There’s an urgency about Kara Lawson. You can hear it in the way she speaks, you can see it in the way she moves. Her eyes expand, her shoulders stiffen. When the Duke women’s basketball coach leans forward, you feel the power of her undivided attention. Each word has weight, a hidden parable.“There’s three things that can never drop,” Lawson says, “and that’s your work ethic and your focus and your discipline. Those have to stay high.”
They waited with terror, not knowing what would happen. Ruminating on what could happen. Suddenly, they realized just how unpredictable life could be. How arbitrary it all seemed. How things could be fine one day, then twist into chaos the next. Back in 2016, Jrue Holiday’s wife, Lauren, a former star midfielder for the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team, underwent medical testing. She had been experiencing terrible headaches and was six months pregnant with their daughter at the time. Then, one word from the doctors changed everything. Tumor.
The couple let the word sink in. In a moment, their entire world had shifted. A world where Lauren had been a two-time Olympic gold medalist and FIFA World Cup champion and where Jrue was a star point guard for the New Orleans Pelicans. The doctor told them the brain tumor was benign. The road ahead was no less daunting, as both Jrue and Lauren were still in shock, still fearful for the future. “I don’t think people realize how strong she was in a situation where her life and her child’s life were possibly in danger,” Jrue says. Change, Jrue was learning, could come at any moment. For anyone. Change, he soon realized, was the new normal for the Holidays. There would always be a before and an after. The way things were and the way things would be.
Jenny Boucek is huddled over her laptop, engrossed in game film. It’s a Friday morning in early April, and Boucek, an assistant coach for the Indiana Pacers, is analyzing clip after clip, hours before the team’s game against Oklahoma City later that night. She combs through statistical reports, hardly stopping for a beat to rest. Each hour is meticulously planned, and the morning quickly blurs into afternoon. Then she’s hustling through an on-court prep session at 2:20 p.m., meeting with her fellow coaches at 2:50, heading into a team meeting at 3:50, then back to the court for individual workouts at 5. After the game, a 126-112 Pacers win, she breaks down film and edits video late into the night, preparing not just for the next day’s practice, but also for Sunday’s game against Miami. Boucek is the defensive mastermind for a Pacers team that’s currently down 3-2 in the Eastern Conference semifinals to the Knicks. She’s responsible for in-game defensive decision-making and is constantly orchestrating split-second adjustments.
Derrick White didn’t see it coming. It was just hours before the NBA’s trade deadline, a notoriously nerve-racking day. A friend asked White whether he thought he’d get traded, but White shook off the thought. Besides, he was starting to find his groove, averaging career numbers as the San Antonio Spurs’ starting shooting guard. He was sitting in his hotel room, as he and his teammates were beginning a long road trip. Spurs coach Gregg Popovich called White to meet. Something shifted in White. He didn’t have the best feeling. He knew something was up. “Pop’s coming to my room,” he called and told his wife, Hannah. “I don’t know what this means.”
Marcus Smart doesn’t take his eyes off the court. Not once. Seated under the basket, he’s polite—warm, even—in answering questions on this February morning. But a faint scowl lines his face. Not in a rude way. In a how can you stare at a court and not want to tear it up? kind of way. It’s 10 minutes before shootaround. Nine hours until the Celtics play the Cavaliers in Cleveland. But when Smart is near a court, he loses track of time. Loses himself between the lines. Enough talking. He’d fly off his chair right now and chase down a loose ball if he could. Screw his knees. His ankles. His arms. His back. Any ligament or joint in his body, really. If a ball is rolling, Smart is diving.
Robinson was the living, breathing, “Break Glass in Case of Emergency” lever teams would pull to inject energy when in a jam. But Robinson’s overflowing personality also irritated NBA coaches. Some found him disruptive and immature, especially during his early years in the league. He was the exclamation point and the run-on sentence; the behind-the-back dime when a simple chest pass would have sufficed.
Mirin Fader 