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Is it really as simple as "LeBron up top in isolation" for the Cavs? If so, how does Orlando adjust? Is "Carmelo up top in isolation" a blueprint for Denver? And if you're weary from playoff basketball, there's always the draft combine.   

John Krolik of Cavs the Blog: "Where do you want to start? 37/14/12 against the best defense in the league? Are you joking me with that line? Is that real? Led the game in points, assists, rebounds, and offensive boards? Had as many assists AS THE MAGIC? (A note for those who think the Cavs were the team with stagnation problems in this game). Scored or assisted on 61% of the team's points. And the team scored 112 on the Magic. And with the team a quarter away from elimination ... the Cavs outscored the Magic by 14 with LeBron taking the ball at the top of the key and scoring or assisting on every Cavaliers basket. Step-back jumpers. Move after move to the basket. Ridiculous feeds. The whole thing. That's absolutely unheard of. In an elimination game, in the conference finals, against the league's best defense. That is absurd ... The TNT guys were absolutely in awe. When Kenny asked Charles Barkley, who's only one of the best scorers of all time and loved the ball from the free-throw line extended for face-up drives, if he'd ever been leaned on like that, Charles looked at Kenny like he'd just asked him where Ernie could score some PCP. They said 'eventually LeBron will get tired,' which to Magic fans must sound like someone telling Roy Schneider in Jaws 'Well, eventually we figure he'll get full.'"

Zach McCann of Orlando Magic Daily: "Tonight's momentous performance from LeBron James once again made it clear: when LeBron is on, truly playing at the top of his game, it doesn't matter what Mickael Pietrus, Hedo Turkoglu, Dwight Howard or a variety of other help defenders do - James cannot be stopped. He can go over, under, around and through any defender that comes his way. The Magic can only keep their arms up, hope he misses and pray they don't hear a whistle ... LeBron was just in another world, fluidly penetrating the lane and seeing the play develop an instant before any defender did. A couple years ago, LeBron scored the final 25 points of Cleveland's Game 5 victory over the Detroit Pistons in the Eastern Conference Finals, saving the Cavs' season and eventually leading them to the NBA Finals. His performance tonight was of the same grain, as he took over and made sure the Cavs would head back to Orlando for Game 6."

Graydon Gordian of 48 Minutes of Hell: "The Draft Combine media sessions can be a bit tedious. After the tenth player tells you he wants to 'work hard' and his 'defense needs improvement,' you can start to lose interest. So when the opportunity to entice a bit of intrigue out of a player arises, you take it. For me, that moment came while speaking with Omri Casspi ... Given that Omri may be the first Israeli to play in the NBA, I asked him about the Israeli-Palestinian situation and, as his popularity back home grew, whether he would take the chance to comment on the matter publicly. 'I'm playing basketball. I don't want to involve sports and politics.' Thinking he had nipped the question in the bud, I prepared to return to the day's standard subject matter. But before I could revert back to banalities, he took a slightly different tact. 'Israel is beautiful. People don't understand it. Many Jews and Arabs live together in peace. I want to be an ambassador for Israel.' As he spoke, he began to glance downward and his tone became more severe. I grew worried that I had hit a nerve. But as he neared the end of his comments, he seemed relaxed. I think I may have been imposing my own anxiety about the question itself onto him."

THE FINAL WORD
Roundball Mining Company: A video breakdown of Carmelo Anthony's Game 5 fourth quarter.
The Two Man Game: Dallas has some serious needs.
Valley of the Suns: Leandro Barbosa, Keeper.

(Photos by Gregory Shamus, Seffi Magriso/NBAE, Euroleague Basketball via Getty Images)

LeBron James recently pointed out that he's happy in Cleveland.

It's no joke. Honestly, last night the Cavaliers expressed more joy in teammates than I can ever recall seeing at an NBA game. 

Things can change quickly. But watching the Cavaliers perform simultanously the most joyous, and perhaps the most dominating, performance of the year ... it is very hard to believe anyone would leave that.

You see the bench react when Mo Williams won that jumpball? Amazing, especially combined with such tremendous and selfless team effort in all facets of play.

I wrote a note to myself: If you had your pick of NBA teams to play for, you'd want to play for the Cavaliers. I'm sure it's not all peaches and cream at any job. But it's sure a lot more fun than most teams.

Gregory Dole wrote that great TrueHoop series about his time working as Leandro Barbosa's translator. (Links to the the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth parts of that series from two summers ago.)

Dole's now writing for the Abu Dhabi newspaper The National, just penned a column about the time he spent around LeBron James, which seems to have a little insight into the star's connection to his city:

I found myself in the middle of LeBron's whirlwind for several years. What started at the 2003 Atlanta All-Star game, where I rapped Jay-Z lyrics with one of LeBron's buddies, led to summers in Akron watching LeBron's off-season scrimmages. ...

During those summers around Akron, I realised that I was lucky to be a part of something special. Few were invited. I was there because I had contacts to decent players who would scrimmage against LeBron. The day of a game, I would receive a text message with a time and location. It was all very discreet.

One time I was asked to get some cases of bottled water, but came back with the wrong brand. LeBron was a Coca-Cola guy.

I headed back to the store and explained that I needed a different brand. When the clerk asked why, I told him that I was getting the water for LeBron and he only drank Dasani. As I drove back to the gym, I noticed the clerk was following me.

Like a character in a cop thriller, I then led the clerk on a wild chase through Akron, trying to lose the tail. The King's location would not be compromised.

LeBron has succeeded because of his Akron community. They nurtured him when the going was tough and celebrated along with him when the going got good. I doubt he ever leaves Cleveland.

(Photo by Gregory Shamus/Getty Images)

Credit the Spurs with a marvelous against-all-odds come-from-behind double overtime win against Phoenix.

There is a ton to say about this amazing game, but through it all, three times I found myself looking at something Mike D'Antoni was doing and wondering: "Is that smart?"

Let me say here, that I recognize Coach D'Antoni knows a ton more about basketball than I do. There are probably excellent reasons for all these things. But here is my view:

• In the second quarter, the Suns were rolling, and had a 16-point lead. The Spurs were staggering a little. I think almost everyone in the gym thought that, as long as the Spurs were unsure what to do on defense, the Suns had a moment there when they might just crack the game open. But then a few Suns got their third fouls, and D'Antoni sent them all to the bench, radically altering the line-ups, and dumping ice water on that Phoenix hot streak. It was anybody's game by halftime.
• Phoenix was down, and inbounded with about 35 seconds left -- and went really slowly. I thought they should step on it, and try to get two possessions. That's the rule of thumb -- shoot with around 30 seconds left, right? Instead they gave the ball back to San Antonio with less than 24 seconds left, and were forced to foul, which almost sealed the game.
• After Manu Ginobili's game-winning layup, Phoenix had no timeouts and no idea what to do. That was one major flaw. But it was born of using too many timeouts earlier. I remember the one with 19.5 seconds left, when the Suns used their final timeout. I cringed when I saw that. They were down three. Almost no matter what happened, to win this game they were going to have to score twice. Tell me, would you rather move the ball, scheme, make substitutions, and stop the clock with 20 seconds left, or the paltry few that the Spurs were likely to leave you after they got it back? D'Antoni's timeout did lead to Nash's good luck at the game-tying three-pointer, so it's hard to question that. But I do.

