Insider Special: Bedeviled - Jay Williams...

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Bedeviled

By Gene Wojciechowski, ESPN The Magazine

Tuesday, March 18 Updated 7:24 PM EST

Chicago Bulls GM Jerry Krause angrily paces the cinderblock hallway just outside the visitors' locker room at the First Union Center. Krause is so hot you could cook stir-fry on his forehead. His black eyebrows are bridged together in a V formation, his asphalt-dark scowl only half hidden by those signature Jerry jowls. Here's guessing now is not the best time to ask how Year Five of the ol' rebuilding plan is coming along.

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Moments later Bulls coach Bill Cartwright emerges from a dressing room and delivers another in a continuing series of stoic postgame "Why We Suck" speeches, this one coming minutes after his team has gotten blown out in OT by the 76ers. A night earlier it was Detroit. Before that, five consecutive losses. The Bulls' final regular-season game on April 15 can't come fast enough.

Inside the Bulls locker room, Jay Williams pokes French fries into a tiny plastic container of ketchup. Already showered and dressed, he offers a weak smile when asked why the No.2 overall pick in the 2002 draft, the freakin' golden guard from Duke, just spent the entire fourth quarter and overtime in sweats next to the towel boys. But what's there to say? He came. He saw. He sat.

"Many times you'd ask, 'Why?'" he says, barely looking up. "Now it's, 'Whatever.'"

Williams cooling his heels on the sideline during go-time? This would have never happened at Duke. Krzyzewskiville has a better chance of being zoned for a Pottery Barn. Williams spent three seasons in the safe, banner-lined cocoon of Duke. He chugged the Coach K Kool-Aid and recited the team mantra: Family ... Unconditional love ... Academics ... Accountability. He flew NBA charters, used an alias on the road, had his own media interview day and, like many of those Blue Devil players before him, left Durham with an NCAA championship ring the size of a baby's fist. Williams was Tobacco Road royalty, national Player of the Year, centerpiece of a Duke hoops operation considered to be the college model of excellence. After all, how many Division I programs do you know with their own fantasy camp and a $7,500 price tag for each of the 80 spots?

But no one will confuse post-Jordan Chicago with Mike Krzyzewski's Durham. The Bulls are the seventh-worst team in the league, give or take what the Clippers are doing. By Dec.4, just 18 games into his NBA career, Williams already had more losses (14) than he did during his entire 108-game stay at Duke. "You got to realize when I was at Duke, I was on the top of the college game," he says. "We had really good players. We were always the hunted. Here it's flipped. We're hunting now."

Everything is upside down. Family? These Bulls sometimes act as if they don't want to be in their own team photo. Accountability? Only if "It was his fault" counts. And unconditional support? Sure, right after Krause and MJ hold hands in public. "We all like the kid, but I think he wants everyone to love him," says Bulls reserve guard Rick Brunson, one of Williams' few buddies on the Bulls. "There ain't no love here ... ain't nobody to go in there and give him a hug.

"I told him several times, 'You're from Duke, no one likes you. Everyone hates you.' That's just being honest. Duke wins. That's the reality of it. Why do guys hate Larry Bird and the Celtics? Not because he's white, but because they won."

***

Williams isn't alone. Dukie greats and near-greats are taking it in the shorts all over the NBA. Shane Battier, the winningest player in Division I history, came to Memphis a season ago as the No.6 overall pick. Elvis has played in as many NBA postseason games as the Grizzlies, who have the worst winning percentage in NBA history and are working in their second city in seven-plus seasons. This season Battier, first in minutes and second in scoring among rookies a year ago, has been in and out of the starting lineup as new president Jerry West and ancient coach Hubie Brown try to teach this franchise what a W looks like.

Not long ago, a Duke follower stopped Battier and complimented him on his Blue Devil career.

"So," said the fan, "where do you play now?"

"Memphis," Battier said.

"Oh, I didn't know that."

"We're pretty new."

"So they have a team?"

"Yeah, we got uniforms and everything."

Meanwhile, Elton Brand, who left the Blue Devils in 1999, has played in two circles of the NBA Inferno: originally with the Bulls, who made him the first No.1 overall pick in their post-Airness era; now with the Clippers, whose owner, Donald Sterling, squeezes pennies so hard Lincoln needs mouth-to-mouth. Brand lasted two seasons with the Bulls, long enough to match his freshman win total at Duke (32). "With the Bulls, I felt I accepted losses," he says. "I just became numb to it."

