Kevin Garnett checks in at No. 18 on ‘The Basketball 100’: ‘It ain’t about me. It’s about us’

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It was one of those perfect summer evenings during a family trip from Minnesota to the northeast in 1995, 65 degrees and sunny as 6-year-old me walked into Fenway Park for the first time. The Red Sox were hosting the Toronto Blue Jays and we settled into our seats near the top of a section above the third-base dugout, ready for a momentous occasion for a sports-crazy kid who begged his parents to sprinkle some games into the history and sightseeing.

As I sat down and marveled at the Green Monster in front of me, I couldn't help but pull out a Sony Walkman, put the headphones over my ears, and start listening as intently as I was watching. It wasn't the radio broadcast of the game but coverage of the 1995 NBA Draft.

My hometown Minnesota Timberwolves had the fifth pick, and there were so many intriguing possibilities in a class filled with household names. Jerry Stackhouse and Rasheed Wallace from North Carolina. Damon Stoudamire from Arizona. Michigan State's Shawn Respert and UCLA's Ed O'Bannon. All were players I watched on television at storied college programs who became well-known stars with tantalizing potential.

There was another name out there I had never seen take one dribble, but he grabbed my attention as much as any other. In the week leading up to the draft, I pulled Sports Illustrated out of the mailbox to see a skinny high school kid on the cover with the tagline "Ready or Not ... "

"Three weeks ago Kevin Garnett went to his high school prom," the subhead read, stretching across a young man with legs so long they did not even fit onto the magazine cover despite his best efforts to fold himself into the camera frame. "Next week he'll be a top pick in the NBA Draft."

This was before YouTube compilations, Twitter (or "X") highlights, and ESPN coverage of high school games, so there was an air of mystery surrounding this kid's game that rarely happens these days. And he was a kid, just a little bit older and a whole lot bigger than I was at the time. The story told of a player with the audacity to jump straight from high school to the NBA, the first player to do it in two decades.

The great Jack McCallum detailed a big man with guard skills and movie-star charisma, someone who NBA front-office personnel predicted would be the kind of magnetic presence who could "put backsides in the seats when Michael and Shaq aren't in town."

As I sat in one of the grandest ballparks there is, on a picture-perfect night, my biggest thrill came when NBA commissioner David Stern announced, "With the fifth pick in the 1995 NBA Draft, the Minnesota Timberwolves select Kevin Garnett from Farragut Academy in Chicago."

Garnett's 21-year career started with cementing the Timberwolves' place in the league and also included returning the proud Boston Celtics to their once-preordained spot at the top of the basketball world.

Widely considered one of the best and most versatile defenders of his or any generation, Garnett was the 2004 NBA MVP after leading the Timberwolves to the Western Conference finals, their only trip outside the first round in franchise history. He was a 15-time All-Star, the NBA Defensive Player of the Year in 2007–08, and a nine-time member of the All-Defensive First Team, the rare player capable of shutting down any position on the floor. He won the rebounding title four times, and since the NBA began tracking offensive and defensive rebounds in 1973–74, no NBA player has grabbed more than his 11,453 defensive rebounds.

Above all the numbers and superlatives, no one played with more fire, from the moment he first set foot on the court in 1995 to the day he retired 21 years later.

Up until he was drafted, for anyone who wasn't old enough to remember the Minneapolis Lakers, professional basketball in Minnesota was more of an idea than a reality. The Timberwolves entered the NBA in 1989, lost at least 60 games in five of their first six seasons (they lost 53 in the other one), and were so mismanaged that they nearly moved to New Orleans in 1994. There was nothing identifiable about them.

In a league with Michael Jordan, Shaquille O'Neal, Hakeem Olajuwon, Charles Barkley, and Penny Hardaway, Wolves fans had to settle for Christian Laettner, Tom Gugliotta, and Doug West to get them excited. They always seemed to be a step behind, from building the last arena in the league with more seats in the upper deck than the lower bowl, to constantly ending up one pick away from a true star in the draft lottery.

