|
photos
by
Kelley Hamby
People
told Brian Grant he'd never make the pros. Now he's made
himself a local hero--and possibly the savior of the NBA.
The
Sacramento Kings selected Brian Grant with the eighth pick
in the first round of the 1994 draft.
Kings
general
manager Geoff Petrie was booed for drafting Grant,
then an unknown.
Grant's
third year
in Sacramento was cut short by an injury, as was his first
season with Portland last year.
Grant
lives with
his family in a $376,000 house in the Bull Mountain section
of Tigard.
He and his wife also own a $800,000 spread in West Linn.
Grant
started working to ingratiate himself with fans before the
season began. He was the most accessible Blazer during the
lockout, according to sports-radio-show host Dave Shore.
During
the NBA lockout, Grant's publicist kept local media abreast
of his whereabouts via e-mail updates.
Blazers
guard Greg Anthony says, "Brian is still learning and getting
better. In a few years he could be the best power forward
in the conference."
Golden
State coach P.J. Carlesimo
says Grant is
"such a force on the boards--he wears you down."
Shortly
after the
season started, Grant went on a rebounding tear, grabbing
more (70) in a four-game stretch than any Blazer since Bill
Walton--another big, unselfish dude with wild hair.
In the
last week of March Damon Stoudamire and Brian Grant came
up with big games against the Phoenix Suns.
"This is a team you don't want to face," says a dejected
Tom Gugliotta of the Suns.
In Sacramento,
Grant carried on a secret romance with his wife, Gina, then
a team dancer. Grant says it used to drive him crazy when
his teammates ogled Gina and he couldn't say anything.
The
population in Grant's hometown was less than 5 percent black,
and the Klan was rumored
to be active in the area.
Stevie
Wonder was in the Rose Garden last Saturday to catch the
Blazers.
Grant,
who now sports a Bob Marley tattoo, says he knew little
about the reggae singer until he went to Jamaica and learned
Marley was a political hero.
"I got
into Marley pretty heavy," says Grant. "That guy was deep.
He was fighting for the rights of his people and, at the
same time, equality for everyone."
Brian, pictured here with his three sons (Elijah, Amani
and Jaydon) and wife, Gina, has dedicated this season to
someone outside his family: his late friend 12-year-old
Dash Thomas, of Sublimity.
Grant,
a Christian, dabbled in Rastafarianism but says he treated
it like a fish: "You eat the meat and spit out the bones."
Ganja
was the bony part, he says.Among power forwards with as
many free-throw attempts, only Keith Van Horn of the New
Jersey Nets shoots with better accuracy than Grant.
A sore
knee kept Grant out of last Saturday's starting lineup.
Coach Mike Dunleavy says an extended absence would be a
"great loss" to the team.
|
|
When he's not on the road, Trail Blazer Brian Grant starts
his day at Southwest Portland's Cafe DuBerry, where he chows
down on a plate of salmon, steak, eggs and cheese--all smothered
in gravy. A few thousand calories later, he heads out to
team practice.
On a recent morning, Maxwell Peel stood in his way. A retired
Teamster, Peel jumped up from his own breakfast to give
the giant power forward a piece of his mind.
"The way you get after those balls," gushed Peel, "it's
like a man tryin' to kill snakes."
It's no surprise that Portland's basketball team, currently
holding the league's best record, is beginning to shed its
"Jail Blazer" image and excite fans like Peel. But when
the season started, no one thought that Grant would become
the team's star.
In fact, his talent was once so slim that even his high-school
opponents weren't impressed.
"I would have said that Brian's chances of making the NBA
were about the same as winning the lottery," says Dan Edmisten,
who faced Grant as a teenager in Ohio.
As the Blazers charge toward the playoffs with a newfound
blue-collar attitude and surprisingly unselfish play, however,
Grant is viewed as the man most responsible.
Veteran guard Greg Anthony calls Grant the "heart and soul"
of the squad. "The kind of attitude he has is key to their
success," agrees Sacramento Kings center Vlade Divac. "Brian
is the co-MVP right now," says Blazers broadcaster Mychal
Thompson, adding that only $81 million point guard Damon
Stoudamire has been as important to Portland's record (which
stood at 26-6 as of press time).
But Grant's stellar reputation isn't just based on his
play. More than anyone, he's polishing the Blazers' image
and making it easy for fans--including hippies, chicks and
hicks--to love the team once again. And in this first post-Jordan
season, when even diehards were giving up on the game, Grant
might be just what the NBA needs most.
Make no mistake, though: Behind his simple lunch-bucket
style there's a sophisticated machine working hard to showcase
the 27-year-old hoopster. Grant's popularity, in other words,
has been anything but an accident.
