Angel in the backcourt

Sporting News, The, July 7, 1997 by Vicki Michaelis

It glimmered under the television lights, that tiny pin with the too-much-for-words meaning. It caught the glory of the moment and, faster than it takes two brothers to high-five, it winked in the brightness.

You had to look closely to see it, centered on Antonio Daniels' left lapel, over his heart. You had to look even closer, into that heart, to know why Daniels would want a little gold angel dribbling a basketball with him on stage at the NBA draft.

Chris Daniels always wanted his little brother with him. Never turned him away. They were born 20 months apart, but their mom, Alice Daniels, says they were like twins. Identical in what they liked to do, inseparable in doing it.

The first sport they played together was football, Chris as the quarterback, Antonio as the receiver. Basketball began when Alice, a single mother of four, enrolled them in a summer program. Antonio figures he was about 10, Chris about 11.

From that summer on, they were hooked. They played on the streets, the playgrounds and, eventually, the school gymnasiums of Columbus, Ohio. When Chris got to high school, he grew and grew. Frighteningly fast, some would somberly say now. He grew to center size. A lot of the Division I schools wanted him. He brought Antonio on some of his recruiting trips.

He chose the University of Dayton, which seemed kind of far, given how close the brothers were. But they still had the phone. They would call each other after games, to talk about hoops, about life especially after Antonio, a less heralded high school player than Chris, signed with Bowling Green.

When the phone rang in Antonio's dorm room at 7 a.m. on February 8, 1996, then-Bowling Green head coach Jim Larranaga and an assistant coach already were there. Antonio dropped the phone when Alice told him Chris had died, and he cried.

Cardiac arrhythmia, the coroner said. An irregular heartbeat, possibly caused by the growth spurt. Antonio grew almost a foot in high school. He and the rest of the family, after Chris' death, checked out OK

They have no anxiety about another sudden tragedy. On the answering machine at Alice's home in Columbus, just a few blocks from the cemetery where Chris is buried, she has recorded a message: "We've embraced the stars too long to be fearful of the night."

The Bowling Green coaches drove Antonio home that dreary day in February. His Falcons teammates came the next day. After the funeral, Larranaga offered an "Is there anything I can do?" with his condolences. Yes there was, Antonio told him. He wanted to change his jersey number from 10 to 33 Chris' number at Dayton.

For a February 14 game against then-No. 23 Eastern Michigan, the Falcons had a No. 33 jersey ready. Larranaga, though, could see Antonio had not eaten or slept well in days. The coach told him No. 33 could debut another time. It wasn't that simple, Antonio explained. Chris was supposed to be at this game, the only one he would have seen all season. "I have to play this game in his memory," he told Larranaga.

The Falcons led much of the game, as Larranaga recalls, but with just under 10 seconds left, Eastern Michigan had tied it. Bowling Green inbounded to guard Jay Larranaga, the coach's son. Eastern Michigan was pressing. Jay passed to Antonio, who was running toward midcourt. He had one man to beat.

Eastern Michigan guard Mike Pennisi had position. But he fell, seemingly untouched, before Antonio drove by and scored the winning layup. Antonio patted the No. 33 on his chest. He raised his arms. He ran to hug Jim Larranaga. Chris tripped the guy, everyone said. An angel on the baseline. "When you look at the tape," the coach says, "you can believe it."

That game gave Antonio more than a Hollywood twist to his story. He had told his mom before he returned to school that he was going to make the NBA, for him and for Chris. After the Falcons upset Eastern Michigan on Valentine's Day 1996, no one doubted it. Antonio would not bury the shared dream alongside his brother.

"When these things happen, you can take the positive route or the negative route. The positive route is to use it for motivation and inspiration. The negative route is drugs and alcohol," Antonio says, "but that's not my family and that's not my sport."

Chris and Antonio dreamed about the NBA as much as any basketball-playing brothers would. Chris, more impressive as he progressed through college, seemed the most likely to make it. Still, they worked out side by side in the summers in Columbus.

Last summer, Antonio stayed at Bowling Green. He lifted weights religiously, adding bulk to his 6-4 frame. He shot for five hours straight sometimes.

He increased his scoring average to 24.0 last season from 16.0 points his junior year. His field-goal percentage improved to 54.7 percent (279-for-510) from 47.8 percent (142-for-297). He was named Mid-American Conference Player of the Year. The Falcons, with a 22-10 record, went to the NIT. Antonio went from European-league material to a top-five NBA draft pick.

Alice visited Chris' grave before going to every one of Bowling Green's home games last season. She talked to her oldest son, the one Antonio stills calls his role model. She told him about all the reporters calling, all the scouts watching. She asked him to watch, too.