TWINS KEEP ‘GRINDING’ AS SDSU WALK-ONS
They showed up for open tryout in 2019, still on scout team
A month into the 2019 fall semester, the San Diego State men’s basketball team held open tryouts at Viejas Arena for the general student body. Nine kids showed up. It lasted 45 minutes.
Coach Brian Dutcher didn’t really need players. His roster was loaded. They would open the season 26-0, climb to as high as No. 4 in the major polls and finish
30-2 before the pandemic wiped out the NCAA Tournament.
But you hold open tryouts, truth be told, to convince some unsuspecting souls to become student managers, and Dutcher needed a few. Then they started scrimmaging, and Dutcher’s eyes wandered to a 6-foot-4, 190-pound wing from Tesoro High School in Orange County who had good size, length, athleticism, aggression and basketball IQ, who looked like he had the preternatural ability of being in two places at once.
Wait. There were two of them? Twins? Identical twins?
Dutcher offered both spots as walk-ons, Tyler and Triston Broughton. Four years later, they’re still here.
“I didn’t necessarily know what situation I was getting myself into,” Tyler says, “but just being able to keep playing is a dream for me. Basketball has been my life and I knew it was going to end at some point, so I wanted it to end as late as possible. That kept me grinding. It’s hard to just drop it.”
What they were getting themselves into: a thankless, anonymous existence, practicing just as much as scholarship players but without the financial or social perks, manning the scout team, learning the other team’s offense, getting pounded on by the regulars, not going on road trips, rarely playing in home
games, getting in their cars at night or on weekends or between classes and driving for Uber to get money for groceries.
Or delivering them for Instacart if the ride-share business is slow.
Something. Always something.
“You have to be mentally wired a certain way,” says Dutcher, whose No. 22 Aztecs host Colorado State tonight, “that you’re getting something out of it — being part of a team, being part of a group of guys you really like, feeling that your time is worth it. They play hard, they’re good kids, they’re excellent students, they’re just what you want in your program. Their contributions are immeasurable.
“Like a lot of the walk-ons who come through here, they could probably play in another program and get game minutes. I would say they’re deserving to play more, but when you’re playing on a team that’s ranked and playing for first place in the conference, sometimes those minutes just aren’t there. Sometimes that’s just the way of the world.”
Motivation, then, comes from less tangible, internal sources.
There is a passion for the sport fueled by successful high school careers at Tesoro and some college recruiting interest across Southern California.
There is the brotherly desire to continue playing together. Tyler got into SDSU, Triston didn’t and looked like he was headed to Division III Cal Lutheran before appealing his rejection from SDSU and gaining admission.
There is the inspirational story of their mother, Tracy, a former beauty queen who was involved in a pair of serious auto accidents in the 1990s, was initially paralyzed and still raised twin boys as a single mother.
There is also honoring the basketball legacy of the father they never knew nor, they say, have any desire to.
Tyler wears No. 24. Triston wears No. 42. Those are the numbers their father, Chris Mills, wore in college at Kentucky (for a season) and Arizona (for three), then through much of a 10-year NBA career after being drafted in the first round by the Cleveland Cavaliers in 1993.
“I want to take the good attributes of him in basketball and then take other attributes to be a better person than he was,” Triston says. “Everywhere I go in the basketball world, people know my dad even though I don’t. That’s kind of weird, right? Coaches, players, it’s weird how other people are more connected to him than to me. But it’s definitely a driving force, because I know my blood was able to reach those standards in basketball and I want to do the same thing.”
They have met a step sister fathered by Mills and had limited contact with Mills’ wife. But not him.
“No connection,” Tyler says. “Never seen him, never met him. Never really been interested.”
“He’s never been a figure in my life, so it’s kind of weird to even call him my dad,” Triston says. “I’ve just had my mom and she’s played both roles in my life. I have no need or urge to even go meet him.”
So they forge ahead, the three of them — Tyler, Triston and Tracy. They get some financial aid for tuition. They’ve taken out tens of thousands of dollars in student loans. Tracy works multiple jobs to send money. They work multiple jobs themselves in and around classes and practice.
Two years ago, Triston’s car was T-boned downtown while shuttling fans to a Padres game. Flipped over. Had to wait for the fire department to cut them out.
He got another car and kept driving for Uber.
“We’ve done our best to do side jobs while we’re in college to get some financial relief off my mom whenever we can,” Triston says. “It’s hard, hooping and living my dream at her expense.”
There have been moments when they’ve reconsidered — all walk-ons inevitably do — but each time they’ve returned for another season, able to mine intrinsic value without external rewards.
Dutcher talks about how the scout team often runs the opponent’s offense better than it does, how it is sometimes taller and quicker and stronger and older. There are the 6-4 twins, versatile, athletic defenders able to switch screens and play multiple positions on offense.
There’s senior Jared Barnett, the speedy point guard who led a Westchester High School team to the Los Angeles city final in 2019 and got firsthalf minutes in a game last season. There’s senior Cade Alger, a 6-10 post who left a scholarship at Div. I Seattle to transfer to SDSU without one. There’s freshman Cam Lawin, an all-city guard from Chicago who averaged 19.1 points in high school.
“Oh, they’re good players,” sixth-year senior Adam Seiko said. “They hit ridiculous shots on us. I can’t even explain how important the scout team is. I cherish these guys so much. I think we all do as players. After every drill we do, we’re giving them high-fives, we’re encouraging them, we’re telling them good job. It’s so important what they do. Without them, we wouldn’t who we are, for sure.”
Triston and Tyler are scheduled to graduate in May with business degrees, which means it’s decision time. They have two years of playing eligibility left — one from a “redshirt” season as freshmen and one from COVID. They could stick around and pursue another degree at SDSU. They could end their careers and get real jobs. They could transfer elsewhere, perhaps down a level, and seek meaningful minutes.
Providing hope is Niksha Federico, a 6-6 walk-on from Cathedral Catholic who spent three years in anonymity at SDSU, then transferred to Div. II Hawaii Pacific for his final season … and tore it up, averaging 21.7 points and 10.4 rebounds in 2017-18, then playing a couple years professionally in Spain.
Until then, they’ll run the scout team and call out the other team’s plays from the bench, and hope the score gets lopsided enough that they get a few minutes in garbage time.
Triston has nine career minutes, Tyler has 16. Neither has scored.
Their reward comes from 9721 — SDSU’s record since they showed up at Viejas Arena on skateboards for the open tryout in September 2019. They don’t get scholarship or NIL money. They do get championship rings, however.
“You are going to have some disappointment of your dream not happening the way you planned it to happen,” Triston says. “But I’m still content with what my role is here. There’s enough pride to keep me here, to be honest. I don’t get a lot of recognition outside the accomplishments we make as a team together, but knowing that my value does bring something keeps me here doing what I do day in, day out.
“We take a lot of pride in what we do.”