UPDATE:

A bunch more thoughts about that game:

• Dueling sentiments: San Antonio needed a friggin' Tim Duncan three -- his first of the season -- to beat the Suns at home, even when all the big Suns were in foul trouble. The Spurs may have won the battle, but the war favors Phoenix, right? On the other hand -- doesn't something weird always seem to happen to capsize the Suns when they play the Spurs in a big game? Maybe you can't count on a Tim Duncan three, but you can usually count on something.
• Let's not overlook the brilliance of Manu Ginobili's game-winner. He made it look easy. But it was still a friggin' layup, with less than two seconds left, against a good defensive team -- a team that has held him to about 30% shooting in recent games -- that was set up and waiting for him. Few players can do that. He's one of the best.
• Amare Stoudemire is an hombre. Even though his defense on Duncan is still shaky at times, it's still a battle for the ages we're seeing here. Stoudemire is more poised than ever. When he was on the floor, the Suns were +11, by far the best such mark in this game. He not only makes a lot of plays, but he also makes Steve Nash so much more of a threat. Also, let's be honest: his jumper is a thing of beauty. Big men who can shoot like that have something special -- because for them, that shot is available.
• Boris Diaw, Leandro Barbosa, Grant Hill ... plenty of Phoenix players missed big shots that I'm sure they'd like another crack at.
• The Phoenix offense is very different from last year. For long stretches of the game, O'Neal, Stoudemire, and Diaw are focal points of the offense. That means there are long stretches when Steve Nash is not expending so much energy getting pounded by Bruce Bowen. I think that could prove to be a major difference. Nash looked fresher in the late stages of this one, even though he's not any younger than last year and the year before.
• New Spur Ime Udoka did not have a good game. He missed some shots, and was also the poor sucker who had to be guarding Boris Diaw when the Frenchman made the pass of the game, behind his head to Leandro Barbosa for a lay up.
• Grant Hill -- never won a playoff series. He didn't do a ton to help his cause today. Not that one game plus/minus numbers mean much, but Hill tied Shaquille O'Neal and Brian Skinner for worst on the Suns, at minus 6. A couple of times he didn't seem to even notice some bounce passes coming from Steve Nash.
• Jeff Van Gundy was extremely classy. He and co-worker Mark Jackson are both rumored to be candidates to coach the Knicks. Van Gundy went way out of his way to promote Jackson as a candidate, while calling himself a mere "super delegate."
• Remember how last year the story was Tony Parker's repaired shooting form? He shot nearly 40% from downtown, and it was a key factor in bringing San Antonio a title. How is it his three-point field goal percentage is back to a measly 26%?
• Take yourself to when there were six and a half minutes to play. Phoenix was up three, with some foul trouble. San Antonio was at home. In your mind, who's the favorite at that point? I'd say it's just about even.
• At the end of regulation, if you watch the replay, Boris Diaw was all alone under the hoop. Not sure if there was a passing angle to get it to him, but he had a layup, and the ball was not far away.
• Has Bruce Bowen lost his magic? The Spurs were better tonight when he was on the bench. That's not normally true. I'm suspicious, however, that he may have played a role in Nash falling down on that key inbounds play when Phoenix burned a crucial timeout.
• When Tony Parker fouled out, the Spurs went for a brief time to a no-pass offense. Manu Ginobili just brought it up and scored. Not a bad system.

Canadian Gregory Dole lives in Brazil, and describes himself as a "freelance writer, English as a second language teacher, basketball coach, basketball scout, and world traveller." That's a career that, not too long ago, took him deep into the life of a certain Brazilian Blur (and, to a lesser extent, William Wesley).

In the spring and summer of 2003, before and after the NBA draft, Dole was Leandro Barbosa's translator. In the hopes of landing a book deal, Dole is sharing tales of his time with Barbosa. The first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth parts were published in recent days. This is the final, extra-long installment. When we left them, Dole and Barbosa have just left Phoenix where Barbosa has more or less been promised that he will be picked. It is the day before the draft, like today, when they board a flight for the New York area.

Fast-forwarding, we have just landed in Newark Airport on the red-eye flight out of Phoenix. We are both walking wounded. It is 7 am or thereabouts. We are exhausted. The whites of our eyes are all red.

Leandrinho has a workout in two hours with the New Jersey Nets.

We head to the hotel for an hour nap before going to see Rod Thorn and company. Leandrinho is not going to workout out today. He agreed to go to meet and greet the Nets staff, on the off chance that they might draft him. Of course, they want to see him shoot and run around. Lightning does not strike twice, nor is Leandrinho going to put together a Herculean effort to workout again on a bum hip. So that is that.

Just tell them it is not going to happen.

Can I keep the practice shorts?

They are all yours.

After spending a moment to gaze lovingly on the new Nets shorts I would be rocking at pick up runs from the St. Luke court in Ottawa, Canada to the Sao Carlos Transit Authority Workers Association gymnasium in Brazil, I go to face the music of the New Jersey Nets staff.

Leandrinho is not working out today. He just cant go. He is injured and exhausted from the red-eye flight, I tell the assembled Net-ters. The Nets are not pushy. I think they have already decided who they will be drafting [editors note: they took Zoran Planinic] and worth noting, the guy they drafted is no longer in the NBA.

In any event, we are asked to wait around until Rod Thorn calls us in for an interview. More of the same. We really like your game and you are one of the players we are thinking about drafting. I give my best effort at translating, but Leandrinho is not really listening. He is floating around the Phoenix paradise in his mind, chatting up leggy blondes and basking in the desert heat, surrounded by cacti and rattlesnakes.

Interview over and done, we are in the home stretch. My buddy Will has driven down from Montreal to take in the draft. We go to Spanish Harlem to get Leandrihos hair prepared for the draft. Settling upon a barber from the Dominican Republic, Leandrinho gets styled up.

And then the Seattle Sonics call, wanting to know if Leandrinho is interested in going to Europe for a year. He is not in the least bit interested. Phoenix on the mind.

I then receive word that Danny Ainge has called. His "sources" in Phoenix tell him that Leandrinho put on a show at the "secret" workout. From what I can gather, Ainge is very disappointed. He wanted Leandrinho to put on that show in Boston. To hear that the kid went to see his former employers in Phoenix must have ticked Ainge off a little. (Of course, he is not aware of the near-miracle I pulled off to get the kid to workout.)

Draft night finally arrives, and Leandrinho and I are exhausted.

