Training camp was coming to an end, and Year 2 was looking a whole lot like Year 1 for 20-year-old Kwame Brown. He had come to camp with a hamstring that nagged him and the same habit of coasting that annoyed everyone before. So there he was in practice, once again late on defensive assignments and fumbling plays. Duane Ferrell, a front-office official who had already spent one season holding Kwame's hand, had seen enough.

"Kwame," Ferrell said. "We need to talk."

	Kwame Brown was supposed to lead the Wizards to greatness.

Ferrell suspected the 6'11", 248-pound Brown was using the injury as an excuse. That was unacceptable to Ferrell, who had carved out a respectable 11-year NBA career of his own on guts and effort. "You don't understand, Kwame," Ferrell said. "These guys don't think you should be getting the minutes you're getting. They're coming at you because they want what you have. Don't you see that?"

Brown nodded. But Ferrell wasn't through.

"Do you know what this means to Doug and the coaching staff? If you don't work out, their jobs are in jeopardy. My job's in jeopardy."

Why something clicked that day, not even Kwame can say. He'd heard so many speeches -- too many, if you ask him -- that it was hard to tell one from another. And it certainly wasn't the first time he'd been told to grow up, to play harder, to prove Michael Jordan right. Coach Doug Collins was constantly in his face, people were constantly saying he stunk. He'd developed stress-related acne that a boatload of Clearasil couldn't cure. Otherwise, his brief pro career had been a blast.

But something did click. His defense stiffened, his grasp of the offense improved and his confidence, shattered a year ago, began to re-emerge. He had a pair of 20-point games in the preseason and earned the starting power forward position, not to mention MJ's trust. Life was good.

Briefly.

Soon, the Wizards started losing games, Michael started losing his patience and Kwame started losing his minutes. Five weeks into the season, after 16 games as a starter, Brown watched 33-year-old Christian Laettner and 39-year-old Charles Oakley finish out a win over the Knicks. Kwame? He never left the bench.

"You know, he doesn't see the big picture yet," says Ferrell. "But that's what happens with young players. I'm looking at the big picture for him."

With the Wizards, of course, it's hard to know what the big picture really is.

***

If there's an easy way to bring a teenager into pro ball, someone ought to tell the NBA. Tracy McGrady was a bust his first season in Toronto and didn't even look like a player until his third year. In his rookie year, Kobe shot the Lakers out of the playoffs against Utah. Jonathan Bender had been all but invisible in Indiana until this, his fourth season. Eddy Curry and Tyson Chandler are dazed and confused in Chicago, caught between a coach trying to win and an organization trying to rebuild.

But none of them were drafted No. 1. And none had Michael Jordan for a teammate.

Jordan is notoriously tough on teammates who can't possibly rise to his level. He grew impatient years ago in Chicago with B.J. Armstrong and Stacey King after they were drafted and rushed into the rotation. If the fear of disappointing Jordan makes veteran players shiver, imagine what it does to a teenager who craves acceptance from such a legendary teammate. "I don't want to stink it up in front of him," Kwame says. "When he gets on you, it's not like a teammate doing it, but a higher figure." And Brown has heard plenty from Washington's higher figure -- very little of it good.

It wasn't supposed to be that way. When Jordan made the kid from tiny Brunswick, Ga., the first pick in the 2001 draft, he had yet to leave the executive suite for the starting lineup. Asked why he made a high school kid his first-ever selection, Jordan said his team needed a cornerstone.

Turns out, though, the cornerstone wears No. 23. And he's 39, says this is his last season and wants to win. Now. The obvious conflict has been awkward for everyone. Kwame, who says he received assurances that he'd have the luxury of learning on the job this season, wonders what happened. "I'm a little confused," he says. "I thought I'd be out on the floor, playing through the mistakes because that's what it's all about."

Jordan's reply: It's good that Kwame's upset, but it's Doug's decision. (Right.)

Says the coach, "I'm not in charge of anyone's encouragement or discouragement. I can't worry if someone's not playing well."

For a while, it looked like Collins wouldn't have to worry about Brown. The Wizards sent Kwame to Pete Newell's Big Man camp over the summer and were pleased with the results. They hired Patrick Ewing to teach him footwork in the low post and handed him to Oakley for lessons on how to maim within the rules. And opening night in Toronto was a revelation. The tentative rookie morphed into a monster, hauling down 18 rebounds, scoring 12 points and blocking five shots in 39 minutes. In the home opener a night later, he scored 20 points and blocked six more shots in a 114-69 demolition of the Celtics. The Wizards were beginning to visualize the day when this young big man, blessed with strength and quickness, would put it all together.

Brown averaged 12.3 points and 6.7 rebounds in an early three-game winning streak, had two poor games, then came back with 15 points and 11 boards against the Heat on Nov.16. But that would be the Wizards' last win of the month. As the team began to lose, Brown's minutes and numbers began to drop.

After a loss to the Grizzlies -- who had come into the game 0–13 -- an angry Jordan chastised his teammates and promised to take a larger role for himself "if some of these young kids don't start to play up to their capabilities." Five days later, he announced there was zero chance he would return next season, and two days after that, the sixth man was back as a starter. MJ's farewell tour was on, and Kwame's career was back on hold.

"Let's be honest," says Collins. "Kwame had two great games, and the next 17 he struggled. I owe it to the guys in the locker room to try to win."

