Jamaal Tinsley has been in Indianapolis for seven years, and sometimes, it's as if he's a complete stranger, freshly arrived in this city.
Sure, his Indiana Pacers teammates know him, to a point. But the media? The fans? All they see is the mask he wears, dour or otherwise devoid of emotion. All they hear are the sound bites -- very rare, very short sound bites -- of an athlete who is a bit like the Colts' Marvin Harrison, amiable enough but unwilling to open the door to his soul.
Slowly, though, people have seen a slow and subtle change, Tinsley shedding the hard, protective shield he has worn since he arrived from Iowa State. He smiles more easily. He jokes. He makes small talk. Teammates noticed the change early last season.
"I'm telling you, Jamaal is a different guy," Jermaine O'Neal said during last year's training camp.
That subtle transformation has continued into this season, which Tinsley properly views as a make-or-break season in his career. He is never going to be the life of the party, but with Tinsley, there's a sudden lightness in his bearing, even as he carries the burden of housing and supporting seven siblings and other members of his extended family in his Indianapolis-area home.
Will Jim O'Brien be the coach who can coax Tinsley into being the kind of player he should be?
"It's on me now," Tinsley said the other day. "The ball's in my hands. There's no more excuses. This is a great system for me. It's a guard-oriented system, and the sky's the limit. He's putting me into a great situation, knowing my creative skills making plays, getting people open.
"On any given night, if I want to, I can score 20 points, but sometimes we don't need that. Four points and 10 assists, if that's what they need, I'm fine as long as we're winning. It's up to me now, as long as I'm healthy."
Ah, yes, the health issue. One year ago, Tinsley went a long way toward answering the insistent questions about his durability, playing in 70 of 82 games.
Now he needs to stay healthy again and play with the kind of passion he once displayed when he was a street-ball legend -- they called him Mel Mel the Abuser -- playing on the asphalt playgrounds of Brooklyn and Harlem.
Since he has been here, arriving one pick before San Antonio took Tony Parker, he has been an enigma, to be charitable. Team president Larry Bird once said Tinsley was going to be the next Pacers' All-Star, following O'Neal and Ron Artest. But it hasn't happened. Tinsley has never come close to delivering on the ample promise he showed the first half of his rookie year.
More, though, Tinsley has never endeared himself to this hoops-mad city. He has often seemed dispassionate, even disinterested, a stranger in our midst.
Why, then, was O'Brien so excited about coaching Tinsley when he first interviewed with Bird? Because O'Brien believes he has already coached a Tinsley before. His name was Kenny Anderson. He, too, was a New York guy who learned his chops on the city's playgrounds.
"My first full year in Boston, we had Kenny and a lot of people were down on him,'' O'Brien said. "Kenny was the catalyst to get us into the Eastern Conference finals that year. Kenny took his game to another level because he played a style that let him make a lot of the decisions. Then we challenged him to defend better than he thought he could defend, and he met that challenge.
"I truly believe that for Jamaal, this is the perfect situation for him. The tempo, the decision making, the way we're going to space the floor, this is ideal for him to succeed.''
Tinsley might not be the People's Choice, but to his sizable family, he is a hero, a provider and a father figure.
If Tinsley sometimes appeared to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, that's because he was. His father died when he was 6 years old. His stepfather died one year later. His mother, Letris Smith, had to care for eight children, all living in a small apartment, surviving on his father's pension.
By the time he was 12 years old, he essentially dropped out of school. Instead, he ran the streets, played basketball, won money shooting dice.
"My mom always made sure I left the house in the morning, but I never went to school," Tinsley said, shaking his head. "That's on me. That was the decision I made. I thought I was a man and could do what I wanted."
He went to three high schools, and even did a short stint in the Manhattan House of Corrections when he was busted for pick-pocketing. His mother wouldn't pay the bail. He spent a week there, learning a hard lesson.
"I probably went to seven months of high school, total," Tinsley said. "I'd just go to my friend's place and hang out. My mom knew what I was doing, but what could she do? I was acting like I'm a grown man. I would come home some days, give her a few thousand bucks when I'm 13 or 14 years old. It came to a point where it was, well, you don't want him to do it, but he's doing it anyway. It was like, 'Whatever.' "
He was asked where the money came from.
"In the streets, gambling, whatever," he said. "I could never deal (drugs). But I was a lucky man. Anytime a big dice game came up, they'd come and get me."