As the draft unfolds, I get word that the Suns and, surprisingly, the Toronto Raptors are burning up the phones to get an extra pick to select Leandrinho. We are shocked to see both the Suns and the Celtics pass on Leandrinho with their picks, given the level of interest they have shown. The first round is almost over.

Another agent sitting nearby, who represents Argentinas Carlos Delfino, points out that it is probably a good thing if Leandrinho slips to the second round. Being a first round pick is really a sham if you are a talented player. Basically, first round picks are denied the option of pursuing free agency for up to five years, which for many players amounts to a significant portion of their careers. Furthermore, agents cant negotiate much on contracts of first rounders because the salaries are basically fixed.

Delfinos guy was saying Leandrinho could kick butt for two years and then hit the free agent market, like Gilbert Arenas and Carlos Boozer. (This anti-first round argument came to me later when I read about Leandrinhos first workout opponent, Marquis Daniels. He went undrafted but played well for one year with the Mavericks and then cashed in with reported six-year, $38 million contract, which is similar to the deal Leandrinho got after playing in the league for four years.

But that will not be Leandros fate. After waiting through almost the entire first round, the San Antonio Spurs pick him twenty-eighth overall. David Stern hands him a Spurs cap that I still have in a box somewhere in Canada.

I do not see Leandrinho get drafted or take the stage to meet Stern. Arturo and I are too busy celebrating. I practically choke him out, holding onto his neck with both hands as we jump up and down. It is an awesome moment that I will never forget.

Within minutes we are in a suite outside the Madison Square Garden auditorium, phoning Leandrinhos family in Brazil. Now it turns out that he was in fact picked by the Suns using the Spurs pick. The Spurs had no interest in the Brazilian. Already happy to be drafted, finding out that he was indeed a Phoenix Sun makes the moment all the more dreamy for Leandrinho.

Following the craziness of the draft, we might have gone out and painted the town red. We do not. We go to a nice Brazilian restaurant called the Plataforma in Manhattan. To our surprise, the place is empty except for one ongoing party. Derek Jeter and a small group of his friends are celebrating his birthday.

That is Derek Jeter, the top baseball player for the New York Yankees. He is the king of this town, I explain to Leandrinho. Of course, the Brazilian has no idea and no interest in meeting King Derek. He is more interested in helping after helping of barbecued beef, pork, lamb, chicken hearts, chicken medallions wrapped in bacon, cheese, and of course, Brazilian-style
rice and beans. The classic Brazilian churrascaria grub.

When we finish eating, Leandrinho and I are exhausted and ready to sleep. Tomorrow morning we will be heading off to Phoenix. However we have promised William Wesley and LeBron James people that we will stop by Jay-Zs 40/40 club in Manhattan for LeBrons after party.

(Photo: Getty Images) 

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Canadian Gregory Dole lives in Brazil, and describes himself as a "freelance writer, English as a second language teacher, basketball coach, basketball scout, and world traveller." That's a career that, not too long ago, took him deep into the life of a certain Brazilian Blur (and, to a lesser extent, William Wesley).

In the spring and summer of 2003, before and after the NBA draft, Dole was Leandro Barbosa's translator. In the hopes of landing a book deal, Dole is sharing tales of his time with Barbosa. The first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth parts were published in recent days. There are more to come. When we left them, Dole and Barbosa have flown to Phoenix for a last-minute team visit to the Phoenix Suns. Barbosa is injured and agreed to the trip only on the condition that he not work out. Dole has, at the urging of the Suns, talked Barbosa into taking the court merely to shoot in front of the assembled executives. 

In the rush to get the workout over and done with, Leandrinho keeps on his street shoes and does not bother to take off his new Adidas watch. Not your traditional basketball attire.

No matter.

Leandrinho goes out in street shoes with his watch on and has one of those days when everything goes in. He does not miss. And with every drill, the assistant coach running the workout adds more and more details, with increasing intensity and speed.

The Brazilian has that dog pound attitude intact, and hits a homerun. The Suns executives can not hide their smiles. They have their prize and it looks like they have a good chance of getting their man.

Workout over, Leandrinho does a taped interview, and puts on the kind of charm you seldom see in athletes. He knows how to work a room and make everyone love him. And they did.

Of course, he is still fuming mad at me for the perceived deception of taking him to Phoenix for an “interview” and instead going through a full workout. There is no love for brother Dole.

Showered and ready to leave, we are instead invited to lunch. The Suns want to do some medical checks on Leandrinho’s hip that afternoon so we will be staying around a while longer.

Walking through the basement of the arena, Griff tries to enliven his guests. “We really like him. Yeah, we really, really like him. So if he is around at our pick, tell Leandrinho that we are going to draft him,” says the Suns man.

I duly translate this awesome bit of news -- that justifies, essentially, Leandrinho's entire basketball career to this point, all those drills at the insistence of his drill sergeant brother, not to mention the last few months of traveling all over the nation trying to impress a team.

No response.

I try again. “So, you do realize that this guy just said the Suns are going to draft you. That’s some good news, no? You are a going to be a Phoenix Sun,” I say.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

More famous last words from Leandrinho.

“Dog Pound” then takes us to a buffet lunch in the VIP suite at the nearby Arizona Diamondbacks stadium. Below us the Diamondbacks are playing a matinee game. It is pretty f’n cool.

But still no show of emotion from Leandrinho. Even “Dog Pound” is thrown by the Brazilian’s sour demeanor. We go to the hospital to take x-rays of Leandrinho’s hip. The doctor explains that, seeing as the Suns want to draft him, they want to make sure that he is in sound medical condition. A light bulb goes off. Suddenly, at this odd moment, Leandrinho realizes for the first time that he is really going to get drafted by the Suns.

He goes from dead serious to seriously happy as the team of Suns doctors begin to poke, probe, and x-ray him.

Medicals resolved, “Dog Pound” takes us to some fancy mall in Scottsdale as we kill time waiting for our flight.

We leave the air-conditioned hospital and jump into the air-conditioned van outside the exit doors, which is to say we were constantly surrounded by “air-conditionedness.”

We have not yet felt the Phoenix heat.

As we drive to the mall, I remember a classmate of mine when I was a kid who had what I thought at the time was a really cool t-shirt.

The front of the shirt was a picture of a thermometer, a smiling Sun, and a fried egg on a patch of asphalt. Below the design was the phrase, “I survived 125 degree heat in Phoenix.”

Fascinated by the idea of being able to cook food on the street, I never forgot about the t-shirt or the city of Phoenix. Getting out of the chilled meat locker of a van, I am knocked back by a fiery wall of heat.

I laugh. “What? Are you kidding me? It’s hotter than hell here. It’s officially stupid hot. Who can live here?”

Phoenix is not my sort of climate. We run to the mall to escape the heat.

Once inside, it is clear that whereas Phoenix might have seemed like hell to me, to Leandrinho this city is heaven.

