BEVERLEY, ANDERSON BOND.
Beverley, Anderson have forged a unique bond that extends beyond the court
They yell, laugh at and praise each other.
They’re a TV sitcom inspired by a comic book. Wolverine and Ryno. The Rockets’ highly addicting odd couple. The most unlikely inseparable duo in the NBA.
Ryan Anderson: “A lot of people are like, ‘How are these guys boys?’ But Pat’s my buddy, man.”
Anderson’s buddy, Pat Beverley: “It’s opposites attract. He’s from (suburban) California. I’m from the hood of Chicago.”
While Mike D’Antoni’s Rockets try to figure out Gregg Popovich’s Spurs in time for Game 4 of a Western Conference semifinals matchup, Anderson and Beverley are long past the point of trying to understand each other.
Both are engaged. Both take pride in their non-cookie cutter approach to NBA life. Both are proof that some modern-sports millionaires really do enjoy constantly being around their teammates, and that a shared background isn’t a prerequisite for a common existence.
“They’re definitely odd,” D’Antoni said with an insidejoke laugh. “That makes them be able to get on each other during the game without being offended. Just a lot of good things. They’re always trying to figure out between them what’s better and what they can do. Just a lot of side benefits comes from that. But, yeah, it is odd. … They seem to have a great relationship.”
‘Too many jokes to count’
Beverley was describing his relationship with the friend he’s so often seen with — endless locker-room debates; PopA-Shot like shooting contests at practice — when he dropped the word “Chicago.”
Then Beverley abruptly ended an interview.
Anderson was across the court inside a near-empty AT&T Center, the morning before the Spurs won Game 2 121-96 and lost Tony Parker for the playoffs. Beverley was calmly sitting on a chair, answering a series of questions about the first-year teammate he Facetimes, watches road movies and attends chapel with.
Then someone’s shoe was intentionally dropped in a large cooler filled with ice.
“I’m pretty sure he put my shoe in the ice bucket. But, uh … ” Beverley said, looking Anderson’s way.
“Hey, Ryno! Is that my shoe or your shoe?” Beverley loudly inquired.
Several Rockets near Anderson laughed. One pulled out a phone and started snapping photos of the evidence in ice.
“Is that my shoe?!” Beverley said again, strengthening his voice. “I’m going to beat his (butt).”
And they were off, disappearing into a tunnel, heading for the team bus and resuming a conversation that never seems to end.
“There’s too many jokes to count,” Anderson said. “We have a pretty similar sense of humor.”
A connection through chapel
The friendship began informally years ago, when Beverley was a Rocket and Anderson was still a Pelican. They were also brought together by God.
Like general manager Daryl Morey, Beverley long wanted Anderson to become a stretch forward for his team. That desire was mentioned whenever the duo crossed each other’s path across the NBA country. But the primary link was a shared devotion to pregame chapel sessions, which often found the two future teammates sharing the same small room for a few holy minutes.
“We didn’t know each other from a can of paint. … Through Christ, we became really good friends,” Beverley said. “Next thing you know, two years later, we’re best friends on a basketball team, and all that happened through Christ. You’ve got to cherish moments like that. You’ve got to cherish friendships like that. We both definitely do.”
By Facetiming more than you’d ever expect, especially between a 6-10, 240-pound cerebral forward from Sacramento, Calif., and a 6-1, 185-pound ever-chippy point guard from the streets of Chicago.
“It’s random. It’s pretty often,” Anderson said. “At one point, it was about every day or every other day. … It just became like a routine, so we would just talk to each other about whatever. Anything but basketball — not basketball.”
Beverley’s take on having Anderson’s face randomly pop up on his screen: “I call him or he calls me, asking me what I’m doing. Sometimes I try to rush him off the phone, but he doesn’t go and vice versa. It’s always fun, man.”
By going to the movies when the Rockets are on the road. Sometimes team members join the show. Others, it’s just Wolverine and Ryno staring up at the same big screen.
“We’ll agree on the (movie) beforehand,” Anderson said.
At ease with each other
The 3-point specialist snuck in a sucker punch.
“(Beverley) tried to see ‘Fifty Shades of Grey,’ ” said Anderson, drawing a laugh as Beverley walked by.
One of the grittiest and most relentless players in the NBA — when Beverley’s praised, compliments such as annoying, frustrating and unnerving are passed around — grinned wide after his friend jokingly namedropped a movie normally reserved for passionate women.
“This is a guy who’s made over $100 million in his career,” Beverley said. “He could be one of those guys who comes in here and (is a jerk). ‘Hey, this is my team.’ But he didn’t do that. Very loose. Very low key. (He) chills. … I believe whether I’m with the Rockets my entire career or vice versa, we’re still going to have that friendship.”
Run as one
The countdown clock inside the Rockets’ locker room hit 60:00 before Game 3.
“Chapel! Now!” Beverley said with pure energy.
Anderson started making fun of his friend again, then backed him up.
“It’s chapel time!” Anderson said, seconds later.
The odd couple bounced down a dark hallway, two Rockets in red, voices never stopping and echoing off cinder-block walls. They hooked a left and walked through a side door — Run As One and Chapel printed on a white sheet of paper — together.
“This year we just got extremely close,” Beverley said. “Super, super extremely close.”
Then their conversation continued.