mar 13, 2017 | ryaN KARTJE |o.c. register | ARTICLE LINK
CHINO HILLS – A storm is raging, the fiercest Southern California has seen in years, but outside of the Chino Hills High gym on a Friday night in February, hundreds stand in line anyway, soaked but undeterred, their barricade of umbrellas snaking around the building. Some have been waiting in the rain for hours. A few poor souls wander desperately, begging for extra tickets. They were sold out before the day began.
They’ve come to catch lightning in a bottle, to gaze upon a preps phenomenon the likes of which this town – and quite possibly the country – has never seen before. A few years ago, Chino Hills High was a complete unknown in basketball circles – a public school, just a decade old, with a tiny gym and a modest following. But that was before the plan took hold and the nation took notice, before the Ball family and their electric offense, before 35-0, the 60-game win streak and the national title.
“Now, it’s a movement,” says Scout.com analyst Josh Gershon. “Everyone knows Chino Hills.”
The Chino Hills High gym is a charming shoebox of a basketball arena, with a couple dozen rows of wooden bleachers and a standing-room capacity of 1,300 – less than half that of local powerhouse Mater Dei. On this opening night of the playoffs, they’ll need every inch. LiAngelo, the middle of the three vaunted Ball brothers, is set to return and a tightly packed crowd buzzes, whispering of another state championship run.
The ball is tipped, and Chino Hills bursts into hyperdrive. Just four seconds in, LaMelo Ball, the youngest Ball brother, serves up a soaring alley-oop. The crowd gasps. This is Chino Hills in all its high-throttle glory, sprinting past defenders and suffocating lanes, dishing passes behind the back and drilling 30-footers.
During LiAngelo’s recent absence, LaMelo scored 92 in one game. “Sportscenter” called. “World News Tonight” ran a story. In a matter of hours, the 15-year-old’s coronation as an internet sensation was underway. At Chino Hills’ next game, grown men waited outside the gym for autographs. The team left out the back door.
With LiAngelo back, there is no hope of denying them. A slow start against JSerra turns into a 21-0 run in mere minutes. Before long, Chino Hills runs away with a 105-74 victory, piling on until the final buzzer.
“Tri-ple dig-its!” the student section jeers. It’s the 16th time they’ve surpassed that mark this season.
At center court, the architect behind this phenomenon leans forward from his seat in the first row, resting his massive 6-foot-6 frame on his knees and chewing gum as vigorously as the Chino Hills offense moves. Even from a distance, LaVar Ball is an intimidating presence. His gaze, intense and unrelenting, rarely leaves the court.
Everyone here knows LaVar, and nearly everyone has an opinion of him. At a recent road win in Rancho Cucamonga, fans lined up just to snap selfies with him – the man who fathered the Ball boys. TMZ invites him on air, begging for more of the incendiary bravado for which he’s come to be known.
Chino Hills may not have seen this coming – the national acclaim, the autograph seekers, the internet celebrity – but this is exactly what LaVar has envisioned since his three sons were born. For years, he told anyone who would listen of his boys’ impending greatness.
“He’s always had a master plan,” Tina Ball, his wife, says.
“Some people want to invest in property, stocks, something,” says LaVar. “I always thought, ‘I’m going to invest in something that’s mine.’”
So ... about this plan? A reporter asks, and before long, he’s off, hurtling past the parental niceties, straight down a rabbit hole of unhinged fatherly ambition. Over the course of two hours, LaVar will declare, among other things, his three sons’ intentions to go one-and-done in college, to play together on the U.S. Olympic team and to challenge Michael Jordan as the G.O.A.T.
He’ll compare himself (positively) to Michael Jackson’s father, and his oldest son, Lonzo, to Magic Johnson “with a jump shot.” He’ll divulge plans for a family docuseries and threaten to upend the status quo of the NBA shoe game.
Surely, this is lunacy. A father’s delusions of grandeur. Just LaVar being LaVar. But, as the team keeps winning and his sons’ celebrity grows, are we just too myopic to see it unfolding before us? In Chino Hills, where some see genius and others only bluster, there is no sure answer.
“Some people call him crazy,” Lonzo says after one UCLA practice. “But everything that he’s said, it’s pretty much come true.”
