Six years is but a moment in time; a fleeting breath, an athlete’s prime.
Whereas time-honored excellence defines those called great, transient brilliance enshrines a legend’s fate.
When demise arrives before the rise is realized; when evanescence defies the eyes; when incandescence is the essence of what flies too high; streaking, before it dies, as a ball of fire, across the sky — for a second — that’s a legend. That’s not Steve Francis; that’s Stevie Franchise.
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Stevie was a moment. But just like an atom, the ostensibly smallest unit of matter, will expand, upon radical magnification, into a universe unto itself into which the seeker of esoteric scientific truths may endeavor to delve, the vague and outwardly infinitesimal constituent of time known as the moment is analogously microcosmic in nature, availing itself to be perceived freely by the subjective eye; to be savored as a whole, or to be atomized for analysis with comprehension of its essence as the objective.
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One moment Steve Francis was a rising five-foot-seven high school sophomore with a nice handle; the next moment he was on the sidelines as a junior, injured. The next moment, he was at his cancer-stricken mother’s bedside. Brenda Wilson. 39 years old. Moment of silence.
He was 17. The pain was far from momentary. He carried it; still does. Francis dropped out of high school after just one year on the basketball team. He quit playing ball, hung around Takoma Park. He’d never had a father, and now his mom was gone. He moved in with his grandmother. People knew the talent, recognized the heartbreak, allowed him to process.
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When the pain began to soften, he returned to the court. AAU. By now he had grown to six-three, was dunking on everybody. JuCos began to notice, but Francis was a high-school dropout. Moment of truth: he obtained a GED, became JuCo eligible, packed a bag, and departed, foreshadowingly, for Houston, Texas and San Jacinto College.
After an undefeated season at San Jacinto, Francis succumbed to the irrepressible beckoning of his home state and transferred to Allegany College in Cumberland, Maryland. It was there that he blossomed. He averaged twenty-five, nine and seven over the course of another undefeated season. Gary Williams was in the house the night he posted a quadruple-double.
The buzz around Francis exploded overnight into uncontrollable hype, and he ultimately accepted a scholarship offer to play for Coach Williams at the University of Maryland. It was momentous; a dream which had transcended the periphery of the imagination and sprung forth into reality.
Steve Francis had arrived. He averaged seventeen, five and five while leading the Terrapins to the Sweet Sixteen. He was the best show in college basketball; he was, in that sense, Iverson 2.0 — but he was bigger, and flashier. He was raw, he was unpredictable, he was self-taught. On the court, he was the unadulterated embodiment of the playground. His crossover, which had once literally broken a kid’s ankle, was just as devastating as that of Iverson — and he was strong, and bouncy, dunking on seven-footers like they weren’t even there.
Francis entertained the idea of returning to Maryland for his senior year, but he was already going on 23 years old, and above all else, he knew he was ready for the league. He had always known, ever since the playgrounds and basement gyms, that his destiny was the NBA. His path was, for a player of his caliber, incomparably circuitous, but he embraced it, accepted it, trusted it.
He hired an agent and made himself eligible for the 1999 NBA draft. Projected as a top-five pick, he was right where he was supposed to be. There was one team, however, for which Francis, with the deepest of convictions, did not want to play. That team was the Grizzlies, then of Vancouver, Canada — 3,000 miles from all that he had ever known.
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The Grizzlies selected Francis second overall. The moment David Stern called his name, Stevie’s countenance flipped to one of anger, of impending rebellion. In his workout with the Grizzlies, he had intentionally shanked every jumper he took. His agent had warned Grizzlies GM Stu Jackson that his client would sit out the season rather than play in the city of Vancouver, which Francis viewed as a black hole for exposure and marketing. Despite having drafted Mike Bibby with the second pick in the prior year’s draft, Jackson bucked all warnings and drafted Francis. It was a mistake from which would later be traced the path to the demise of the NBA in Vancouver.
