Francis Article on new Kicks Magazine

Just bought an issue of Kicks (Slam Presentation), cuz there's really nothing else out there in terms of basketball. There's an article about Francis, and its brought back lots of good memories...

KEEP THEY HEADS RINGIN'
By Lang Whitaker
<i>Hopefully freed from the headaches that plagued him last season, a rejuvenated Steve Francis plans to cause more than a few for his opponents this year.
If you can find a train track, well, that's a good start. Jam your ear against one of the steel rails, close your eyes and then just wait patiently for the train to come and bust your head in two. Then get up and play point guard in an NBA basketball game.
Running headlong into a brick wall might also work, and so would fighting Lennox Lewis with your hands tied behind your back. Or, maybe try swan-diving into an empty swimming pool. Wham, crack, thunk.
For the last 12 months, this has been Steve Francis's fate. The pain came on as suddenly as The Osbournes, and it left him wanting to pull his eyeballs from the sockets to reach inside his dome and suck the hurt out. Like an 808 looping kick drums between his ears, Steve Francis had relentless, grueling headaches.
Not just two-Advil pangs, but migraines that surged pain into his head so strongly that many days he couldn't even get out of bed. They came from nowhere, but decided they liked Steve, so they pulled up a chair and stayed a while-a full season, in fact. They, along with few nicks and pangs, kept Stevie out of 25 games during the 2001-02 season. And even when he was on the court, they joined him.
And so he dealt. He tried to play, when his vision wasn't being affected, but he could barely walk, much less spring and defend and jump and shoot. The headaches managed to do what most of the League couldn't: stop Steve Francis.
But they will also help ensure he returns stronger than ever.
Just above the two lockers are their names. Not names given at birth, but the earned ones, the ones that matter: "Wink" and "Cat." Steve and Cuttino. Francis and Mobley. The impossibly fast wink of an eye and the cunning and fluidity of a cat. They are not only teammates, but they are friends. Not just pals or boys or homies, but best friends. Only they understand what the other is going through, only they understand what the other is going through, only they understand the pressure of having a multi-multi-million dollar franchise in your back pocket, entrusted totally to your care.
And yet, for as much as Wink and Cat have each other's backs, and though the Rockets have added young talent in Eddie Griffin and untested Yao Ming, when it all comes down, the Houston Rockets will only go as far as Steve Francis can take them. The Franchise actually is the franchise, now.
He came to Houston at its nadir, with most of Canada predisposed against him. The Rockets were losing fule and having troubles with their o-rings, having gone from consecutive championships in '93-94 and '94-95, when Akeem had a new "H" and Sam Cassel passed the ball, to an overpriced retirement home for tremendous contracts rolling downhill unimpeded-Hakeem, Barkley, Drexler, Pippen-that would finally be imploded after '98-99, just in time for the NBA Draft.
Steve was coming off one season at Maryland, where he'd transferred after two junior colleges, where he'd gone after three high schools. In one season at Maryland he terrorpinned the ACC, averaging 17 a game and leading the conference in steals. He was named first-team All-American by Sports Illustrated, and was anointed a Lottery pick. And for that year, life was beautiful. He was home, for the first time in so long, surrounded by the family he loved and the memories he'd made, where he'd grown up playing all kinds of ball in the streets and idolizing Randall Cunningham. But as a consensus Lottery pick, with the League's rookie wage scale waiting ahead, he had to go pro and get on the clock.
In the summer of 1999, Steve was drafted second overall by the Vancouver Grizzlies, and immediately his head dropped, before David Stern's voice had even stopped ringing. He didn't really know where he wanted to be, but he knew it wasn't Vancouver-and let the rest of us know it wasn't Vancouver by wearing his feelings across his face, not so much being an ******* (as many thought) but more so just keeping it real. He'd let the Grizz know the same thing on a visit there, but apparently, they hadn't listened.
Life got better when Grizz GM Stu Jackson turned around and traded Steve out of Vancouver and down to Houston, in an immense trade that involved three teams, 11 players and a couple of future Draft picks. Out of all the bodies involved, only Michael Dickerson retains any real impact in the NBA. And though the Grizzlies picked up some competent players in the deal (Othella Harrington, Brent Price, Antoine Carr), in hindsight, the Rockets made a franchise-calibre steal, giving up little for the big point guard.
By the end of his rookie year, we knew. We'd seen the eye-popping averages (18 points, 6.6 assists, 5.3 boards), we'd seen the dunks and crossovers, and we'd seen him show out in a Dunk Contest where he lost to the only man on earth who could have beaten him that night, Vince Carter. He ended up splitting the Rookie of the Year trophy with Elton Brand. He was a young Isiah Thomas with a 40-inch vert.
The second year, with he and Cat in full control, he upped his points per by 1.9 and his boards per by 1.6, pushing the Rockets to a 45-37 record. Then things scattered. Hakeem deserted to Canada, and the Rockets gave up three first-round picks for Eddie Griffin, the Undercover Brother who still needs a few years to fully develop. And then there was Steve, who spent much of last year on the chilling list.
As he's plowed through the League, his minutes per season have risen like bread, from 36.1 his rookie year to 41.1 last season, showing how indisputably indispensable he is. Finally, Rudy T. has his counterpunch. And with Cat and Yao and Griff alongside the Franchise, Houston, there is no problem.
It was reported earlier this summer that even though Steve was still trying to cure his headaches, even though he'd recently had shoulder surgery, and even though there's no guarantee we will ever see the old Wink again-much less who we hope Wink will become-the Rockets offered Steve around 90 mil to spend the next seven years deep in the heart of Texas. Slashing his salt intake has stopped the headaches, for now, and all the time laid up in bed helped the body heal.
He has spent this summer taking care of business, watching Reebok roll out new campaigns wrapped around him. A few months ago, I talked with Stevie while he was out in Los Angeles. He was there on Reebok business, working in a recording studio all day, his best friend Cuttino by his side, his boy Master P coming through the studio for a visit after lunch at Roscoe's.
He talked about how he likes to go bowling whenever he has the time, about how his favorite TV show growing up was Family Ties. And then I asked how he was feeling. "No man, I swear, I feel good. I really, really feel good," Steve said. "The team's going to be good next year, and I'm going to be ready to go."
He sounded focused, he sounded prepared, he sounded, for the first time in a while, ready.
Uh-oh.</i>

 

The cover has Darius Miles & Quentin Richardson (but Miles is sporting a Clippers uniform). They have five photos of Francis a span of four pages, and a last little photo section on the shoes that Francis wore over his career.

I would scan them and show you all, but I wouldn't want to run Kicks out of business. The mag is pretty good. Tight reminiscent shoes, good articles (JKidd, CWebb, Walker, Spree), and other SLAM-esque features.