HACKENSACK, N.J. – Ah, adidas ABCD Camp.

It's the only place in America where you can overhear a coach say something like this:

"This camp isn't about your team. It's about you. It's a showcase for you and your game. It doesn't matter if you win. Just play your game. Do your thing."

And that lil' pep talk, delivered by an AAU coach to fire up a player this week, is why it's easy to love the ABCD camp. In Bill Parcells parlance, it is what it is. And adidas Godfather Sonny Vaccaro does nothing to deny it.

	“	It's what I call the old culture shock, but (the kids) have done a good job. We've gotten back to basics and taught these kids. That's what happened in Europe. They spent a lot of time on fundamentals and drill work and they've passed our kids up. ”
		— Craig Neal, ABCD camp councelor and former Toronto Raptors assistant coach

"There's no structure or pick and rolls," Vaccaro says. "What I've always believed it was is exposure and showcasing athletic ability. That's all I've said for 20 years. These aren't really games."

But this season, by adding disciplined workout stations taught by NBA staff and personnel, Vaccaro has taken a small but important step in instilling some desperately needed fundamentals in some of the nation's top young players.

To understand what this actually means, it's important to understand the culture clash taking place here.

The undulating roof of the Rothman Center at Fairleigh Dickinson fittingly resembles that of a circus tent and provides the perfect metaphor for what takes place underneath. The games at ABCD Camp are undisciplined, unstructured and generally unpleasant to watch.

From 2 p.m. to 9 p.m. every day, it's street ball without the asphalt and catchy nicknames.

The ball hogging, shot hunting and "ole" defense continues to push back the hairlines of the hundreds of college coaches who pack the stands. It also continues to push youth basketball in America further behind European, Asian and South American countries.

Fueling the circus are the peering eyes of agents, the ringing cell phones of middle men, and the "ooohs" and "aaaaahs" of hangers on.

Put it this way. Nike Camp, organized by Vaccaro's bitter rival, George Raveling, is run by knuckle-whacking Catholic school nuns. Adidas is the overcrowded classroom with the substitute teacher.

Vaccaro's decision to drill fundamentals into the kids stems from watching the 2002 NBA draft and seeing "199 foreign players" picked. From there, he talked with legendary workout guru Tim Grgurich, a Phoenix Suns assistant, and the two decided to install the morning drills, which include lessons in footwork, the fastbreak, defense, shooting, pick-and-rolls and the nuances of shooting.

(Vaccaro claims he isn't trying to Be Like Nike, which has stations and 3-on-3 games. But, college coaches do find the drills particularly helpful in evaluating players.)

So this year, Vaccaro brought in 19 various NBA types -- assistants, scouts and players -- to run the kids through station drills in the morning, ending what Vaccaro calls the "country club atmosphere" he'd fostered.

But, of course, there was a lingering question: How would discipline fly in adidas' romper room? The answer has ended up being surprising.

The kids have embraced it, if not for any other reason than they're learning from guys who represent the three magic letters -- N-B-A. The college coaches have enjoyed it, because they can break down kids' games instead of getting dizzy from watching the perpetual fastbreaks. The NBA vets have enjoyed seeing the kids develop.

And the adidas Godfather has given the new development a kiss on each cheek.

"It's the best thing I've done with this camp since I got here," says Sonny, whose preferred method of communication is hyperbole. "I swear to God. I'm more proud of this new thing this week than anything."

Robert Swift, a 7-foot-1 USC-bound center, spent much of last season's camp doing what Vaccaro calls the "Eddy Curry 100-yard dashes." That's campspeak for guards dominating these camps by not passing the ball.

A guy like Curry left adidas camp with the experts saying he was overhyped, when really he was underpassed.

So, you can imagine Swift's delight when Grgurich gave him a hip check when teaching how to fight through a pick, or when another coach grabbed a fistful of his jersey when teaching lock-up defense.

"I've never had a coach come out and play me or guard me in the post," Swift said on Monday. "I already know I'm going to get out here and get better."

Georgia Tech assistant coach Cliff Warren walked into the gym at 8:25 on Thursday morning and couldn't believe his eyes. Only three other college coaches were there to watch the workouts, which began at 8:30.

To Warren, the early-morning workouts provided a fresh alternative to up-and-down monotony of the summer camp games.

"There's guys on teams that just jack up shots," Warren said. "Now I can find out if a kid can come off a screen, I know if he can play help-side defense. But first and foremost, I can find out if a kid can listen. Does a kid want to get up in the morning and learn about basketball?"

Or, as Seton Hall assistant coach Brian Nash says: "If you see a guy take 20 jump shots, you can tell if he can shoot the ball."

The morning workouts were coached mostly by graying NBA lifers, whose pot bellies left sweat marks on their shirts and whose hoarse voices stirred the ghost of Norman Dale.

One of them is Craig Neal, a former assistant coach with Toronto. He said a lot of the campers have been a bit overwhelmed by the intensity and time involved in the drills.

"It's what I call the old culture shock, but they've done a good job," Neal said. "We've gotten back to basics and taught these kids. That's what happened in Europe. They spent a lot of time on fundamentals and drill work and they've passed our kids up."

Vaccaro said the camp's next step is to import as many foreign kids as possible to show the campers first hand the superior fundamentals of the players overseas. He tried this year, but insurance problems and the threat of SARS derailed his plan, which included 20 players from all over the world.

"I think these kids need to see those kids," Vaccaro says. "I don't think they can just read a book or see someone on TV say their name. If they see them here and they kick the piss out of them, I think that they'll respect them."

Pete Thamel is a freelance writer based in Dallas and a frequent contributor to ESPN.com and ESPN Magazine. He can be reached at vpthamel@yahoo.com.