Inside the mall is a sea of tall blondes, packed wall to wall, escalator to escalator. “This place," he barks, "is amazing! Delicious. And more delicious. I like this town, I really like this town. This is awesome that they want to draft me,” says Leandrinho.

No joke, I still believe that Leandrinho liked Phoenix more than the other cities because of the ridiculously high percentage of blondes in the city.

“But it is so hot, and it’s not even summer yet,” I said.

“I like it,” said Leandrinho, “it is sort of like the climate in Bauru.”

“Bauru is nothing like it. I’ve been to Bauru and it never gets hot like this. There is no desert in, near or even far from Bauru,” I replied.

“Oh Bauru gets pretty hot, you just may not have been there on a particularly hot day,” said the defender of Phoenix. From that point on, there was no convincing Leandro otherwise. He was in love with Phoenix.

(Photo: Getty Images) 

Canadian Gregory Dole lives in Brazil, and describes himself as a "freelance writer, English as a second language teacher, basketball coach, basketball scout, and world traveller." That's a career that, not too long ago, took him deep into the life of a certain Brazilian Blur (and, to a lesser extent, William Wesley).

In the spring and summer of 2003, before and after the NBA draft, Dole was Leandro Barbosa's translator. In the hopes of landing a book deal, Dole is sharing tales of his time with Barbosa. The first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh parts were published in recent days. There are more to come. When we left them, Dole and Barbosa are about to embark on a secret, last-minute trip to make one final team visit, to the Phoenix Suns.

We leave Cleveland Hopkins Airport in the early hours of the morning, touching down at our destination just before lunchtime. It has been touch and go as to whether or not we will actually go to Phoenix, but I have convinced the Brazilian that there will be no basketball – just a meeting with the Suns.

With that condition, he agrees to make the flight.

The Phoenix Suns errand guy, a high energy and sunny disposition type, picks us up at the airport. He introduces himself and speaks of his personality, which he refers to as “dog pound." He is infectiously enthusiastic. Going on and on about the dog pound and whatnot. If something requires an extraordinary effort, it is dog pound time. Members of the dog pound rise to the occasion.

It is dog pound time for Leandrinho.

He can hardly walk. NBA executives are phoning to say he might not get drafted at all. We just flew across the country at an early hour at the last minute, on the off-chance the Suns might love him. The media is saying the Suns have promised their pick to a Serbian kid named Zarko.

No guts no glory.

We drive into the basement level of the Phoenix arena. The practice court is buried deep in the building. As we enter the dressing room, I’m thinking it’s a long way back to the Brazilian leagues. There are no walk-in whirlpools at the gym in Bauru. Or Franca. Or Aracatuba. Or Piracicaba. Or Analandia.

As he enters the dressing room, Leandrinho is determined that he’s going in for just an interview. He sees the practice uniform the Suns staff has laid out for him on a chair, and shoots me a look that expresses the kinds of things that came out Coach Hubie Brown’s mouth back in Memphis.

“I am not working out for these guys,” says Leandrinho.

I can only respond with “Ok.”

I talk to the Suns’ dog pound guy, who puts me in touch with Suns’ brass man Dave Griffin.

“Dave, I don’t know if this is a misunderstanding, you guys thinking he could work out and flying him in and so on, but I don’t think Leandrinho can work out. He is in a lot of pain because of his hip injury.”

Says Griff, as they call him, “Well can he work out just a little bit? You know, shoot around some and that sort of thing? Nothing too fast-paced.”

“I will go ask Leandrinho,” and I go to face the kid. He is fuming. He will not look at me. It is not good.

“Do you think you could do a little bit of a workout? Something light?” I ask, hoping for the best. I do not need to wait for an answer.

“It’s a no go, Dave,” I say.

“But all the coaches are here. Bryan’s here. Jerry’s here. Everyone is here to see the kid. Do you think we could try stretching him out to see if he could get loose enough to get out there?” asks Griffin. I could see in his expression that he really wants to get Leandrinho on the court in front of his bosses. Like the Boston Celtics staff, there is no hiding the fact that he is a fan. Griffin too had drunk the Leandrinho kool-aid.

“I will ask,” I say.

“Look I think you should go try and stretch out and see what you can do for these people. They just want a light workout, some shooting around. Nothing serious. The trainer will stretch you out and you will feel better,” I say to Leandrinho. The polite interpretation of the look he shot back at me is "bug off."

It’s worth mentioning that Griffin is right beside me as I have this conversation, but it is all happening in Portuguese. I don’t think Griffin understands the severity of the situation. He’s thinking one thing, perhaps that Leandrinho’s and I are arguing over blondes versus brunettes, meanwhile the truth of the matter is that Leandrinho has no interest whatsoever in working out for the Phoenix Suns.

I am more worried about Leandrinho biting my head off. Of course, with his gimp hip, I could probably outrun him. Maybe. Either way, it’s a tough spot to be in. (And people think being an NBA translator is all glitz and glamour. Let me dispel that notion right now!)

Finally Leandrinho looks up, but not to my face, and says: “I will go out and try, but just remember I am doing this for you, you son of a b----.”

(Listen, if Leandrinho goes on to lead the Suns to championship glory one day, and is placed on the ring of fire or whatever they call it, you might want to put an asterisk beside his name and in the footnotes include mention of my heroic deed to get the kid to tryout for the Suns. He worked out for the Suns, and he only did it because I asked him! Write that down. If Suns fans want to send gifts of appreciation, I am not filled with so much pride and ego to turn them down. Cash is always a nice way of saying thank you. Contact Henry.)

Slowly, and with trepidation, Leandrinho pulls on the Suns gear.

(Photograhy: Getty Images) 

Canadian Gregory Dole lives in Brazil, and describes himself as a "freelance writer, English as a second language teacher, basketball coach, basketball scout, and world traveller." That's a career that, not too long ago, took him deep into the life of a certain Brazilian Blur (and, to a lesser extent, William Wesley).

In the spring and summer of 2003, before and after the NBA draft, Dole was Leandro Barbosa's translator. In the hopes of landing a book deal, Dole is sharing tales of his time with Barbosa. The first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth parts were published in recent days. There are more to come. When we left them, Dole is on an errand to find a live chicken, in the hopes that some traditional Brazilian healing, or something, might cure Leandro's gimpy hip in time for him to impress a team before the draft. If nothing works, Leandro, his brother Arturo, and Dole might all go home to Brazil with nothing to show for it.

I am sorry. Ohio state law prohibits the sale of live chickens, says the lady at the markets fresh chicken stall, but we do have some wonderfully tasty organic chickens. Dead, of course. Why exactly do you need a live chicken?

I make a quick decision and buy some organic chicken. Its a lot smaller than the good old steroid-fed chickens they sell in stores these days, and it certainly wont pass as a live chicken.