Soon after, Mr. 20/10 was dealt to the Clippers for Tyson Chandler's rights. Once there, he recorded a franchise-record 55 double-doubles in 80 games, finished with 39 victories and nearly squeezed into the playoffs. But things have returned to form this season in Clipperland, where another head coach, Alvin Gentry, has been canned, and players talk openly about it being every man for himself. With good reason: Nine Clippers, including Brand, will be free agents available for bidding come July1. "Definitely the season from [censored]," he says.

Former Dukie Mike Dunleavy went right after Williams in the '02 draft, to the Warriors, who haven't seen the playoffs since Don Nelson and Chris Webber were on speaking terms. Carlos Boozer toils with Cleveland, your leader in the LeBron draft sweepstakes. Cherokee Parks and Corey Maggette are Clipper cellmates with Brand.

Not even Krzyzewski, who is in the Nurturing Hall of Fame, could prepare his fellas for life at the bottom of the NBA standings. (Coach K, of course, doesn't discuss anything with reporters during the Madness.) Yes, there are pro coaches and scouts who say most of the Blue Devils are overhyped and Sta-Puft-soft prospects who get wedgied once they arrive in the league. And it is true that few Dukies have duplicated team success in the NBA: Of the 41 who have played in the league, including 23 first-round selections, only one, Jeff Mullins, has been an NBA champion—and that was 28 years ago.

***

No high-profile Dukie has struggled more with the transition from Durham icon to NBA meat than Williams. So far the Bulls have been booed off the United Center court and have recorded a 19-game road losing streak, including a loss to the CBA-ready Cavs. They've had players miss flights, miss practices, pout, request trades, go after assistants, publicly second-guess their head coach. They've also cornered the market on the following post-game phrases: "This is rock bottom" and "I'm at a loss for words."

Not long ago Williams found himself staring at a framed photograph in his downtown Chicago apartment. It was a picture of him shaking hands with David Stern on draft day last June. Smiles everywhere. "I feel like that was five years ago," says Williams, who sometimes sounds like he's 21 going on George Mikan.

Williams has a three-year, $11.13 million contract, three major endorsement deals and his own corporation, but he often can't find a teammate to share a road meal or catch a movie. That's something else that never happens at Duke. The Blue Devils travel in a pack. Go see a flick and you have eight teammates reaching for your buttered popcorn. In the pros, it's a lot of Spectravision and room service.

Here, everything is different. Earlier this season Williams called for a huddle, just like he did back at Duke, and not a single Bulls player took a step. An opposing coach says Williams yelled instructions at Bulls center Eddy Curry during an early season game, and Curry, more than a year younger than the rookie point guard, told him, "Shut the f— up." So much for togetherness.

And the thing is, nearly everyone—except incumbent point guard Jamal Crawford—was flashing smiles when Krause selected Williams. Chandler was so geeked that he showed up at the Bulls practice facility that night wearing a Williams jersey. What wasn't there to like? Williams had the Duke work ethic, ballhandling skills and polish. Even ex-Tar Heel George Karl, who coached him in the World Championships, said Williams has the potential to be a special player.

But few Duke players needed and thrived on that program's unconditional love more than Williams. He was the first to hug a teammate, and the first to expect one back. He was the freshman crying in the Duke locker room after the Blue Devils opened their season with consecutive losses at Madison Square Garden. He is sensitive, big on relationships. In short, he's the Bill Clinton of the league: He feels your pain. Problem is, no one in the unforgiving NBA cares if you enjoy puppies and long walks on the beach.

Not only is Williams a Dukie, but he's a Dukie with a knack for sticking his sneakers in his mouth. Williams drew snickers from some NBA members of that USA team when he talked about expected playing time. He annoyed Bulls coaches and teammates when he suggested that the triangle offense, which the Bulls now only use for a small portion of their set stuff, didn't play to his strengths. His teammates looked skyward when his well-meaning old man blasted Cartwright in print and actually phoned Krause and Jerry Reinsdorf to ask, "What's going on?" And they had an absolute meltdown when a struggling Williams went on the injured list in late January with a sprained ankle (more like a bruised ego, sniped teammates).

"Jay knows I love him," says Bulls captain Jalen Rose. "That's my rookie. But the way to earn your keep in this league is to play through it. Because that's what everybody else has to do."

Says Williams, "I can say I'll never go on the IL again because it was the hardest thing I've ever done ... It was frustrating to watch my team play."

