UCLA's Muhammad has part father, part coach

UCLA's Shabazz Muhammad and his father Ron Holmes greet one another on the court after most of the Pauley Pavillion crowd has left after Saturday's Bruin defeat of Arizona.

ARMANDO BROWN, FOR THE REGISTER

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UCLA's Muhammad has part father, part coach


BY RYAN KARTJE / ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER
Published: March 9, 2013 Updated: March 10, 2013 12:01 a.m.

LOS ANGELES – Beads of sweat trickled down 10-year-old Shabazz Muhammad's face as the heat of a dry Las Vegas day beat down on him. His lungs burned, and the blistering sun made him woozy.

His father, Ron Holmes, had brought him here to the park near their home to teach him a lesson. Summer temps that day had reached the triple digits.
 

This is what it's going to take if you want to be a player, Holmes told his son. It wouldn't be the last time he'd hear those words. His father ordered him to run 31 suicide sprints, one for each point his man had scored against him a few hours before.

So Muhammad ran. He was angry and confused. He thought he hated his father. But deep down, there was trust. So he ran and ran until his knees wobbled and he felt like fainting. If this is what it would take, maybe he didn't want to be a player. Maybe he didn't want to be great.

Still, he pushed on anyway, his father's words echoing in his head.

The Father has always, in some capacity, been more The Coach than anything else – a complicated dichotomy built on a foundation of stories like those: scorching afternoons in the Vegas sun or long days running endless laps on a local track.

Holmes isn't the first to push – or shove – his son, who now as a freshman is UCLA's leading scorer as the Bruins head into the postseason, toward athletic greatness. Southern California is a haven for complex stories all along the spectrum of athlete fathers, walking the line between overbearing and supportive. But it's hardly as simple as that.

Competition, for Muhammad, started as young as 5, Holmes often challenging him to push-up contests, hoping to plant a seed. Holmes works in real estate, but basketball is what he knows. And the way he sees it, fathers are supposed to teach their sons what they know.

The two would work on shooting technique on a plastic hoop. Holmes would reward him with ice cream for reaching specific benchmarks – 10, then 20, then 30 free throws in a row. As he grew older, the rewards grew more sophisticated – money, trips to nice restaurants – but the line between coach and father continued to blur.

"I was hard on him," Holmes says. "I pushed him, and I got on his butt a lot."

For a few hours every day after school, Holmes started working out Muhammad at the Multi-Center near their house. They'd stay 'til close on many nights.

From then through high school, Muhammad saw his dad more than anyone else. They were always by each other's sides. After practice at Bishop Gorman High in Las Vegas – the city where this week's Pac-12 Tournament will be held – Holmes, who was an assistant JV coach, would hold his own one-on-one practice with Muhammad, a 2- to 3-hour session that specifically honed in on his weaknesses. Sometimes they wouldn't end until dusk.

Holmes finished his basketball career at USC as the seventh-leading scorer in school history (he currently ranks 20th). Faye Muhammad, Shabazz's mother, was a two-sport All-American at Long Beach State. Shabazz's sister, Asia, is a professional tennis player. His uncle played for the Kansas City Chiefs. Family competition was more than just expected; it was genetic.

But as The Coach became more visible than The Father, outsiders questioned whether Holmes truly had a grip on the different requirements of the two roles. Did he work Muhammad too hard? Was this really what Muhammad wanted?

"You can't just go to practice and that's good enough," Holmes had told him, his voice rising in its retelling, as if to defend himself. "You have to work harder than everybody else, and if you work harder than everybody else, you've got a chance to be better than everybody else.

"Shabazz always wanted to be great."

Holmes has been asked the next question before. Was he too hard on his son? He recoils when he hears it.

He just wanted the best for him, Holmes says insistently. He recalls a story from when Muhammad was 3 – it's one of his favorite stories – in which Muhammad asks to watch basketball over cartoons.

That's what it took to be a player, he repeats. To be great. That's why he pushed Muhammad, ignoring those who said it would ultimately turn his son against him.

"I knew there were whispers," Holmes said. "Again, I knew the only way he was going to be successful is to outwork everybody, so we always put in the extra work."

Not long after Muhammad broke onto the scene in his freshman season at Bishop Gorman, with a 29-point performance off the bench in league play, he was recognized as one of the nation's top high school players. The Coach's work with him had paid off. And with it, The Father's relationship with his son, at times, suffered – a victim of the dichotomy.

The two argued ferociously at times, Faye often opting to take a separate car home after Muhammad's games, simply to avoid the verbal crossfire. If Muhammad played a bad game, a lazy game, Holmes would take away his cell phone.

Almost always, Holmes would insist that Muhammad could do better, hoping to strike a competitive chord. He knew his son's buttons better than anyone.

"He'd just always say, 'Shabazz, you're better than that. You're better than that,'" Faye said. "He knew when Shabazz wasn't working hard."

"It bothered me," Muhammad added. "It bothered me a lot."

