Just what the NBA needs — another spoiled, self-indulgent, knuckleheaded player who thinks he already belongs in the Hall of Fame.

So what's wrong with the game?

Too many colleges recruit players on the basis of their talent. Ditto for the NBA's draft process. And hardly anybody recruits/drafts on the basis of a player's character.

The truth that so many recruiters/drafters don't get is that talent and character are not always mutually exclusive.

Travels with Charley

I was extremely fortunate to have coached in the CBA during the league's golden era — the mid-'80s to early '90s. Back then, the competition just to make a CBA team was fierce and a great many exceptional players were cut. One of these guys was Dave Williams, a 6-1 point guard out of Central Washington.

Williams certainly had a distinguished pedigree, being the younger brother of Ray and Gus Williams. And, believe it or not, Dave was absolutely the quickest of the clan. In fact, he might have been the quickest player I have ever seen. Moreover, Dave was also a wonderful young man, buoyant, friendly, and very competitive.

He had played eight games for the Maine Lumberjacks in the previous (1982-83) season, shooting 2-of-8, averaging 0.8 ppg, accumulating seven assists, and three steals in his 27 total minutes on the court.

Too bad Dave was as wild as he was quick. For every scintillating steal and hot-footed drive he out-ran the ball and committed a turnover (which were not recorded at the time).

In 1983, CBA rosters were limited to nine players and the Albany Patroons' starting point guard was Lowes Moore, an NBA veteran, and a clutch player who was one of the best backcourt players in the league. Since we were limited to four bench-players, we went with substitute bigs and wings, with Frankie Sanders doing double-duty as the starting shooting guard and backing up Moore. (Later in the season, the Patroons picked up a more accomplished backup point when Mark Jones was cut by the Nets.)

In any event, Dave Williams was waived just two days before the season began. Williams couldn't believe that he didn't make the squad. He pleaded. He begged. He wept. But the deed was already done.

For the next two weeks, Williams went back home to Mount Vernon, sequestered himself in his room — and telephoned all of his friends to say that he had indeed made the team and was calling from Puerto Rico, or Lancaster (PA), or Toronto. Another heart broken in the Crazy Basketball Association.