Not letting his guard down
Rockets intern Mike James, at 42 and with 17 years in pro ball, isn’t about to change his approach
On the eve of the postseason, Chris Paul pursued a brief challenge before practice. He sized up someone who is a Rockets firstyear staffer, former teammate of Paul’s and glutton for pickupgame punishment.
There was no way Mike James would refuse the chance to prove he still can ball.
Almost 43 years old, James joined the Rockets this season as a player development intern.
He maintains the tenacity and physique that had kept him in professional basketball for 17 years. He played for 11 NBA teams in 12 seasons, including two mid-2000s stints with the Rockets. He carried a chip on his shoulder from perpetually being doubted and a pride for getting his payback on defense. A Chicago Bulls teammate once called James a “jailhouse player” because “he looks the part” for a prison movie.
Pat Riley had given James advice his rookie year in Miami that he still uses: “The way that you respect a player is by not respecting him at all.”
“That makes so much damn sense,” James said recently. “I went my whole career snarling and gnarling at everyone, but it was basically out of respect. It was the competitiveness.”
Paul made the ideal choice for a friendly competition. Paul was the scorer and James the stopper. The rest of the team stood by to egg them on.
Paul worked on the same move for several rounds. He backed down James until pulling the trigger on a midrange fadeaway. Some shots went in. James denied others.
The bout revealed less about the presumptive Hall of Famer in pursuit of his first NBA championship than about the staff ’s behind-the-scenes pupil in transition from retired player to aspiring coach.
“I could still play, but don’t nobody want an old player,” said James, who scored 32 points in his final D-League game in 2015 and spent last summer competing 3-on-3 with recent retirees in the Big3.
James won the 2003 championship with the Detroit Pistons and averaged 20 points with the Toronto Raptors, but he imagined becoming a coach when he rode the bench for much of his final four seasons. He asked John Lucas — a guardian to rudderless players — at the time to be his assistant if he ever could get a job head coaching in the NBA.
“I’ve been under Coach’s tutelage since I moved to Houston,” said James, who settled here a decade ago because this is where his wife grew up. “He’s been the person that I’ve always used as my guideline to say whether or not I could play. He would’ve been the first one to say, ‘Mike, sit your old tail down.’ That’s Coach.”
Lucas, the Rockets’ head of player development, called James with an offer that flipped their original arrangement: James could work for him as an intern.
A chance with the Rockets
“Intern?” James responded. James is the type to fortify his confidence and overachieve whenever he is underestimated. (“I had a chipped tooth from the fourth grade until my senior year in college. People wanted to tell me I was ugly as a kid. I would tell myself, ‘Nah, I look great.’”) He thrived with adequate skill by outworking his competition. He expected to seize a full-time coaching gig like converting a steal into a fast break. But only the Rockets showed interest.
“Just give it a chance,” Lucas told him.
“No one else was giving me an opportunity,” James said. “Everyone else just looked at me as if I don’t have the temperament because I was a fireball. But that’s the same reason I would be a great coach. Because I’m a fireball. I’m going to attack it the same way: with passion.”
That reputation also had hurt James, a streaky, immodest, balldominant guard that ran the offense less than half the time he played. He recalled Terry Porter profanely criticizing him in front of teammates and Jeff Van Gundy telling him, “You should just be happy you’re in the league.”
He celebrates his memories of Riley, Larry Brown and Jim O’Brien, but James bemoans he never had a coach that understood him well.
“They really didn’t see the reasoning behind how hard I worked,” he said. “I didn’t do it for no fans, for no crowd.”
He did it for himself because he felt he did not have a choice.
He wants to encourage the fireballers who gnarl and snarl. He wants to unleash the jailhouse players who feel imprisoned. He wants to become the kind of coach he never had.
“It’s going to be a diamond in the rough sometimes that goes and wins a game,” he said. “It’s going to be a guy that everyone has overlooked, but because he busts his tail, I want to be the guy to give him a chance.”
He is far from wielding that authority with the Rockets. Interns do not train the stars, hang out in the locker room or travel with the team on the road.
James works with the grunts at the bottom of the depth chart that need to put in the extra work and he stays so quiet that he can pass through Toyota Center mostly unnoticed.
In his initial pitch, Lucas told a hesitant James that doing a good job in Houston could lead to a better one elsewhere. Now James refers to “we” when discussing what he has learned from a 65win team intent since training camp on reaching the Finals.
“We always want teams to play at our pace,” he said. “When you have a scoring drought against us, that’s when a close game at one point is now a 15-point lead because we have such great players and an offense that’s able to put them in a position to be successful.”
He sounds like a coach … until he acts like a man who needs the ball in his hands.
As New York-bred point guard undrafted out of college and clawing at the fringe of the NBA 20 years ago, James rolled into the gym at Smiley High School looking for the city’s best run. He has not left the pickup scene since.
An ‘old guy’ coming
“I’m an OG in Houston,” he said. “When they see me come, I don’t have to ask. I just say, ‘Who got me?’ ”
He chuckled, long and slow. His flex on Paul was nothing. James already is bragging about the next Big3, which he mentions will be in Houston on June 22.
He joins a mix of overseas players, who go harder when they see NBA talent arrive, up to twice a week at Fonde Recreation Center.
“I wanted to see what I still have,” James said. “When I played the game, an old person couldn’t guard me. I’mma make sure I retire you. I refuse to let you think that you’re supposed to be out here.”
That is James’ way of paying respect. All he wants is the same in return. Then he can focus on coaching.
“I play because I want somebody to retire me,” he said. “These guys are still letting me compete.”