As expected, Francis immediately demanded a trade. At first, the stubborn Jackson stood firm, refusing to concede to his recalcitrant rookie. He was flanked on all sides by pressure, however, and overwhelmed by demand for a resolution. He had put himself in an impossible situation, and he eventually bailed, sending Francis to Houston as the centerpiece of what was, at the time, the largest trade in NBA history.
For a moment, the Rockets were loaded. It was going to be Hakeem, Charles, Scottie, and Steve — three of the top twenty-five players in NBA history and the brazen, 22-year-old walking highlight. Pippen and Barkley, however, had become enemies, and Pippen, after demanding a trade, was shipped to Portland in October. Barkley and Olajuwon, who were both now 36 years old, each suffered major injuries within the first month of the 1999–00 season. Barkley’s knee injury ended his career, and Olajuwon missed half the season following hernia surgery. Suddenly alone, and with the franchise on his back, the rookie knew this was his moment — and it was that moment which birthed the moniker.
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Six years is but a moment in time, but for six years, Stevie Franchise was one of basketball’s most worshipped young kings.
Eighteen, five-plus, six-plus. A steal-plus and a three-plus. Only rookie ever to do it. Dunk Contest. 2000. Vince’s magnum opus. Any other year, the crown was Steve’s. New millenium. Trash talker. Entertainer. Rookie of the Year. Shared. Elton. Twenty and Ten. Had to give him a piece. Second season. Cat Mobley. Big improvement. Still no playoffs. Third season. Yao arrives. Next three years. All-Star starter. Steve and Yao. Popularity. Playoffs, finally. Reebok money. Pouring in. ’04 Summer. Swapped for T-Mac. Orlando Magic. Cat came too. G-Hill, Dwight. So much promise. Year six. His last great season. Monster numbers. Team struggled. Injuries loomed.
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And thus, the six-year moment of Stevie Franchise came to an end. Over those six seasons, he averaged 19.7 points, 6.1 rebounds, 6.5 assists, 1.6 steals and 1.1 threes per game. Only nine players have ever done that for a season; Steve Francis did it over six. His numbers speak to the well-rounded nature of his game. Combine that with his freakish athleticism and it’s not a stretch to retroactively declare him the prototype for Russell Westbrook.
Francis was traded to the Knicks in 2006, and it was around that time that injuries began to rob him of his athleticism. He had dealt with tendinitis for his entire career, but he had always been able to play through it. Now, it was hurting his game. He was 29 years old by the time he arrived in New York, and his bounce was gone. His scoring average fell to eleven points per game in 2006–07, his first full season as a Knick, and he missed 38 games due to injury.
The following summer, he returned to Houston on a two-year deal. Longing for one final viewing of the Steve Francis show, the basketball world was abuzz upon Stevie’s return his former franchise — but the arrangement would prove immensely disappointing. Francis was out of shape, and conspicuously excluded from Rick Adelman’s rotation. He played just ten games that season, averaging 5.5 points on 33 percent shooting. He had nothing left. He was 30 years old, and his NBA career was over.
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The past decade has been troublesome for Steve Francis. Rumors of drug addiction have swirled, and he’s been arrested several times on a variety of charges, including public drunkenness, DWI, and burglary. He famously had his chain snatched while on stage at rap concert, and he’s appeared in some less-than-flattering photos over which he’s been the subject of great ridicule. Sadly, an online image search for ‘Steve Francis’ is more likely to yield a mugshot or an embarrassing picture than a poster dunk or an All-Star photo.
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In the end, no matter what, the legend of Stevie Franchise will persist. He arrived when basketball needed him most, on the heels of the 1998 lockout, the NBA’s lowest point. He was the first of his kind — the big, hyper-athletic point guard — and for six years — for a moment — he electrified the league. Then, suddenly, he was gone. As time proceeds onward, the memories of Steve Francis will fade — but the stories will still be told, and through the age-old conduit of mythology, the legend of Stevie Franchise will be made immortal.