Sometimes, he would push back. This wasn't what was best for him, he told Holmes. He just wanted to be normal. But always, he would be ready to go back to work – the trust still intact, whether it was hanging by a thread or not.

"He knew what it took," Holmes said. His father had made sure of that.

This past December, however, Holmes could sense that his son needed a reminder.

Amidst all the changes in his life, Muhammad needed his father more than ever. After being suspended for three games at the start of the season, he was struggling on the court and was noticeably out of shape. His drive to condition and diet had suffered without supervision.

Instantly, instinctually, The Coach was back. Holmes and two of his former USC teammates came to Westwood in December for a series of grueling individual workouts. It wasn't long before Muhammad was back to normal, 15 pounds slimmer.

"For him to give me that wake-up call was like, 'Man, you've got to start turning it around'" Muhammad said. "I looked and I was like, 'I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing.'"

Muhammad still believed in Holmes, as he always had. Everything felt the same in those workouts. But inevitably, both knew things were different. Holmes couldn't continue to push, like he used to. This time, he would leave, like any father is fated to do eventually, forced to hope that his work would hold.


LETTING GO

In Section 1, Row 1 of Haas Pavilion in Berkeley, The Father is watching his son, trying his best to suppress The Coach, which undeniably lingers within.

Holmes' hands are locked, resting on his lap in front of him, his eyes following the Bruins' leading scorer – his son – wherever he goes on the court. He still looks like a coach – gray polo tucked into slacks, his eyes breaking down each and every play as it unfolds. But Holmes is here as Dad. At least, he's trying to be.

"It's more of a friendly relationship now," Muhammad says. "He's treating me more like a dad and not a coach. I like it. He's not overdoing it like he used to do."

The transition hasn't always been easy for Holmes. He's not used to the distance.

Nonetheless, Holmes has been on the road plenty already this season. He has seen Muhammad at least twice a month, traveling from Las Vegas, and has made it to a handful of away games – including this one. But no one, not even Holmes, is pretending things are the same.

"I can just see that it's hard for him to let go," Faye said. "When he sees Shabazz in the fourth quarter and something's wrong, he's always saying, 'I've got to correct that.' He always looks to perfect him ... and it's not in his power to do that anymore."

It's at this exact intersection between perception and reality where Holmes has always operated – and been misunderstood. Without Holmes and his pushing, Muhammad might never have been where he is today, on the doorstep of the NBA. And for Holmes, the long nights with Muhammad in the gym, the endless work on technique, the film sessions – it had all meant something just as valuable to him.

At the half against Cal, Muhammad has just two points on 1-of-5 shooting, while Holmes watched, mostly expressionless, from the stands. He's not sure when it'll be, but he's already thinking about his next workout with Muhammad.

But the rope that kept him tied so closely to Muhammad from age 5 to 19 has slipped away almost completely. He knows he has to let go.

"He's becoming a man," Holmes said. "I just give him more insight and advice, and if he needs me for anything I'm there. I don't really get into his business too much. I just try to steer him in the right direction.

"It's been good for me. But it's still a lot of pressure on me. I want him to be successful, I want him to make the right decisions, I want him to do well. I want UCLA to do well. So it's still tough."

As the second half begins, it appears that Muhammad has gotten his father's message – the muscle memory of so many workouts together apparently kicking in. Muhammad scores the first points of the half, his aggressiveness on both ends reaching a new level. He scores the first four points of the half and makes a free throw on the next possession, as Holmes casually rests his chin in his left palm. UCLA is still trailing Cal on the road.

Finally, with 1:30 remaining in the game, Muhammad goes up for an ill-advised shot in the paint that misses badly. Holmes jumps up from his seat, and Muhammad's eyes lock with his father as he turns to run up the court. For a fleeting moment, the intensity between them returns.

The Father sits back and calms down, seconds ticking slowly off the clock. UCLA will lose to Cal on this night, Muhammad leading the Bruins with 13 points and 11 rebounds.

The Coach knows better than anyone that his 4-for-13 performance from the field was his least efficient game on offense in more than a month.

But for now, as Haas Pavilion empties, The Father stays after. He is a bystander, just hoping that he's done enough. Maybe he has. Maybe Muhammad was never meant to be great. Only time will tell.
Next season, Muhammad will almost certainly be in the NBA, and the ties that bind father and son will be as vulnerable as ever. But some of the lessons, no doubt, have been passed on.

Muhammad remembers that sweltering day in the park almost fondly now: "A guy scored 31 on you, you should have some kind of pride," he says. The words – and conviction behind them – are familiar.

Questions remain for the two men, both forced to grow in each other's absence: Is it possible for Holmes to ever be just a father? Will the Coach always remain? Will Muhammad ever be the player Holmes had hoped and intended him to be?

Muhammad might answer all of those ... in due time.

"I'll make sure my kids are going to be just like that," Muhammad says. "He raised me well."

Contact the writer: rkartje@ocregister.com