Can never forget this McDyess story:
For McDyess -- rhymes with nice -- a country boy from Quitman, Miss. (pop. 2,736), it seems to be the only way. It is that unspoiled sweetness, that willingness to blame himself, that was at the core of the bizarre tug-of-war between the Suns and Nuggets for the free agent'sservices. But even though the Suns, his previous team, could offer him more money and a better supporting cast, the real tug was at McDyess' heartstrings.
``I didn't want to betray anyone,'' he said.''
Nuggets GM Dan Issel understood that about McDyess. McDyess, after all, had played his first two years in Denver before the Nuggets, feeling they couldn't afford him under the old collective bargaining agreement, traded him to the Suns----for draft picks.
But after the lockout, with a new agreement in place and new management -- Issel had replaced Allan Bristow -- the Nuggets pursued McDyess. And Issel, who never forgot how the Kentucky Colonels of the now- defunct ABA practically kidnapped him in 1970 until he signed with them, decided to try the same strategy with McDyess.
At first, it worked. Until McDyess, upon hearing the Nuggets were renouncing his friend, LaPhonso Ellis, to sign McDyess, canceled a press conference announcing his signing. Then McDyess -- yes, a tearful McDyess -- called the Suns' Jason Kidd and confided his doubts about Denver. At McDyess' invitation, Kidd, Rex Chapman and George McCloud flew to Denver to talk to him.
Hearing this, Issel phoned Nuggets coach Mike D'Antoni, assistant coach John Lucas and Nick Van Exel at training camp in Colorado Springs. He ordered them to return to Denver to close the deal. They came, driving 60 miles in a blinding snowstorm.
By this time, Issel, Nuggets owner Charlie Lyons and McDyess' two agents were holed up at McNichols Arena before an Avalanche game. When McDyess mentioned that goalie Patrick Roy was his favorite player, Roy was summoned, said hello, and gave McDyess the stick he had intended to use that night.
The Suns players, meanwhile, had landed. Chapman phoned McDyess' agent, Tony Dutt, on his cell phone and arranged a meeting. With time to kill, the three Suns showed up at the arena, hoping to catch McDyess as he left. A security guard told them McDyess had said, ``Beat it.''
``That was a lie,'' McDyess said. ``I never knew they were there. I'll never know what would have happened if I'd been able to speak to them that night.''
When the Nuggets delegation arrived, Van Exel spent 15 minutes alone with McDyess, persuading him to return, even though the Suns could have paid McDyess $20 million more. Despite dozens of phone calls and several stakeouts, the Suns left Denver without ever seeing or speaking to McDyess.
``All we wanted,'' Chapman said, ``was for Antonio to be happy. He's the sweetest guy in the world.''
In those 12 hours, the tug-of-war between the teams, especially the tug-of-war in McDyess' soul, was such that the sweetest guy was also the most confused.
``I didn't want to be me,'' McDyess said.
Also:
Other than those who ran the treatment center that helped Herren turn his life around, the only people mentioned in Unguarded who actually kept Herren from destroying himself were Antonio McDyess and Nick Van Exel, veterans on the Nuggets team that drafted the guard. During training camp, McDyess and Van Exel pulled Herren aside and told him that they knew all about his struggles with addiction, and that he wouldn’t be partying at all that season. Every night, he would be checking in with them, and when the Nuggets were on the road, he would be joining them for dinner instead of going out drinking.
And it apparently worked. McDyess and Van Exel did what no coach, no family member, no friend, no mentor had been able to do for Herren: they held him accountable. When the Nuggets sent Herren to the Celtics, that support system was gone and Herren reverted.