The $126 million man

Saunders took over as coach early in Garnett's first season to stabilize a bickering, unraveling squad. Traded away were bad boys Isaiah Rider and Christian Laettner. The team picked up the phenomenal young point guard Stephon Marbury, and, with Tom Gugliotta, a fine forward then coming into his own, seemed to have a young dynasty in place.

The bickering didn't stop, however, and after the lockout, Gugliotta (who was reportedly unhappy about working with Marbury) signed with another team. Marbury, miffed at Garnett's marquee status, forced a trade soon after. Last year, McHale pulled quick deals for Sealy and Terrell Brandon, one of the game's elite point guards. With promising young players Joe Smith, Bobby Jackson, Wally Szczerbiak and Radoslav Nesterovic, the team has started all over again.

Through it all, Garnett has kept the faith and his head. In December, after the team lost its eighth game in a row -- the longest skid since he joined -- in a hard-fought home game against the Lakers, Garnett was asked if it was the hardest time he'd known as a player.

"My first year was tremendously tough." His voice is deep but soft, with a supple drawl that ignores many consonants and airs out most vowels. "I'm someone who loves-loves-loves to be winning. I always came from the bottom up. Nothin' was ever given to me. Now I'm tryin' to get the guys on the same page." Two nights later, in Dallas, the Wolves' winning ways began.

But that night, as Garnett dressed slowly in a subdued locker room, McHale brought over an old pal eager to meet him, Nate "Tiny" Archibald, the marvelous Celtics point guard of the 1980 championship team. Garnett stared and blinked at the much smaller man -- now acknowledged, like McHale, as one of the 50 greatest players of all time -- and then, with the growing joy of a child meeting the genuine Santa Claus, his smile got bigger and bigger. The long pumping handshake would not end. "Man, you the man," he said laughing and rocking from side to side with bashful pleasure. After the old Celtics left, Garnett finished dressing while speaking softly, in amazement, to himself: "Tiny Archibald, goddamn! That's a legend, boy."

It is tempting to say Garnett was lucky ending up in Minnesota, where he has been able to develop a safe distance from media blow holes. The bleak winters there, he says, help him concentrate on his game. Friends from Mauldin live with him. And though he has said he does not trust most people, he is unfailingly courteous to all, going so far as to say "bless you" to reporters who sneeze.

Garnett has fit seamlessly into McHale's design. The old Boston Celtics virtues of selfless team play, superior passing and sharp shooting are drilled endlessly. Saunders calls Garnett "a sponge" for learning the game. After watching him closely for five years, Sam Mitchell is still mildly astonished: "He doesn't make the same mistakes over and over. You tell him one time, he gets it." Says McHale, "The amazing thing is that he's made really nice strides in all areas of the game. And that's  that's a helluva compliment."

In a competition where accomplishment is bound so closely to endurance, and endurance means little without style, Kevin Garnett is a complete player. More than simply playing, Garnett, one suspects, draws his deepest satisfaction from belonging to a certain perfect family, one united by the truest love and desire; a love of the game and desire to win.

Asked about meeting Archibald, Garnett fairly purrs: "Awww man, who gets to meet legends, really? I mean, these kids stand outside just to meet players who don't even play sometimes. I get to meet legends.

"Isn't the NBA great?"

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