“[T]he NCAA criminalizes normal behavior.”
—Jay Bilas, a lawyer, TV analyst, and former college basketball player
8:03 P.M. [CT]
As Troy’s opening shot of the fourth overtime glances off the rim, Malcolm takes off, fast-breaking alone up the court. He knows it’s a gamble. That without him boxing out Red Bull, the Trojans have an extra man to try and grab an offensive rebound and score. But by releasing early, Malcolm easily sneaks behind the Trojan defense.
MJ outhustles a pair of Trojans, rebounding the ball for Michigan State. In an instant, he catches sight of Malcolm running ahead of the field.
Then MJ delivers a bullet pass, hitting Malcolm between the numbers in full stride.
Even while dribbling the rock, Malcolm is flat out the fastest player on the court. He’s already several steps ahead of his nearest defender and pulling farther away.
Nearing the foul line, Malcolm is preparing to explode out of his shoes.
He wants to tear down the iron with a slam dunk that will shake the Superdome, and the Trojans’ confidence.
Planting his left foot, Malcolm cups the rock inside his right hand, securing it with his powerful wrist and forearm.
With the camera shutters clicking and the roar of the fans building in his ears, Malcolm leaps forward. And just as he’s ready to pound the rock home, he reaches back for something more, to punish the rim for every trial his family has ever been put through.
But that glint of revenge throws Malcolm off by a mere millimeter.
His dunk rings off the back of the iron, and the rock ricochets twenty feet into the air as if it had wings.
Malcolm’s momentum carries him past the basket and out of bounds.
And the ball lands in the hands of Roko Bacic, who leads his Trojan teammates in the opposite direction.
MARCH, NEARLY FOUR WEEKS AGO
As Malcolm walked off the court after basketball practice, he noticed Coach Barker eyeing him. He was beat tired and wasn’t in the mood to hear Barker bitch about the inbounds play he’d screwed up. So Malcolm bowed his head and tried to walk past.
“McBride,” said Barker, who called Malcolm by his last name whenever he was pissed at him. “I received a text from Ms. Thad. She’d like to see you in her office in fifteen minutes.”
“Coach, I’m too spent to fill out any kind of paperwork now,” said Malcolm, running a fresh towel across his forehead.
“Paperwork, huh? I hope that’s all it is,” said Barker, pounding a ball against the floor. “Get it taken care of, pronto. I don’t care if you have to crawl there.”
Malcolm watched the slits of Barker’s eyes grow sharper and asked, “There something more I should know about this?”
“Just go see Ms. Thad, McBride,” grumbled Barker. “I’ll let her do her job before I have anything to add.”
Then, without saying another word, Barker walked over to the free-throw line, where he started shooting foul shots by himself.
After Malcolm showered and left the locker room, he crossed the street to the athletic administration building and climbed a flight of marble stairs.
A secretary sitting in an outer office told Malcolm that Ms. Thad was waiting for him.
The letters on the frosted glass read
MS. THAD
DIRECTOR OF COMPLIANCE
Malcolm knocked on the wooden doorframe surrounding it.
“Enter,” came a voice from inside, and Malcolm cracked the door open just wide enough to stick his head through.
“You wanted to see me for something?”
“Yes, Malcolm. Thanks for getting here so quickly,” said Ms. Thad in an easygoing voice. “Step inside, please.”
In the six months Malcolm had been at Michigan State, Ms. Thad had talked to him a couple of times about his scholarship paperwork, and she’d given the whole team a speech once about all the little NCAA rules you could break by accident.
She was an absolute hottie, probably in her early thirties. She usually wore skirts that hung just above her knees. So when she spoke, everybody on the team listened—and watched.
Ms. Thad stood up to shake Malcolm’s hand. When she sat back down behind her desk, and her legs disappeared from his view, Malcolm’s focus shifted to the framed photo of a brown and white pit bull on the windowsill behind her.
“Have a seat, Malcolm. I’m afraid that I have some difficult questions for you. I take it you understand the meaning of illegal benefits for student athletes?”
“Illegal? You mean against the real law, or against the NCAA law?” asked Malcolm, settling himself into a soft leather chair.
