The running man: no one in the NBA is in better shape than Pistons guard Richard Hamilton—just ask him. And few players have made more progress toward stardom this season—just ask anyone else

Sporting News, The, June 14, 2004 by Sean Deveney

Coatesville sits in the hills of southeastern Pennsylvania, 46 miles west of Philadelphia off 1-76. It's a mill town, population 10,800, tight-knit, hard-working and blue-collar. It's not the kind of town that is accustomed to national attention and tributes wrought in precious stones. Yet here's Richard Hamilton, the town's favorite son, shouting, "Coatesville, on television after his Pistons toppled the Pacers in the East finals. Here he is with a diamond-encrusted "CV" around his slender neck. Here he is eight years after leaving Coatesville Area High, still embracing his prep coach, Ricky Hicks, still being watched by his dad, Richard Hamilton (who gave his son his legal name, and his nickname, Rip) and mom, Pam Coats. "My hometown," Hamilton says, "made me what I am now."

What he is now is one of the fastest-rising names in the NBA, just 26 years old and trying to secure his stardom against the Lakers in The Finals. More than any player, he has used this postseason to elevate his stature, going from a good scorer to a great scorer, and improving his reputation as a passer and as a defender. His matchup against Pacers guard Reggie Miller the--veteran off-the-screen shooter whose game most resembles Hamilton's--in the previous round was one of the most entertaining subplots of the playoffs. With an average of 23.7 points and several clutch shots to his credit, Hamilton was the only player who managed to escape the Eastern Conference finals with his offensive reputation intact.

Hamilton has become the lace for the tough, grinding Pistons, all the more fitting because Hamilton's face is covered by a mask that protects his thrice-broken nose (no wimp is Hamilton; he only had surgery after the third break). The Pistons begain The Finals as a heavy underdog, but they won the opener in Los Angeles. Hamilton scored only 12 points in Game 1, but the Pistons were counting on his production as their best chance to pull an upset.

"He made a big transition in the last two years coming from Washington to Detroit (in a 2002 trade) and becoming a featured player," says Lakers coach Phil Jackson. "Hamilton is a tireless worker and capable of being a one-man wrecking crew out there because he gets picks and, in turn, he wears down the players who have to guard him."

Hamilton's success is rooted in that willingness to wear down his opponents. He zips on the baseline and around screens to set up the catch-and-shoot. He's not particularly fast, but his stamina allows him to run full speed while opponents slow down. Hamilton calls himself the "most-conditioned" guy in the league, and few would argue--he is thin as a lamppost, 6-7 and just 193 pounds--but, as Lakers forward Devean George says, "He never stops. He is like a little Energizer bunny out there."

Being the best-conditioned guy on the floor has long been Hamilton's goal, as Hicks points out. Hicks, who played at West Chester University despite standing 5-7, has been more than a coach for Hamilton--he has been a mentor and a guide for his career, ever since he first saw him play as a ninth-grader. In Hamilton's first game, he was a 6-3 point guard and threw a perfect bounce pass from halfcourt. "He did that, and I was excited," Hicks says. "But I did not want to let him know that. So I told him, 'That was good, but you should be doing things like that on every play.'"

Hicks did not push Hamilton; he simply opened up his schedule and was there for Hamilton whenever he wanted to work. Hamilton rarely passed on the chance. When Hicks would run the hills outside Coatesville--grueling runs at full speed up, then backtracking down--at 6 a.m., Hamilton would be there, too. "I always thought that anybody can get up and go work out at 9 in the morning," Hicks says. "But give me the kid who gets up at 6. That's the one I want, and that's the kind that Rip was."

Even when Hamilton went to college at Connecticut, he returned home every summer for more work with Hicks. It was during one of those trips that Hicks nudged Hamilton into a decision. "Everyone always wanted him to put on weight," Hicks says. "Well, he would come back and lift weights with his dad, and he would get bigger and have more weight. But then he would start training for the season again, and all the weight would come off. So we decided, you got to be able to outlast the other guy. You're never going to be bigger than him. You've got to run and run and run."

And breathe. When Hicks was in college, one of his teammates showed him how to breathe properly, using both the mouth and the nose, patiently pushing air out. Hicks passed the technique on to Hamilton. That's why, even at the end of 40-plus minutes, you won't catch Hamilton breathing heavily. It's also why, when he broke his nose for the third time in his career at the end of February ("I would not make a very good boxer," he joked), Hamilton had surgery to get it fixed--a busted schnoz is no good when it comes to proper breathing, and proper breathing is vital to Hamilton's game.