For Your Consideration

Sam Cassell could be the NBA's best supporting actor. Maybe it's because he has the soul of a leading man

Gonna tell you about opening night. The Clippers, the Washington Generals of the NBA, have given the basketball to Sammy, and Sammy isn't giving it back. Up one in Seattle with 2:15 left, Sammy hits a three-pointer.

"Bucket," he says out loud.

Up four with 1:43 left, he hits a leaner.

"Bucket."

Historically, the Clips do not hit clutch shots, but Sammy is introducing them to his world-a world of winning and toothy grins. "This is why they brought me here!" shouts Sam Cassell after he scores his 35th point. "This is what I do. I got big balls, fellas. I got big balls."

GONNA TELL you what Charles Barkley thinks of Sammy. He says if Sammy played on the same team as Magic, Michael, Bird and Sir Charles himself, Sammy would take the last shot. "Not only that, he'd tell them, Gimme the ball,' " says Sammy's old Rockets teammate, Kenny Smith, with a laugh.

"And those other guys would have to raise their hands to talk," says Sammy's old Rockets assistant coach, Carroll Dawson.

"Yeah, I'd shoot it," admits Sammy. "Of course, with that five, I might be the only one open."

GONNA TELL you why Sammy needs a new image. People think all the 13-year vet does is shoot and yap. But who took the Nets to the playoffs before Jason Kidd? Sammy. Who turned Glenn Robinson into an All-Star? Sammy. Who turned Kevin Garnett into an MVP? Sammy. Who finally got Minnesota out of the first round? Sammy. Who has the laughingstock Clippers sniffing first place? Sammy.

So who deserves to be explained in complete detail? Sammy.

GONNA TELL you why Sammy ain't afraid of nothing. His grandmother and great aunt-the two women who basically raised him in East Baltimore-worked at a factory that made rat poison. They were no-nonsense ladies. To get the best out of their Sammy, they sent him to play for the roughest coach they could find, Bob Wade at Dunbar High.

Wade's teams didn't lose much, but when they did, he gave his players a choice: 10-pound bricks or the paddle. One day in 1985, a young Kansas assistant named John Calipari walks in on practice and sees the boys lined up. He hears Wade ask the first kid, "Bricks or paddle?" and the kid answers "bricks." Then he sees the kid do a lengthy slide drill while toting two concrete slabs over his head. The next player in line is nicknamed Quiet Boy, and Quiet Boy picks the paddle. Wade winds up and slams him in the butt, and the kid doesn't make a peep. Sammy, who is next, sees the one kid running with the bricks, dying, and sees Quiet Boy, stoic as could be. So Sammy, a ninth grader, says "Gimme paddle." He bends over, takes one whack from the 230-pound Wade and, according to Calipari, "let out a screech that I can't even begin to tell you. Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhh!' He's running and holding his butt, screaming.

"All the other guys went and got bricks."

GONNA TELL you how Sammy slipped through the cracks. While he was at San Jacinto (Texas) College, he was scouted thoroughly by only one NBA team, the neighboring Rockets. Most everyone else saw Sammy play later at Florida State, where he was a 6'3" gunner playing with point guard Charlie Ward. Saddled with a reputation as an undersized 2-guard with no future, he went behind guys like Rex Walters and Terry Dehere in the 1993 draft. But the Rockets knew Sammy could handle the rock. They picked him 24th overall-and chuckled under their breath.

GONNA TELL you why Sammy had a headache most of his rookie year. "Man, I was a party animal when I first got to league," he says. "You got to understand, we started 22—1. I'm 24 and I'm like, Hell, the world is good!' I'm partying every night, I'm at the clubs, hanging with the fellas. I used to drink until I got messed up, then I'd come to practice and smell like a liquor store. And they knew it. They'd say, `Look at him!' Some days, I'd be at practice like, I ain't doing s- today, Rudy. I'm sick.' And Rudy T was cool. He'd say, If you're going to party like a rock star, you'd better play like a superstar.'"

GONNA TELL you when Sammy took Rudy T up on the dare. Houston's at Madison Square Garden with Game 3 of the 1994 NBA Finals on the line. The ball is supposed to go inside, but Dream is triple-teamed, and the ball finds Sammy beyond the arc. No rookie takes that shot. Sammy does. Bucket. It's arguably the shot that propels Houston to the title-and puts Sammy on the map. After the game, Kenny Smith jokes with Sammy. "That play was for Hakeem." "I was open," Sammy says. "Well, don't pass up anything open, Sam." "You know I'm not."

GONNA TELL you what Sammy did the morning after that shot. Got Otis Thorpe a pot of coffee. Brought Mario Elie practice clothes. That's what rookies do. He hated it, and dreamed of a day a rookie would have to wait on him, bring him a club sandwich.