Two things you need to know about Brian Grant: He's the
Blazers' top rebounder (and the eighth-best in the league),
and he can't jump.
It's a shortcoming evident every time he steps on the court.
"Brian doesn't have half of [teammate] Rasheed Wallace's
natural ability. Rasheed can touch the top of the backboard,"
says Colin Cowherd, sports director at KGW-TV. "Sometimes
it looks like Brian can barely touch the rim."
It's a problem Grant has been dealing with for a long time.
"In eighth grade I couldn't even make a layup," he admits
to WW.
When Grant finally became a starter in his senior year
at Georgetown High in southern Ohio, no one thought he would
make it to the college level, let alone the NBA. "Most everybody
was telling me, 'You won't start; you won't graduate; you're
just an old country boy who's not going to do anything,'"
Grant recalls.
It's a miracle he was even spotted by college scouts. Growing
up in rural Ohio, he might as well have been playing in
a mine shaft. Georgetown is a tiny tobacco-farming community
close to the Kentucky border with a population of 3,627.
The local high schools are too small to field football teams,
and they shut down one week in September for the county
fair.
College scouts don't spend a lot of time in such backwater
burgs--and they generally don't lavish scholarships on farm
boys. "In the upper levels of basketball, city players are
the ones heavily recruited," says Tim Chadwell, Grant's
high-school coach.
Just when it appeared that Grant was headed toward four
years of obscurity at Wilmington College, a tiny local school,
along came an opportunity at Cincinnati's Xavier University.
Chadwell doubted that Grant could crack the starting lineup
at Xavier, a small college-basketball powerhouse. But the
lanky kid drew from his roots and made himself into one
of the best players in Xavier's history.
As a teen, Grant had learned the value of back-breaking
labor, which has become the basis of his success as a ballplayer.
He started cutting tobacco in the summer at the age of 13--and
he kept at it through college. "We were used to being down
on our knees, y'know, with our back hurtin' for eight hours
a day in the heat and humidity," Grant recalls. "I had cousins
who lived in the city who would come for the summer, and
they couldn't do the work that we could."
Grant's blue-collar ethic also came from his mother, who
spent 27 years assembling toolboxes at a local Stanley factory.
Although Dorella "Gigi" Grant no longer needs a weekly paycheck,
she can't stand being idle. "I enjoy work immensely," she
says.
So does her oldest son. You can see it in the determination
on his face. "He willed himself to be as good as he is,"
says Chadwell.
All the hard work is paying dividends. Sports Illustrated
recently called Grant the Blazers' most reliable player.
He's the kind of guy who drives the team without hogging
the spotlight. You might call him the Charlie Watts of basketball.
Brian Grant is no Michael Jordan. He's not even Karl Malone.
His game isn't based on spectacular plays or scoring. Grant's
strength is in the grunt work.
He plays brawny defense on some of the league's top scorers,
like Malone, Chris Webber and Tim Duncan. He sets monstrous
screens for his teammates. He makes nice passes. He sinks
his free throws.
Two former Portland coaches probably wish they had Grant
on their teams.
"He plays his tail off. Brian is very unselfish," says
Sacramento coach Rick Adelman. "He's such a warrior," adds
Golden State coach P.J. Carlesimo. "He will do all the stuff
so important to winning."
Above all, Grant rebounds.
One part of rebounding is technique--studying missed shots
and angles to determine exactly where a ball is headed.
The other part is raw effort. And right now Grant is being
hailed as the James Brown of the NBA. "He is the hardest-working
guy in the league," says Duncan, the Spurs all-star. "You've
got to respect that cat."
The Grant highlight reel looks more like a sumo match than
a ballet. At 6 feet 9 inches and 254 pounds, Grant plants
his size-16 Nikes on the floor and uses his beefy body and
wide shoulders to keep opponents away from the basket. Then,
when an errant shot clangs off the rim, Grant jumps. High?
No way. Doggedly? You bet.
His tattooed arms, marked with the scratches and bruises
from nightly NBA combat, reach upward. He can't quite snag
the ball from competing limbs, so he tips it--once, twice,
three times, until he finally latches onto it like a shipwrecked
sailor grabbing a rescue hoist.
In Phoenix on March 28, with the Blazers locked in a last-minute
tie, Portland's Jimmy Jackson missed a shot with 14 seconds
left. The misfire came high off the rim toward the Suns'
Tom Gugliotta. At 6 feet 10 inches, Gugliotta is no wimp.
But Grant managed to rip the ball away from him. Then he
wheeled toward the basket, drew defenders his way and shoveled
a sweet pass to Arvydas Sabonis, who sank the game-winning
bucket with nine seconds left.
It's not glamorous work, but it's hugely important. And
it's why the Blazers signed Grant to a seven-year, $56 million
deal in 1997.
