So close to the big time, yet so far

By Rob Miech

Tuesday, Feb. 5, 2008 | 2 a.m.

Moments after a center-court embrace on the huge yellow Los Angeles Lakers logo, the former UNLV Rebels stare at each other.

Kevin Kruger has shed his defender on a screen to find Wendell White in his face, but White slides back a step. He wants room to recover off Kruger’s dribble, but there will be no dribble drive.

Kruger stops and pops, drilling a 25-foot shot to open the game at Staples Center.

Maybe four people clap.

A year ago, Kruger and White guided the Rebels back to the basketball elite, to the final 16 in the NCAA tournament, where UNLV hadn’t been since those halcyon days in 1990 and 1991.

The Rebels played before large, packed houses in Chicago and St. Louis in March, and only the hot hand of a 5-foot-6 freshman guard from Oregon kept them from extending their magical run to a meeting with eventual national champion Florida.

Now, Kruger and White are foes, nomadic professionals chasing NBA dreams.

They usually play before a few hundred fans, mostly in college gyms in the Dakotas and Idaho and someplace called the Rio Grande Valley, in the NBA Development League — the D-League — whose 14 teams feed specific NBA franchises.

Casual and unassuming, Kruger, a Utah Flash guard, quietly says he and White, a Los Angeles D-Fenders swingman, are just trying to get to where they’ve always wanted to be. That would be playing in spiffy arenas like Staples.

But at prime time.

• • •

From the D-Fenders’ bench, White yells “Shooter!” whenever Kruger touches the ball to remind teammates to keep a tight leash on the scorer who burned him.

They listen, or at least hear White, because every shoe squeak and every dribble echoes throughout the dark, cavernous building.

The D-Leaguers provide the minor league matinee to the evening’s marquee event, the Lakers vs. the New York Knicks, and 13 fans delight in their courtside seats. Seven sit on one side of the only arena in the world with three levels of club suites separating the lower-level luxury seats from the commoners up near the rafters.

Technicians never glance at the court as they scurry to prepare the fabulous palace for Kobe and Phil and Jack. (Bryant and Jackson and Nicholson for those unfamiliar with the single names of celebrity.)

Knicks small forward Renaldo Balkman and half a dozen teammates trudge by the court and hardly notice that a game is being played. Lakers public relations director John Black passes someone he hasn’t seen in six years and smiles. “Got enough room?”

The nearest person is 30 seats away.

The D-League in Los Angeles is a cubic zirconia, undergoing some serious polishing, inside a Tiffany box.

“To play on this court must be the ultimate for these guys,” says contractor Mike Vogelgesang, sitting courtside with friend Bob DePalma, who manufactures glass vases. “It might be the top of their careers. Hopefully not.”

Lawrence Tanter, the Lakers’ famous basso PA announcer who is working his 27th season, calls fouls and timeouts for the D-Leaguers. If only 54 fans hear Tanter, does the game matter?

Soon enough, it matters to about 500 children from area middle schools and youth clubs who sit behind the D-Fenders’ bench. Having a Lakers ticket is one way into these games. The only other avenue is being a kid on a field trip, and this is the first one of the season.

When a D-Fender scores, the kids erupt in a shrill cacophony that sounds like they’re barreling over a cliff in a roller coaster.

“Exciting,” White says without a hint of sarcasm. “Usually, we’re our own energy.”

Every ounce of excitement helps in a league with a pay scale that tops out at $26,600 for the 50-game season. White and Kruger earn the midlevel salary of about $18,000, or $900 a week. At the bottom, players make $12,000.

The average salary in the NBA is $5.2 million.

D-League players get a $30 travel per diem, nearly a quarter of what their NBA brethren get.

Kruger favors the all-you-can-eat salad bar at Sizzler. White, a Subway regular, says, “I just don’t think about it.”

• • •

White, 23, throws an outlet pass to one teammate only to smack another one, who had unwittingly made a wrong cut, in the back. The Flash easily scores.

Maybe the Bull — his nickname at UNLV — should have accepted that $40,000 offer in Belgium. But when D-Fenders General Manager Ronnie Lester rang with a tryout offer, White liked the idea of playing near family and friends in Southern California.

His hustle, especially on defense, impressed D-Fenders brass enough to make him a starter, and he leads the team in steals.

Just as important, the professional terminology — backdoor steps, split cuts and the pinch post — he learned from UNLV’s Lon Kruger helped White adapt to the triangle system taught in Los Angeles.

“It says a whole lot about me,” he says. “Determination, that’s all it is.”

White and his wife live in a team-sponsored hotel. He cringes when he thinks about a road trip that includes Bismarck, Sioux Falls and Boise.

“We’ll take four, five planes to get to one place,” he says. “Delays and all that stuff tie into it when you’re getting ready to play.”

Kruger, 24, was selected by Utah with the 10th pick in the D-League draft. When a familiar face appears courtside as Utah players jog through a layup drill, Kruger, in his black satin sweats, slightly nods. He continues with the warm-up routine.

Kruger spent the preseason wearing No. 2 for the Orlando Magic and stayed through a tour of China, but he was the last player cut by the Magic before it broke camp.

“That whet his appetite,” says Lon Kruger, who speaks with his only son daily. “That’s healthy. It’s incentive. Anyone in the D-League appreciates the opportunity, but they’re all interested in getting a 10-day contract to get to the next level.”

A 10-day NBA contract, to replace an injured player, is worth $75,000.

The Flash provides Kevin Kruger with an apartment in Orem, Utah, about five miles from Provo. He’s still adjusting to the area and the professional 3-point arc of 23 feet 6 inches, which is almost four feet longer than the college distance.

After he sinks that first one against White, Kruger misses five bombs. Four of those fall about 6 inches short, clanging off the front rim.

He is among the D-League leaders in assists and free-throw percentage, and the 54 minutes he played in a double-overtime game against Los Angeles on Dec. 15 is a league high.

Los Angeles buries Utah with a 31-5 run in a second half in which Kruger is the lone Flash player who stands to cheer on teammates from the bench. The D-Fenders have laughed and bumped bright Lakers-yellow jerseys, as if they’ve been teammates for years, since introductions.

“He’s loving it,” Kruger says of White. “He fits into that team well. Couldn’t be happier for him. Looks like he’s enjoying it and having fun.”

• • •

As White finishes an oatmeal cookie in a wide gray hall outside the locker rooms, 19,000 people — actor and No. 1 Lakers fan Nicholson among them — file in through the Staples turnstiles. Kruger slinks by and playfully smacks White in his stomach.

“Ahhhh, speaking of Kevin,” says White, smiling. “Nothing’s changed; we’re just on a different team. I love seeing him. It’s always love with me and Kevin.”

A chartered bus waits to take the Flash to Bakersfield, Austin, the Rio Grande Valley and Colorado. The D-Fenders are about to trek to Idaho, Tulsa and the Rio Grande.

Lakers superstar Kobe Bryant walks out of his locker room, turns right and then left to the court. He is seconds away from being bathed in adoration. His coach, Phil Jackson, ambles out to the left for a pregame media session.

The main show is about to begin.