That should all be part of the process and that’s part of growing as a student-athlete.”

  •••

  Gloria James gave birth to LeBron James when she was just 16. She never had a lasting rela
tionship with James’s biological father, instead raising her son with the help of her mother and grandmother. The two died a year apart, and the North Akron house they resided in on Hickory Street was too big for Gloria to maintain and was condemned. The family faced hardships and moved from one friend’s house to another and from couch to couch, the reality of a black unwed teenage mother who had not found her own place in the world before being tasked with raising a son. LeBron James missed days and weeks of elementary school at a time. The man his mom dated, and who became his surrogate father and helped look after him, often ran afoul of the law.

  LeBron James lived with Frankie Walker, his youth coach, for about two years as a child, while his mother tried to straighten out her life. It was Walker who first put a ball into the young boy’s hands and taught him how to play the game. Soon after, James teamed with Dru Joyce II and his son, Dru Joyce III, in a recreation league and, later, on the AAU circuit. The boys looked for any means to enhance their skills, and word filtered through the neighborhood about an ex-college coach who hosted an open gym on Sunday nights. Keith Dambrot had once coached at Central Michigan University before changing careers and becoming a stockbroker. He still conducted clinics at the Jewish Community Center on Akron’s west side when Joyce II brought his players one weekend evening. Dambrot immediately noticed James, who was gangly and just entering adolescence as a seventh grader. “He was fabulous physically, but he was just way better at understanding the game with his IQ,” Dambrot recalled. “That’s what really separated him.”