GONNA TELL you how ruthless Sammy is. His second year in the league, new teammate Clyde Drexler has the flu before a playoff game against the Suns. And Sammy is happy. While Drexler is taking fluids intravenously, Sammy-the sixth man-is highstepping around the locker room. Smith asks him what's up, and Sammy whispers, "I'm just hoping Clyde don't play so I can get in." Sounds callous, but Sammy wanted the Rockets to be his team. Always wanted to have his own team.

GONNA TELL you when Sammy's life turned upside down. On Aug. 19, 1996, Houston traded him to Phoenix. Then Phoenix traded him to Dallas. Then Dallas traded him to New Jersey. All in six months! Why? The Rockets wanted Barkley and thought Sammy wanted too much money ("They haven't replaced me yet,'' Sammy says), the Suns thought he hated coach Danny Ainge (he sort of did) and the Mavs thought he was a bad seed (Don Nelson later apologized for misreading him).

Screw 'em all. His new coach in Jersey loved him-had ever since he saw Sammy get his ass paddled. So Calipari became the first NBA coach to give him the green light. It didn't take long for the league to find out about Sammy's deadly midrange shot and eagle-eye passing. Rookie Keith Van Horn got lots of open looks because defenses had to double his new teammate on the pick-and-roll. "People actually began to mention Van Horn in the same breath as Tim Duncan," Sammy says.

But another Net, Kendall Gill, complained that Sammy shot too much. So before one game, Calipari gently asks his point guard to share more, and Sammy grunts, "Which one got to you? Kendall, right? The dude can't shoot." The next game, at the Garden, Sammy keeps feeding Gill, even as he shoots two airballs on the way to a 2-for-11 night. Toward the end of the game, Sammy asks, "Cal, you want me to keep passing to this dude or you want to win?" "How 'bout we win," is the answer. Sammy goes for 34, but the Nets lose by one.

Moral of the story: he still didn't have his own team.

GONNA TELL you why people think Sammy is a nut: the fourth quarter. That's when Sammy is possessed. He'll shoot when he wants to and yap when he wants to. When George Karl got him in Milwaukee in 1999, as part of a three-way deal, two things dawned on the coach:

1. Sammy has an uncanny ability to make "effed up" fourth-quarter shots.

2. Sammy's fourth-quarter chatter is indecipherable. "It might help if he'd take out his mouthpiece," Karl says.

With George and Sam, it was love/hate. Sometimes, George would call a set play and Sammy would dribble down the court and launch a 25-footer. One time, Karl's college coach, Dean Smith, asked, "Why do you let him do that?" Karl said, "Because it goes in 65% of the time."

In Milwaukee, Sammy got Glenn Robinson and Ray Allen the same open looks and celebrity he got Van Horn in Jersey. But make no mistake, the end of the game was all his. In a game in Miami in November 2000, the Bucks are down 22 in the final quarter, but cut it to two with eight seconds left. After a missed Heat free throw, 6'3" Sammy and 6'8" Anthony Mason tie each other up for a jump ball. Sammy grabs Mason's arm and wins the jump. Then he hits a three to win the game. "Damn, you're tricky," Karl tells him afterward.

GONNA TELL you how Sammy got Kevin Garnett to lighten up. Traded to Minnesota in 2003 for Joe Smith, Sammy walks into the tense Timberwolves locker room one day and immediately starts to flap his gums. Garnett, who demanded silence before games, snaps, "Didn't I tell you to shut up?" But Sammy says, "You talking to me?"

From then on, he and good buddy Latrell Sprewell make it a point to needle KG. They talk as loud as they can before every game, and when KG won't say hello, Sammy hits him in the chest and says, "You'd better speak to me." KG won't budge—"Y'all leave me alone." So Sammy goes so far as to follow him into the training room.

"Ticket would get his massages and no one would dare touch," Sammy says. "I'd come in and give him a hug: What's up, homeboy?' He'd just be staring. I'd get in uniform, come back and give him another hug. And he'd be like, Why you keep hugging me? What's wrong with you, man?'" Sammy, now on his sixth team, just wanted KG to enjoy his precious NBA moments.

Before long, the two began to jell on the court and the Timberwolves became lethal. Sammy was shooting so well (a career-high 48.8%) that if he missed a 15-footer, teammate Fred Hoiberg would ask, "Are you shaving points?" Sammy took the heat off KG. He'd turned Robinson into an All-Star, and now morphed KG into All-World.

And Big Ticket finally exhaled. In front of the guys at practice one day, he laughingly offered Sammy 10 grand if he could dunk, and Sammywho'd dunked only twice in his career-turned him down. "You ain't gonna try?" Ticket asked. "No," Sammy said. "Last time I dunked, I was with Jersey. Lost my balance and fell onto the basket support. I was so drained, I missed my next four shots. Calipari yelled, `Don't do that no more, you'll kill yourself.' So I haven't."

KG adored him, even started kissing the top of Sammy's bald head. Together, they might have defeated the Lakers in the Western finals, but Sammy injured his hip and back. Still, after being an All-Star for the first time, this was the closest he'd come to having his own team.

