Dwight Howard: The happy dunker (cont.)

When the Suns came to Orlando in March, Dwight Howard's only response to O'Neal's barbs came on the court. Greg Nelson/SI

There are nights, and plenty of them, when Howard appears to understand this. Smith, the G.M., points to the first round of the 2008 playoffs, when Howard averaged 22.6 points, 18.2 rebounds and 3.8 blocks in a five-game vanquishing of the Raptors. This was BBD-worthy stuff. "You could see it," says Smith. "He clicked on, and when he does, he has the ability to affect the game in ways most guys can't. But he doesn't always do it."

It's something that flummoxes even Howard. "The biggest thing for me is, I have to learn how to play hard on a consistent basis," he says. "I do it for five or six games, and then I might take one game off. Not that I take a game off, but I might take some possessions off and I'm not as aggressive as I can be." Asked why, he frowns. "I don't really know. We had a game the other night in Philly, and I was so excited to play, I was amped up. But as soon as the game started, for some reason my energy was gone. The whole game I was frustrated; I had a couple of fouls. I wanted to get myself going, but I couldn't ever do it."

Thus there is an organization-wide effort in Orlando -- call it Operation Get Dwight Going. Van Gundy employs a multipronged approach, critiquing Howard to the media (because he knows he'll be motivated by it) and employing visual reminders. For example, in every Magic player's locker, Van Gundy has taped up a sheet of paper outlining his role. Most are short and to the point; the one for backup center Marcin Gortat is in about 36-point type and reads, defense. rebound. run. For Howard, however, the sign is crammed with words (47 in all, in about 16-point type). There is a role heading (including dominator and runner), a greatness heading (including intelligence) and a work on/improve heading (beginning maturity -- more serious and play through adversity).

Smith is so focused on turning Howard into a leader that he's taken some counterintuitive steps -- such as excising players who are too influential, even in positive ways. "We loved Grant Hill, and he was great for this franchise, but we thought it was best for Dwight as a leader if he weren't here," Smith says. "Same for [outspoken reserve guard] Keyon Dooling last year. We'll protect Dwight until the point where he can handle what I call a dominant personality."

And when will that happen? Smith guesses "when he's 25 or so," noting that "he doesn't have a Garnett-type mentality." So while Nelson would qualify as a team leader, he and Howard are so close and so closely allied that when guard Keith Bogans was with the Magic, he referred to them as "sisters." As for the rest of the team, it falls into the mold of mellow (Lewis), quirky (swingman Hedo Turkoglu) or just plain young (plenty of players). That means that with Nelson lost for the season to a shoulder injury, Orlando heads into the playoffs, for better or worse, with a goofy 23-year-old at the helm.

And though this fun-loving side of Howard frustrates basketball types -- "some of us don't care for it," admits Smith -- it is also part of his popularity. Is it such a bad thing for an NBA player to clearly be enjoying the game, not just cashing a paycheck? Plus, Howard is in many ways the epitome of a family-friendly star. He's handsome, tattoo-free, doesn't swear and already attires himself in such an exemplary manner, with slacks and ties and crisp button-down shirts, that Orlando p.r. folks encourage him to get fully dressed before every postgame interview so the folks at home can see how good he looks. If the cameras also catch him pantsing a teammate or singing Rihanna during warmups, is that necessarily so bad?

Because what if, despite all the goofing off, Howard really did care?

What if, when his dad questioned young Dwight's desire, he responded, "But you know if we lose, I'll be the first to cry."

And what if he still is? "My first year, I used to cry all the time if we lost," he says. "If we lost to Kevin Garnett, I would be boohooing. I tried to be the last one in the shower so no one would see me crying." Other times, Howard would wait until he got home, then get into bed, tears tumbling down his cheeks. "It still affects me to this day," he says. "Like when we lost to Detroit. We got swept our first year in the playoffs, then we come back and lose to them again! It hurt so bad, man. It hurt so bad that I didn't want anything to do with basketball for a couple weeks."

We're not accustomed to this: the superhero athlete with feelings, who doesn't mind baring his soul, or openly questioning his decisions. Like with the dunk contest this year. On the one hand, when Robinson asked if he could use Howard as a prop two days before the contest, Howard said yes because he likes Robinson (they have the same agent, Aaron Goodwin), and after all, what's the worst that could happen? Then Saturday came and Robinson told Howard how the prop part would work: He was going to leapfrog him. Howard couldn't back out because, as he says, "I'd given him my word." Even up to the moment of dunkage itself, as Robinson approached at full speed, Howard had second thoughts. "I thought about turning around and blocking it, like 'I'm not going to let you jump over me' " -- says Howard, and here, one can imagine Smith and Van Gundy cheering at the instinct -- "but then I was like, Just go ahead, man, it's all for fun." And it was, sort of. Still, Howard knows that, "if I wouldn't have let him jump over me, I would have won."

And here we return to the question of intimidation. The reason Howard let Robinson leap over him is the same reason he won't flex or grimace or beat his chest to celebrate downing another man on a basketball court. "People want to see a mean streak, but that's just not me," he says. "I'll be mean and dunk the ball, but I'm going to laugh, because it's fun! I can't be the guy on the court huffing and puffing and trying to blow everybody down. My teammates know that I take basketball very serious, but I'm going to have my fun regardless. I'm going to dance in the huddle, I'm going to joke around with the coaching staff, play around with the fans, that's just me. That's always been me."

Here's what people may not realize: Howard never set out to be the Best Big Man, let alone the Biggest, Baddest Dude. Growing up, he played point guard and idolized Magic Johnson, watching the VHS tape Magic Fundamentals so many times he can recite the stilted dialogue by heart. Even after Howard enjoyed a freak five-inch growth spurt during his sophomore year, he harbored dreams of becoming the world's first 6-foot-11 point guard. He practiced threes, made no-look passes and was his team's second option to bring the ball up against pressure. Howard even created his own character every time he played NBA Live: a big man who runs the offense.