One thing is certain, and he wields this truth proudly and openly: LaVar Ball is in control. At Chino Hills, where his three sons have jumpstarted a phenomenon and set up a once-unknown program for a second consecutive title run, LaVar has ruffled feathers and asserted his will.
“Some of them understand the takeover,” he says, “and they don’t like it.”
He senses their indignation, but couldn’t care less. The team is winning. His sons are thriving. The plan is working.
“Might as well call Chino Hills, Chino Ball,” LaVar continues, flashing a self-assured grin. “That’s the reality. As soon as my last son graduates, Chino Hills will go from sugar to (expletive).
“When I’m done, they can have it back.”
GROOMED FROM BIRTH
The city of Chino Hills sits at the southwestern corner of the Inland Empire, in the distant shadow of the San Gabriel Mountains. A suburban utopia 35 miles east of L.A., it was once known for rolling hills filled with cattle. When LaVar and Tina Ball first moved to the south side of town, before the city nearly tripled in size and manicured subdivisions sprouted from the landscape, they could still spot loose cows on the hillside nearby.
In that same corner house, LaVar is holding court, as he often does. A bustling stream of visitors comes and goes. For the Ball family, the chaos seems comforting.
“We’re America’s first basketball family,” he declares from across the dining room table, as if it were the tagline to a new E! reality series. It’s hard to know if he’s serious – until he drops the same line a few days later.
Tina stands working over a table piled high with gear from Big Baller Brand, the apparel company they launched last year, as LaVar dives into one of his favorite stories. He’s recalling the moment he saw her for the first time, 6 feet tall and beautiful, on campus at Cal State Los Angeles. As the story goes, he knew right then she fit the Ball plan.
“I keep telling people, I picked her for the genes,” he jokes.
If so, he seems to have picked wisely. Lonzo, 19, has been a dynamo in one season at UCLA, a candidate for Naismith Player of the Year and a likely top-three selection in the upcoming NBA draft. LiAngelo, 18, is a bruising scorer bound for UCLA next season, and LaMelo, 15, just a sophomore but already committed to the Bruins, could be the best of the three.
From birth, LaVar groomed them to be stars. As early as 4, LiAngelo remembers doing pull-ups. At 9, they sprinted up dirt hills in the backyard. Sometimes, they moved the furniture and staged their own athletic events, dubbing them the “Ghetto Olympics.” Family vacations were sacrificed for additional training, and to ward off complacency, LaVar gave away the trophies they won to other family members.
“As kids, he always wanted to train us, too,” LaVar’s younger brother, LaVelle, remembers.
Before they could dribble, LaVar taught his sons the offense they would one day run at Chino Hills, the same frenetic style he and his four brothers played on the courts of South L.A. No shot was a bad one. Faster was always better. The offense is a reflection of LaVar – confident, brash, unforgiving. His sons have never played any other way.
Ceding control, you see, is not in his playbook. He balked at the idea of entrusting his sons to someone else’s AAU team. So he started his own, Big Ballers VXT. When the shoe companies took interest, he refused their advances.
Even at UCLA, his voice is heard. During a preseason trip to Australia, Lonzo attempted to tweak the funky release on his jumper. An awful shooting slump followed, and upon his return, LaVar called UCLA coach Steve Alford. He didn’t mince words: Lonzo was changing back.
“I should’ve never let him change it in the first place,” LaVar says.
Say what you will about fathers living vicariously through their sons – such things have certainly been said about LaVar before – but, for one moment, let us consider those who suggest that LaVar does not fit so easily into that cookie-cutter narrative of fame-crazed fathers and over-burdened sons. His belief in his sons has always been unwavering. Close friends rave that he, most of all, is the source of their unending confidence.
When those who know LaVar heard his recent interview with TMZ – the one in which he suggested Lonzo would be better than two-time MVP Steph Curry – they shrugged, even as many – NBA scouts included – wondered if the Ball brothers might crumble under their father’s expectation.
“People say, ‘Oh, LaVar’s crazy,’” he says, “Well, they thought Tiger Woods’ dad was crazy. They thought Venus and Serena’s dad was crazy. These are all great (athletes). So I’d say we’re on the right path. I want them going for the highest.”
