When he arrives, Chauncey isn't sure what to make of the Nuggets. On paper, he adores their talent. He's worked out with the unpredictable J.R. Smith in the past, and has told people Smith can be an All-Star. But his worry is tempo, decision-making. He hates disorganized. "The way they played before I got here was erratic," Chauncey says. "I call it dysfunctional. No discipline. I need some stability. I can't play like that. This game means too much to me."
Karl calls a meeting to introduce Chauncey, who tells his new teammates, "Look, I'm here to win. I ain't here to do a lot of talking. I'll walk the walk, and hopefully y'all be the same way, and we'll be on the same page."
Next, they go over all of the team's plays. Chauncey nods, but, inside, he has a sick feeling. For instance, the Nuggets don't have an underneath-the-basket out-of-bounds play. This isn't high school. He can't throw the ball off someone's back and dunk it. What's going on here?
The Pepsi Center, Denver, Nov. 7, 2008
Chauncey's driving to the arena -- from Poplar Street -- for his Nuggets debut against the Mavs, and as he approaches the arena, he sees "Welcome Home" signs and his picture on a billboard. He's got something special for his hometown fans tonight: When he peels off his warm-up suit after introductions, they see his number: No. 7. For John Elway. He wants to be their John Elway.
Chauncey is Denver, through and through, and he senses playing at home is going to work this time. Most of the friends and family who begged for tickets 10 years before are older, married and self-sufficient. The knuckleheads are no longer in his life. He can just play ball. Ray and Faye, married 35 years, are seated in the fifth row. Ray keeps checking his watch. He still needs to get up at 3:30 for work the next morning. Here's Chauncey in his 12th year in the NBA, and here's Ray is in his 32nd year in a Safeway warehouse. Ray plans to retire at the end of the season, but not now. Go figure.
After halftime, Chauncey nods to his parents … and starts to attack. He hits an 18-footer and a 3-pointer to start the third period. Always the third quarter, just like in Detroit. He wants this game badly, to prove to the Pistons, to everybody, he's not done. He had spoken to Hamilton earlier in the day, before the Pistons played at New Jersey, and told Hamilton, jokingly, "Hope you lose." Hamilton laughed back.
With 2:54 left in the fourth quarter, the Nuggets are clinging to a 99-98 lead, when the ball goes out of bounds to the Nuggets underneath their own basket. Chauncey's fear is realized. The team has no out-of-bounds play. Karl just wants them to improvise, to use their basketball instincts, but Chauncey can't live that way. So he calls time.
In the huddle, they're all stumped. Smith tells Anthony: "He just got here, and he's calling timeouts?" But Chauncey waves them close and starts in: "Look, George, I need you to draw me up an out-of-bounds play, man, to get the ball in. Because if we don't and we turn the ball over and lose this game because we didn't have something, that just won't sit well with me."