I take it home to Arturo. When I walk in, Leandrinho is covered in popcorn and egg yolk. I dont ask but instead help myself to the remaining popcorn in the pot. Thankfully, Arturo has changed his mind on the need for a live chicken. Apparently there was some miscommunication.

Indeed.

He beats the remaining eggs and batters up the organic chicken a la Milanesa. The tasty entrée is accompanied by a delicious spinach salad with a white vinegar and salt dressing, and the traditional Brazilian beans sautéed in garlic. Arturo may have missed his calling. I tell him to open up a restaurant. We settle in for an early dinner.

Leandrinhos hip takes several days to get better, and it feels like forever. Time is flying by now and with every day comes a lost opportunity to work out for an NBA club. Leandro, his brother, and myself are a pretty depressed crew. What had started out with great promise is now beginning to go down the drain.

Arturo does his best to keep things light, making nice dinners for all of us and inviting in other players Leandrinho has met while training in Cleveland. One of those guys, Andrew Mitchell of Kent State, has gone on to great success in Sweden. Every time I check on the internet, he is leading the Swedish league in scoring and winning championships. Another guy, Juby Johnson from the Miami University of Ohio, has gone on to great success winning championships in Croatias top league. Of note, another player who was training in Cleveland with Leandrinho during that time was a lightly-regarded center from Kent State named Antonio Gates. NFL fans have come to know him as the record-setting tight end for the San Diego Chargers.

To those passing by during those days at the Speed Strength training facility on Euclid Avenue in Cleveland, ours was as motley a crew as you might find, what with undersized basketball players from Kent State and unknown Brazilians. Funny how all of those athletes have gone on to greatness around the globe, in Sweden, Croatia, the NBA and the NFL. Few would have banked on it in the spring of 2003.

I had a lot of time to see Arturo and Leandro interact. Years later, Id hear their story from Enio Vechi, a former Brazilian National team coach:

I was coach at a club called Continental outside of the city of Sao Paulo. Its a really grimy industrial area, near where Arturo, his mother and family lived. Arturo was about 22 years old when he showed up one day and asked if he could train with my team. He was already by then in the military and had no intention of playing basketball professionally but wanted a team to train with because he loved basketball so much. He had an intense enthusiasm for the game so I really could not say no. It was then that our friendship began. Sometime later, Arturo asked me if he could bring along his kid brother to watch us practice. In fact, practice time was when he was supposed to be babysitting his brother, so in fact he was combining both. I said I did not mind. When the five-year old kid showed up, I was shocked by how skinny he was. Whereas Arturo was built like a bull, Leandrinho was a stick figure. He was really scrawny, all skin and bones with really long arms. I cant tell you that I would have ever guessed he would have become an NBA player. In any event, little by little Arturo would ask me for drills that he could teach Leandrinho. And so it started. Arturo would pass on a drill to the kid, the kid would master it and Arturo would pester me for more drills and so on and so forth. As the kid got older, Arturo would ask me for help in finding places for his brother to train. When he became a teenager, Arturo and I would discuss which teams were best for him to play on. I did it because we were old friends. Never would I have guessed Leandrinho would go on to become the prodigy that he is today. I dont believe anyone did. The fact is, Arturo guided him and pushed him. Thanks to Arturos perseverance, the NBA became a reality.

As for the hip, nothing seems to be working. We spend our days going from medical treatment to rehab in the pool at the Athletic Club. The kid is not getting better. Going back to Brazil with his tail between his legs seems more possible than ever.

Leandrinho, Arturo and I evaluated the implications of statements made by Rob Babcock of the Minnesota Timberwolves. As a member of an NBA committee that evaluates draft prospects, or something to that effect, Babcock phoned to say that there was a strong possibility that Leandrinho would go undrafted in the first round. It was hard to believe this, however we went through the various implications. We concluded in the end that there was no point withdrawing from the draft. In fact, it was more like that if he went undrafted and no great offers came from Europe, he would go back to the Brazilian league and become the countrys highest paid player, if only because of the publicity of having tried to enter the NBA. So, like Sinatra used to sing, it was all or nothing at all. The NBA or bust.

We were sitting around watching a Jean-Claude Van Damme flick when we got the call that the Phoenix Suns wanted to fly Leandrinho in for a secret workout.

It was all very mysterious and exciting.

Boston had wanted to see the kid as well, but Leandrinho had declined the opportunity and so I had assumed there would be no more workouts before the NBA draft.

In any event, Phoenix had had their eyes on the Brazilian ever since they saw the famous highlight tape. They phoned earlier on in the
draft process to express their interest in the kid, but no workout dates could be arranged because of scheduling conflicts. At the next-to-last-minute then, the Suns management had offered to Leandrinho fly in to do an interview, even if he could not go through an on-court workout. Or so I was told.

With that we went to Phoenix.

(Photography: Getty Images)

Canadian Gregory Dole lives in Brazil, and describes himself as a "freelance writer, English as a second language teacher, basketball coach, basketball scout, and world traveller." That's a career that, not too long ago, took him deep into the life of a certain Brazilian Blur (and, to a lesser extent, William Wesley).

In the spring and summer of 2003, before and after the NBA draft, Dole was Leandro Barbosa's translator. In the hopes of landing a book deal, Dole is sharing tales of his time with Barbosa. The first, second, third, fourth, and fifth parts were published in recent days. There are more to come. When we left them, Barbosa and Dole are convinced they are about to miss a flight to work out for the Boston Celtics, and Barbosa's hip is giving him trouble.

In fact, we arrive at the airport with few minutes to spare. It turns out not to be a problem. All flights have been delayed for hours because of thunderstorms.

At the airport, we pile back some crap food. It is horrible but we are hungry. A girl walks by as we eat. Leandrinho and I turn to each other and he says in Portuguese, "that does not look like an American butt."

The girl turns around and says in Brazilian Portuguese, "that's because, you shameless men, I am from Brazil." But she's laughing.

She and Leandrinho get into discussion about the general lack of what they call deliciousness in American women, mostly stemming from what they decide is a flat-butt gene in American DNA. "They are all breasts up here in the USA. Big, huge breasts. Like big dairy cows. But no butts. I don't understand it. I don't even understand how they manage to stand up straight," exclaimed the woman.

She has never heard of Leandrinho and doesn't really believe that he was trying out for the NBA. After several attempts at convincing her that this is a legitimate story, I give up.

Leandrinho is in pain. His hip is stiffening up. The ice is not helping. I do not know what we are going to do tomorrow in Boston. The souls of the dead are going to need to come through big time on this one if Leandrinho is to have a hope in hell of competing tomorrow.

We arrive in Boston at 3 am. It is Saturday. A nice fellow from the Celtics staff has stayed around until the early hours of the morning to give us a lift to the hotel near the Celtics practice facility. I am surprised by the diligence. I tell the Celtics guy that Leandrinho won't be able to go at 9 am. He is exhausted and in pain. It hardly seems fair to ask him to suit up and go through a workout under these conditions. Leandrinho pleads with me to convince the Celtics staffer as we drive to hotel. I try every which way to communicate the gravity of the situation, but the fellow is not having any of it.

