DWIGHT HOWARD – THE DNA OF SUPERMAN

The DNA of Superman The 2008 All-Star Slam-Dunk Champion is changing the way big men are perceived around the league.

Decode the chemical design of Dwight Howard’s DNA and you’ll notice a sequence harvested from the finest athletic gene pool. The 6-11, 270-pound Orlando Magic center has the physique of a modern day Spartan with fast-twitch muscle fibers akin to a thoroughbred.

Some would argue Howard’s genetic composition is far superior than most of those in the Association. Thing is, his motor isn’t even close to being broken in, which means the reigning slam-dunk champion has more opportunities to rekindle the days when guys like Jordan, Webb and Wilkins used imaginative prose to win the hearts of peers and strangers alike.

Few descriptive words do justice when speaking about Howard’s aerial assaults. So, preference shall remain with examples provided by two of the best the game has ever witnessed. To leave Kobe Bryant and Magic Johnson speechless in one night under the same roof is not something the populous can put in their cover letter.

To speak without using words – the best form of communication. Throwing the ball against the reverse side of the backboard, catching it with both hands in the air, transferring it to the left hand and throwing it down a la windmill style – with your head still behind the backboard, mind you – just isn’t supposed to happen. There’s nothing you can say to describe what you just witnessed. So you don’t say anything.

To have one spectacular flush that defies the definition of dexterity wouldn’t spoil anyone in New Orleans. It’s an innate response to become greedy after seeing something like that. After all, we are consumers. We just continue to consume. So Howard continued to feed.

The next course offered up more protein for those with starved mitochondria.

At the precise moment Howard revealed the ‘S’ on his chest, the execs of Adidas, Vitamin Water, Topps and Midway Games turned to each other with Grinch-like grins. For that’s what the consumers can identify with – a little theatrics.

Reach a broader audience, touch different markets, move people’s emotions just like the best advertisements do – that’s something shareholders and execs can identify with.

After Howard advertised the fact he could tap the ball with his left hand in the air against the backboard and put it away with the right, Magic Johnson let these words resonate in space.

“I’ve never seen that,” he responded. The tallest dunk champion since 6-10 Larry Nance (Suns, 1984) is slowly changing the way big men are perceived around the rim and the standards by which they are judged.

Then again, isn’t this to be expected? Isn’t the athletic gene pool at its highest peak in human history? If indeed that’s the case, could Howard quite possibly be the purest example society has to offer?

Evolution aside, it’s one thing to put up 20.7 ppg, 14.2 rpg and 2.15 bpg in 82; it’s another to keep 17” Adidas’ in the air as long as a two-guard.

Because he can put up 69 double-doubles, box out and block shots with fundamental ease, Howard is becoming the portrait for every NBA recruit with skills that match their frame.

for every NBA recruit with skills that match their frame. It’s hard for any 22-year-old to set a precedent in this league, except of course when one entertains the strength of a Silverback guerilla and the speed of a mongoose. A mixture of Hakeem Olajuwon and Shaq, Howard averaged more defensive rebounds per game last season than Kevin Garnett, Amare Stoudemire and Emeka Okafor did on both ends.

Under the tutelage of Patrick Ewing, Howard is betting his perimeter game will have some range in no time. Picking Hedo Turkoglu’s mental doesn’t hurt either.

“I use my strength to do a lot of things,” Howard says. “I like playing with a lot of power and force.”

On most occasions, Howard’s will to go get the ball is greater than that of his opponent. It’s not often Tim Duncan rises for a defensive stop, with the game in the balance mind you, and is left to watch his opponent end the contest with a one-handed flush.

This kind of will gains respect from colleagues. It also gives the NBA credibility amongst the most impressionable of minds. From a business perspective, the Association is solely dependant on players like Howard.

He’s the kind of crop suits seek out to endorse their product. He’s the kind of crop that sells corporate suites and courtside seats, the strand of crop that heats homes in the winter and puts food on the table. He’s the kind of crop that bioengineering scientists salivate over – the idea of tinkering with his DNA in Petri dishes.

More than anything, he’s the kind of crop that solidifies the NBA as a global brand, the oil that fuels a machine that stretches from the hills of Tennessee to the bright lights of Tokyo.

