There's a certain look to an NBA player's walk. It's cool and slow, suggesting a man in no particular hurry, saving his strength for a frantic night's work. Jason Williams has that walk -- and that's about all he has in common with his Sacramento teammates or anyone else in the league.
Chris Webber is so cool, you expect a nightclub to materialize around him. Vlade Divac is Serbian cool, living the good American lifestyle with a wry grin on his face. Vernon Maxwell looks to have lived a hundred lives, each a full-blown novel.
Jason Williams looks like an 18-year-old sailor stepping off the boat in Shanghai. He looks shy and clue-free, and in the company of strangers, he's got the personality of a Kansas cornfield. Then the game starts, and he might as well be Bob Cousy or Magic Johnson or Pete Maravich, because you can't stop watching him. Your eyes simply won't allow it.
He played junior high school sports with Randy Moss back home in West Virginia, and think about that for a moment. Who's the one guy you couldn't miss watching during the NFL season, the most gifted wide receiver anyone could remember? And who's the most unique rookie to enter the NBA in years, the white kid blowing past legends with mythical moves? Just when you thought the sporting landscape needed a soul vaccination, these two show up, and they're from the same town.
With Moss, the mystique seems to follow him around, into the locker room and out on the street. Williams could be some shiftless kid hanging out at the 7-Eleven at midnight. He doesn't radiate a special presence, like Clyde Frazier or Isiah Thomas or other magicians of the hardwood. He speaks in a dull, country drawl, without even the hint of spark or inspiration, and with that youth-in- the-military look, you expect him to call you ``sir.''
Only between interviews, when somebody mentioned the NCAA Tournament, did he come to life before last night's game. It seems Williams' school, Florida, is one of the Sweet 16's better stories.
``Them Gators!'' he shouts loud enough for all to hear. ``I don't see Michigan in the tournament (Webber manages a smile). I don't see Arkansas (Corliss Williamson is across the room). Hey, when does Kansas play tomorrow? Oh, that's right, they're out,'' and rookie Scot Pollard looks a trifle embarrassed.
That's more like it, you think to yourself. That takes some gall, claiming Florida as your alma mater when you've been kicked off the team, twice, for marijuana use. That sounds more like the guy who flat- out froze Gary Payton with a crossover dribble, blew away the Allen Iverson entourage with some insane moves in Philly.
There were two great things about last night's game. One was the unbridled joy of the Kings' approach, a dizzying swirl of fancy passes from Williams, Webber and Divac in a 65-point first half (``Most fun I've had at a game all year,'' said one well-traveled observer) and at the finish. The other was the din of excited conversation in the crowd. Not cell-phone conversation, but real hoops talk, the way it used to be, before the Warriors priced out the hardcores and filled the arena with frauds. These aren't the best of times for the franchise, but there are empty seats on game nights, and a lot of hip folks are showing up.
A few of them showed up to boo Webber -- who had a pretty good answer with 20 points, six assists and two blocked shots -- but most of the buzz was about Williams. He's been called White Shadow and White Chocolate, ``and as far as I'm concerned, you can call me anything you want,'' he says. ``I'm not out there to put on a show. It's just what I do.''
Sometimes you feel like calling him ``Whaaat?'' because that's your reaction to his latest masterpiece. You couldn't believe it the first time, and you need two or three replays just to verify it. That was Williams in the early going when he passed the ball behind the back, left-handed, to himself, then lofted an alley-oop pass to Tariq Abdul-Wahad. But it wasn't all flash, especially when he stripped Bimbo Coles with two minutes left, setting up Abdul-Wahad's back-breaking dunk for a 102-96 lead.
``I'm just astonished at Jason,'' said Webber. ``The world is his.''
Best of all, he doesn't seem to know it.
