Living in the Shadows: A Patrick Ewing Jr. Story

[RMJH4]

oh yeah we big time now

The Big Leagues are here! Took half a D League season!

Oh we up next

Did you say you are from Minnesota to me a few weeks ago? I had a look around and didn't find a Wolves chise here so it might work out nicely to have them chised for now.

[Agent]

Naw I’m from Kentucky. Chillcavern is from Minnesota.

[RMJH4]

Naw I’m from Kentucky. Chillcavern is from Minnesota.

Ah cool. I will have to get him in on this! Are you a UK fan or Louisville?

[Agent]

I’m a Kentucky fan but I support Louisville too. When they’re playing each other though UK > UL.

[RMJH4]

HEAD COACH: Rick Adelman
ASSISTANT COACH: Terry Porter
ASSISTANT COACH: Jack Sikma
ASSISTANT COACH: TR Dunn
ASSISTANT COACH FOR PLAYER DEVELOPMENT: David Adelman
ATHLETIC TRAINER: Gregg Farnham

[RMJH4]

I’m a Kentucky fan but I support Louisville too. When they’re playing each other though UK > UL.

Two awesome choices either way. I think I may have said before I liked Louisville back when Russ Smith, Peyton Siva and Kevin Ware played.

[RMJH4]

NBA Standings Feb 6th 2012

[RMJH4]

Ewing's Epilogues: Episode 8

The Target Center weight room smells like rubber and ambition.

6:47 AM. First full day as a Minnesota Timberwolf.

I figured I'd be the first one in. Beat the veterans, make a statement without saying a word. Classic new guy move. Show up early, head down, work.
Except someone beat me to it.

He's got his back to the door, headphones around his neck, working through a cable row sequence with the kind of deliberate focus that tells you this isn't his first early morning. Slight frame. Dark hair. The number nine on his practice shirt.

Ricky Rubio.

I set my bag down quietly, not wanting to interrupt whatever zone he's in. I find a bench, start stretching out, let him work. The room is otherwise empty. Just the hum of the ventilation system and the rhythmic pull of the cable machine.

After a few minutes he notices me in the mirror. Pulls one headphone aside.

"Ewing, right?" His accent is thick but his English is clean. Confident.
"That's me," I say. "Most people call me Jr."

He nods, returns to his set. I watch his form — controlled, deliberate, no wasted energy. Same way he plays.
I move to the free weights nearby. We work in silence for a few minutes, comfortable enough. Then he speaks again without looking up.

"How was Maine?"
"Cold," I say.
He laughs at that. Short, genuine. "Minnesota is also cold."
"So I've been told."

I load another plate, settle into my stance. Out of nowhere something from my Georgetown Spanish classes surfaces — Professor Mendez drilling verb conjugations into us two mornings a week, sophomore year. I don't even think about it. Just open my mouth.

"Llevas mucho tiempo entrenando así de temprano?"
(Have you been training this early for long?)

The cable machine stops.

Rubio turns around fully this time, looking at me like I just said something in a language he didn't expect to hear in a Minneapolis weight room at six in the morning. Which, to be fair, is exactly what happened.

"Hablas español?"
(You speak Spanish?)

"Un poco," I say. "Georgetown. Dos años."
(A little. Georgetown. Two years.)

He grins — wide, unguarded, the kind of smile you can't manufacture. Sets the cable handle down and walks over, extending his hand properly this time. Not the quick nod from before. A real introduction.

"Ricky."
"Pat."

We shake. Something easy settles between us right then. Hard to explain. Just one of those things.
Turns out Ricky's been here since six. Says he does it three times a week minimum — weights before shootaround, film after. Says Rick Adelman doesn't require it but appreciates it. Says Kevin Love does the same thing on the other end, stays late instead of coming early.

"Love and Ridnour," I say. "They the ones to watch here?"

Ricky considers that for a second. "Luke is quiet. Does everything right. You won't notice him until you need him." He pauses. "Kevin you will notice."
I laugh at that.

We work for another forty minutes, trading sets, barely talking but comfortable in the silence between. The room starts filling around seven thirty. Trainers. A few younger guys I don't recognise yet. Then Luke Ridnour, right on schedule, coffee in hand, nodding at everyone without making a production of it. Exactly how Ricky described him.

Then Martell Webster.

He spots me from across the room. Takes a beat — just long enough. The kind of pause that isn't quite a look but isn't nothing either. He moves to the far end of the weight rack, picks his spot, puts his headphones in.
I file that away.

This isn't Maine. There are no open minutes waiting for me here — I'm walking into someone else's rotation, someone else's livelihood. Martell Webster has been fighting for his own NBA life long enough to know exactly what my arrival means.

I respect that.

Doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for him.

Ricky catches my eye in the mirror, gives the smallest nod toward Webster's direction. Like he already knows.
Around eight, Kevin Love walks in and the whole room shifts slightly — not because he demands it, just because that's what happens when the best player arrives. He's carrying a smoothie, laughing at something on his phone, completely unbothered. Spots me, changes direction, walks straight over.

"Patrick Ewing Jr.," he says. Big handshake. Bigger smile. "Welcome to Minnesota. You like cold weather?"
"Getting used to it."
"You will," he says simply. Then he's already moving to his station, already locked in.

Simple as that. No performance. Just professional.

I look around the weight room. Rubio back on the cables. Ridnour stretching in the corner. Love loading a bar like it's just another Tuesday. Webster in his own world at the far end.

This is real now.

Maine was the audition.

This is the show.

Jr out.

[Agent]

Rubio & Ewing Jr better be lob city

[The JZA]

Ewi Jr finally up to do his old man proud