With a simple flick of the wrist, Smith could drain 3s - or as Richardson called them, “4-pointers” - from laughable distances. The second thing everyone noticed? Smith’s jump shot. “He’s the only guy I ever coached,” Richardson said, “that had that structure and could play outside, face the basket at six-five, six-six.” Richardson remembers the Camden High kids, from Milt Wagner to his son, Dajuan, always seeming more physically mature. He called him “a court rat.” Smith eventually landed at Lakewood after pit stops at Steinert High and McCorristin Catholic High - a red flag, in retrospect - as people quickly noticed Smith’s body didn’t resemble the body of a typical high school kid. Smith when he dominated the Lakewood youth leagues as a 12-year-old. Their inability to make a lasting impression remains the most confounding thing about a confounding career. They would all eventually cross paths with J.R. And Mike Woodson launched his NBA career under the Knicks’ Red Holzman after playing for Bobby Knight at Indiana. Meanwhile, George Karl coached the CBA’s Montana Golden Nuggets, stealing bit by bit from mentors Larry Brown, Doug Moe, and Dean Smith. Byron Scott capped a successful collegiate career and became a fixture of the “Showtime” Los Angeles Lakers under Pat Riley. Dan Hurley started honing his game under the tutelage of his father, Bob. John “Pott” Richardson began his climb to more than 400 wins while coaching the Piners of Lakewood High School in New Jersey. That same period laid the groundwork for the basketball philosophies of several other basketball lifers who would shape the education of Smith Jr.’s oldest son. “It had heightened natural tensions between teammates as it increased the differences that always existed.” “The new salaries had made it more difficult,” David Halberstam once wrote in The Breaks of the Game. Salary discrepancies between stars and bench players had been thrown out of whack. Free agency ensured that rosters became less fluid from year to year. Television ratings swelled, contracts ballooned, players flew first class. His association with those players linked him to a rapidly evolving NBA during the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Larry and Magic brought the NBA to the masses. He measured himself against NBA players like Vinnie Johnson, Eddie Jordan, and James Bailey while holding his own in the Jersey League. remains confident that the NBA would have beckoned if only his path had veered a little differently. Eight years into his star-crossed career, coaches and fans still don’t know what to make of J.R. But he’s also defined by something that isn’t tangible: untapped potential. He’s made money in bunches, more than $25 million in his career, and he will find a team long after his athleticism erodes - like his father, he will always be able to shoot. Smith is one of the last members of the NBA’s much-debated prep-to-pro generation. Smith, a perplexing, polarizing player and personality. The elder of the two brothers now admits that his father “taught me every fundamental that I know, especially my shooting technique.” That jumper sustains his NBA career - but it doesn’t define a successful one. “Defense was the last thing I taught them,” Earl explained, “because you can make it without defense.”Įarl wasn’t wrong. When another son arrived two years later, the brothers practiced plays coordinated to numbers. Earl instructed the boy to do push-ups - not too many, but enough to build strength - and to use the form as an inverted model for his jump shot. By the time the boy turned 3, he could sink free throws on a regular basis. He taught the boy to bend with his knees and push with his arms as he shot. He placed toy hoops in every nook of the house. In 1985, Earl passed on his genes, his basketball acumen, and his name to his first son: Earl Joseph Smith III. He frequented Belmar’s Jersey Shore League for the next decade, making cameos in other semipro leagues, popping up whenever a team needed someone who could stretch a defense. That was the end of Earl’s college career. When he’d finally had enough, he confronted his coach, said everything he wanted to say, and stormed off. In college, he clashed with his coach at New Jersey’s Monmouth University, unable to understand why the second team remained the second team, even when they were routinely drubbing the starters in practice. Smith could always shoot, and in basketball a shooter can live forever.
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