Because of his relentless style, Grant is viewed as the
next Dennis Rodman--only better.
"If I had a choice between Grant and Rodman, I'd take Grant
every time--no question," says Kings center Divac.
"He can score, and he's stronger than Dennis. He's a better
all-around player," says Gugliotta.
Another big difference between Rodman and Grant is in their
off-court style. You might call Grant the good Rodman. Instead
of wearing a dress as a publicity stunt, he goes to hospitals
to visit terminally ill kids. Instead of spewing profanities,
he's more inclined to say "bullcrap" and then ask that you
strike it from the record.
For such a humble guy, Grant has been extremely aggressive
about marketing himself.
It all started last year when he hired a publicist, which
was an extraordinary step.
All players have agents, who negotiate their salaries,
manage their money and handle their endorsement deals. But
few players have their own professional publicists. Sabonis
doesn't have one, and neither does J.R. Rider. Clyde Drexler
never did. The vast majority of players leave publicity
and promotions to the team and its public-relations staff.
That's not always in their best interest, though. The team's
PR people are busy feeding the daily appetites of the media
hordes. And the Blazers organization isn't all that keen
on hyping individual players too much. Blazers' president
Bob Whitsitt, for instance, won't name an MVP for the team
for fear of making other players jealous.
There's another reason teams don't promote players, according
to Rick Burton, director of the sports-marketing program
at the University of Oregon: Too often it backfires with
teams like the Jail Blazers. "The Blazers have had a difficult
time because of all the high jinks of the players," says
Burton. "And given all those negative things, they're not
likely to build campaigns around individual players but
instead around the franchise and its history of winning."
Enter Brian Berger.
Berger is just 30 years old, but the publicist has seen
a lot of athletes up close. He worked for the Blazers' marketing
department for six years before opening his own downtown
office. And he knew Grant was something special: charming,
handsome, generous and savvy.
Berger set out to make Grant financially secure. The strategy,
he says, is to humanize Grant and forge a link with fans.
"When Brian is running down the court, I want people to
feel a bond with him," Berger explains. "He's a real human
being who has kids and likes movies and fishing. The more
people see him, the more they'll relate to him, and the
more popular he'll become."
That way, Grant's off-court opportunities--his basketball
camps in Ohio and Oregon and his promotional deals with
AT&T, Franz Bakery, G.I. Joe's and Nike--will expand
and multiply.
When the two Brians hooked up last fall, Grant's first
idea was to create a Web site (briangrant44.com). Few players
have them, Berger says, and fewer have anything as personal
and sophisticated as Grant's.
Curious about Grant's favorite musical artists? You'll
find them on the site, along with Grant's résumé
as a fledgling record producer who mixed a 13-track rap
disc with Raphael Saadiq from the band Tony! Toni! Toné!
Movies? You get everything from Brian's favorite flick
(An American Werewolf in London) to his essential
snacks (large popcorn, box of Whoppers, large drink and
two hot dogs).
Want to hear Brian? There's real audio of his interview
with talk-show host Jim Rome, who wanted to know one thing:
"Dude, what's got into you? You're a rebounding fool. You're
sick."
There's family stuff too: photos of Brian sledding down
a snowy hill in his Tigard neighborhood; Brian clowning
with a crab he caught on the coast; Brian with his wife
and the kids.
There's also a fan club you can join for $19.95. (You get
a hat, a "Life of Brian" newsletter, an autographed photo
and an invitation to a fans-only party.) And did we mention
the link to the Marquis Ramone line of clothing that Grant's
invested in?
The Web site also allows you to easily e-mail stories of
Brian's charitable deeds and rebounding feats to friends.
Even Grant's dreadlocks--new this year and maintained by
his wife, Gina, and tinted red by her hairdresser--have
become a marketing advantage. "It plays a big part of his
identity," says Gina. "We just went to Arizona and the Bay
Area, and people recognized Brian more so than ever."
The dreads have led to a new nickname as well. Thanks to
a radio-show contest, Grant has gone from the "The General"
(because he hails from the same town as Ulysses S. Grant)
to the more exotic "Rasta Monsta."
Grant doesn't see any irony in the heady marketing of his
humble style. "I don't see where it conflicts," he says.
"The Web site is a way to reach out to people who can't
see Brian Grant. This is the first year a lot of people
have heard of me. They can go to the Web site and say, 'Wow,
he's a family man.' It's a way to get them connected to
what I like."
Sports-marketing expert Burton agrees, saying Grant's promotional
push is more ingenious than incongruous, more savvy than
selfish.
"This is a guy who in a different day and age would be
thought of as a journeyman player staking a claim on the
idea that he can be more than a basketball player--he can
be a lot of things," Burton says. "He understands how modern
sports works as entertainment."
So does the NBA.
