ESPN Mag: Carter cleared for takeoff

ESPN The Magazine has a cover story on Vince Carter this week. They followed him on his recent trip to Asia. There is some mention of his meeting with Yao.



http://espn.go.com/magazine/vol5no20carter.html


Cleared for takeoff

By Ric Bucher
ESPN The Magazine


When Vince Carter soared above the rim as only he can in his annual August charity game in Toronto, it was billed as the first time he'd done so since left knee surgery grounded him last spring. It wasn't. Ten days earlier, Carter ended a dunk exhibition in Asia by shouting, "It's coming back!"

Notice he didn't say "I'm coming back!" In his mind, he never left. What had gone was all the talk of him as the Next Jordan. That's what happens when your team loses 13 straight, then makes a playoff run only after your bum knee finally bumps you to the sidelines. The lesson: The world cares less about who VC is than who it wants him to be. "When you're doing well, they love you," says Carter, who Ziplocked it in the face of mounting criticism last season. "When you're not doing well, they kill you. So you just want to stay in the middle. When I step on the court Oct. 1, it's back to business. That business is not to show or help people figure out who I am."

Carter's silent treatment meant that no one knew, or cared, that his knee pain started 15 games into the season and never relented, that it was a constant, 24-hour ache that wore him down mentally as much as physically. "Guys I felt I could go by I couldn't," he says. "I'd look at tape and think, 'I know this guy likes to do this, but how am I going to get to the spot with my disability?' "

He'd never before sustained anything more serious than a twisted ankle, so this was a new experience. The drives to the hole became less frequent, and the over-reliance on his jumper resulted in 42.8% shooting, a career low. Occasionally the knee -- damaged by cumulative wear and tear -- would feel good enough to produce a flashback performance, like the 43 points he put up against the Rockets on March 5. But those games only left his Raptors teammates wondering which Vince they'd see on any given night, and questioning his motivation. On March 22, the pain forced him to the bench.

So how did it feel to br "Helpless?"Vince says. "It was tough, but it was a learning experience. It made me stronger mentally. I feel like I did my first year, when no one knew who I was and everyone questioned why I was coming out."

Only now, the detractors have multiplied and the expectations have mushroomed. Nike, which watched sales of Carter's shoes plummet with his late-season troubles despite a massive ad campaign, invited The Magazine to join Vince on a promotional tour in the Far East to see how he was doing. Eager to see how Carter is approaching his crossroads season, we flew halfway around the world and found out.

July 23, Beijing: Vince disembarks after 15 hours on a private jet and a gazillion games of NBA Live and Madden 2002 to find a hundred kids in North Carolina and Raptors gear waiting on the tarmac yelling his name. Few warm to adulation quite like VC, who enthusiastically exchanges high-fives and power hugs and even a playful head butt or two with the fans. The afternoon itinerary calls for rest, but Vince wants to ball. A first-class indoor court built by a hotel owner with a serious basketball jones is located and secured. Soon, the Carter entourage -- Raptors athletic therapist Chuck Mooney, IMG liaison Jeff Scott, bodyguard Andre "P-Nut" Cottle and Nike liaison Marc Eversley -- rolls out in a tricked-out white Dodge Ram van.

Carter warms up with midrange jumpers and free throws with some kind of twist -- exaggerated arc, high off the glass, extreme fade, lefthanded shot. He plays with his headband -- first it's just over the top of his ears, then stretched across his chin, then across his eyebrows and finally high on his forehead but angling down across his earlobes. "Sheesh!" he says after missing a free throw. Then he misses a J, and his shoulders slump. "Ridiculous!" he hisses after missing several in a row.

The workout lasts about 75 minutes and includes Vince bumping off the 250-pound P-Nut before hitting a fade and taking Jeff, a former college DB, off the dribble. (Both are boyhood friends from Florida.) His handle and shooting form are flawless, but it's still his athleticism that's riveting. The 11 people watching include a skinny kid in a Chinese national team warmup suit. He claps spontaneously when Vince loses Jeff with an ankle-breaking crossover, pulls up at the baseline, leaps so high he seems to be looking down at the rim and then haaaaaangs (one one-thousand, two one-thousand … ) in the air before releasing a soft, nothing-but-net jumper.

No matter how small the crowd, Vince can't resist the show. Maybe it's cathartic, after a season of criticism and trade talk. Against Mooney's wishes, he throws down a few dunks to finish up. Then he bounces the ball off the backboard, casually catches it with one hand and tomahawks it. When he finishes with a one-handed jam of a ball that Jeff has bounced off the floor and the backboard, the spectators in the gym clap.

His workout done, Carter sits down on a bench against the wall, 40 feet or so from the basket. Soon, he bets he can hit one from 40 sitting down before P-Nut can from 20 standing. Carter's first shot is off the glass but off line. "Did I make that one?" Vince asks. P-Nut snorts. Vince eyes the rim, grimaces, cocks and fires. The ball ricochets cleanly off the glass and through the net.

"What about that one?"

July 24, Beijing: A popular, bilingual, Asian hip-hop VJ hosts a press conference, lobbing Vince such heavy-hitting questions as "Would you ever go back to wearing the short shorts?" and "Do you like the 'Dr. Funk' nickname?" A screen shows the making of Nike's Dr. Funk commercial. Nobody in the room looks older than 25. Then comes the inevitable Jordan question, a sure-fire way to end any interview back home. Not here. "Everybody says he's the greatest player," Vince says. "I'm going step by step. When it's all said and done, I can be better than him."