He also benefited from having certifiable basketball talent. People wanted to give him things, give him money. They wanted to see him stay out of trouble, or they wanted to invest in his basketball future, hoping for a big payoff later down the line.
When the college scouts came calling, there was a problem: Tinsley never graduated from high school. Never came close, in fact. But in California, junior colleges will accept a student lacking a degree or a GED, and Tinsley was off to Mount San Jacinto Junior College near Palm Springs. He eventually attended Iowa State and got drafted by the Pacers. That's when he decided to build a house in Maryland for his mother and his family.
Then, in 2003, she lost her fight with cancer. Soon thereafter, Tinsley made a decision: He moved his family to Indianapolis. All of them. Seven siblings and assorted friends and relatives.
He is also supporting his son, Jamaal Jr., who lives in New Jersey with the mother. Tinsley didn't want his son growing up like he did, surrounded by the desperation of the projects.
"I'm the backbone of the family," he said. "I can't let my little sisters and nieces see me crumble. That's why I can never take basketball for granted. I'm blessed to have what I've got.
"I'll take care of everybody, but they've got to take care of themselves first. I always tell my brothers and sisters, 'Mom isn't around anymore. We're all we've got. We've got to pull together.' Usually, when someone dies, the family starts separating and I didn't want that to happen. I've got family all around me. There's nothing like family.
"I'm trying to give them knowledge, some wisdom. Instead of me just giving them money, I want to lead them the right way. Talking to them, getting on them. As an older brother, they might think I'm a father, because I get on them for the pettiest things. But it ain't me trying to be bossy because of what I've got. It's just me trying to teach them."
The notion of Tinsley planting seeds of wisdom in his siblings might strike some as mildly amusing. Like too many other Pacers -- mostly former Pacers by now -- he is facing a court date for his alleged role in a fight at the 8 Seconds Saloon. Marquis Daniels is facing the same situation.
By now, Tinsley knows how unfavorably he is viewed by fans who want and expect more from him. He says he really doesn't care. All that matters, he says, are the opinions of his teammates and his family.
"I've been hearing my whole life, 'Oh, he'll be back (in Bedford-Stuyvesant), he'll never make it,' " Tinsley said. "It's like another burden on my shoulders. I feel it every day. But I like that pressure. Pressure makes you better."
http://www.indystar.com/apps/pbcs.dl...13/1247/SPORTS
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Sure, his Indiana Pacers teammates know him, to a point. But the media? The fans? All they see is the mask he wears, dour or otherwise devoid of emotion. All they hear are the sound bites -- very rare, very short sound bites -- of an athlete who is a bit like the Colts' Marvin Harrison, amiable enough but unwilling to open the door to his soul.
Slowly, though, people have seen a slow and subtle change, Tinsley shedding the hard, protective shield he has worn since he arrived from Iowa State. He smiles more easily. He jokes. He makes small talk. Teammates noticed the change early last season.
"I'm telling you, Jamaal is a different guy," Jermaine O'Neal said during last year's training camp.
That subtle transformation has continued into this season, which Tinsley properly views as a make-or-break season in his career. He is never going to be the life of the party, but with Tinsley, there's a sudden lightness in his bearing, even as he carries the burden of housing and supporting seven siblings and other members of his extended family in his Indianapolis-area home.
Will Jim O'Brien be the coach who can coax Tinsley into being the kind of player he should be?
"It's on me now," Tinsley said the other day. "The ball's in my hands. There's no more excuses. This is a great system for me. It's a guard-oriented system, and the sky's the limit. He's putting me into a great situation, knowing my creative skills making plays, getting people open.
"On any given night, if I want to, I can score 20 points, but sometimes we don't need that. Four points and 10 assists, if that's what they need, I'm fine as long as we're winning. It's up to me now, as long as I'm healthy."
Ah, yes, the health issue. One year ago, Tinsley went a long way toward answering the insistent questions about his durability, playing in 70 of 82 games.
Now he needs to stay healthy again and play with the kind of passion he once displayed when he was a street-ball legend -- they called him Mel Mel the Abuser -- playing on the asphalt playgrounds of Brooklyn and Harlem.
Since he has been here, arriving one pick before San Antonio took Tony Parker, he has been an enigma, to be charitable. Team president Larry Bird once said Tinsley was going to be the next Pacers' All-Star, following O'Neal and Ron Artest. But it hasn't happened. Tinsley has never come close to delivering on the ample promise he showed the first half of his rookie year.
