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There's nothing juvenile about Howard's game, a devastating -- unprecedented, even -- mix of brute force and quickness, a center's heft married to the staccato footwork of a point guard. And he has a measured perspective that belies his years. Asked what he likes best about the NBA, Howard pauses. "All this lifestyle stuff is nice," he says, motioning around the lobby of a chi-chi hotel in Indianapolis, where Vivaldi wafts in the air and the sofas cost more than most cars. "But the basketball and competition and the improvement is what matters." The child part is less apparent. Though he turned 21 in December, Howard cuts a mature figure, dripping with polish and poise. He is the youngest player on the Magic roster, but his best friend on the team might be 35-year-old forward Bo Outlaw. Even the small touches -- the firm handshake, the eye contact -- suggest someone free of the arrested development that is so endemic in the NBA. It is the rare emerging young A-lister who not only claims to be more concerned with his rebounding than his scoring, but then backs it up with his play. By the way, that 21st birthday, a milestone that begs for youthful indiscretions? Howard celebrated by... going out for steaks with his family. "Mature is an understatement," says Orlando general manager, Otis Smith. "Dwight really understands the bigger picture." Thriving with a mix of defense, depth and opportunistic play, but owing largely to Howard's emotional and professional development, the Magic have -- presto, change-o! -- levitated into the playoff picture in the depleted Eastern Conference. A franchise a decade removed from winning so much as a postseason series, Orlando is 28-31 heading into Friday night's game in San Antonio, a half game behind the Nets for the East's final playoff berth. As for Howard the Manchild, he was touted as an early MVP candidate and was named the NBA's Player of the Month for November, when the Magic went 12-4 and Howard had three games of at least 20 points and 20 rebounds. Orlando has struggled since, losing 17 of its last 23 games, but Howard still ranks third in the league in rebounding (12.2 per game) and field goal percentage (59.9) and 14th in blocks (1.85), all the while averaging 18.1 points. "He's already a dominant player, and he's still learning his way out there," says Bulls coach Scott Skiles. "Watching him progress, it's scary to think you have to face him for many years. As you can tell, I'm a big fan of his." In a league filled with guards prone to trying to soar among the giants, and "bigs" who feel compelled to show off their chops for long-range shooting, Howard suffers no identity crisis. He knows who he is. He does his scoring mostly by dint of basic post moves, rebound put-backs and the kind of dunks that are usually executed only during timeouts by overly exuberant men using trampolines. Ten feet is pressing the upper limit of Howard's shooting range, so he doesn't venture there. He's still grasping the nuances of playing with his back to the basket, so he usually catches and faces up. "It's so impressive to me that he understands his boundaries and stays within them," says Will Perdue, the former NBA center and now a Magic radio analyst. "When those boundaries grow -- and they are growing all the time -- look out." A typical glimpse of Howard's gifts came in a December win at Sacramento. Early in the third quarter Howard caught a pass on the low block, dribbled twice, moved laterally and bumped his defender, 6-7, 245-pound Kenny Thomas, who looked waifish by comparison. With Thomas already backpedaling from the contact, Howard feigned left, spun and threw down a vicious dunk that tested the structural integrity of the stanchion. Magic players claim that, as they headed back downcourt, they overheard Thomas mutter a one-word summary of the play: "Wow." With Howard coagulating the middle, reflexively drawing double-teams, his teammates have space to operate. Jameer Nelson, drafted the same year as Howard but four years his senior, has put to rest questions about his size (he's charitably listed at 6-feet) and flourished as the starting point guard. Against Sacramento, Admiral Nelson played a terrific floor game and then hit a cold-blooded three-pointer with 1.7 seconds left for a 92-89 win. For most of this millennium, the franchise's talking point was that even as he sat on the bench in street clothes with (insert injury here), Grant Hill was making valuable contributions with his presence and professionalism. Finally healthy this season -- knock parquet -- Hill is contributing points (14.5), rebounds (4.1) and assists (2.3) as well. Now 34, he bears only the faintest resemblance to the dunking dervish once on the short list of Next Jordan candidates. But he's testament to how valuable a high basketball IQ can be in today's NBA. Another pleasant surprise is forward Darko Milicic. Picked second by Detroit in the 2003 draft, Milicic was little more than part of the Palace's decor, as he languished on the bench for nearly three seasons. Traded to Orlando last February, he's found a role as a starter alongside Howard. And Milicic is anything but satisfied -- "This is just my beginning, that's how I look at it," says Milicic, 21, who is averaging 8.3 points, 5.5 rebounds and 1.8 blocks in 24.1 minutes. "The chemistry here is really excellent," says Howard. "We like each other and no one's talking about minutes or contracts or distracting stuff like that. We feel like we can play with anyone, but we know we have to do it together." The emergence of the Magic's twin 21-year-old standouts is well-timed. The team