A Season Inside by John Feinstein Page A

million. About $1,500 a month was more like it.
    “I live a double life,” he said, sitting in the tiny town of St. Mary’s fanciest restaurant, a Pizza Hut. “In one world, I rule. Everything I could possibly want is there on a silver platter for me. I’m rich and famous and because of that I have power.
    “In the other world I’m at the bottom of the totem pole. I have to ask permission to go to lunch. I fetch coffee for people. It helps me keep things in perspective. The best thing about the Navy is the worst thing about the Navy: Everyone gets treated the same.”
    David Robinson is seven-foot-one. He can run, jump, and shoot. To most of the world that makes him a superstar, a basketball player with unlimited potential. To the Navy, it just makes him a headache. He’s too tall, too rich, and too famous. But he spent four years at the Naval Academy and graduated with a degree in engineering.
    No one, not Robinson, not the Navy, ever imagined when he enrolled as a 6–7 freshman with some interest—but not a lot—in basketball, that he would end up as the college player of the year. The Navy is not entirely unreasonable. It is willing to let Robinson out in two years, three years less than the five-year commitment usually required of Academy graduates. It wants him to play in the Olympics as Ensign David Robinson. After that, after he has been the Navy’s top recruiter for two years, he can play all the basketball he wants and make all the money he wants.
    In the meantime, he asks permission to go to lunch. “I never dreamed that playing basketball would ever become so important to me,” he said. “I understand the Navy’s point of view completely. But it’s hard for me. When I watch the Spurs play, I know I could help, I know they could win more games if I was playing. But right now, all I can do is wait.”
    He smiled. “It isn’t so bad, though. I’ve got a lot to look forward to.”
    The same could not be said for Kevin Houston, at least in basketball. It was a remarkable coincidence that both Houston and Robinson had been college seniors in 1987. While Robinson had been the third leading scorer in the country at Navy, Houston had been two spots ahead of him—at No. 1—while playing for Army.
    It was rare enough that Army or Navy would produce a genuine star. For each school to produce one at exactly the same time was extraordinary. But although they each had military academy backgrounds, the differences between Robinson and Houston were far more striking than the similarities.
    “He’s seven-one and he can run and he can jump,” Houston said. “I’m five-eleven and I don’t run or jump very well. About the only thing we have in common is that we can both play pretty well.”
    Robinson was a fluke of nature. He had never cared that much for basketball and had chosen the Naval Academy for a specific reason. His father, Ambrose Robinson, had spent twenty years in the Navy and David wanted to follow in his footsteps. But then he grew six inches in two years and become a great player. That changed his plans.
    Houston always wanted to play basketball. His father, Jerry, had played for Joe Lapchick at St. John’s in the 1960s. In fact, it was Jerry Houston who made the last two free throws in Lapchick’s farewell to coaching, a 55–51 victory over Villanova in the 1965 NIT Final.
    Jerry Houston coached basketball after he was through playing. He coached high school ball, boy’s club ball, and for one year was an assistant coach at Fordham. Although Kevin grew up in suburban Pearl River, New York, he was shaped as a basketball player in New York City, where his father took him to play against the best players.
    Houston certainly didn’t look like a schoolyard ballplayer. With his reddish hair and freckles he looked a lot more like Tom Sawyer than a basketball player. “When I first started playing in the city a lot of guys looked at me and thought I was some kind of white, suburban, faggot