More, though, Tinsley has never endeared himself to this hoops-mad city. He has often seemed dispassionate, even disinterested, a stranger in our midst.
Why, then, was O'Brien so excited about coaching Tinsley when he first interviewed with Bird? Because O'Brien believes he has already coached a Tinsley before. His name was Kenny Anderson. He, too, was a New York guy who learned his chops on the city's playgrounds.
"My first full year in Boston, we had Kenny and a lot of people were down on him,'' O'Brien said. "Kenny was the catalyst to get us into the Eastern Conference finals that year. Kenny took his game to another level because he played a style that let him make a lot of the decisions. Then we challenged him to defend better than he thought he could defend, and he met that challenge.
"I truly believe that for Jamaal, this is the perfect situation for him. The tempo, the decision making, the way we're going to space the floor, this is ideal for him to succeed.''
Tinsley might not be the People's Choice, but to his sizable family, he is a hero, a provider and a father figure.
If Tinsley sometimes appeared to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, that's because he was. His father died when he was 6 years old. His stepfather died one year later. His mother, Letris Smith, had to care for eight children, all living in a small apartment, surviving on his father's pension.
By the time he was 12 years old, he essentially dropped out of school. Instead, he ran the streets, played basketball, won money shooting dice.
"My mom always made sure I left the house in the morning, but I never went to school," Tinsley said, shaking his head. "That's on me. That was the decision I made. I thought I was a man and could do what I wanted."
He went to three high schools, and even did a short stint in the Manhattan House of Corrections when he was busted for pick-pocketing. His mother wouldn't pay the bail. He spent a week there, learning a hard lesson.
"I probably went to seven months of high school, total," Tinsley said. "I'd just go to my friend's place and hang out. My mom knew what I was doing, but what could she do? I was acting like I'm a grown man. I would come home some days, give her a few thousand bucks when I'm 13 or 14 years old. It came to a point where it was, well, you don't want him to do it, but he's doing it anyway. It was like, 'Whatever.' "
He was asked where the money came from.
"In the streets, gambling, whatever," he said. "I could never deal (drugs). But I was a lucky man. Anytime a big dice game came up, they'd come and get me."
He also benefited from having certifiable basketball talent. People wanted to give him things, give him money. They wanted to see him stay out of trouble, or they wanted to invest in his basketball future, hoping for a big payoff later down the line.
When the college scouts came calling, there was a problem: Tinsley never graduated from high school. Never came close, in fact. But in California, junior colleges will accept a student lacking a degree or a GED, and Tinsley was off to Mount San Jacinto Junior College near Palm Springs. He eventually attended Iowa State and got drafted by the Pacers. That's when he decided to build a house in Maryland for his mother and his family.
Then, in 2003, she lost her fight with cancer. Soon thereafter, Tinsley made a decision: He moved his family to Indianapolis. All of them. Seven siblings and assorted friends and relatives.
He is also supporting his son, Jamaal Jr., who lives in New Jersey with the mother. Tinsley didn't want his son growing up like he did, surrounded by the desperation of the projects.
"I'm the backbone of the family," he said. "I can't let my little sisters and nieces see me crumble. That's why I can never take basketball for granted. I'm blessed to have what I've got.
"I'll take care of everybody, but they've got to take care of themselves first. I always tell my brothers and sisters, 'Mom isn't around anymore. We're all we've got. We've got to pull together.' Usually, when someone dies, the family starts separating and I didn't want that to happen. I've got family all around me. There's nothing like family.
"I'm trying to give them knowledge, some wisdom. Instead of me just giving them money, I want to lead them the right way. Talking to them, getting on them. As an older brother, they might think I'm a father, because I get on them for the pettiest things. But it ain't me trying to be bossy because of what I've got. It's just me trying to teach them."
The notion of Tinsley planting seeds of wisdom in his siblings might strike some as mildly amusing. Like too many other Pacers -- mostly former Pacers by now -- he is facing a court date for his alleged role in a fight at the 8 Seconds Saloon. Marquis Daniels is facing the same situation.
By now, Tinsley knows how unfavorably he is viewed by fans who want and expect more from him. He says he really doesn't care. All that matters, he says, are the opinions of his teammates and his family.
"I've been hearing my whole life, 'Oh, he'll be back (in Bedford-Stuyvesant), he'll never make it,' " Tinsley said. "It's like another burden on my shoulders. I feel it every day. But I like that pressure. Pressure makes you better."
http://www.indystar.com/apps/pbcs.dl...13/1247/SPORTS
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