We're standing in front of the picturesque Casa Del Mar hotel, smack dab on Venice Beach when a midnight blue Navigator rollin' on 20s pulls up.

Adidas ordered it to cart me, Tracy McGrady and his trainer Wayne Hall to the set of his latest adidas commercial, a sort of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Streetballer number that taped last summer. The Navi's got a premium sound system, soft tan leather bucket seats and Jolly Ranchers in the console. We lounge down low in the bucket seats until we get to a warehouse district in downtown L.A. that will play the backdrop to the shoot.

When we arrive, we are directed to the trailer where T-Mac will wait between shoots. These productions move so slowly that we end up spending most of our time there. Good thing the trailer is well equipped because we're here for the next eight hours. We quickly devour a box of Krispy Kreme donuts like lions on a gazelle that never had a chance. There's nothing on TV but a lopsided Dodgers game and we've got to kill an hour until Tracy's needed on the set.

I pop Jay-Z's Blueprint into the disc changer. Tracy knows every single word despite the fact the CD has only been out for two days. With not much to do, we do what ballers do when they're together: talk hoops.

"What's the best dunk you've seen in the last few years," I ask, half-expecting to hear about VC in practice or something.

"Kobe over Ben Wallace in pre-season a couple of years ago," he says. Yes, that was quite sick. We talk about Mike Miller's enthusiasm and ways to improve the dunk contest. He tells me he just got engaged. "I'm older now," he explains.

One of the three cell phones that McGrady carries with him buzzes. It's his AAU coach Alvis Smith. Along with Hall, Smith is part of McGrady's tight-knit group that has helped him develop into one of the game's best players. Not wanting to be a bad host, he passes Smith to Hall.

McGrady gets up and dances a goofy jig to music while he sings along. "H to the Izzo, V to the Izz-A," he raps. It's a funny scene, half hardcore rapper, half Mad TV skit. It's the type of thing we all do in front of our mirrors when no one's around.

"Fa shizzle my nizzle, used to dribble down in V-A," he continues. Me and Wayne are dying, but McGrady acts as if he doesn't even see us as he kicks off his shoes to improve his footwork. He's 22 with the energy of a 21-year-old.

I think back to 2 1/2 years ago. I was on my first assignment for ESPN The Mag. Sitting across from me in a hotel conference room was 19-year-old Tracy McGrady. Vince was next to him and he did all the talking. When Tracy did say something I could barely hear it.

The kid has come a long way.

Finally, the director of the commercial comes in and briefs Tracy on the commercial's theme. He loosely walks him through some karate-dribble moves that he'll be doing. We make our way to the lot walking through a long-abandoned warehouse, like something out of The Matrix.

Tracy's first job is to jump off a small trampoline onto a four-foot-high mat, to practice his flipping and turning. On his first attempt he comes dangerously close to missing the mat and the whole set screams out "Oohhh!!!" He's okay and quickly gets 360s down.

Next they hook him up to a harness to make it look like he can glide without touching the ground. Three small crewmembers pull him up off the ground while another pulls him back. So that's how that works. After two hours it's break time.

We head back to the trailer and devour three Domino's pepperoni pizzas. "If you haven't heard, I'm Michael, Magic and Bird," says T-Mac. He's confident -- but those are just more Jay-Z lyrics.

It'll be after midnight before they are ready for Tracy to come back and put the finishing touches on the shoot. "This is going to be sweet, I can't wait to see this," says Tracy, sitting in a director's chair.

When the commercial wraps, we jump back in a limo and head to the hotel. It's after 2 a.m., and McGrady is finally starting to wear out.

What do you expect? The guy's 22 years old.

Chris Palmer covers The NBA Life for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at christopher.palmer@espnmag.com.