dok se ovi dogovore, evo jedne priče za koju vjerovatno niste čuli
It was high school, the summer before sophomore year. The gym was
baking. The sun was glazing us, coming right through the windows, and
yet we played on.
He had been growing, getting taller and filling out his jersey.
Everyone had noticed, but it was all just in passing. What’s the
difference between 5-10 and 6-0? It’s hardly noticeable. Maybe he gets
an extra rebound or a few deflections at the head of the press that he
couldn’t reach before. But he was still skinny as a chicken wing.
It was some weekend in June – or maybe it was July… or maybe August –
when he showed up seemingly 6-7 overnight and everything clicked. He
had close to 20 blocked shots in one weekend of AAU after having perhaps
20 in our first three summers together combined. Now he was running his
mouth, talking junk, backing it up, acting like an entirely different
person, someone who had gone from a very good high school player to a
scholarship prospect in the span of a week or two.
He had changed so much on the court. What was once a 5-10 slow point
guard with great skills but hardly enough of a body to make use of them
had turned into a 6-7 swingman who could bang threes, block shots and go
coast-to-coast for dunks.
And yet, you could’ve thrown him into a different uniform, allowed
him to grow out his hair, gave him a different number in a different
state with a different name and I would’ve still been able to
pick him out in a gym. The way he spoke. His awkward gait. His smooth
game. It would’ve taken me all of 30 seconds of watching him play to
know who he was, even if he had just suddenly grown seven inches in a
few weeks. He was still the same person, just a lot taller.
That story from my life helps explain what eventually happened to Jerry Joseph.
Joseph was at the center of a 2010 basketball scandal at the famed
Permian Panthers High School, otherwise known as the school from Friday Night Lights.
Showing up out of nowhere – he said he had been homeless in Haiti –
Joseph stood out because he looked like a man amongst ninth graders.
Literally.
GQ detailed it all back in July in one of the craziest stories you’ll ever hear about:
Basketball coach Melvon Anders was in the Nimitz gym a
few days later and saw Jerry take his shirt off. “I was like, Jee-sus
Christ!” he says. The kid had all sorts of tattoos, inflated pecs, and
shoulders like a racehorse. He’d never met a freshman like him. Then
again, plenty of kids have tattoos these days, and this kind of early
development is not unheard of, especially in basketball. When LeBron
James was 16 and already nationally known, he could have passed for 24.
As a junior in high school, Greg Oden looked like a middle-aged man.
The coach kept an eye on Jerry when classes started. Most kids that
size are magnets for fistfights, but in his four months at Nimitz, Jerry
never got into a single one, unless you count the brawl he broke up
before it started. He was studious, a hard worker—”a pleasure to have in
class, actually,” Anders says. Despite never attending a school of any
kind in Haiti—which of course meant no school records to transfer
in—Jerry breezed through his accelerated “catch-up” curriculum. He
explained that when he was little, his relatives brought him textbooks
from the United States. He had a slight accent but spoke English well. A
few of the teachers joked that Jerry was secretly an adult. Once a
teacher mistook him for a substitute.
The basketball part probably struck people as odd. But they all wanted to believe it. Maybe this was the next LeBron James. And he was at their school.
That’s all it took for everyone to fall in love. They wanted to believe
in the next big thing. They wanted to believe in hope.
Off the court, his stories were even more unique, like something out
of a fantasy novel. And when he worked at a concession stand over one
summer, people started asking.
GQ wrote:
At Nimitz, Jerry never asked for a handout, which, of
course, made people all the more willing to help. That summer, when
school let out, some of the coaches recommended him for a job in the
concession stand at the public pool. Melvon Anders supervised him. Jerry
was popular with the teenage girls, a good employee—never late, never
snapped at anyone, never had any money missing from his register. One
dry-roasted day in August, someone asked him about his home, and Jerry
pulled up Google maps on an iPhone. He showed a group, Anders included, a
mountain in Haiti where he grew up. He said that most of his life was
spent herding goats. They all listened dumbstruck. Goats? A hut on a
mountainside? “Who were we to question his story,” Anders says. “He was
the first Haitian most of us had ever met.”
People thought he was a gift from God. Literally. When Port-au-Prince
was devastated by an earthquake at the beginning of 2010, that only
fueled the town’s beliefs. For some reason, God had sent this prodigy to
them. He was on a mission that seemed bigger than basketball.
After a season as the area’s Newcomer of the Year, Joseph was a
recruiting dream, and was soon traveling all over the country playing
AAU. At one point, a team from Florida spotted him. One of the coaches
walked up and asked him: “Hey, Guerd, what’s going on? What you doin’
here?” Joseph acted like he had no clue who the man was.
Things started getting weird. The players and coaches from Florida
were convinced he was a 22-year-old man who went back to high school.
They started contacting Joseph’s school and the area newspapers.
Eventually, they confronted the kid, err man, on it and he denied it.
Several times. It wasn’t until they found a passport for “Guerdwich
Montimere” did they believe it.
Turns out he was a former high school basketball player from Florida,
a kid who came with his family from Haiti. He wasn’t quite good enough,
and when the real world hit him in the face, he told it he was still
going to play. One family fight later and he was out the door,
desperately trying to rekindle the hoop flame.
He eventually found it in Texas, as well as a 15-year-old girlfriend for the 22-year-old posing as a high school kid.
The story ended with Guerdwich Montimere in jail facing six felony charges, including sexual assault, which could’ve land him in prison for 20 years. He would eventually plead guilty to two counts of sexual assault and three counts of tampering with government records, and was sentenced to three years in prison.