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Friday, June 22
Updated: June 25, 11:43 AM ET
Griffin's No. 1 problem ... his past
By Adrian Wojnarowski
Special to ESPN.com
As NBA drafts go, there have been few serious No. 1 overall candidates with the unimpressive, unproven history of Eddie Griffin. He had a year of
college, presumably a year of growing up, constructing his character and molding his immense talents into a pretty package for the pros. The irony, of
course, is his season with Seton Hall turned out to be a lesson in permissiveness, reinforcing a sense of entitlement and creating more
questions than answers about Griffin.
Want to take him No. 1, Michael Jordan, well take your chances. If this kid has a love for the game, it's hard to see. If this kid has a desire to
win, it's impossible to prove. All we know for sure, is this: He has immense talent, and a belief that basketball owes him.
Welcome to 2001. Welcome to basketball's troubling future.
|  | | Eddie Griffin's talents are unquestioned, but his questionable attitude overshadows his talent. |
One year as a college freshmen taught Griffin there was nothing he couldn't do and still be forgiven because of a 6-foot-9 frame just oozing
with talent. He discovered he could threaten a teammate, Ty Shine, in a January huddle, sucker punch him in the locker room and absolutely walk on
it. Tommy Amaker, fearful of frightening off future blue-chip recruits, gave Griffin just a one-game suspension for a premeditated punch --- the kind of punishment that
usually goes with missing a class, or showing up late for a practice.
This wasn't exactly the mentoring Amaker promised Griffin's late brother, Marvin Powell, when he recruited Griffin out of Roman Catholic High School in
Philadelphia as the nation's top prospect.
Let's see, what else?
Well, Griffin turned terribly selfish for the Pirates, discovering he could freelance within the offense without consequence. He could take wild shots, play defense by just swinging his long arms to block shots and never, ever hear a disparaging word out of his coach's mouth. His team could lose, but the best player was forever protected as Amaker privately stacked the blame on the upperclassmen.
"When we started losing, a lot of people just said, 'Forget it, I'm going to get mine,'" Griffin said during the season, failing to mention he was typically the first one
in line to get his.
Rev. Paul Brant, principal of Roman Catholic, did his best to curtail Griffin, fearing the young man's future if he didn't. They were losing a grip on him at the high school, and the good father made one final lunge to save him on his way to college. What Amaker refused to do with Griffin at Seton Hall -- show him that he wasn't above
punishment, immune of consequences -- Rev. Brandt had done. Near the end of his senior year of high school, Griffin and a 6-10 classmate, Marcus Gantt,
ended up in a classroom fight, these two enormous bodies flailing on the floor.
There was a zero tolerance policy for violence at Roman Catholic, and this was the end for what could turn out to be the famous alumnus in the
school's history. They let Griffin get his diploma, but he had to finish his academic year at home. Father Brant tossed the most famous high school
basketball player in the country out of school, believing it could end up saving this kid down the line.
"What if we hadn't done it?" Rev. Brant wondered several months ago. "That was my biggest concern. If we hadn't let him know he had to take
responsibility for his actions, later in life when he became a pro athlete what would happen
when he was faced with circumstances where he had to be accountable?"
To get his diploma, Griffin had to undergo anger management counseling. Months before flipping out on Shine, Griffin said, "The anger management
classes helped me on the court," Griffin said. "I've grown from it. Now, I've got (my temper) under control."
As it turned out, this just wasn't the case. Father Brant did his part, but it wasn't in the NBA that Griffin had to be made accountable, it was in college. Griffin failed the test.
Griffin has a disturbing history of reacting to conflict with violence, of pouting and feeling sorry for himself when things don't go his way. After everything a year ago, he
couldn't believe the Seton Hall fans booed him. It was downright scary that he couldn't begin to understand it.
"Emotionally, you're talking about a kid who was a young high school senior, who was 17 for most of the year," Rev. Brant said. "To be in the
pros, and miss that development in college, would've been so difficult for him."
This is the most disturbing part of the Eddie Griffin saga. He had his year in college, but what was it worth? After creating more questions than
answers about himself, he has a chance to the No. 1 pick in the NBA draft.
Welcome to 2001. Welcome to basketball's troubling future.
Adrian Wojnarowski is a columnist for The Record (Northern New Jersey) and a
regular contributor to ESPN.com.
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