Sunday, Jul 6, 2008
What did it take for Kevin Garnett to become the young darling of the NBA? Arms and legs that go on for days and standards that are very, very high.
Feb 12, 2000 | Kevin Garnett has an old face. Not that at 23 he looks 30, but old, like Egyptian old. It's the kind of face you'd see in a Pharaoh's tomb; head shaved smooth, high cheek bones, prominent nose and wide-set almandine eyes -- vivid as lamps against his dark brown skin. When he smiles and those lamps light up, you get a sense of the big fun involved in being the young darling of professional sports: the fine body, the great moves, the clothes, the cars, the casual abundance of diamonds.
But when he is not smiling (and this can last for days) -- when he is tired after a game (dead tired after losing), tired of answering questions, tired, just a bit, of the continuous multi-tasking that is just being Kevin Garnett -- then his eyes go soft, his mouth seems to vanish altogether and his nearly 7-foot frame finally allows him the distance he needs from the world. Then it's his turn to watch and question. And if that old Pharaoh's face tells you one thing, Dog, it's that his standards are very, very high.
They have to be. In 1995, one month after turning 19, Garnett agreed to play pro basketball without having gone to college. He was the first player in 20 years to do so. At 22, he signed (with his team, the Minnesota Timberwolves) the biggest sports contract in history: six years for $126 million.
The contract gave team owners nosebleeds. It also quickly precipitated last season's lockout and a new labor agreement that mainly guaranteed that, for decades to come, no one will get as rich playing basketball as has Kevin Garnett. Happily, in the two half-seasons since competition resumed, Garnett has impressed anyone who's paid attention; neutralizing the slightest trace of criticism for not performing to the breathtaking dimensions of his paycheck. "He is," team owner Glen Taylor said at the start of this season, "worth every penny."
Still, both deals galled more than a few observers. Having Garnett forsake college for the pros was regarded as both mercenary and potentially tragic for the young player. Three years later, when Garnett turned down his team's first offer of $103 million, the highest ever made to a professional athlete, general concern vanished. Garnett was regarded as the quintessential arrogant player -- Exhibit A on how big money ruined professional sports.
When he was drafted, the Timberwolves were the doormat of the NBA. Since their founding in 1989, they had had a history of wasted talent, missed opportunities and woeful play. Not only had Garnett joined the worst team in the league, but also one that was completely off the sports media map. The Wolves had neither star players nor nationally televised games. And Garnett, the third-youngest player ever to start in an NBA game, brought excitement almost immediately. Two years after signing, at 21, he appeared in his first All-Star Game and helped guide his team to its first post-season appearance. The national cameras began coming around.
This season began unevenly. During a promotional kickoff tour in Japan, the Wolves split two games in Tokyo with the Sacramento Kings. Still jet-lagged for their home opener, they scored a spectacular come-from-behind win over the New York Knicks, which was keyed by Garnett's steadfast refusal to give up the game. Then the wheels came off the car. The team lost eight games in a row, including a humiliating home loss to the lowly Golden State Warriors.
And then, finally, everything clicked. Even after consecutive losses Wednesday and Thursday, the Timberwolves have gone 20-7 in the seven weeks since. Garnett earned player-of-the-month honors for January and is headed for his second All-Star Game start on Sunday. Despite their loss to the Lakers Wednesday (a game in which Garnett played spectacularly well) and to the Suns Thursday (in which he did not), the overachieving Wolves are one of the hottest teams in basketball.
Garnett is also one of the better-recognized men on the planet, a tribute not only to his skills on the court but his demonstrated telegenic qualities. His "Fun Police" commercials for Nike (including the memorable spot in which a trench-coated Garnett gives a teammate the third degree for playing with bland facial expressions) may be the most popular the company's run.
In one Nike ad last summer, Garnett and soccer player Brandi Chastain (famous for whipping off her jersey to celebrate her Women's World Cup-winning goal) play a game of foosball. After Chasten scores a point and throws up her arms in triumph, Garnett and two buddies look on raptly as she, alas, stays dressed. "So," goes Garnett's voice-over as the famous logo appears on-screen, "what's the deal with the shirt?"
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