A Season Inside by John Feinstein Page B

jump-shooter,” Houston said, laughing at the memory. “But I sort of enjoy proving to people that I can do what they don’t think I can do.”
    That was the story of Houston’s college career, too. Only Army recruited him with any real zeal and his decision to go to West Point was based on one thing: a chance to play. He got it right away and, just as quickly, became a key player. “One thing about Kevin is that he’s never been awed by anyone he’s played against,” Army Coach Les Wohtke said. “That has a lot to do with his playing background.”
    If Houston had played almost anywhere in the country other than a military academy he would have been the best-known person on campus. But at Army, football is still the only sport that truly matters and, because he didn’t
look
like a player, Houston went unnoticed most of the time.
    “I’d come down to the gym in the spring to play pickup ball and I couldn’t get chosen,” he said. “I’d have to wait around and call winners to get a chance to play. No one knew who I was and when they looked at me no one figured I could play.
    “The summer before my senior year I was stationed at Fort Knox. One weekend, Ron Steptoe [a teammate from Army] and I went over to a gym to play. We walked in and there were nine guys in the place.With us, that made eleven. I said to Ron, ‘When we choose up, watch, I won’t be picked.’ I was hoping we would shoot free throws to see who played or something. But no. They chose up and guess who ended up watching?”
    Houston can tell these stories and laugh because he knows he can play. He proved it beyond any doubt his senior season when he averaged 32.9 points per game, including a 38-point game at Navy. “I’ve never seen a guy light it up like that in my life,” Robinson said. “He never changed expression. He just kept pouring it on.”
    Houston plays with the same deadpan expression whether he hits ten straight shots or misses ten straight. Nothing seems to bother him. But in the spring of ’87, when the invitations went out to the Pan American Games trials, Houston didn’t get one. That bothered him.
    “My first thought was, ‘Damn, how could they leave me out?’ ” he said. “I’m not even saying I would have made the team but I thought I deserved the chance to try out. It really pissed me off. I still don’t understand it.”
    Houston was not alone. Wohtke was baffled. Ironically, Robinson, who really didn’t care whether he played in the Pan Ams, had a virtually automatic spot on the team. Houston, who would have committed to an extra five years in the Army just for a trials invitation, never got a phone call.
    That is the difference between being 7–1 and 5–11. The gap is much wider than fourteen inches. Robinson, in addition to his $26 million contract, has a life filled with endorsements and a very probable spot on the Olympic team to look forward to. Houston knows that most of his basketball is behind him. “Anything I do from here on will be my last hurrah,” he said. “But that’s all I want is that last shot, one more chance to really prove I can play.”
    As he spoke, Houston was sitting in a small restaurant less than a mile from West Point, where he was temporarily assigned as a graduate assistant coach. This was in November, two days after Robinson had signed his contract. Houston was happy for Robinson but he was a lot happier about news he had just received: His application to try out for the All-Army basketball team had been approved. This meant that instead of shipping out to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for officer’s basic training in field artillery, he would be going to San Francisco in January to try out for the Army team, a group of all-stars that would barnstorm the country.
    To Houston, this was the one last chance he had been hoping for. The All-Army team would finish its tour in March at an armed forces tournament in North Carolina. At that tournament, an all-Armed Forces team would be