news_12_17

Los Angeles Times, 12/17/03

JUST OFF CENTER: CLIPPER ROOKIE CHRIS KAMAN TENDS TO OPERATE IN HIS OWN UNIVERSE

by Bill Plaschke

The Cleveland Cavaliers have King James.

The Clippers have Kaman Island.

Sunny, mysterious, alone, first-round draft pick Chris Kaman bobs across the NBA landscape like a 7-foot chunk of stubbly driftwood.

Stronger than he looks. Tougher than you'd think. As different as they come.

"A great guy," says Olden Polynice. "And a real dork."

Kaman ranks among rookie leaders in rebounds and shooting percentage, but lives in another universe.

"Yeah, I know, guys think I'm goofy," Kaman says, smiling beneath his floppy blond hair and haphazard beard. "But I'm just trying to be myself."

Other top rookies meet their adoring public in the finest suits and chains.

Kaman walks around town in a hooded Clipper sweatshirt. The kind you buy at Foot Locker and wear if you are not a Clipper.

Even wore it to the mall.

"Lots of people came up to me, but so what?" he says. "The shirt feels great. Why can't I wear it?"

Other top rookies drive 2004 Hummers and Caddies.

Kaman sometimes drives a black 1972 Chevy Chevelle with a rebuilt engine, the sort he used to tinker with while growing up in small-town western Michigan.

"I love working on cars, but I don't have time for that stuff anymore," he says. "Now, if I need something fixed, I have to get ripped off, like everyone else."

Other top rookies fight off the blatant pursuit of enchanted admirers.

In an e-mail published on a Clipper Web site, a woman ripped Kaman's hair.

"I had to cut my hair all through college," he says. "Now that I'm 21, I'm letting it grow, and that woman will just have to wait."

Other top rookies might try to act cool around family and old friends.

After a recent game in Cleveland, Kaman met his family in the stands while still in full uniform, hanging out and talking until the place was deserted, the bus was waiting and Clipper officials were hollering for his jersey and pants.

"You have to understand, my family now lives 2,500 miles away from me, and it's hard," he says. "Every moment with them is precious. I don't care what it looks like."

A dork, sure, but a lovable dork.

The other day, he took the floor wearing a shirt with his name misspelled. He politely waited until halftime to change.

"I couldn't see the name, so what was the big deal?" he says.

While meeting fans and posing for photos after Tuesday's practice, he actually grabbed a camera and took the pictures.

He chides the ball boys as if he is one of them. He brings doughnuts and loose balls to the veterans because he knows he is not one of them.

And he makes hardened Coach Mike Dunleavy smile.

"He's got this innocence and purity about the game," Dunleavy says. "He's got tremendous skills, and we're just starting to tap into them."

One possession at a time.

Perhaps the funkiest thing about the funkiest Clipper is that, at every pause in the action, Kaman walks to the sideline to talk to his coach.

"We're bonding," says Dunleavy.

"Um, yeah, that's what it is," says Kaman.

The constant lessons are sometimes necessary, given that Kaman suffers from attention deficit disorder, a neurological condition that affects the ability to concentrate.

Kaman says his condition -- initially diagnosed as attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder -- led to wild childhood behavior that resulted in school suspensions and almost worse.

He once locked his baby sitter out of the house and barred the doors. Another time, he fell through a front-door window. He was constantly in trouble for impulsivity -- he openly wondered once if a bald teacher had undergone radiation treatments for cancer.

Prescription Ritalin help calm him but it also affected his appetite, and so at one point in his career at a tiny Christian high school, he stood 7 feet and weighed only 200 pounds.

He has since stopped taking medicine and has acquired the tools to deal with his condition. The most important of those being basketball.

"I'm able to spend all day running around on a court, what can be better than that?" he says.

Not that ADD can be slam-dunked into oblivion, because it can't.

"Sometimes I'll drift, find myself staring at the ceiling, and Coach Dunleavy will say, 'Chris, where are you?' " he says.

Chris Kaman is in a place that any parent with an ADD-afflicted child would admire.

He's matured out of the mess. He's soaring over the skepticism.

Yes, the Central Michigan junior was the sixth pick overall in the draft, and signed an $11.2-million contract.

But one of his pre-draft Clipper workouts was so poor, a frustrated Dunleavy stormed down to the court in suit and tie to show him how to play.

"I would tell him what to do, but he just wasn't getting it," Dunleavy said. "But once I came down and showed him, he picked it up right away. I knew then he had a chance to be a good one."

In the Clippers' third consecutive win Monday against New Orleans, he played 30 hard minutes, made half of his six shots, grabbed eight rebounds, had four assists and committed only one turnover.

Watching him play so well with Elton Brand and Corey Maggette -- all three under extended contracts -- one is struck by the strange and wonderful vision of a solid Clipper front line for the next several seasons.

"Kaman is going to be a good starting center in this league," Dunleavy said. "In fact, I don't think he knows how good he is."

Judging from his disarming smile and constant shrug, indeed, it seems he hasn't a clue.

"Hey man, I just try to seize the day, you know?" he says.

In the increasingly boisterous Clipper locker room, Kaman Island is one place you can still hear country music.

"I like some rap, but I don't like all the cussing," he says. "Some of that can pervert your mind."

Kaman Island is one place that is tattoo-free.

"If I got a tattoo, my dad would break my leg," he says. "Of course, he's got a tattoo, but he's my dad."

Kaman Island may still be rough and undeveloped, a huge undertaking requiring much patience and persistence.

But it's already more picturesque than the Olowokandis.

Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.