But how high? How far can one push until the narrative – and its burden – swallows them whole? The cautionary tales are in endless supply.
Recently, LaVar has begun thinking bigger, beyond basketball.
“Branding is the ultimate,” he says.
A Ball family docuseries, filmed over the past year, is being shopped to Netflix, Amazon and HBO Sports, according to LaVar’s business partner, who asked to remain unnamed. He claims “a bidding war” is already underway.
Back in the dining room, LaVar holds up a jacket that bears the three B’s logo of Big Baller Brand, each of which represents one of his three sons. In every photo op or video interview, Big Baller Brand makes an appearance. At Chino Hills games, the apparel is everywhere.
“This jacket, it’s $100,” he says. “I have hats for $100, and people buy them.”
Last year, LaVar applied for a trademark of the brand’s name. Now, a Big Baller Brand shoe is “on deck.” He has taken meetings with reps from shoe companies, not to talk endorsement deals, he claims, but to float the idea of co-branding with Big Baller Brand. As is often the case with LaVar, parsing reality from hyperbole can be complicated. But in this future he imagines, shoe companies bend to his favor.
“A reckoning is coming,” he warns, through a grin.
When Lonzo is drafted this summer, he says, he’ll be the first to enter the NBA with his own brand. In a few years, his brothers will follow.
“This,” LaVar says, “is a power move.”
CROSSING THE COACH
On a Friday morning last May, less than six weeks after one of the best seasons in high school basketball history ended with a dominant state title run, Chino Hills coach Steve Baik abruptly announced his resignation.
The news stunned the high school basketball world. Baik had just been named National High School Coach of the Year in March. All but one member of the nation’s best team was set to return.
Baik, who did not respond to requests for comment on this story, said in multiple interviews that he left to be closer to his family. Still, speculation ensued. Many wondered whether LaVar Ball had something to do with it. Baik has since denied that presumption to the L.A. Times.
In the world of big-time high school hoops, where private powerhouses and basketball factories reign, a top prospect attending his hometown school is increasingly rare. At Chino Hills High, where the basketball team had produced just one Division I basketball player before the Balls enrolled, it was no less than extraordinary.
“They like living here,” says Ed Graham, a Chino Hills city councilman, “but I’m still surprised they haven’t been to Mater Dei.”
Don Grant served as Chino Hills coach from 2004-09, navigating the program through its earliest days. He saw Lonzo play as early as the first grade, and even then was sure he’d be special.
Years later, others wondered if the Balls might go elsewhere, but Grant knew better. At Mater Dei, they would be forced into a system. At Chino Hills, the Ball brothers could be the system.
“(LaVar) has incredible confidence in their abilities,” Grant says, “so I don’t think he cared any less where they played.”
Lonzo enrolled at Chino Hills in 2012, a freshman on a team of 13 juniors and seniors. “He did not have it easy,” Tina recalls. But LaVar wasted no time asserting himself with Baik, who had become head coach two years earlier. Baik considered playing two point guards. LaVar said he had only one, Lonzo. Chino Hills won 24 games ... with Lonzo at point.
When LiAngelo joined the team the next summer, Baik questioned whether to start him as a freshman. Two years later, when LaMelo joined at 13 and LaVar’s dream of his boys playing together was about to be realized, they argued again.
As LaVar remembers, “I told the coach, ‘Well you’re going to be known as the one who let the Ball boys get away. We can go anywhere. Trust me.’”
Many took issue with LaVar’s approach. But the team kept winning. The spotlight was bright. Chino Hills mayor Ray Marquez found himself fielding constant questions about the Ball brothers, when visiting city officials across the state. After last year’s run, the school district approved an extra $25,000 to Chino Hills High for gameday security.
Chino Hills High principal Isabel Brenes dismisses the notion that basketball has been a financial windfall for the school – the team’s total revenue last season was less than $50,000 – but she acknowledges “it has given us global exposure.”
After the state championship run, Baik met with him at the house. The two men “had a good understanding,” according to LaVar. Baik confirmed his desires to be closer to his family. LaVar wondered if he wouldn’t be better off leaving while he was on top.
Two weeks after his resignation in May, Baik was hired at Fairfax High. In June, Stephan Gilling, an assistant the prior two seasons, was offered the job at Chino Hills. The defending national champions were to be led by a first-time head coach.