There is much responsibility that comes with wearing a USA Basketball jersey. It’s a responsibility many have turned down, a responsibility many have also relished. Each member of the Men’s Senior National Team has a different story to tell, a story that brought them to the point they are today.

In a condensed version, this is Howard’s. Backtrack to the years before Howard drove by in European saloons, used an alias to identify his essence and fell asleep with sugar gliders on his chest. Well before he conferred with a financial advisor, drank Vitamin Water on YouTube, donned the cover of a video game and became the youngest player to register 3,000 boards.

Sure, Howard’s verse is filled with tired clichés. But there is something about his beginning that almost never was. It is a well documented fact that Howard holds true to his Christian faith, even if it meant he would share the same fate as one of the NBA’s 50 Greatest Players, David Robinson. Robinson’s outspoken beliefs about Christ did not mesh well with his marketability. Thus, the endorsements never followed.

Parents who raise children in the Bible belt know a thing or two about principles. There was no way Howard was going to jeopardize his belief system for a little coin.

Each and every soul who carries on Christ’s message is bonded by his own reasoning. The foundation by which that reasoning was formed is as unique as a finger print.

Dwight, Sr. and Sheryl Howard conceived 10 children; seven did not survive. You don’t compromise that kind of foundation.

“I was taught to respect people no matter what,” Howard says. “And it carried a long way.”

From kindergarten through his senior year of high school, it carried him. Howard attended Southwest Atlanta Christian Academy (SACA), a small private school heavy on prayer and just actions. Dwight, Sr. was the athletic director (still is), his coach, his mentor. He also patrolled the streets as a Georgia state trooper.

“If I played around in class my dad would give me a talk for three hours,” Howard recalls. “That’s like a whooping.”

Staying humble was another valuable lesson.

“I broke my leg when I was 15,” he says. “Before I did that the girls thought I was cool. I promised myself I would never get a big head again.”

In the small-knit fraternity that is the NBA, you’re judged on merit alone. Guys work just as hard to uphold their name as they do on the court. Respect is the last thing to come, especially for a rook out of high school.

Being 6-11 with some game from a small Christian school means nothing to seasoned vets. There’s a neighborhood king for every small town in this country.

“I just didn’t want to go to the NBA out of high school,” the All-NBA first-team center says. “I wanted to be No. 1 in the draft. I wanted to prove everybody wrong.”

Those aren’t the kind of odds you roll the dice on unless you can stick and move. That same song is sung by many high school ballers who read basketball magazines and dress the part – only their game doesn’t quite match the stitches on an NBA sock.

Saying and doing aren’t attracted by magnetizing poles – unless there is an adhesive bondo in between that makes it work. Howard’s bondo was part faith, part willpower.

Before he would ever see a 1984 Crown Vic end up in his front yard, Howard’s short term goals were fixed above his bed next to a crucifix. One of them read: “And it shall (and) will come to pass that Dwight Howard II will stand head and shoulders over 2004 prospects in the name of Jesus. Will he do it? Amen.”

A trainer by the name of Corey McKray worked with Howard every morning before class during his senior year. Unbeknownst to him, those repetitive drills would soon payoff in a pre-draft workout with Orlando.

First, Howard had to be consistent with his performance at the ABCD camp and on the Atlanta Celtics, his AAU squad. He’d have to wake up at 4 a.m. and hit the track one hour later. From the track to the court to the weight room – that was the diet from which he survived.

It was the diet that landed him the Naismith Prep Player of the Year Award, Gatorade National Player of the Year Award, Morgan Wootten High School Player of the Year Award and the McDonald’s National High School Player of the Year Award.

“Hard work negates errors,” he says. “You have less chances of failure.”

It’s easy to speak in retrospective tone after the fact.

Entering his fifth season in the NBA, Howard has already helped Orlando earn something they never could without Shaq: a division title. In the short time he’s been in the league Howard has matured, though he still won’t pass up the chance to execute a well-crafted prank. In terms of respect, he’s earned that from his peers.

When people you work with have trouble naming a more dominant center, the words that filter out of said player’s mouth are scrutinized down to the last syllable. Does Howard think he belongs in this conversation?

“People can decide for themselves,” says Howard, who mentions the fact his body language from the stripe needs more work, as does his play off double teams and the consistency of his jump shot.

“I want to be one of the best ever. Nothing comes easy. I know I have a long way to go.”

His DNA isn’t about to fail him now.