Here is the article I mentioned prior, courtesy of ESPN...
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Updated: March 13, 1:38 PM ET
Man of substance
By Ric Bucher
ESPN The MagazineThis article appears in the March 21 "Style Report" of ESPN The Magazine.
THERE'S THE CASUAL jog as he crosses midcourt into the chaos of a trapping defense, much like the Chicago River meanders into the city's din of rattling boxcars, steaming manholes and express-lane highways. There's the sudden blast to the rim past towering defenders, as when the howling wind slices between Michigan Avenue skyscrapers. There's even that Jazz Age mustache sitting quietly above a mouth that rarely opens and beneath eyes that take in everything. That 'stache and his tattoos, including "Sweet Home Chicago" on his left wrist, are his lone accessories. No iced watches or gold ropes. That would be akin to claiming a gaudy nickname, like the City That Never Sleeps or the City of Angels, rather than, say, the City of Broad Shoulders.
See, Derrick Rose wasn't just born in Chicago and doesn't just live in Chicago and doesn't just play in Chicago.
"He is Chicago," says his Bulls teammate Joakim Noah.
Not wants to be. Or tries to be. Or has become. Is.
The same springboard of big-city aggression and heartland work ethic that launched the first black man to the White House has now catapulted Rose to the highest office in the NBA. "Chicagoans appreciate Midwestern values," President Obama says. "Like hard work, humility and giving back to those around you. Plus, it doesn't hurt if you're playing MVP-quality ball."
The NBA was in dire need of a hometown hero the moment LeBron James announced he was taking his talents to South Beach. It's clear now that the image of a tough and humble kid lifting up poor, mistreated Cleveland was as key to James' nationwide popularity as his unselfish passes, powerful dunks and fun personality. The viciousness of the backlash came from so many people who felt they'd been duped into believing James was something he wasn't and, ultimately, had no desire to be.
Chicago, of course, hasn't suffered as a city like Cleveland has, but Rose's goal of restoring his hometown's luster may be even more daunting. After all, no player in NBA history has shouldered a town like Michael Jordan. How could anyone do it again? The bar for success in Chicago is so high that most stars -- from Grant Hill to Tim Duncan to LeBron -- have passed on trying, knowing that taking on MJ's legacy is a losing proposition. "Derrick made no bones about wanting to be here," says Bulls executive John Paxson. "That tells you something about him right there."
Where some see a shadow, Rose sees an opening. "The way I look at it is, What would happen if you could pass him? How big could you be?" Rose says. "It would be crazy. It would be amazing if you could just get close."
Interestingly, Rose doesn't display that fearlessness with a flexed pose or postdunk primal roar. It simply radiates off him. It's why an East All-Star squad that included LeBron, Dwyane Wade, Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce, Ray Allen, Amar'e Stoudemire and Dwight Howard voted Rose as its captain. And why, despite a quiet 11 points and five assists in an East squad loss, he alone heard chants of "M-V-P!" from an LA crowd as he stood at the free throw line. And maybe even why his first signature shoe outsold LeBron's.
Mostly, Rose's tenacity is why, for all that he has already done in less than three seasons -- dragged two vastly different but equally modest squads into the playoffs, added skills as if they were Post-it notes and taken the pole position in this year's MVP race -- teammates talk matter-of-factly about the future. Specifically, about Rose's winning multiple titles and being in the Hall of Fame's upper echelon as if it had already been scripted. "He'll be the greatest I've ever played with," says Bulls forward Brian Scalabrine, whose former teammates include Garnett, Pierce, Allen, Rajon Rondo, Jason Kidd and Vince Carter. "It will come down to how many championships he wins. I can see him stringing them together, one after another."
Says Noah: "A 22-year-old point guard, already the best at his position and probably the best finisher in the league? I can't even act like Derrick wasn't one of the biggest reasons I wanted to stay here." Paxson, who played eight seasons next to Jordan, sees in Rose the same single-minded focus on getting better and winning. Every time. At everything. "Young guys don't see the big picture, but he does," Paxson says. "We're so lucky, and we know it. That's why we smile a lot around here. As spectacular as he is, fans see a kid just playing hard. Our town is pretty humble, it's not a lot of flash. That's what they see in him."