plays in Orlando Arena, generally regarded as the shabbiest facility in the NBA. For years, ownership, in keeping with the professional sports blueprint, made veiled threats to relocate if proper funds for a new venue weren't located. In September the city and county agreed to a $1.1 billion civic improvement package that includes nearly $500 million for a new downtown facility slated to be built a few blocks south of the current one. Since last season the team has sold more than 4,000 season tickets, the biggest increase in the NBA. In early December the team announced a $1.5 million arena-naming-rights deal with Amway. As a front page headline in a recent Orlando Sentinel story put it, That Magic Fever is Back. For all the good vibes, Howard is, unmistakably, the face of the franchise -- a face that perpetually smiles, revealing a row of teeth that look like iPod nanos across his gums. He's happy to make appearances in the community, shake hands with sponsors and even enter the dunk contest at the 2007 All-Star Game. (He finished third despite executing an eye-popping 12-foot-six-inch leap in which he slammed the ball through the hoop with his right hand and slapped a sticker bearing his likeness on the backboard with his left.) During a typical week he accommodates enough pregame autograph seekers to get carpel tunnel syndrome, signing everything from his rookie card to a Starbucks apron. Plus, he claims never to have tasted alcohol and lacks the usual imprecations -- the tattoos, the bling, the arrest record -- that have alienated so many NBA fans. "The advice I give him is simple," says Joel Glass, the team's vice president of communications. "'Dwight, don't change.'" Already known for his piousness when he was the first pick in the 2004 draft, Howard claims that his faith has only deepened since he's been in the league. "In high school [at Southwest Atlanta Christian Academy] we had prayer every day and bible class too," he says. "Now I look to God on my own, which is a big step." It's Howard who leads the team in prayer and says the blessing before meals. In Orlando, his chief hangout is FaithWorld, a local mega-church. One of the few knocks on Howard is that he might be too self-possessed, too happy-go-lucky to summon a nasty streak. Not so, say his teammates. Apart from upping his bench press to 365 pounds, Howard spent last summer competing in the FIBA World Championship for Team USA. He took some razzing from his teammates for never having been in the playoffs and returned this season with an edge. He's palpably upset after losses and no longer takes pleasure in his big games. "I can still get so much better," he says with a shrug. "I'm still five or six years from the top of my game." That means expanding his vocabulary of post moves, extending his range, improving his grasp of defensive principles. Plenty of times this season, Howard has turned in a gem of a game statistically, but when the Orlando coaches break down the tape, they notice plenty of miscues. "He's doing it with raw ability, learning on the job," says forward Tony Battie. "When he really learns basketball, he could redefine post play." Howard recognizes his vast unfulfilled potential and is happy to put in the work. "I'll say it: I want to be one of the greatest players ever," he asserts. "Even after I die, when they talk about basketball, I want to be one of the names that comes up." Hear that? A 21-year-old already referencing his mortality. So where is he, this inner child? Where's this irrepressible kid, the figure Smith says "can act like a 12-year-old," the player Orlando coach Brian Hill designates as the "team clown"? Oh, wait. In the guts of Arco Arena after that December win over Sacramento, Howard crossed paths with David Stern. "My, you're big -- and getting bigger," said the commissioner. Wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and mischievous smile, Howard flexed his biceps for Stern. "BALCO," Howard cracked. "I got big from BALCO." (Stern laughed but added, "That's not funny now.") Before the final game of a sadistic 11-day December road trip, the Magic held a game-day shootaround at Conseco Fieldhouse in Indianapolis. Most of the players were slogging through, as if weighted down with lead jackets. Not Howard. At the end of the session, he stood under the basket and, from a standing position, threw down a tell-me-you're-joking reverse dunk. He then barked and panted as Nelson threw him a series of close-range alley-oops, in the manner of an owner tossing a ball to his pet. When Howard was done, he was still panting. Nelson patted him on the head and said, "Good dog." Hill then summoned the team for the hands-in ritual. After the coach's message, Howard yelled, "With our powers combined we are the Magic... On three... 1, 2, 3... Team!" He paraphrased the line from Captain Planet, re-runs of which air on the Cartoon Network. As the team finally filed out, Howard broke into a passable Borat impression, his Kazakh accent -- flecked, as it was, with a southern lilt -- echoing through the empty arena. "Yessss. We arrrrrre the Magic." And then he was off, surely heading back to the hotel to fritter away the rest of the afternoon playing Xbox and revving up YouTube and surfing MySpace and ... well, you know how it is with kids today.
NBA Future: Jrue Holiday, the 6-3 sophomore shooting guard from North Hollywood (Calif.) Campbell Hall, is seen here in action from a CIF playoff game last week. Jrue Holiday is #21 in white, not to be confused with his older brother, 6-6 junior Justin Holiday, who is #22. NBA Future: More Dwight Howard Articles
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