"He's the kind of guy the NBA likes," says Sports Illustrated
writer Jon Wertheim. "The league ... sort of wills
these guys to become stars."
Year 1 A.J. (After Jordan, that is) looked bleak for the
NBA.
Fans were bitter about the 200-day lockout. They saw the
owners as greedy and players as petulant thugs--the league's
new high-scorer, Allen Iverson, for example, had been arrested
for carrying a loaded handgun and a bag of pot.
The league needed to polish its image. And the NBA's best
team had a player who fit the bill. "Grant is custom-made
for what the NBA is looking to market," says Wertheim. "He's
not 'street.'"
By that Wertheim means that Grant isn't like Iverson--who's
talked of hiring hip-hop impresario Puffy Combs to be his
agent--or Stephon Marbury, another inner-city scorer who
rocked the NBA when he demanded a trade from playoff-bound
Minnesota to cellar-dweller New Jersey just so he could
be closer to the bright lights of Manhattan.
On March 10, Grant, a relative unknown, suddenly found
himself featured on the NBA's weekly teleconference with
journalists around the country. It's an honor bestowed on
just one player a week--usually one of the NBA's high-flying
stars.
In previous weeks the guests had been superstars Iverson
and Malone. Grant, with his 12 points and 11 rebounds a
game, didn't seem to fit the profile.
"I can't imagine other players with such modest stats getting
on," says Wertheim.
If Connie Hunt is any indication, such moves are paying
off. Hunt, co-owner of the East Bank Saloon and president
of the Central Eastside Industrial Council, was so disgusted
by the arrogance and greed of the NBA that she started the
season boycotting the Blazers. She refused to use the season
ticket her husband had bought her.
Then she read a story in The Oregonian about 12-year-old
Dash Thomas, whom Brian had befriended before the boy died
of brain cancer earlier this year. "I started to warm up
because one of our guys was showing community activism and
humanity that I haven't witnessed in a while," she says.
Last week Hunt broke down. She went to a game and liked
what she saw. "I did see a little heart and spirit I thought
was missing," she says. "I think I'm back."
Grant is even attracting a new breed of fans.
Alicia Katz Hazel is a computer trainer, massage therapist,
jewelry maker and Green Party loyalist. She had never been
a basketball fan until early this year, when she watched
a game with her husband. She was hooked.
"What caught my eye first was the dreads," says Katz Hazel,
30. "I thought, 'Maybe this is somebody I could relate to.'
Then I saw his tattoo of Bob Marley and thought he seemed
like somebody I'd know off the court."
After she and her husband plunked down almost $500 on a
12-game ticket deal, Katz Hazel spent another $19.95 to
join Grant's fan club. She became a follower, which suggests
Grant's potential as the NBA's Moses.
"He's exactly what the NBA needs," says Dr. Jack Ramsay,
who coached the Blazers to their one and only championship.
He may also be exactly what Portland needs--a new local
hero in a town surprisingly devoid of any.
Consider the competition:
Rasheed Wallace has the most jaw-dropping talent of the
12-man team and deserves credit for his willingness to come
off the bench and sacrifice his stats. But he's moody, hangs
in the background during many games and isn't a media favorite.
On any given night, J.R. Rider can look like the best scoring
guard in the league. But he remains a Jekyll-and-Hyde figure--suspended
three times already this season for his antics and facing
legal problems after spitting on a fan.
Sabonis may be the most underrated player in the league,
according to Suns' coach Danny Ainge, but the Frankenstein-sized
Lithuanian can barely speak English and shies from the spotlight.
Local boy Damon Stoudamire hasn't played well until recently
and has griped about his lack of playing time--although
he leads the team in minutes.
That leaves Grant, who seems a perfect fit for Portland:
This is a guy who says he doesn't mind the weather because
it reminds him of sitting under his grandma's tin roof on
rainy days; who says he loves Portland because it's a great
place to raise kids; who downs three cups of Starbucks before
heading for work--on the court.
Grant is an ordinary guy. Really. Heck, tuna casserole
is his favorite food.
On top of that, he's modest and tries to redirect any praise
to his teammates. "We want to see each other succeed," he
says. If pushed to single out anyone for setting the team's
unselfish tone, he cites Greg Anthony.
"Greg is an excellent, excellent verbal leader," Grant
says of the one Blazer who has performed in an NBA final
(with the 1994 Knicks). "He doesn't hold back, and you respect
him for it."
But Anthony, for all his catalytic spark, is not Grant.
He can't match the hardest-working man in the league--in
minutes played, statistical achievements or style.
"People want to bask in the reflected glory of their teams
when they do well," says sports-marketing expert Burton. "That's
what we've got in Brian Grant. It's not only unexpected, but
there's a warm glow to it."
|