What he doesn't say is that his dad convinced him to miss those mandatory five games—not that it would have helped him in the locker room. "I had to talk him into going on IL," says David Williams. "He didn't want to do it."

Williams' latest misadventure came after a recent blowout loss to Orlando in which he scored exactly zero points in 22 minutes. That's when he announced that there was a growing rift between Bulls players and coaches. Rose responded by calling the comments "stupid." Two days later, Williams and Rose made nice for the TV cameras (Rose kissed him on the head), but it was Crawford, not Williams, who started the next night. Crawford, a Bulls lottery pick in 2000 who started the season demanding a trade if he was expected to share the point guard position, had a double-double in the win. Williams made a 17-minute cameo appearance.

"If the kid is playing well, this wouldn't be a problem," says Brunson, who swears Williams is the most humble No.2 pick he's ever met. "But he's a below … he's an average player here."

In retrospect, Williams says maybe he should have taken a pass on the World Championships, but how do you stiff your own country? Williams went from his junior season at Duke to prepping for the pros, to draft day, to training camp, to summer league, to the USA team, to Indy, to training camp, to an 82-game season. He was a wreck by January, when he hurt his ankle and suffered through a nice six-game stretch in which he shot 14.7% from the field. Halftime contestants do better than that. Shortly after, he was in street clothes.

Williams' subpar play hasn't gone unnoticed in the league. Says one Eastern Conference assistant: "I think he gave in to the league [when he went on the IL]. You know what his biggest problem is: He was at Duke. That whole huggy-huggy thing in college? That's just not the way it is here. Same for that rah-rah leader and all that. He gets disrespected all the time. He would have been much better as a backup point guard on a veteran team."

Kevin O'Neill, a Detroit Pistons assistant and a former Big Ten and SEC head coach, isn't quite as harsh. But he says Duke players are faced with a different kind of adjustment once in the pros: "The NBA stands for No Boys Allowed. It's a hard league, an unforgiving league on a nightly basis.

"A great year in this league is 30 losses," says O'Neill. "Those Duke guys didn't have 30 losses in their whole careers. Williams is thinking he's riding in here on this white horse from Duke. But to make an impact as a young guy in this league is very hard. It's got to be doubly hard coming from Duke because of the expectation level."

Of the recent Duke players to reach the pros, Williams is the one still feeling the tug of being the Big Man on Campus. He returned to Durham earlier this season to see his jersey retired and get showered with Cameron Crazy Love. Eight days later he was back in Metuchen, N.J., where his St. Joseph's High School jersey was retired. When he walked into the tiny gym, the St. Joe's students began chanting, "Rookie of the Year." He signed autographs, stuck around for the ticket raffle and saw St. Joe's beat Old Bridge on a last-second shot just like Williams used to do.

Of course, that was the same day an injured Rose arrived 50 minutes late for a Bulls practice in New York, Chandler overslept and Krause and Cartwright couldn't get their stories straight on disciplinary action. Surprise! The Bulls lost by 18 the next night to New Jersey.

"We went through the same growing pains in '87," says Krause. "I've been through these same things. It's not fun. It's a [censored]." Maybe that's why Krause couldn't help himself when a major college coach recently complained to him. "I've got two sophomores starting," said the coach.

"So do we," said Krause.

At least Krause has six NBA championship rings. Williams has burn marks on his ears from the boos. He's lost his Duke cocoon. He's lost more games than he thought possible. He's lost his share of Bulls teammates. Only Brunson, reserve Corie Blount and maybe another player or two can be considered true Williams allies. Otherwise, the Williams support system mostly features his mother, Althea, who lives in the Chicago area during much of the season. There's the occasional phone calls to and from Duke assistants Steve Wojciechowski, Chris Collins and Johnny Dawkins, former teammate Boozer and Duke legend Grant Hill. They all tell him the same thing: Play with that Duke swagger ... be aggressive ... and don't forget, Gary Payton struggled his rookie year too.

"He probably feels like he's letting a lot of people down," says Collins. "He wants to be great. All of a sudden, if things aren't going well, you start to feel the pressure. He wants to live up to everybody's expectations of him, including his own." But nothing comes easy for Williams. Remember Philly? Just as he's finishing up his postgame fries, he commits a dining turnover and drops a glob of ketchup on a pricey black cashmere mock turtleneck. Williams doesn't have to say it. This is rock bottom.

This article appears in the March 31 issue of ESPN The Magazine.

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