“The NCAA doesn’t have put-you-in-jail kinds of laws. It has bylaws—rules and regulations that we have to follow,” she said, pointing to a thick NCAA manual sitting on the corner of her desk. “I received a phone call today from a reporter who’s quite friendly towards MSU. This reporter gave me a heads-up that his newspaper is in the process of gathering information about a possible story concerning your family receiving illegal benefits because of your position here on the basketball team.”
“That’s crazy. I don’t have a car, money, a job, or nothing like that. My parents drive the same old wreck, live in the exact same apartment. My father may even be getting laid off soon.”
“That’s what makes this so unusual and sensitive,” said Ms. Thad, who picked up a pen and a long yellow legal pad to take notes. “This doesn’t have to do with taking money, cars, a job, or a house. Unfortunately, I need to ask you about your sister’s headstone in Elmwood Cemetery.”
“What?” responded Malcolm, sitting up straighter. “What did you just say to me?”
“I know it’s difficult, but here’s my question to you. Was the headstone paid for by your parents?”
Malcolm slumped back in his chair and thought for a minute. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “That’s their daughter. They paid for everything. The funeral. The grave plot. A headstone. My parents had to spread that kind of money out over three different credit cards.”
“I’m sure they did. But is that the same headstone standing there now?”
After a long pause, Malcolm hung his head and answered, “No, it’s not. But why don’t you just leave this all alone?”
“Malcolm, it’s my job to get to the truth. I represent this university. My position is to protect MSU, to find violations that could potentially embarrass us. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you a few more questions concerning this matter.”
Suddenly, Malcolm felt like there was a pit bull behind that desk in front of him—a pit bull in stockings—to go with the photo on the windowsill.
“When was a headstone first erected?”
“I guess that would be in September of my senior year in high school, almost a year and a half ago,” answered Malcolm. “I remember because I had the tattoo of Trisha on my arm already, and I got that in August.”
“The original headstone? The one your parents paid for?”
“Yes,” said Malcolm, followed by a long breath.
“And when was the new one erected?”
“I’m not sure. The first time I saw it was that November, just about two months later. It was right after Thanksgiving.”
Ms. Thad flipped through the calendar on her desk.
“So that’s more than a year ago—approximately sixteen months. And you’d already committed to play at MSU by then?”
“That’s right.”
“Were your parents surprised the first time they saw the new headstone there?”
“Yeah, my father was. I was there with him. He didn’t know about it. But there are lots of people who loved my sister. It could have been a gift from the marching band at our high school, or somebody rich who wanted to stay anonymous and do a good deed.”
“What about your mother, Malcolm? Was she surprised by it?”
“I guess. My father was the one who told her. After that, she wouldn’t talk about it. None of us would.”
“I see.”
“My parents didn’t go around trying to find out who did it. They just accepted it.”
“That probably would have been fine,” said Ms. Thad, with her pen flying across the pad. “Only it turns out that the newspaper found a receipt for that headstone paid for by Detroit’s biggest sports agent, someone who represents several current NBA players. And that agent’s brother happens to be in a church choir with your mother.”
“I’ve never been contacted by anybody like that. And neither have my parents. They would have told me for sure.”
“Look, right now there’s no newspaper article. Things like that usually take a lot of time. They like to have multiple sources and check every fact to the umpteenth degree before they print. And there’s no NCAA investigation yet either. A headstone isn’t normally perceived as a gift. So maybe nothing’s going to come of this at all. But MSU needs to be prepared. I may have more questions for you at a later time. But for now, don’t speak to anyone about this.”
“Does Coach know?”
“He knows as much as I just told you.”
“What’s the worst thing that could happen to me over something like this?” asked Malcolm. “I’d lose my eligibility? I couldn’t play in the NCAA Tournament next week?”
“No, penalties would never come that fast. An investigation would most likely take several months, maybe a year,” said Ms. Thad. “I imagine you’d be in the NBA by then. MSU, the basketball program, and Coach Barker would eventually pay the price. You’d be free and clear of the NCAA’s authority.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel good? Because it doesn’t!” said Malcolm, getting up from his chair and then walking towards the frosted glass door. “I don’t need these headaches. None of us do. And over what? Nothing!”