A former star guard at Ayala High across town, Gilling knew Chino Hills. He also knew LaVar. He trained with him growing up, played for him in seventh grade and even called him “a mentor.”
But today, as Gilling walks the sideline and LaVar watches from center court, that relationship has apparently deteriorated.
“LaVar and I really don’t speak,” Gilling says. “We used to speak, but we don’t speak. It’s whatever.”
Gilling says he “understood what he was stepping into,” but the exasperation in his voice is apparent. He bristles at LaVar’s suggestion that he can overrule his coaching decisions. He accuses him of “a lack of respect.” But he has chosen to refrain from discussing this with LaVar. “He’s not going to change,” Gilling says.
Earlier this season, coach and parent clashed in the locker room, after LaVar defied Gilling’s request for him to stay out. Gilling stormed out instead, ordering the team to follow. The Ball brothers stayed behind.
“The boys know I stand on my own two feet,” Gilling says.
Still, as Chino Hills’ success continues, there is no denying who pulls the strings.
“If you’re willing to get on board with him, he’s going to take you for a heck of a ride,” Grant says. “But LaVar is not one to want a backseat driver. You have a choice. You’re either all in or all out.”
Back at the house, the varsity team shoots free throws on the family’s backyard court, where they often get additional training from LaVar. Among them is Eli Scott, the Huskies senior forward. For three years he trained here with LaVar. Last fall, Loyola Marymount offered Scott a scholarship, an offer he says never would have come if not for the Balls.
The team finishes, dispersing into the house, and a fleet of eighth graders takes their place. Scott Cavanias, the principal at Alvarado Intermediate in Rowland Heights, sits on the back porch watching his son, Christian. Lately, Christian has been asking to train four nights per week. He likes how hard LaVar pushes him. Scott calls him “the genius from the hood.”
“Anyone who says what’s happening at Chino Hills isn’t good for the school is out of their mind,” Scott says.
But here is where the line blurs again. As the boys begin to scrimmage, LaVar points out at the court, at one particularly tall eighth grader.
“This one will be on varsity,” he says.
His control, he suggests, goes beyond just the team showcasing his boys. If you don’t train with him, learn his system young, and play on his AAU team, “you don’t play,” he warns.
Gilling denies this. But LaVar is unequivocal: “In order to make Chino Hills, you have to come through me.”
But training with LaVar is not free.
“I tell parents, it’s better for you to pay $10,000 per year, or even $15,000, for him to get a scholarship,” he says. “You’ve got to invest.”
COMFORTABLE IN THE SPOTLIGHT
A sellout crowd of more than 10,000 is on its feet at the Galen Center, as LaMelo Ball rocks back and forth at the top of the key. Chino Hills is tied with Mater Dei at 72, the overnight phenomenon deadlocked with its powerhouse foil, and thousands pull out their phones, hitting record in unison, as if something extraordinary is destined to happen.
But the Ball brothers are ice cold. LaMelo heaves a deep, last-second 3, and it clanks away. He and LiAngelo will combine for 54 points, but shoot just 17 of 65. In overtime of this CIF semifinal, the slump is too much to overcome. For the first time in two years, Chino Hills loses to a team from Southern California.
Just a day later, LaVar lets slip to a Tucson radio station that Lonzo “will only play for the Lakers,” and the machine begins grinding away again. After UCLA nabs a huge road win at Arizona, Lonzo is asked if his father is a distraction. He shakes his head. “I just go out there and play basketball,” he says.
But as LaMelo exits the gym, with a Big Baller Brand hoodie pulled over his head, it’s hard not to wonder how long this can all hold – the system, the plan, and the father pulling the strings.
Soon, Chino Hills will push for another state title, Lonzo will declare for the draft, and LiAngelo will head for Westwood. Next year, no high school player in America will be under a brighter spotlight than LaMelo.
“All eyes is on you,” rapper The Game tells him in the tunnel before he leaves.
His words are prescient. Outside, a crowd lingers near the team bus on Figueroa Street. And as LaMelo emerges, the whispers begin again and hundreds lift up their phones, desperate for just one more glimpse.
Contact the writer: rkartje@scng.com
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