Or will, someday. Garnett is four weeks into one of the great experiments of pro sports. Can he step right into the National Basketball Association without the benefit of a season or two of college coaching, physical maturing and freshman composition? This stunt has been performed five times in the last 21 years, with mixed success. But Garnett’s three-year, $5.6 million contract has caught the eye of other high-school players who are considering the leap themselves. Says NBA deputy commissioner Russ Granik: “No knock on Mr. Garnett. But obviously we’d prefer these kids play college ball, then join the league.”
How’s he doing? So far, there’s been as much bewilderment as brilliance. “It’s not as hard as I thought,” he says, whistling past the boneyard. “I pretend these players are the toughest guys from across town.” Instead, of course, they’re the. toughest in the universe. At barely 220 pounds, Garnett must play the “smart” forward position, where shorter, faster veterans isolate him out on the floor and expose his swaddling clothes. But in Minnesota’s sixth game, the tyke turned into a terrorist. With center Christian Laettner injured and guard J. R. Rider in his characteristic sulk, the rookie took over. Screaming at teammates, bounding for the ball with octopuslike tentacles, manifesting what NBA terminologists rave is his “great length,” Garnett stacked up career highs of 19 points and eight rebounds, carrying the Wolves to a near upset of the San Antonio Spurs. (Through Saturday, he’s averaging 22 minutes played and 6.9 points scored.) “Kevin’s already so mature on the floor, prescient,” says Minnesota coach Bill Blair. “There aren’t the bad habits that college guys bring, just great skills. With weight and experience, this kid is going to kill people, big time.”
In six years of existence the Minne-Ha-Has have been downtime, having never won 30 games (in an 82-game season) nor making the playoffs. For four years they’ve lost at least 60–unprecedented in the NBA. Even McHale calls the Wolves “the worst franchise in pro sports.” But to Garnett, the Wolves were an opportunity to score. “I figured this was a place that wanted me, needed me, to make an impact,” says Garnett. ‘“I asked J.R. when I got here, ‘How many ‘oops [“alley oop” passes for “drinks”] you get?’ He said three. That tells me nobody cared; they didn’t give up the ball. Maybe I can change that. I don’t think I’m in awe of anybody. These great players . . . they’re just tryin’ to bust me. And I’m tryin’ to bust them.”
Garnett isn’t playing college ball this year because his SAT and ACT scores were too low for him to play as a freshman. “I talk to my boys off at school,” he says wistfully. “They tell me about the parties, the girls, the fun.” But in the next breath, he’s lauding the life he leads. “What’s the deal about me ‘making an adjustment’? I’ve always worked hard. That’s an instinct with me. Practice hard, recover, have the whole rest of the day to myself?. If I can’t enjoy this, I ought to get another life.”
Garnett’s life changed in the summer of 1994 when he left Mauldin, S.C., for an all-star basketball camp. After his stunning performances, coaches at Chicago’s Farragut Academy recruited him to play his senior year there. The move generated controversy in the hoops world. Garner concedes that his year in inner Chicago with his mother, Shirley Irby, was “total hell-gangs, guns, crime. I had to deal with a gang leader named Seven-Gun Marcello. No fun,” he says. In the college-recruiting process there was talk that everybody from street agents to Irby had his hand out. (“Wrong. I have my own money,” says Irby.) Garnett’s jump to the pros precluded any scandal. Family relations remain strained, with Irby having moved back to South Carolina as her son’ continues to break away. “People thought my more was in charge,” says Garnett. “I’m not that tight with her anymore.”
Sharing Garnett’s apartment in suburban Minnetonka instead is an old Carolina classmate, Jaime (Bug) Peters. “I don’t drink or smoke or go out much at all,” Garnett says. “I’ve done all that, and it got me in trouble. I have an image to uphold. People are watching; kids are watching. I prefer staying home with Bug, playing CDs and Sega.”
Garnett’s agent, Eric Fleisher, has the kid on a strict allowance, a new Lexus being his only luxury. (Fleisher is NBA establishment–plus; his father, Larry, was the longtime NBA players’ union head.) “I thought I was used to Jack Frost after Chicago, but I can’t get the Lexus through this snow,” Garnett says. “I’m getting me a four-wheel-drive. I have a goal, a vision of me being among the premier players in the league. Mark my words, I’ll be the first 6-11 point guard. I’m too smart to get in trouble.” Replies the Wolves’ 32-year-old Sam Mitchell: “Say what? The kid’s not old enough to get in anyplace where he can get into trouble.”
He’s not suffering from rookie disease: big mouth and big head. Another rookie, Jerome Allen, up from the Ivy League, gave him the nickname “K Boogie.” And the others just give him gas. On a road trip in Vancouver the team went to a strip club to watch the Bowe-Holyfield fight. Garnett, who won’t turn 20 until May, had to stay behind. “We told him we’d have a babysitter bring in ice cream,” jokes Laettner.
As Garnett is wafted through the looking glass and the learning process, he clings to the fundamentals-blowing bubble-gum bubbles, wearing rubber bands on his wrist, being sold by Nike. He doesn’t have his own ad yet. But one Nike TV spot shows a “Little Penny” Hardaway puppet jiving the real Hardaway to “say hello to Kevin Garnett from Little Penny in Science Club.”
Near the end of that breakout game against San Antonio, Garnett foundhimself side by side on the court with the Spurs’ David Robinson. “You’ve got terrific skills” said Nike’s Mr. Robinson. “Keep working.” The rookie patted the league’s MVP on the rump. “Thanks,” said Garnett, who obviously knows his commercials. “Someday I want to have my own neighborhood.” If K keeps boogieing at this rate, that day may come sooner than expected. .
