Grownup Kidd

By Joel Stein

As the smallest guys in the NBA, point guards have a special need to be liked. And Jason Kidd is the Bill Clinton of point guards. He signs endless autographs, does tons of interviews, shows up at heaps of charity events, never trash talks on the court and tidies up the day before the cleaning service comes. For his initial date with his future wife, he must have been the only American male to suggest seeing How to Make an American Quilt--even watching it a few nights before so he could seem smart about it.

The people who truly love him are his New Jersey Nets teammates, because in addition to scoring and rebounding, Kidd does something few great players in the NBA do: pass. If there is one sure way to make friends on a court, it's to give them the ball--no small feat, as there is only one ball but four potential friends.

The only thing more amazing than seeing a pure passer in the NBA is seeing one take the Nets to the finals, which is what Kidd did last week as they eliminated the Boston Celtics in six gritty games in the Eastern Division finals. The Nets have been more laden with lameness than any other team, including the Los Angeles Clippers. The Nets play in the country's most unfairly mocked state, a few miles from the losing yet celebrity-oozing Knicks, and they have been the Bermuda Triangle for draft picks.

Kidd, 29, arrived at the Nets after being traded for the flashy Stephon Marbury, a great scorer but an inadequate floor general. Kidd immediately promised to lead the Nets to the play-offs, much to the media's disbelief. Now he's in the finals. He built an underperforming but talented team into a powerhouse by reminding people, in the age of Shaq and Kobe, that the person who can make things happen is the one who brings the ball up the court. Against the Celtics, Kidd averaged a triple double (double figures in points, rebounds and assists); the only other players ever to pull that off in a conference finals were Wilt Chamberlain (1967) and Magic Johnson (1983).

Like many banished to New Jersey, Kidd didn't arrive a hero. He left the Phoenix Suns in part because the likable guy blew it big time when he punched his wife Joumana in the face in front of their son T.J. in January 2001. The couple, who remain together, say it was a one-time event. But Joumana's 911 call, which led to his arrest, told a different story: "This is minor compared to what I usually go through," she said. Kidd took four games off to deal with his family and then wrote a letter of apology to all the Phoenix season-ticket holders, and made a midcourt apology at the end of the next home game. He went to his mandated six months of counseling and still goes, voluntarily, every week.

He and his wife say the arrest was beneficial to him as a husband and a player because he learned to be more vocal and emotive, which in the process turned him into a team leader. In the past, he sulked on the bench and dealt with the threat of being unliked with silence, a strategy he says he copied from his reticent father. In Dallas, he didn't speak to Mavericks teammate Jimmy Jackson for six weeks following an argument and went two months without talking to his coach after a disagreement.

But if the arrest for domestic violence somehow humanized him, it also punished him in the way that must have hurt him most: he was no longer well liked. Phoenix fans were glad to see him go. And in the play-offs, he became a target of Boston rooters' chants of "wife beater." It got so bad in Game 4 that Joumana and T.J. decided to stay in New Jersey for Game 6.

They missed a great one. Kidd had his third triple double of the series, becoming the first to do that in 35 years, which is especially impressive when you consider that his individual skills aren't that hot. He isn't a great shooter, yet he makes big shots and relishes big games, just like his hero Magic. Nor is he anything resembling a leaper. His great rebounding is owing to his ability to figure out where the ball is going to be.

Like Magic, Kidd has tremendous court vision, an uncanny ability to see all nine players from the top of the key in a half-court offense. If a teammate gets open, the ball will find him. On the fast break Kidd destroys defenses with perfectly angled passes. And unlike many All-Stars, he loves to play defense.

But his greatest asset is his willingness to give up his shot to a player in a slightly better position, which is why the Nets work harder to find those positions. Which is why the Nets have been so hard to stop. "The Nets will be a blueprint for any team out there," Kidd said after the Boston series. "If you get a good group of guys who believe in each other and want one another to succeed and not be selfish, and nobody cares who scores the most or who has the winning basket, good things will happen. You'll see a lot of teams play our style."

One of them is the Sacramento Kings, whose up-tempo team game, run by the Kidd-like guard Mike Bibby, put them into Game 7 with the star-driven Lakers of Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant. Either of these Western teams seems to have too much talent for the Nets to handle. Yet Kidd knows it will take a championship ring to satisfy his critics, who have been expecting big things from him since he was a high school phenom in the Bay Area. "The shoe fits perfectly for us," he says. "We're the underdogs. We've been put down all season. Nobody is going to give us a chance, so let's go play and find out." In just one short year, Kidd has found out exactly what it means to be from New Jersey.