You know, we are going to be in Boston on Sunday as well. Is there any chance we can have a workout rescheduled? I ask.

Responds the Celtics man: We can't do much as far as rescheduling. All the owners are going to be at the facility tomorrow to see Leandrinho. This is a big workout for us. Everyone here loves Leandrinho.

Wow. This is more complicated than I thought. The Celtics are taking this workout seriously. In the morning, I would find out more.

Sharing a double room at the hotel, Leandrinho and I go through the current predicament. You know, I really can't work out. My hip is screwed up, comments Leandrinho.

You dont think you could test it out tomorrow, you know sort of like you did in Memphis after having warmed it up for a while, I gently ask.

No chance. I am done, says Leandrinho.

I would worry about it, but at this point, I can't keep my eyes open. I drift off into a place far away from the Celtics, the NBA, the draft and the constant anxiety of what will happen on June 26.

Waking up to the sound of the phone ringing, I quickly realize we are behind schedule. The Celtics staffer is in the lobby of the hotel already. I pull Leandrinho off his bed and help him get ready. He is not in the state of mind or body to tackle an NBA workout. What am I going to tell the Celtics? I dont bother opening up the topic of Leandrinho working out as we drive to the facility. It hardly seems worth it. I will wait to face the music once we get into the gym.

The Celtics facility sits next door to a fitness club, in a wooded area some miles outside of Boston. Its a beautiful spot. Just inside the facility there is an homage to Red Auerbach. The Celtics organization is living history. So many of the games greats were a part of this team and you feel it as soon as you enter Celtic-dom.

The way Leandrinho is feeling, it doesn't seem like he will be joining the ongoing history of the green and white.

We meet some more Celtics cronies. They are enthused at the sight of Leandrinho. These people love him. I assume that they too drunk the kool-aid, so to speak, of the legendary Leandrinho videotape. Its great to meet you. I have become a big fan of yours. Weve been watching your tape the last few days, says one of them.

I jump at the opportunity and report that the Sonics loved the Brazilian, slightly exaggerating by saying that he taught Kirk Hinrich a lesson up in Seattle. Seeing as the Celtics draft after the Sonics, I notice the assembled Celtics people take notes. Theyll probably be working the phones to speak with their connections to find out if in fact the Sonics love Leandrinho.

Well I hope he falls to us at 16, says another Celtics crony. What is going on here? Is this guy serious? Are the Celtics that keen on the kid? Meeting Danny Ainge confirms that the Celtics are mad for Leandrinho. Once again, I find myself getting a kick out of meeting an NBA legend. Once again, Leandrinho has never heard of him.

Ainge pleads for Leandrinho to work out. The kid decides to give it a whirl. However the Celtics trainer has other ideas. As he puts the Brazilian through a stretching routine, he says that there is next to no chance that the kid can go today.

A few minutes later, having given up on trying to stretch out Leandrinho's hip, the trainer leads us up some stairs to a stationary bicycle. Struggling to even climb stairs, the prospects look dim. He can't even pedal the bike. Ainge joins us but stares out onto the practice court and the team owners below. I might be wrong, but it looks as though Ainge is saddened by the fact that the workout is not going to happen.

Skipping forward a few more hours, we are back at the hotel. Leandrinho is crying. While he displayed no emotion during the attempted workout, he breaks down over his run of bad luck. His damned hip won't cooperate with his dreams. Things are never as bad as they seem, however at this moment in time things do look pretty poor. We get on the phone with Arturo. In true military spirit, he urges his younger brother to push on with the words of we came, we saw, we conquered. Lots of crying later, the group is reinvigorated to push on.

We are once again in Cleveland. Getting Leandrinho's hip back to work is priority number one an
d once again Arturo is on the phone with Ivete in Brazil. I am not privy to the discussion, but within a few minutes, Arturo is in the kitchen cooking up home remedies. I decide to leave.

When I come back, there is a big pot of popcorn and a carton of eggs. Arturo asks me for a live chicken. In the state that I am in, I decide not to ask questions. If we need a live chicken to make things happen, so be it. I have always had a soft side for homeopathic medical solutions, modern science be damned. If a live chicken can help mend a hip, I am all in baby! With that, I head out the door and catch a train to Clevelands famous West Side Market as scenes from the film "Bull Durham" dance through my head.

(Photograph: Getty Images)

Canadian Gregory Dole lives in Brazil, and describes himself as a "freelance writer, English as a second language teacher, basketball coach, basketball scout, and world traveller." That's a career that, not too long ago, took him deep into the life of a certain Brazilian Blur (and, to a lesser extent, William Wesley).

In the spring and summer of 2003, before and after the NBA draft, Dole was Leandro Barbosa's translator. In the hopes of landing a book deal, Dole is sharing tales of his time with Barbosa. The first, second, third, and fourth parts were published in recent days. There are plenty more to come. When we left them, Dole had just resolved to confront Dwyane Wade, who had been quoted as saying he had killed Barbosa in a pre-draft workout.

We are in New York. The City. Actually, we are far from the city limits, in a leafy suburb with nothing going on. They have flown us in first-class, a first for Leandrinho. As we have long heard, the Knicks do it up.

At the workout, who shows up but Reece Gaines and a skinny guard from St. John's University. Reece relays the rumor that Kirk Hinrich's agent freaked out when he heard Leandrinho was going to be at the workout and pulled his client out.

Watching the workout is the then-injured star of the Knicks, Antonio McDyess. He greets us with a great big smile. No question, he is right up there as one of the nicest people around.

The workout becomes a battle between Leandrinho and Gaines. The third wheel is the kid from St. John's. Leandrinho kills them both. Gaines isn't really all that good. He was great in college, but outside of his collegiate system, he is not impressive. As it turns out, he did not stick in the NBA very long.

Frustrated by the skillful Brazilian, Gaines starts getting dirty. As Leandrinho goes in for a layup, Gaines hits him hard on his hip. The workout was going well up until this point. Having re-injured his hip, the Brazilian takes it down a notch and coasts for the remainder. We leave the practice facility somewhat downcast, Leandrinho all the more so, strapped with a pile of ice to his hip.

The problem is that he has two more workouts in the next two days. I ask Leandrinho what he wants to do. Ever the competitor, his response is simple. "I want to play. That is why I came to the USA. I am going to push it. This is my shot at the NBA and I am not going to quit so easily. It's a long drop back to the Brazilian league and I am not going down without a fight."

And with that, we get into our waiting limo, onwards to the airport and the city of Memphis. At the hotel in Memphis, we both crash out. I later wake up and to go for a walk.

