The Ultimate Homecoming

Sporting News, The, Feb 22, 1999 by Bill Minutaglio

Hakeem takes a deep gulp of crisp winter air. The sun is bouncing off his bronze car. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" he says. As he turns to go, he adds: "I think he's happy, but I think he still has to go through a lot more adjustments."

His eyes aren't filled with the operatic pathos of John Chaney. Clyde Drexler's face will never blister in rage. His beatific countenance will never look like all those tortured turnips in sweaters, like Bob Knight or Jerry Tarkanian or Lou Carnesecca. Courtside, Drexler is a study in elegance, looking as if he just padded down a runway. If he were in the Rat Pack, he'd be Dean Martin--effortless, smooth, insouciant. And, sometimes, like when he gets a technical against St. Louis, he has to work over and over again just to be heard by the official.

"You are going to see the same person, the same attitude, every time," insists Young, who grew up with Drexler on the Houston playgrounds and now slips him peppermints during the national anthem. "You are not going to get Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Clyde, you know?"

When he does open up, it's not about himself. Certainly not his family; he even refuses to tell people where he jogs so he can protect his family's whereabouts from star-struck Houstonians. When he does open up, it's about his team--and often about the fact that he inherited a team of players he did not recruit.

Postgame, win or lose, Drexler often reasserts that Houston is really a two-man team: Gee Gervin, the syrupy point guard and son of NBA star George Gervin, and Kenny Younger, the marionette-limbed forward who emerged from the endless wheat and sunflower fields in Minot, N.D.

"When you have five walk-ons, you are going to give up something," Drexler says. "We have guys who just can't find a way to put the ball in the hole. I think when you are playing Division I basketball, you have to make layups and figure out some way to stay in front of the offensive guy."

In the end, this is one part of the job, the explaining, that he truly seems to dislike. He keeps his practices closed and he despises lengthy interviews--he has a rule that they be kept to 10 minutes or less. If you want to catch him on the phone, forget about nailing down an exact time--give Drexler a three- or four-hour span and maybe he'll call you in that window.

Over the summer, there were sometimes 11-hour days in the office. Now, he's more flexible with his schedule--he arrives by midmorning and sometimes leaves right after practice ends at 4 or 5. "I'm pleased with the way he is balancing his personal life," Gladchuk says. "He seems to be spending the time he should with Gaynell and the children. I mean he's not in here 24 hours a day, seven days a week. But he doesn't need to be because he has a staff who is in here 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and they are picking up a lot of the pieces for him."

George Gervin, who travels from San Antonio for every home game, has been studying Drexler from his $1,000-a-year courtside seat close to the Houston home bench. Unlike Moses Malone, this NBA great has not pulled his son from Drexler's program. He loves the program. Drexler is giving Gervin's son, a junior college transfer, the rock. "I think he is learning what it takes to be a really good collegiate coach," says Gervin after a January win against Memphis at Hofheinz. "I think, so far, he has been patient. Look, he inherited a team from last year. He needs more players. There's no question about his ability to coach."