From Hero of ’89 to Crawdad of ’95

Magnified by fate in the vast Seattle Kingdome, he could feel the eyes of millions of Americans trained squarely on him. In eerie silence, he bounced a basketball once, twice, several times, then made the free throws that won the 1989 national championship for the University of Michigan with three seconds remaining in overtime.

Very few eyes follow him today. Heel marks scuff the floor of a cheaply built, bubble-top gymnasium called the Super Domo, so poorly equipped for international competition that the American professionals who are here this week have brought along their own plastic curtains for the shower.

“This reminds me of the YMCA where I grew up,” says Rumeal Robinson, checking the place out upon arriving for the Pan American Games with his fellow Continental Basketball Assn. players. “This is like being a boxer, where sometimes you need to go back to behind the train tracks and work out in a weight room the size of a trash compartment.”

Once possessor of a four-year, $4-million contract from the Atlanta Hawks, Robinson, 28, now plays basketball for the Shreveport (La.) Crawdads, making something shy of a thousand bucks a week. His downfall has been hard but is not necessarily permanent. There will be two new NBA teams next season based north of the border, in Canada; maybe one could use an old pro like him.

From town to town he goes, from Omaha to Yakima, getting paid to play basketball, just like the real thing. Robinson, who is 6 feet 2 and stocky, leads the Crawdads in scoring at 20.8 points a night. Maybe someone from the NBA will call. Not everyone can add a Michael Jordan to a lineup, overnight. Robinson plays and waits, plays and waits.

Regrets, he has a few. Given a second chance, he wouldn’t nag the New Jersey Nets to play him more and Kenny Anderson less. He wouldn’t report to a Boston Celtic tryout 20 pounds overweight. He wouldn’t shoot his mouth off.

“If I had it to do over again, I would just follow the Joe Dumars route,” Robinson says. “Never say anything.”

He spent four years in the NBA and scored more than 2,100 points. After his career at Michigan, where he returned for one more season after defeating Seton Hall for the NCAA title, Robinson was the 10th choice in the NBA draft. But then he went from Atlanta to New Jersey to Charlotte, gave a lot of lip and rode a lot of benches.

By the time Boston gave him a shot, Robinson’s stock had dropped so low, they asked him to attend a rookie camp. He wrote to M.L. Carr, Celtic general manager, to ask why he was being treated so disrespectfully.

Which brings him to Argentina, where the Pan Am team is made up of CBA players who, unlike NBA or NCAA players, could leave the country in March without being missed. Their coach is Mike Thibault, the former Laker assistant who coaches the Omaha Racers.

“Playing 40 to 50 games in the CBA, 30 minutes a night, is better for a lot of guys than sitting on a bench in the NBA,” Thibault says. “Our guys don’t sit around getting stiff. The only difference is, the NBA guy has a bank account.”

No, there are other differences.

“In the NBA, if you miss a flight somewhere, you can always catch another one later,” Robinson says. “There’s a lot of humbleness playing in the CBA.”

Out there in the sticks, Rumeal wonders if a tree should fall, would anyone hear? Do NBA guys notice if you do well? To be traded from Rapid City, S.D., to some town in Louisiana in midseason, wearing Crawdads on your chest, is this to be Robinson’s destiny from now on? Will he ever go nose to nose with a Michael Jordan again?

Thibault says: “I think Rumeal got stuck as to whether he was a point guard or an off guard. They kind of redefined the position in the NBA. Some teams want their point man to be a John Stockton, but others want a Mark Price or a Kevin Johnson, someone who can both pass and score. The league is sending mixed signals.”

Where he once played, Robinson’s game-winning shots were every bit as famous as Keith Smart’s jumper or Lorenzo Charles’ dunk. He won his school a championship, personally.

“I wouldn’t trade my life for anything,” Robinson says.

Only now his life is far away, and mostly looking back.