GONNA TELL you why Sammy wore out his welcome in Minnesota. He'd helped Van Horn get $73 million and Ray Allen $70.9 million, but he'd never struck it rich himself. And he stewed about that. Actually, he blew a chance in New Jersey. His contract was going to be up after the 1996-'97 season, and instead of risking injury, he sat out the final six games with a phantom hamstring pull. He'd had his first big-time season (19.6 ppg) and deserved a huge payday, but the Nets owners didn't trust him after his late-season sit-in, and shelled out only $21 million over six years. With no out clause.

He did sign a three-year extension when he went to the Bucks, but Sammy never recouped those lost wages. Maybe, he thought, a grateful Wolves franchise would renegotiate and finally make him whole. "Look, I've been underpaid my whole career," Sammy says. "Then I take that Minnesota team to a franchise-high 58 wins. Help 'em get out of the first round for the first time. Help Kevin McHale walk around with his chest out. Help Ticket become MVP. But management says no new deal and says I'm a distraction."

After the Timberwolves refused to deal, Sammy strained his hamstring in January the next season. The front office and fans suspected it was a ploy. But they didn't know about Bob Wade's paddle. Or how Sammy had played with cracked ribs and turf toe, or how he'd learned in New Jersey never to fake an injury again. He sat out 23 games; the Wolves lost 11 of them. KG knew how invaluable Sammy was, but McHale had no qualms about sending him to the Clippers last August for Marko Jaric.

"Minnesota gave me away," Sammy says. "No disrespect to Marko, but ain't no way in the world he's me. KG was pissed."

GONNA TELL you what changed Sammy's mind about the Clippers. When the trade went down, Sammy wasn't even sure he'd go. But he agreed to meet with head coach Mike Dunleavy, and Dunleavy assured Sammy he badly wanted to win, that the rock would be in Sammy's hands, that it would be his team.

What? Those were the words Sammy had always wanted to hear. At 36, he'd doubted he'd ever see this day. But the final word had to come from Elton

Brand, the team's undisputed star. Sammy knew he could set up Brand the way he'd set up Van Horn, Robinson, KG-"I'm a hell of a decoy," he saysbut Brand had to want to be led by Sammy. Brand couldn't be Kendall Gill.

On the second day of training camp, the Clippers learned what they had. Sammy called the squad together and took off on one of his vintage rants. "Guys," he said, "I've been around the league forever, and if you don't believe we can win, you're stupid. Stupid! With Elton, we can win. You our horse, Elton. I'm the spoon that stirs the coffee, but you our horse. We got to ride you, baby."

Now Sammy has even the introverted Brand riled up. The Clippers had been a notoriously quiet group, but now they have a guy who, according to Kenny Smith, "eats a speaker sandwich for lunch and washes it down with a microphone." Sammy's given them a swagger they'd never had. The players have anointed him "Team Dad."

They love his stories. How his Bucks teammate Gary Payton forced Michael Jordan to miss a potential game-tying three, and how Sammy yelled loud enough for MJ to hear, "Way to lock his ass up," and how MJ glared at Sammy. They love how Sammy's on a first-name basis with every ref, and how, when he gets called for a foul, he says, "How you catch me?"

They love that Sammy TiVos three games a day (even Harvard-Yale, once) and that he wants to be a head coach. They love that Sammy nearly threw a no-hitter at a charity slow-pitch game with something he calls a funk/lob/spin/lube ball. They love how Sammy's turned Brand into an MVP candidate and how he has the typically monotonal forward yelling "Yeah, boy!" after big shots. They love how Sammy gets Dunleavy to call off practice sometimes ("They talk a lot; they're the same age," Brand says). They love how, after games, Sammy addresses the team before Dunleavy does. They love how Dunleavy can actually understand what Sammy is saying in the fourth quarter. "I have an advantage,'' Dunleavy says. "I played with Moses Malone."

It has taken 13 seasons, but Sammy, who is averaging 17.4 ppg and 6.5 apg, is finally dispelling the myths. He still takes occasional "heat-check shots," but the Clippers don't understand how he got that rep as a selfish gunner. Over the past six seasons he's never averaged fewer than five assists and has taken 20 or more shots in a game only 50 times in 406 contests.

"If he gets the Clippers to the playoffs, he's king of LA," Smith says. "Kobe couldn't get that team to the playoffs. Sammy can. What he does is settle them down. The Clippers always got antsy down the stretch, but Sam takes care of that. He says, 'There's only two or three guys who will get the ball down the stretch, and I'm going to decide who they are.' And trust me, a lot of times he's going to decide he's one of them."

GONNA TELL you why, finally, it's good to be Sammy. On team flights, he walks onboard, and the rookies are there to serve him. It's his pot of coffee now. They're his practice clothes. It's him with his legs up, eating a club sandwich.

It was worth the wait.

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