Of course, it takes more than just being from a place to embody it. The lessons of bitter cold and brutal streets were driven home by three brothers -- Dwayne, Reggie and Allan -- who were all at least six years older and took great delight in endlessly dunking on, shooting over and dribbling around their little brother at Murray Park, an outdoor court two blocks from their house in the beyond-rough neighborhood of Englewood. "We'd dog him out, but we didn't know what we were doing," says Reggie. "We just knew if you couldn't play or you were soft, they wouldn't let you on the court."
Brenda Rose, a single mom raising four boys, didn't exactly baby him either. When Derrick dislocated a finger -- which he remembers doing at least three times -- she would grab the stick from a Popsicle, tape it to his finger and tell him to stop crying. When he got undercut going for a rebound on that outdoor court as a sixth-grader, it took him several days of complaining before she finally took him to the hospital. The doctors confirmed what Derrick already knew: He'd broken his right arm.
But Brenda knew her sons had to be tough to escape Englewood, a section of Chicago that included four neighborhoods listed among the nation's 25 most dangerous for 2010. Ask Derrick the worst thing he saw growing up and a tiny muscle twitches beneath his right eye, as if he were seeing it all over again: one of Allan's best friends, dying in the street from a gunshot to the neck.
So Brenda made sure they had chores to keep them busy, and food, clothes and a high school diploma to keep them from being needy. She knew where to draw the line, allowing tattoos but insisting they not be on her boys' neck or face. The message: Be from Englewood, not of Englewood.
It's Brenda to whom Rose blows a kiss just prior to tip-off at every home game. Before Rose's rookie season, when an Adidas executive asked a group of new signees what they hoped to accomplish their first year, most spoke of statistics or awards. Rose said: "Make my mama happy and my city proud."
Rose owes Chicago for making him the player he is: short on flash, long on dash. Credit Robert Lueder, John Cifelli, Giulio Narcisi and Charles Panici. In fact, they just might be responsible for every Chi-Town point guard -- Isiah Thomas and Tim Hardaway included -- who has made his mark on the NBA in the past few decades. That's because in 1968 those four men met south of the city in Chicago Heights and founded Small Fry, a basketball league limited to preteen kids 5-foot-1 or shorter. The program has since gone nationwide, but its roots remain strongest locally. The result: a constant supply of small, quick guards.
With mostly little people on a court, pick-and-rolling doesn't make much sense. It becomes all about getting a step, protecting the rock like a football and getting to the rim. A fancy dribble will likely get swiped by one of those mighty mites. So while New York point guards are known for mesmerizing dribbling and LA's 1's for dazzling passing, Chicago point guards simply put you in the rearview mirror. "Derrick grew up playing against those little guys," says former Bulls guard B.J. Armstrong. "That's why he plays just like them. He just grew to be 6-3."
Armstrong and Arn Tellem are Rose's agents, and they want to make sure that as their client's profile grows, it doesn't turn the way James' has. Tellem had Kobe Bryant early in the Laker's career, and Armstrong played alongside Jordan; they understand that it doesn't take much to damage an image. So far, an admissions scandal at Rose's alma mater, Memphis, and a photo on the Internet of Rose allegedly throwing gang signs haven't stuck to him. But Armstrong doesn't want to risk anything else's distracting the world from seeing what he and Paxson see: the heir to Jordan and Kobe as the NBA's ultimate competitor. So when, during The Magazine's photo shoot, someone asks if Rose knows how to dance the Dougie, Rose says he doesn't. And before he can be goaded into trying, Armstrong says, "We don't know nothing about the Dougie. We don't do dancing. That's for entertainers. This is about sports. That's all we know."
But this is actually about more than sports. It's about this sport and this city and this young man being welded into one. Who will help Bulls fans stop pining for Michael? Who will help the NBA stop mourning the plight of LeBron? Tough questions, for sure, with answers made for broad shoulders. Once again, Rose perfectly reps a city whose official motto is: I will.
4/14/2011 9:52 AM