Win now or develop players to win later? Conventional wisdom says you can do one or the other but not both. It can be argued that another lottery pick would help the Wizards far more than a one-and-done playoff run, but Michael was never going to go that route. And that leaves Brown wondering what's gone wrong and hearing whispers about his work ethic and practice habits. "I'm back to where I was last year," Brown says.

***

Last year nearly killed Kwame. Like every high school player who ever declared for the draft, he figured NBA ball was a big orange piñata filled with cash, cribs and five-star females, so he took his whack and let it all smother him at once. What he didn't expect to drop on him, though, was a 300-pound anvil named Jahidi White. The Wizards center pummeled the rookie in a December practice, so much so that Brown's neck hurt, his back creaked, his legs refused to lift him. As he lay groggy on the court awaiting sympathy, Collins stomped toward him with a snarl and an order: Get up right now! The coach was joined by teammates, including White, who planned the hit in what seemed like a fraternity hazing. Brown glanced over and saw Jordan, his idol, frowning. The kid left for the locker room in tears. "I'm sitting there thinking that maybe I wasn't cut out for this," Brown says. "Maybe I wasn't tough enough."

"It's all a process," Collins says. "Last year was a very difficult time for Kwame emotionally. You come in as the No. 1 pick and things don't work out. But you're asking a teenager to come into a locker room and take on a life he sees from a distance but has no idea about."

After all, Brown had left Brunswick a teenager and returned as an ATM. In the month following the draft, half his neighborhood approached him looking for a handout or just some change to tide them over for a short while -- like a couple of years.



It wasn't just friends. The sports landscape is cratered with blown fortunes of athletes trying to buy every brother and sister a Benz. Kwame is the second-youngest of eight kids, none of whom earn much more than minimum wage, two of whom are doing time for drugs and aggravated assault. "They thought I got the $12 million up front," he says. "I said, 'I'll help you only if you help yourself. I can't support you for the rest of my life.'"

	The occasional layup is all the Wizards have gotten out of Brown.

One day a letter arrived at Brown's northern Virginia town house from the Evans Correctional Institution in Bennettsville, S.C. He thought it was from a brother until he looked closer. It was from his father. Willie Brown had last spoken to Kwame when he was 4. Willie terrorized his wife, Joyce, in a stormy marriage, then disappeared into the Georgia woods without sending home a dime. He was locked up for life after killing a girlfriend in 1990.

But now, as he wrote Kwame, he wanted to be a father again and was anxious to resume their relationship. He spoke about his new faith, mentioned he was doing fine and wanted nothing more than a visit from Kwame one day.

"Then right there at the end," says Kwame, eyes rolling, "he goes, 'Send money.' What a surprise."

Kwame took home economics at his high school, Glynn Academy, but there's no time to be Emeril in the NBA, where life is a constant fast break. So he stopped by whatever grease-pit was handy until Ferrell introduced him to proteins and salads. He didn't date much as a rookie, but when he did, some women seized the opportunity to order lobster and Cristal. His agents assigned Kwame a roommate, 36-year-old business manager Richard Lopez, who spent much of the year mapping out routes to the nearest Barnes & Noble and the MCI Center. When he got to practice, Kwame got pounded again and again. Lessons were coming 24/7.

"I never felt so robotic in my life," Brown says. "Basketball was so hard, when before it came so naturally. I felt everyone was against me." The Wizards put Kwame on the injured list on Feb. 12 with a badly bruised ego disguised as a pulled hamstring. During his exile, he practiced, watched games from the bench, then went home and closed the shades. He estimates he slept 10 hours some days. He asked himself more than once: Shouldn't I be playing for a national championship at the University of Florida?

He wasn't the only one readjusting his thinking. "He's never been taught," says Jordan, who, for some reason was surprised at how much the teenager didn't know about basketball. Equally shocked was Collins, who endorsed the selection of Brown. Collins now admits he was guilty of being overanxious, of micromanaging the kid's progress. "It's all trial and error," he says, "for all of us."

When Brown returned to action Feb. 27, Jordan and Collins backed off and expectations were scaled down. The Wizards were still shooting for the playoffs, but if they got anything from Brown, they considered it a bonus. "When I came back, I said if they were going to scream at me, I didn't care," says Brown, who averaged 4.5 points, 3.5 rebounds and 14.3 minutes a game for the season, earning him the distinction of being the first No. 1 pick in 12 years to be left off the first and second All-Rookie teams. "I was just going to go out and play."

***

Just play. That's all Kwame wanted to do this season. He asked his hometown girlfriend, Jocelyn Vaughn, to move in with him, to give him stability and someone to talk to. He says he's working hard, no matter what the critics claim. Will he ever measure up? Hard to say. He's still raw, but at times you can look past the rough edges and see a cross between Rashard Lewis and Elton Brand. One thing's for sure: We won't find out until Jordan is gone.

It's the first Saturday night in December, not long after the Wizards defeated the Knicks for their third win in five games with MJ starting -- but only their ninth of the season. Kwame sits in front of his stall in the Wizards locker room, largely ignored by the media. He's just suffered his first DNP-coaches decision of the season, and his head is hanging low.

"I just don't understand it really," he says. "They say in the newspapers that you're the cornerstone and the future, and then you're on the bench. I don't know of cornerstone players who sit on the bench. They say it's to get my confidence up. Do I look confident to you?"

This article appears in the January 6 issue of ESPN The Magazine.