Garnett represented the first time the Timberwolves, as an organization, were ahead of the game. When he arrived in the Twin Cities, it marked Wolves fans' first introduction to the real NBA. Until that point, Wolves fans had only known scrappy, undertalented teams that only had a chance to win on a given night if the opponent took them lightly. Once Garnett arrived, the team quickly morphed from the cute, cuddly Shep teams that were easily dismissed to the snarling, howling teams lurking in the trees that would huff and puff and blow your basket down.

Target Center was already there, so you couldn't say it was the place that KG built. But he was responsible for keeping the lights on. He was the franchise's first bankable star, endearing himself to the hardworking, basketball-loving community by making sure anyone who bought a ticket to come to see him play got their money's worth. His No. 21 jersey was the only one for fans to have when he first arrived, and the All-Star appearances and playoff berths that quickly followed gave young fans a reason to tune in for the first time in, well, ever.

Before Garnett's arrival, I was a casual NBA fan. I loved Jordan, of course, and rooted for the Gary Payton/Shawn Kemp Sonics. My father was a Celtics fan. But there wasn't much of a reason to watch the Wolves other than to see the other team.

Garnett changed all that. His youthful enthusiasm was instantly endearing. The way he always insisted on being listed at 6-foot-11 rather than 7 foot 1 to which he was likely a lot closer — KG always thought it would stop coaches from making him ditch his guard skills to live in the post—resonated with a fan base that counts modesty as one of its most treasured personality traits.

But it was the intensity that drew everyone in. Garnett would work up a full lather in pregame warm-ups, stewing and swearing and foaming at the mouth as he prepared to go to battle in the game. Before every tip, he would stand underneath the Wolves basket, tie his shorts, and butt his head against the stanchion, talking to himself the entire time. Maybe it was something an opponent said in the media that had pissed him off. Maybe it was the suggestion, real or invented, that another power forward was better than he was. Maybe it was the doubts that Garnett could convert a hockey state into a hoops one. It was probably a combination of all those things. But he brought it every night.

"I'm out there and I suit up every night," Garnett told coaching legend and TNT analyst John Thompson in an epic interview as the team was starting to crumble in 2005, a season after reaching the Western Conference finals. "I suit up every night. Banged up, hurt, whatever. Hundred percent, 30 percent, ain't no numbers. It's in my heart, and you can't measure that."

"This ain't golf. It ain't tennis," Garnett, who politely declined an interview for this, told Thompson as tears streamed down his face. "It ain't about me. It's about us."

As I rose the journalism ranks and left my fandom behind, the closer I got into KG's orbit, the clearer it became how his passion, his zeal, and his cutting competitiveness could transform an organization. I was a pup as his first run in Minnesota was winding down, most often not even getting to write stories from the games but rather tasked with compiling interviews and quotes for The Associated Press writers to include in their stories.

I had to wait in the locker room for Garnett to come out to talk. He was notorious for taking a long time to come down after the game before addressing the media, so I would have to stand sentry while the writers pecked away on deadline.

It was always worth the wait. Some players stare through a reporter, muttering whatever inanities it takes to get him off the hook and out of the locker room as quickly and painlessly as possible. Garnett stared into your soul as he dissected your motives, then offered detailed and colorful examinations of what went right or what went wrong on a particular night.

For a young reporter and an older one who was exposed to him again when he returned to the Wolves at the end of the 2014-15 season, it was captivating. In the earlier days of Garnett's time in Minnesota, reporters sat courtside at Target Center. One of Garnett's favorite pregame rituals was to come to the scorer's table, dump a huge portion of talcum powder into his massive hands, and clap them together right over the reporters sitting there preparing for the game. It was his way of needling us. Some of the veteran scribes would purposely wait to get to their seats until after the opening tip so Garnett couldn't get them, grumbling the whole way about how no one ever dared tell him to knock it off.

