Adam Morrison was once the greatest college basketball player I had ever seen.
He was also a disappointment, a bust, a heartbreaker and a joke. All in just six years' time.
To really understand, you have to go back to the fall of 2005. The Gonzaga Bulldogs were beginning a new season with high expectations. The team's hopes were pinned to Morrison, the moptopped, sweet-shooting swingman.
As a freshman that year at Gonzaga, I had heard this story before. Like Matt Santangelo, Richie Frahm, Blake Stepp and Dan Dickau before him, Morrison was the latest Great White Zags Hope. Besides, anyone looks good playing against the weak West Coast Conference competition. What was going to be so different?
And then I saw Morrison play.
The buzzer-beater may have hooked me, but it was his sheer ability that kept me around.
I saw him play on TV, and he was incredible. I saw him play live at the McCarthey Athletic Center, and he was phenomenal. I stood in the stands with my jaw hitting the floor, amazed by the absolute ability of this guy.
I didn't think it was possible, but Morrison worked so hard in every game, while simultaneously making it look easy. He could hit shots from 30 feet out. He could go off the dribble and pull up, or power to the basket. He could curl off screens. He could run the fast break.
I had never seen a player like him before, and I have never seen a player like him since.
He could do it all.
That season, Morrison averaged 28 points per game, shot 43 percent on 3-pointers, grabbed five rebounds per contest, and was named co-player of the year.
He had five 40-point games and 13 30-point games, all the while hitting shot after shot from every conceivable angle. He carried the Zags through the WCC season and on to the 2006 NCAA Tournament.
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Six years ago, it would be hard to fathom that this would be the arc of Morrison's career. Because as the Zags rolled through the NCAA Tournament in 2006, it seemed "Ammo" was destined for greatness.
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The downfall started, like many do, with teardrops.
In the 2006 Sweet Sixteen, the Bulldogs were up by 17 points against UCLA, and cruising. A curiously shirtsleeved Morrison was leading the Zags in scoring, and the team was looking to move on to the Elite Eight.
Then things fell apart.
The Bruins locked down Morrison in the second half, swarming him and keeping him away from the ball. The rest of the Zags looked lost, and UCLA started to chip away at the lead. Everything was coming unraveled.
With 14 seconds left and the Zags leading by one, Morrison was swarmed in the backcourt by Bruin defenders. Morrison passed to power forward JP Batista. And in doing so, passed away his career.
Despite point guard Derek Raivio, a 90 percent free throw shooter, being open six feet away, Batista held the ball, which was stolen by UCLA. They got the ball inside for an easy layup, and with two seconds still on the clock, still time, possibly, Morrison collapsed on the court in tears. It was done.
Despite point guard Derek Raivio, a 90 percent free throw shooter, being open six feet away, Batista held the ball, which was stolen by UCLA. They got the ball inside for an easy layup, and with two seconds still on the clock, still time, possibly, Morrison collapsed on the court in tears. It was done.
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Despite the setback, Morrison's talent was never in doubt. I'll admit, I was a member of the Blazers' "Draft the Stache" campaign. I believed in the talent and work ethic I saw at Gonzaga. But his tears during the Sweet Sixteen earned him equal amounts of criticism and praise. He was still considered a good prospect, but now he was becoming equally known as "the guy who cried."
Morrison was taken number 3 overall by the Charlotte Bobcats in the 2006 NBA draft. His rookie season was solid if unspectacular, averaging 11 points per game. For a time, he was briefly in consideration for Rookie of the Year before fading near the end of the season. You could think that, given time and conditioning, he could play at the NBA level.
The next season, the wheels fell off.
A torn ACL ended Morrison's season in 2007, and by the time he returned the next year, he couldn't find a spot in the rotation. His defense was invisible, and he couldn't hit any of the shots he took. His bread-and-butter at Gonzaga was his ability to create his own shot. Now, he lacked that ability. A game that used to come so easy for him now seemed like the most difficult task in the world.