The hotel sits hard by a hospital for children with cancer. Taking the elevator down to the lobby, I am joined by a young family. The child is bald. I assume the worst. Moments like these give great perspective on one's own hardships. I realize that things will work out alright for Leandrinho. He is an awesome talent. Someone in the NBA is going to realize that and give him a chance, even if he seems to be on a run of bad luck at the moment. The fact is, things could be much worse right now. We could both be sharing the fate of that poor kid in the elevator.

When I get around to heading back to the hotel room, I get lost. So many hotels in so few days, I am disoriented. I am on the fifth floor tonight, or is it the fifteenth? 1553 or 1535? 513 or 531? I should go to reception and ask, but with my manly sense of direction, I figure I can find my room on my own. I don't.

An hour later, I do.

The Grizzlies don't pay for breakfast as it turns out, which only really affects me, as I put a premium on the first meal of the day. When we get to Rhodes College, where the Grizzlies run their workouts, I come across a hastily organized spread of peanut butter, jam and bagels. Fine, by any normal standard, but decidedly minor league compared to much of what we have seen. With all due respect though, as I realize the team had recently relocated to Memphis, I get the feeling I am back in Brazil. It doesn't feel like the NBA.

I make my way to find the team trainer, who will prove to be essential to Leandrinho's workout today. He hears my accent and recognizes that I am Canadian. He asks where I am from. I say Ottawa. Turns out that he is from nearby Renfrew County! Renfrew is a small town nearby where basketball's inventor James Naismith was born and raised. I make the point that it was our people in the Ottawa Valley who invented the game and that the assembled Americans should be thankful. He checks to see if anyone is listening and heartily agrees. Turns out he had been in Vancouver with the team and then relocated to Memphis. Not to downplay Memphis, because I love ribs and rock 'n' roll, but few cities can compete with the sheer beauty and quality of life that Vancouver offers. I doubt that, growing up in small town Ontario, this guy ever imagined he'd be stuck in Memphis.

The trainer, whose name I think was Scott, works his magic. Leandrinho's hip flexor is warmed up and ready to go. We head out to the court. At the far basket, I see Dwyane Wade shooting jumpshots with Troy Bell and the high-flyer from Duke University. I exchange pleasantries with Bell and head right to Wade.

The showdown I've been waiting for.

I launch into my tirade. "Hey. You. What are doing talking s--- about Leandrinho? That you whipped him at the Golden State workout. Are you kidding me? You dunked on him one time when he came to help from the weak side and you're going to tell a journalist that you dominated him at a workout? Because that's about the only time you got the better of the kid."

"Those weren't my words, man," says Wade, "I didn't say that. I don't know where that report came from. Those weren't my words. Those weren't my words."

What can I say?

I take Wade at his word and go find a hole to crawl into.

The workout goes well or as well as it can. At every pause in play, Leandrinho goes back to the training table to get stretched out. He is clearly in pain. But he battles through and plays well. He shoots well. He defends well. At one point he pins Troy Bell's shot attempt on the backboard with his elbow. It is impressive.

While Leandrinho gives it his best, Coach Hubie Brown is clearly unimpressed. The old-timer interrupts the workout and tears apart the assembled potential draftees. "What do you punks think this is? What you guys are too good for Memphis?" he barks. "You think Memphis is no good so you are going to play like a bunch of bums? You think you can come in here and disrespect the coaching staff?" He goes on and on, as only old men can. His language is not suitable for TrueHoop. One too many F-bombs.

But the speech has its effect. The players turn it up a notch. Leandrinho wasn't listening as he used the opportunity to hit the training table one more time. It didn't matter. Leandrinho was taking Memphis as seriously as any other workout. Memphis in the NBA was still a huge upgrade from the state leagues in Brazil's heartland.

At the end of the workout, Jerry West pul
ls up and introduces himself. "Hi, I'm Jerry West," he says.

"No s---," I respond under my breath.

"Tell Leandro that he has been blessed by God."

Taken aback, I turn to Leandro to translate. I tell Leandro and he responds in Portuguese, "Oh. Ok. Umm, what a nice old man."

"Ah, well he's also one of the NBA's all-time best, so that is pretty nice thing for him to say," I respond through laughter.

As West praises Leandrinho, I can't help but to think that these workouts tell a small part of the story of that Barbosa does in a game. If only they could have seen him play in Brazil this past year. Now the NBA teams are only getting a sliver of what the kid can really do.

It is a depressing thought. I need to get my mind right. I have more psychological tests with the Grizzlies resident quack. Once again, the translation of the text takes forever. And then there is a question and answer with the psychologist. I check my watch. We are on pace to miss our flight to Boston. In a classic moment during the Q and A, Leandrinho turns to me and says, "just answer the questions yourself. To make it look like we are going through the questions, let's just chat about the weather or something and then you can respond to the psychologist with an answer."

Mentally exhausted after the grueling exam, we head out the door running to catch a ride to the airport. We might miss the flight.

(Photo: Getty Images)

Canadian Gregory Dole lives in Brazil, and describes himself as a "freelance writer, English as a second language teacher, basketball coach, basketball scout, and world traveller." That's a career that, not too long ago, took him deep into the life of a certain Brazilian Blur (and, to a lesser extent, William Wesley).

In the spring and summer of 2003, before and after the NBA draft, Dole was Leandro Barbosa's translator. In the hopes of landing a book deal, Dole is sharing tales of his time with Barbosa. The first, second, and third parts were published in recent days. There are plenty more to come. When we left them, Dole and Barbosa have endured some disappointing pre-draft workouts, and are on their way to lunch at Chris Mullin's house.

As we wait for lunch to be served, I sit on a couch in [Chris] Mullin's living room and talk hockey with the man himself.

"You want a beer?" he asks.

I'd heard he was an alcoholic at one point in his life. I am not sure what to say. I say nothing. He says nothing.

My team, the Ottawa Senators, is playing against the New Jersey Devils in the playoffs. Being a New York guy, Mullin naturally roots for the Devils. For someone who became a basketball fan in the 80s, the entire situation is incredibly bizarre and surreal. Mullin is a nice guy, but he is pretty normal. It dawns on me that idolizing athletes is moronic, no offense to Chris.

Mullin offers me a beer again. This time he says he is just joking.

Sometime later, in walks Mike Dunleavy jr. and Jiri Welsch. Welsch is a big hockey fan, favoring the Senators as well, because the team features some of Welsch's Czech comrades. Junior favours switching the channel to the basketball game. I begin to protest, as this is Game 7, but then I figure, these guys are basketball players, after all.

In any event, the Senators end up losing. I expected as much. Mullin jokingly offers beers again. What is up with that? I feel like saying I would love a nice, cold, frothy beer.

Lunch is served. We watch some basketball and then hitch a ride back to the hotel with Junior. For a guy who is constantly berated by the media and fans in the Bay Area, I am impressed by Junior's self-confidence.

We spend the rest of the time checking out San Francisco on foot. We head into an internet café and I do an email interview with nbadraft.net for Leandrinho. All is well. We are ready for the next workout in Seattle.

