A writer relives his hoop dreams in the NBA's D-League

By Chris Mannix, SI.com

The author and Flash coach Brad Jones share a laugh before a game. David Frazier/SI

My basketball career probably ended a lot like most: with my name on a cut sheet. I was a freshman at Boston College High (Dorchester, Mass.) and I remember well the overwhelming feeling of rejection that came from seeing my name on that list.

I wasn't good enough? How could I not be good enough? I was a pretty good player in junior high. I went to all the basketball camps and played pickup games on blacktops until the sun went down. How could this possibly happen?

But it did. That day isn't just the day I was cut from the team. It is forever burned in my memory as the day my dream of playing professional basketball died. Or so I thought.

Here's the thing about being a sportswriter: The job can open up a lot of doors that otherwise would be bolted shut. Over the last two years I have gone one-on-one with a boxing world champion and felt my collarbone snap after tumbling off the back of a raging bull. For a little publicity, people are willing to give you the opportunity to do some interesting things.

Enter the NBA Development League, David Stern's minor league circuit. The offer: a chance to train and play in an exhibition game with the Utah Flash, team's first of the season. The price: a story that reminds the world the 7-year-old league still exists.

Opinions on the D-League vary. Some coaches and scouts consider it the most competitive basketball outside of an NBA arena. Others suggest that a half-day ride from anywhere on the Eurail will present you with the opportunity to see three or four better leagues. Still, it was professional basketball and I, a once-a-week corporate league player these days, wanted to see if I could hack it.

Day 1 -- Orem, Utah: Greetings from Giddens

Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity the way only a 28-year old, 6-foot-1, 185-pound white man can. So I packed a bag and hopped a plane for Utah, ready to begin my professional career. It's a little before 10 a.m. when the first wave of panic hits me. The thing about this assignment is that talent-wise, I expect to be inferior. I can play with Joe the Plumber, Joe Six-Pack or any other Joe who shares my once-a-week hoop habit. But these are basketball lifers I am up against, highly skilled, highly trained athletes who probably have been eating, drinking and sleeping hoops since they were old enough to dribble.

What I don't expect is the size difference. For some strange, inexplicable reason I had sketched images in my head of my teammates being somewhere in the 6-1, 185-pound neighborhood. Not exactly. What I see when I arrive at the Flash's practice facility is a collection of 6-5, 215 pound men who are carved out of granite.

One of those men is J.R. Giddens, Boston's top pick in the 2008 NBA draft. NBA rules allow teams to assign up to two players with less than two years experience from their roster to their D-League affiliate. The champion, veteran-laden Celtics had no room for Giddens, so they shipped the former New Mexico star to Utah with an eye toward keeping him sharp until the parent club needed him.

I had done my homework on Giddens. The people in Boston described him to me as "a little wacky, but a great guy." I had gotten the "great guy" part a day earlier when I stopped by the Flash's media day. With a tape recorder in front of him, Giddens is a polished pro. He talked about how happy he was to get the chance for some significant playing time. He praised the Celtics veterans for showing him the ropes in the few short weeks he was with the club. And he expressed confidence about his long-term future with the team.

That was yesterday. Today, moments after I arrive at the Flash practice facility, I get the wacky.

"You bring your A-Game?" asks Giddens as I put on my gear.

"I brought whatever game I have," I reply.

"Good," Giddens says. "Because if I get the chance, I'm going to dunk on you."

"Then I might foul you," I shoot back.

Giddens smiles. "You think that's going to matter?"

As the rest of my teammates finish dressing, I pop my head into the coaches' room, where Brad Jones and his staff are gathering to prepare the morning's practice. In many ways, Jones is the perfect D-League coach. Every player in the D-League possesses grandiose dreams of one day sitting on an NBA bench (at least). Jones is no different. Middle-aged with sandy blonde hair and a cheery disposition, Jones transitioned to the Flash bench last year after spending the previous six as the Utah Jazz's advance scout. This season, Jones has assumed control of the player personnel, making him Orem's hoops el jefe.

Jones divides practice into three segments. There is conditioning, which consists of a series of three-man weaves with a heavy ball; 3-on-2 drills run at breakneck speeds; and the "33-in-3" drill, in which the team splits off into three lines and in a full-court sprint attempts to make 33 layups in three minutes.

"You think this is bad?" asks Jones. He points across the floor at Mike Hall, a former BYU standout in his first year in the D-League. "A couple of days ago Mike threw up twice and passed out on the floor. I thought he was dead."

Skills work is next. Every player in the D-League is an athlete. Few have the hoops skills to match. "If they did," says Jones, "they probably wouldn't be here." The "55" is a drill in which a player shuffles from spot to spot hoisting jump shots while a teammate rebounds for 55 seconds. Today, my jump shot is on. Paired with Giddens, I smoothly knock down 11 of the 18 shots I put up.

Finally, there is the playbook. As an NBA reporter, I have seen everything from Phil Jackson's triangle to the Princeton read-and-react offense. But seeing and actually doing are two different things. I can't run anything right. Every play, I screw up. I cut when I should space. I pick when I should roll.

"You'll get it," says Jones. "It's just repetition."

By the end of practice, I feel reasonably comfortable with the plays -- but only if they are run at half speed with no defenders hounding me.