I, on the other hand, developed a ritual of my own. I would get out there early, bringing with me an extra packet of pregame notes. I would tear sheets out of the packet and cover my laptop. Then I would place my notebook over the drink I brought to ensure none of the powder would land in my Coca-Cola. Then I would sit there and let KG have his fun. He would say a little "What's good?" as he doused me in the powder, then head to center court for the opening tip. I would then stand up, wipe the powder from my hair, pick up the sheets of paper covering the laptop, and dump them into a nearby trash can. Fans would laugh, and I would too. It never bothered me because I always saw it as playful hazing, not bullying. It was clear even back then that he was a Hall of Fame player, the most important member of the franchise, and I wanted to experience as much of him as possible.

That also meant seeing him change the energy in the room as soon as he was within 10 feet of it. Pregame locker rooms for KG-led teams were painfully quiet, with Garnett making it clear in no uncertain terms that it was a time for focus, preparation, and concentration. Those who could not abide were castigated. Those who didn't like it ... well, this is what he told me in 2018 at the height of the Jimmy Butler drama that eventually led to the latter being traded:

"I built this house," Garnett said when I asked about why he never requested a trade back in the day. "I'm not leaving this goddamn house. You can get the f——up out of here. You don't like it, then leave.

"I would hear a bunch of whining and it's snowing and it's cold and why are we practicing? Man, you know what this was when you signed up. If you don't want to be here, get the f— up out of here, man. Guys know this. Guys know what you sign up for. I never asked for a trade because I never wanted to be traded."

It was precisely what Timberwolves fans needed to hear. Butler was burning their house down, trashing the organization and making a mockery of their fandom. Garnett always stood tall for Minnesota. And even though he left on bad terms and would often say he wished he would have gotten out sooner, he always rode for 'Sota in the heat of the moment. Where others snickered at it, Garnett embraced it. And the people loved him for it.

He went to Boston and won a championship with Paul Pierce and Ray Allen. Pierce was the face of that team and Allen provided the sizzle, but Garnett was the beating heart in the middle of it all. The Celtics probably would have won two had Garnett not suffered a knee injury the following season.

In a franchise filled with legends, Garnett belongs right there with them. He's often credited for changing the tenor of that team with his maniacal practice habits and suffocating defense. His No. 5 jersey was retired in Boston in March 2022, a legacy-cementing achievement for one of the greatest power forwards to ever do it.

Wolves fans won't ever let him go. There was bad blood with Wolves owner Glen Taylor and tragedy when Flip Saunders passed away, but through all the struggles this franchise has endured, Garnett remains a shining beacon to their long-suffering fans. He could be demanding and biting behind the scenes, but that was the way for him to turn an unserious franchise into one that commanded respect. And while so many players, coaches, and executives came and went, Garnett would never allow Minnesotans to feel inferior.

"I left my spirit and my soul in there," Garnett said then. "You can't ever replace that. You feel me? That will always be, forever, as long as they have the Timberwolves in Minnesota."

To this day, he is the franchise's career leader in games played, minutes played, field goals made, scoring, rebounding, assists, steals, blocks, triple-doubles, and win shares. But his legacy is so much more than his name at the top of a statistical category.

To root for Kevin Garnett was to root for Minnesota basketball. He proved that when it was done right, this sport didn't have to take a back seat to hockey in this community. When this league was failing in this market, Garnett arrived to prove basketball could flourish in Minnesota. When Garnett prowled the hardwood, be it in the playoffs or when he made his triumphant return after the 2015 trade from Brooklyn, the arena was as loud and as rowdy as any other in the league.

KG huffed and he puffed and he blew that roof off. Here is hoping that one day, somehow, he and the Timberwolves figure things out so he returns to hear that roar again.

Career NBA stats: G: 1,462, Pts.: 17.8, Reb.: 10.0, Ast.: 3.7, Win Shares: 191.4, PER: 22.7 Achievements: NBA MVP ('04), Nine-time All-NBA, 15-time All-Star, Defensive Player of the Year ('08), NBA champ ('08), Olympic gold ('00), Hall of Fame ('20)

Excerpted from "The Basketball 100" published by William Morrow. Copyright © 2024 by The Athletic

(Illustration: Kelsea Petersen / The Athletic; Photo: Jared Wickerham / )