Down in the Cox Pavilion basement one afternoon, David Harrison steps to the free throw line of a UNLV practice court, his Mavericks jersey clinging to his chest. As Harrison shows off his high release and soft touch, shot after shot drops through the basket. He walks off the court, smiling. "I can shoot now," he says. "Could never shoot when I was in the NBA."
Before the 2004 draft,
ESPN.com's profile of the Colorado center said, "His maturity level and dedication to the game are big, big issues for scouts." But, 7 feet tall and built like a grizzly, Harrison had a chance to become a formidable inside presence. The Pacers selected him with the last pick of the first round, no. 29 overall.
He averaged 18 minutes a game as a rookie, 15 the next year, and eight the following season. The lack of time tormented Harrison. For him, self-worth and athletic performance had long been intertwined. That lesson came from his father, former NFL lineman Dennis Harrison. If David lost, he got a whooping. If he won but played badly, there'd be a whooping all the same. "I love my father," he says, "but things between us — they weren't good."
Rather than rebel against those values, Harrison internalized them. Competition became his drug. "It's how I managed that dark side," he says. "I always needed that release." He continues: "Sitting on the bench in Indiana, I wasn't getting to compete. I lost all of that. I started looking for something else."
Marijuana did the trick. Days would pass with Harrison sitting at home and smoking, not wanting to ever leave the house. Still, he got out from time to time. When teammate Stephen Jackson fired a handgun outside an Indianapolis strip club in 2006, Harrison was there. Earlier in his career, Harrison was involved in one of the ugliest moments in NBA history. He was charged with assault and battery for punching a fan during the 2004 Malice at the Palace brawl between the Pacers and the Detroit Pistons. In January of 2008, he was suspended for five games after failing a random drug test. After the season, he went to drug rehab on league orders.
On the first day, Harrison stood to announce who he was and why he was there.
My name is David Harrison. I'm a basketball player. I smoke a lot of weed. "People were like, 'You're here for what? Smoking pot? Nobody goes to rehab for smoking pot,'" he remembers. Well, I drink too. I mean, I'm not an alcoholic or anything, but I get drunk sometimes. "I laid out all my baggage," he says now, "and then I started hearing everybody else's stories — they were beaten, or they were touched, and they ended up strung out, losing everything. It was unbelievable. I realized maybe my baggage isn't so bad. I haven't had to deal with the things these people had to deal with."
The Pacers chose not to re-sign Harrison after that season. He had a tryout with the Timberwolves, but as Harrison was walking off the court, he tore a calf muscle. He sat in pain, watching as then-Minnesota coach Kevin McHale approached. "He told me, 'You can stop right now. You can decide this is it. Or, if you want, you can keep going. It's your choice.' That's always stuck with me."
So Harrison went to China. Immediately, he thrived. "I think I was a Chinese emperor in another life," he says. He became a focal point on offense ("It's fun to actually get to touch the ball," he says), made good money (he won't reveal how much, but says it was more than the NBA minimum), and won a championship with the Guangdong Southern Tigers. Early in the 2010-11 season, Harrison broke his leg. While healing, he leveraged some connections to get a job in commodities at a bank in Hong Kong.[SUP]1[/SUP]
Despite his love for the country, Harrison eventually decided to leave China, coming Stateside to be closer to his son and to recapture a sense of home. He spent time with the Reno Bighorns of the D-League last season, thinking that offered him the best shot at returning to the NBA. And now, here he is in Vegas, a month away from his 30th birthday, hoping this latest attempt will be the one that pays off. "My life is like that U2 song — 'Stuck in a Moment,'" he says. "I'm stuck in this process of trying to get back. I can't get past it." With the money he can make in China, I ask, why is he so focused on returning to the NBA? His one-word answer: "Redemption."
Maybe he'll get it. Maybe not. Either way, Harrison has found a peace he once lacked. "I was a selfish person," he says. "But I've grown. Now, instead of going to L.A. and partying with my friends, I'll go home and hang out with my son. That's a better life. That's the life I want to keep living."
The next night, Harrison takes the floor against the Hornets. He is active and mobile, playing physical defense and challenging shots, but he only gets six minutes of playing time. He finishes with one rebound, one turnover, and four fouls. Dallas wins, 78-65. "We got the win," he says afterward. "That's what matters."
There's no sarcasm in Harrison's voice, but this is the summer league, where winning and losing barely matter. Still, in coaches' and general mangers' eyes, clichés are better than complaints. So Harrison says nothing about his time on the bench. He can't afford any missteps — not anymore