Arriving in Seattle, Dwane Casey picks us up at the airport. He is so nice that it is hard to believe he is being serious, but I think he is.

Leandrinho has it in his mind that he needs to step up his game some more. The stage is set. After we check into the hotel, I see Kirk Hinrich, star of the University of Kansas, walking the hallways. Suprisingly, Leandrinho knows of him, having recently watched him lose to Syracuse in the NCAA championship. He was impressed by Hinrich but hardly intimidated. Leandrinho isn't really impressed by college basketball. The workout also includes Chris Thomas from Notre Dame and Troy Bell from Boston College. We all meet for dinner with the staff of the SuperSonics the night before the workout, and then I find myself having to do more psychological tests. It's a difficult one. It's in English, and even I don't understand it.

Long story short, Leandrinho kills everyone in the workouts. It's a damn massacre. Under the watchful eye of the chairman of Starbucks and managing owner of the SuperSonics, Leandrinho hits every shot. Beats every defender to the rim for easy layups. Makes highlight reel passes to cutters for open layups in the game of two on two. It is a show.

He embarrasses Hinrich so much that Hinrich blows his cool. At one point, Leandro crosses Hinrich over and the Kansas star lands on his backside. He has lost his concentration. The rest of his workout is a wash.

After the show, in walks Sue Bird. Wow. Long live the WNBA. Leandrinho is more taken by the blonde who is with her, Lauren from Australia. Brazilians love blondes. I think I can state that as a generalization that goes across the board.

And then the pivotal moment occurs. As Leandrinho cools down following the workout, the Sonics trainer walks in and asks him to go back out on the court and run a sprint test. Without thinking, Leandrinho heads back out to the court.

I'm not happy. "He has just cooled down. Do you think it is necessary to run now?" I say to the trainer. "Oh it will be really quick. He's okay to run," responds the trainer. "Well I think he better stretch out again. He shouldn't take chances with getting injured," I say.

I turn to Leandrinho and say, "you should stretch out again, just to make sure that you are loose."

"No I am okay, I can go," says the Brazilian.

Leandrinho goes out and strains his hip flexor. Many agility tests later with the team doctor, and we are sitting in the reception area waiting to go back to the hotel. Leandrinho has a pack of ice on his hip. Nate McMillan walks by and idly jokes, "I hope you don't get to work out for any other club! You played great today. I hope you fall to us."

As it turns out, Leandrinho became a point of contention for the Sonics. Some on the staff wanted him, others didn't. To draft him or not to draft him. In the end, I am told they went with the local kid Luke Ridnour, for what I am told were marketing reasons.

In fairness, when asked by a journalist about the draft, the Sonics' Dave Pendergraft went as far as to say, "the one player we were afraid not to draft was Leandro Barbosa. He could become something special in this league."

I later crossed paths with Dwayne Casey when he was with the Timberwolves and he confirmed the story, saying that it was a heated debate among the Sonics staff on the day of the draft. Casey was an instant fan of Leandrinho's, and says that he fought hard to convince his colleagues to draft the Brazilian. As I spoke with Casey, you could tell that he still remembered the moment vividly.

Seattle's misstep was Phoenix's gain, as we can all attest to now. Not that Luke Ridnour is chopped liver. He is a good basketball player, plain and simple. However, I would make the argument, as others have as well, that there really is no telling how much Leandrinho will grow as a basketball player. And therein lies the difference between two athletes. In taking the risk on Leandrinho, the Suns went for broke. All-Star or D-leaguer. The penthouse or the outhouse.

Soon after Seattle, we are at our "home base," the Cleveland Athletic Club in Cleveland, Ohio. Leandrinho has an injured hip flexor. The doctors have told us that he has to rest and stop playing for an undetermined length of time. Not good. We spend every day going for treatment on his hip. In the meantime, Leandrinho's brother is on the phone to Brazil, getting advice from his mother on home remedies for curing Leandrinho's strained hip flexor.

The story takes a Brazilian twist at this point. After a long phone call with Dona Ivete, Arturo starts with a laundry list of requests. "We are going to need to go to a cemetery. We have to pray to the dead for help in overcoming this obstacle," says Arturo. I say nothing.

Later on, at the cemetery, I hesitate in getting o
ut of the car, preferring to let Leandrinho and his brother venture in on their own to pray. But my absence is soon recognized and I am called over to pray as well.

Much praying later, my little group is re-inspired to get back to the NBA pre-draft battle. Over the following days, the combination of medical treatment and all the prayers of the souls of the dead from a cemetery in Cleveland help Leandrinho overcome his sore hip. Looking at the calendar, the next possible workout that Leandrinho can participate in is with the Detroit Pistons. And so we make our way to Detroit.

As I scan the Pistons dressing room, in walks Willie Green. For the love of God, I think. Not this guy again. Green is not a good matchup in a game of one on one or two on two. The kid is tough as nails, as blue-collar as American kids can be. He is the definition of athlete. And he is knocking down jump-shots non-stop.

Bad timing for the Brazilian. Another butt-kicking later, I am hoping that Leandrinho quickly forgets this episode and moves on from it. Green did not miss a shot from behind the arc for the entire workout. I don't know the scouting report on him, but I doubt he would have gone to the University of Detroit if he always shot the ball like Larry Bird. With all due respect to Detroit.

Perhaps the most interesting moment of the day comes from listening to the old man who works for the Pistons club. He tells me he is some 90 years old. Has been in basketball forever. When I ask about the then European sensation, Darko Milicic, his response is priceless: "I don't care who he played against in Europe. Let's see if he can play with black kids."

We later meet with Pistons President Joe Dumars. He is one of the coolest guys in the basketball world -- a former NBA star who has long since left the past behind. The sort of person who, if you did not know much about the NBA, would never bring up that he used to be big star.

Dumars is a fan of Leandrinho, saying "I have watched you play. I really like your game. You are going to do well in this league." Simple words of wisdom. After the workout, we head to lunch with the Pistons staff. Top to bottom, the Pistons crew is classy.

As we leave the lunch area to get into our limo to the airport, the Pistons' resident old man throws out another chestnut. "Willie, I hope to see you back here with the Pistons. Won't happen, but it should and it's a damn shame. You keep playing son."

History has proven the old man to be right. The lightly-regarded Green has since carved out a nice NBA career for himself.

Around this time, I come across a news clipping where a journalist quotes Dwyane Wade as saying that he whipped Leandrinho in the Golden State workout. I can't believe what I am reading. I re-read it just to make sure and start to get furious. Wade may have bested my Brazilian friend at times, but Wade wasn't even on the same level in terms of pure basketball skill. Leandrinho could dribble and shoot better than Wade ever could, and that was on display for everyone in Golden State.

I make a mental note to confront Wade when I next see him, which will be soon.

(Photo: Getty Images)