In the 2008-2009 season, he was traded to a contender, the Los Angeles Lakers.
And that's when a former College Player of the Year became a complete joke.
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Adam Morrison is a two time NBA champion.
He won titles in 2009 and 2010 with the Lakers, coached by Phil Jackson and featuring one of the greatest players ever to pick up a ball, Kobe Bryant. For most players, this would be a crowning achievement for a career. But Adam Morrison didn't receive that luxury.
Yes, Morrison won two championships. No, he didn't play. Morrison was more often inactive, wearing street clothes and sitting on the bench. He didn't play a single minute in either NBA finals.
Years earlier at Gonzaga, we predicted that Morrison could someday have a major impact on a championship contender.
What we didn't expect was that he would have no impact at all.
Instead, he became a joke. Without significant playing time in years (and without significant production when he did play), no one remembered the greatness on the hardwood at Gonzaga, they only remembered the crying during the Sweet Sixteen. The awkwardness on the Laker bench. He became fodder for late night TV shows.
What should have been the two happiest moments of Adam Morrison's career became nothing but a reminder of how far he had fallen.
Morrison has not played a game in the NBA since.
Adam Morrison now starts at small forward for KK Crvena zvezda in Serbia. Judging by highlights and my inability to understand Serbian, it seems like he's playing well, with a recent 30-point game.
It's not the worst way to make a living, but it's nothing like what was expected so many years ago.
How did Morrison end up at this point? Was it the level of competition? His defense? His desire? We may not know. The question now is: what's next?
It's easy to laugh at the legions of die-hard Zag fans who still say Adam Morrison got a raw deal. To them it was always the coach's fault, or the injury's fault. Many of them are probably watching Ammo's Euro highlights and thinking "See? He can still do it!"
And deep down, I desperately want them to be right.
Deep down, I want to feel what my freshman self felt in the bleachers six years ago. I want to feel that excitement, that wonder about how a young man can play basketball so well.
We didn't appreciate the phenomenon we were seeing at Gonzaga. It came and went like a gunshot. Too fast. We weren't prepared for it to be so finite. Deep down, we just want to see it one last time.
But the heartbreaking idea no one wants to admit, is that maybe there's no bullets left in the chamber.
Years earlier at Gonzaga, we predicted that Morrison could someday have a major impact on a championship contender.
What we didn't expect was that he would have no impact at all.
Instead, he became a joke. Without significant playing time in years (and without significant production when he did play), no one remembered the greatness on the hardwood at Gonzaga, they only remembered the crying during the Sweet Sixteen. The awkwardness on the Laker bench. He became fodder for late night TV shows.
What should have been the two happiest moments of Adam Morrison's career became nothing but a reminder of how far he had fallen.
Morrison has not played a game in the NBA since.
--------------------
Adam Morrison now starts at small forward for KK Crvena zvezda in Serbia. Judging by highlights and my inability to understand Serbian, it seems like he's playing well, with a recent 30-point game.
It's not the worst way to make a living, but it's nothing like what was expected so many years ago.
How did Morrison end up at this point? Was it the level of competition? His defense? His desire? We may not know. The question now is: what's next?
It's easy to laugh at the legions of die-hard Zag fans who still say Adam Morrison got a raw deal. To them it was always the coach's fault, or the injury's fault. Many of them are probably watching Ammo's Euro highlights and thinking "See? He can still do it!"
And deep down, I desperately want them to be right.
Deep down, I want to feel what my freshman self felt in the bleachers six years ago. I want to feel that excitement, that wonder about how a young man can play basketball so well.
We didn't appreciate the phenomenon we were seeing at Gonzaga. It came and went like a gunshot. Too fast. We weren't prepared for it to be so finite. Deep down, we just want to see it one last time.
But the heartbreaking idea no one wants to admit, is that maybe there's no bullets left in the chamber.