Next stop: a gym where soon-to-be Rocket Yao Ming and Vince meet and judge a dunk contest. The last of a half-dozen dunkers gets Vince excited when he clears the crowd back from the baseline in order to step from behind the backboard and throw a windmill dunk. It's the same one Vince did to win his NBA dunk title in 2000, the one that launched Vinsanity. "Give him room!" Carter shouts. "This is my dunk!" The kid completes it, and Vince holds up a 10 scorecard in one hand and a 7 and an 8 in the other, a makeshift 25. Then he grabs a cordless mike, quickly does a quad stretch with each leg and announces to the crowd of 500 that he'll copy whatever dunk the kid can throw.

Mooney's face is in his hands. Turns out the kid's repertoire is exhausted, so Vince goes into his own, bouncing the ball high off the floor so it glances off the backboard, catching it with one hand and flushing it. Bedlam. Mooney gives a cutting motion across his throat, but Vince waves him off. Now he swoops in from the left side, rises and whirls 360°, and throws down a two-hander. Mooney looks ill. He's here to oversee Vince's rehab. Instead, Carter is testing his limits without warming up.

Lunch is at a McDonald's near Vince's hotel, then it's on to another press conference. Vince describes his fantasy dunk: taking off from the top of the key, doing a front flip and dunking. Reclaiming the dunk title, he says, is on his to-do list. The entourage huddles in a back corner of the room. "That's the third time he's said that," says Nike global director Ralph Greene. Mooney, the group's curmudgeon, shakes his head, ticking off the hand and leg injuries Vince's dunks have produced over the years.



July 25, Hong Kong: Another city, another contest. As Carter walks across yet another gym floor, there's a collective roar. Vince smiles. There's a paucity of dunkers in Hong Kong, so Vince judges a layup contest. An impromptu chant of "Car-ter! Car-ter!" is followed by the wave. Touched, he climbs into the stands to have a group photo taken before thanking the crowd for supporting him and the Raptors.

July 26, Taipei: No media today, so Vince spends his time lifting weights and playing Ping-Pong at the hotel. Another McDonald's lunch is delivered to his penthouse suite and sorted out on an elegant dining room table. While Vince naps, everyone else goes to get tatted. Vince is tatt-free, bowing to the wishes of his mom, Michelle Carter.

Having seen drugs take his younger brother Chris down the wrong track, Vince is the obedient son to the hilt. His decision to attend North Carolina's graduation ceremonies the morning of Game 7 against the Sixers in the 2001 playoffs was made by his mother, not him. When a friend with a shady past asked to stay with him, Vince checked with Michelle. She even has a say in whom he dates. When a jeweler tried to sell him a diamond chain with his new VC logo as a pendant this summer, his mom said no, and Vince listened. Such devotion is the stuff of Hallmark specials, but it doesn't play well in the Raptors locker room. Then again, when you see what happens when your brother doesn't listen to your mom, maybe you think twice about disobeying her too.


All systems were go at VC's charity game in Toronto.
July 27, Taipei: Another press conference, another proclamation: "I'm looking forward to getting back and refreshing people's memory on what I can do." Asked about Jordan's criticism of his play last season, Carter notes that the Raptors open the season against the Wizards. "Make sure you watch because I'm going to give 50 to somebody," he says -- a challenge that he later softens.



The climax of the trip comes in a gym built in 1941. It had been abandoned for years until being rediscovered by Nike. It's surrounded by market stalls and streets so narrow that the side of the van is dented trying to turn a corner. Nike built a new half court and circled it with boxing-ring ropes that emit smoke from the turnbuckles. The court is also surrounded with a chain-link fence that rises into the rafters. The rim and backboard are steel, and there's no ref for the 3-on-3 game that serves as the warmup act. Vince waits in an abandoned banquet room with his crew, towel draped over his head, shoulders bobbing to the MP3 player only he can hear. The 3,000 jammed into the arena begin chanting "Doc-tor Funk!" and Vince heads for the door.



"What's going onnnnn, Taiwan!" he shouts upon being handed a microphone. He's at his finest, pausing dramatically before lifting his dunk-contest scorecard, joking with a contestant who misses a dunk ("It's not the ballll!"), holding the rope up for some Mod Squad dancers, shaking hands with every dunk and 3-on-3 contestant and then circling the arena to throw souvenir gear into the stands. His dunks are flawless, even though he has to compensate for the danger of a bolted rim by jumping higher. The exhibition done, he ducks inside the van and, finding he no longer needs his brand-new kicks, motions to have the van door opened and tosses them into the crowd.



Carter leaves Asia rejuvenated, but he isn't sure what to expect at his charity game in Toronto a week later. He jogs out to a full house and warm applause, and his glow is unmistakable. Vince's knee passes every test, and his team is so far ahead after three periods that the scoreboard is reset. The only downer is Carter's potential baseline game-winner, which bounces off the side of the backboard.



Last season is still on Vince's mind when he addresses the crowd afterward. "We're not going to let you down this year," he says. Then he heaves his shoes into the stands, puts on a one-man dancing exhibition at midcourt in his socks and invites the entire crowd of 19,000 to a 1,000-capacity night club for a postgame party.



Raptors forward Antonio Davis, scheduled to play, was a last-second scratch. The team leader by default, he's spoken with Carter about taking over that role. He saw how Vince reacted to adversity and has told him he has to change. "Failure folds him in," Davis says. "The head drops, he comes out and he has a towel over his head. I've talked to him about it. Those are signals that, as a leader, you can't be sending."

And that is what Davis thought about when he saw the charity game highlights and Carter's impromptu dance. "What is he doing?" Davis says. The answer: making the crowd happy.


Which raises the question: Does Carter want more than that?



We're about to find out.