EAST RUTHERFORD, N.J. -- The magnificent basketball mind of Jason Kidd sees the game unfolding before his eyes, one, two, and three frames beyond mere men. Never a needless movement, never a pass without purpose, basketball's best point guard is forever pushing the ball down the floor, his fast break to free agency. He is smart and calculating, the suggestions trickling out of his mouth slowly and surely, a trail of assurances that seem more and more likely to bring him back to the New Jersey Nets next summer.

Over and over, Kidd has made it clear: New Jersey isn't just his first choice but his best. This is his home now. The Nets aren't just his today, but his tomorrow, too.

	Free agent-to-be Jason Kidd may call New Jersey his permanent home after all.

"Maybe I've kind of diffused the situation, taken a little drama out," Kidd confessed.

Sending out this message hasn't been an accident, because, "It's a story that's going to follow us city to city this year," Kidd said, a story of his 2003 free agency that Kidd is done discussing until July 1 now. The preseason is over, the games beginning and the speculation is starting to subside. It seems clear where Kidd stands on his future: Shoulder to shoulder with the Nets.

When Kidd finally told Steve Adamek of The Record (N.J.) that if the Nets offer to max him out -- seven years for roughly $119 million -- Kidd promises to turn a "deaf ear" to the rest of his suitors and re-sign with the Nets.

"It's a no-brainer, as far as a max contract is concerned," Nets coach Byron Scott said.

The smartest salary they'll ever pay here, and the Nets know it. Kidd hasn't issued a guarantee on staying a Net, wisely understanding that, "I've still got a year to play this out." Yet, it seems this organization did the once unthinkable: It sold him on staying. From the NBA Finals to the budding young All-Stars Kenyon Martin and Richard Jefferson surrounding him, to the relentlessness of Nets president Rod Thorn refusing to stand still and of Scott cultivating a relationship Kidd has always wanted with his pro coach -- from his family's comfort in Northern New Jersey to the endless endorsement possibilities across the Hudson River in Manhattan -- he is running out of reasons to consider ever leaving the Nets.

"We've done everything we can to let Jason know how much he means to us, how much we want him to stay here," Scott said.

All the way down to letting him use the Nets' practice facility for his son's birthday party, clowns and unicycles included. The franchise belongs to him. Where else makes sense? There's cap space and Tim Duncan in San Antonio, but the lure of the Western Conference isn't so temping anymore. With his wife, Joumana, working for Extra television and courting a television talk show, the small market blues of San Antonio are even less appealing.

The Eastern Conference gives Kidd a chance to make the NBA Finals every year. Now, he is the final hurdle for the Nets' curse, a superstar once sure that Jersey was a purgatory between Phoenix and free agency. He has a sense of ownership here, a satisfaction with constructing a basketball power out of a lost cause. "That is part of my background, going to Cal the way I did," Kidd said.

His impending free agency is starting to feel like his high school days, when Kidd was the nation's most recruited high school scholastic star in Oakland. Ultimately, Kidd stayed home and make Cal a basketball power. This time, his options are far more limited: The salary cap controls his possible destinations, a system perfect for the Nets to keep him.

	Kidd is desperate to get his major, the way Mickelson wants his own. They made a pact a year ago: If Kidd beat Shaquille O'Neal, Mickelson promised a major title. They'll try again this year, with the far better odds belonging on the golf course.

Still, Kidd's popularity is immense here. The No. 5 Nets jerseys are everywhere and soon Kidd will be pitching Pepsi and Hugo Boss. He loves crossing the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan, circling past his bigger than life EA Sports billboard on 49th Street and Seventh Avenue, within 20 blocks from Madison Square Garden.

"To be in New York as a Net, that's kind of unusual," Kidd said. "You're talking about the Knicks here."

Not anymore. His basketball renaissance in Metropolitan New York has gone arm in arm with the restoration of his public persona and marriage complete after a violent act with his wife, Joumana, expedited his exile to basketball's Elba -- East Rutherford. Kidd has come clean and he's come back -- all the way.

"In an age where every athlete denies what they've done wrong, here's a guy who stands up, takes responsibility and does something about it," his close friend, golfer Phil Mickelson said. "He and Joumana have made sure to work things through to see that it doesn't happen again. They made sure his family stayed intact.

"I just have a lot of respect for him, the way he went about his faults. Everybody has faults. It's how you handle them that tells a lot about the person."

Kidd is desperate to get his major, the way Mickelson wants his own. They made a pact a year ago: If Kidd beat Shaquille O'Neal, Mickelson promised a major title. They'll try again this year, with the far better odds belonging on the golf course. With Shaq and Tiger Woods looming as the two most impenetrable talents in these sports' histories, Kidd confesses: "Timing is everything in life."

Shaq could be gone in a couple years, just when Martin and Jefferson are transforming into true stars, just when the Nets could be basketball's greatest high-wire act. "If (Kidd) doesn't stay," Martin said, "Who's it on? The guys in this locker room. No one else." Ultimately, they're the reason Kidd probably signs after July 1, a prospect that would've seemed beyond Kidd's wildest imagination a year ago.

"I think there's a distinct possibility Jason will stay," Mickelson said.

Just listen to Jason Kidd, to a long line of hints and suggestions and understand: He is diffusing the drama on his decision, leaving little doubt of his loyalties now. The Nets have sold him here. He lives his life watching the game unfold one, two and three frames down the floor. Every movement, every word, possesses a purpose. His message is unmistakable: Basketball's purgatory has transformed itself into his home.

Adrian Wojnarowski is a columnist for The Record (N.J.) and a regular contributor to ESPN.com. He can be reached at ESPNWoj@aol.com.