This article will make you a huge fan of Sherron Collins. Great stuff about leadership and what it takes to be a great teammate. From the Kansas City Star:OKLAHOMA CITY Several times this season, Sherron Collins has had to tell the Kansas Jayhawks what they didn’t want to hear.
They were winning lots of games, but Collins didn’t like the way they were winning. Teams that couldn’t sniff their talent level were hanging around for too long in games at Allen Fieldhouse. Collins became fond of saying the Jayhawks didn’t have a killer instinct, which felt personal, because everything about this KU team feels personal to Collins.
During a couple of film sessions along the way, Collins, Kansas’ lone senior, would speak up.
“Hey,” Collins would say, “just listen to Coach. He knows what he’s doing, and we’re gonna get better.”
KU staff members could only nod their heads and thank Collins for making their jobs way easier.
“That’s been big,” says Brett Ballard, KU’s director of basketball operations. “As soon as you do that, you’re opening yourself up to getting killed in the locker room for siding with the coach. That means a lot to a coach when your best player believes in what you’re doing.”
Collins believes because he has experienced how Bill Self’s way can work for him. Because Collins openly trusts Self and the Jayhawks trust Collins, they can more easily trust Self, too. It is a trickle-down effect that helps to explain why Collins, despite his scoring average decreasing from 18.9 last season to 15.6 this season, was chosen a first-team All-American by the United States Basketball Writers Association on Monday.
There is a special brand of charisma living in Collins that fans can see only in those very public moments when he galvanizes the Jayhawks to get pumped up with him and then punishes an opponent with a back-breaking run. But on the inside, the KU family feels Collins’ gravitational pull every day.
“He can change the weather with his attitude,” says Barry Hinson, the program’s director of external affairs. “When the weather gets stormy or when the game gets stormy, our guys drift to Sherron. I don’t think I’ve been around a player in all my years of coaching that absolutely not only accepts it but wants the moment of adversity.”
At some point, Self told the player that Collins had this power, this magnetism.
“Coach always says I can change the mood of a room,” Collins says. “I got enough to bring the room up, and I got enough to bring it down. That’s why, in practice, I can’t have a bad day. If I’m not feeling good, I still gotta be up and energized and smiling and talking.”
Over his four years, Collins has developed the ability to make those around him feel comfortable. It has been a process. He needed to feel comfortable in Lawrence first, and that took some time. But now, before each practice and game, the kid from the Chicago projects will bring his teammates into the huddle and utter a simple phrase that shows how his outlook on life has changed.
“Let’s have a good day,” he’ll say.
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Anthony Longstreet knew Sherron Collins had it in him. As Collins’ high school coach at Crane High in Chicago, he’d seen the way five seniors fell in line behind Collins when he was only a freshman.
“When he came in the game, magical things happened,” Longstreet says. “Those guys, they connected, they gravitated. He made it happen, and I knew then, this kid is different.”
For Longstreet, Collins’ recruiting process wasn’t about finding a place where his pupil could star. He wanted Collins in a place that would nurture, nourish and eventually unlock this quality that made him different.
For Longstreet, Collins’ recruiting process wasn’t about finding a place where his pupil could star. He wanted Collins in a place that would nurture, nourish and eventually unlock this quality that made him different.
Longstreet chose Self, KU and Lawrence, the quintessential college environment, and told Self everything he would need to know about what was inside Collins, the good and the bad. Socially, the kid could be flashing that heartwarming smile and telling jokes one second and become quiet and withdrawn the next. In school, he’d do just enough to get by, but, unlike many kids from his neighborhood, he always managed to get by.
Longstreet also got in touch with Roger Morningstar, a former KU player whose son, Brady, would be rooming with Collins their freshman year. Roger heard about the life Collins knew in the Lathrop Homes project, and while Collins seemed like a well-meaning kid, Roger needed to be convinced.
“You just want to make sure,” Roger says.
Roger remembers the first time Collins came over to his house with Brady. The boys walked in, and the family’s 65-pound dog, a boxer named Mackie, immediately charged Collins.
“Sherron about freaked,” Roger says. “He stops dead in his tracks, runs back into the garage, slams the door and says, ‘Hey man, I can’t deal with dogs.’ ”
Apparently, Collins had been bitten by a Rottweiler as a child and had been afraid of dogs ever since. Linda Morningstar, Roger’s wife, tried to assure Collins.
“Well, you’re going to have to start dealing with dogs,” she said. “We don’t tie the dog up. The dog is a part of the family, and this dog doesn’t hurt anybody.”
Collins wasn’t going to give up the chance to hang out and eat Linda’s cooking at the Morningstars’ house. It was all so new and fun.
So for the next week and a half, Linda put Sherron through dog lessons. Mackie couldn’t be the boss; Sherron had to be the boss. Linda showed him the treat jar and made him stand still while Mackie sniffed his hand. When Mackie didn’t bite, Sherron petted him. Before long, Sherron was giving orders. Sit, Mackie. Shake, Mackie. Roll over, Mackie.
On campus, it wasn’t quite as easy for Self and company to break through.
Collins was not planning on being at KU for four years, and he felt he should have been playing more as a freshman. He seemed like a bright kid, but he didn’t think academics would be as important as basketball.
But Self had already passed Longstreet’s message along to everyone, including Scott Ward, who is in charge of academic advising for the program.
“Coach saw it really early, saw those characteristics,” Ward says.
Collins showed what he could do as a basketball player, becoming one of the most explosive players in the Big 12 as a freshman. But he didn’t let many people in on a personal level. When Collins was a sophomore and center Cole Aldrich was a freshman, Collins seemed downright unapproachable.
“I was scared of Sherron,” Aldrich says. “I was. I would go into the locker room, and he would say something to me, and I was nervous to say something back. … He was just a hard-nosed kid who tried to bully you a little bit.”
Collins bullied his way through an injury-ridden sophomore year and was a key part of two of the most memorable plays in KU’s national title-game victory over Memphis — the steal and three-pointer that cut Memphis’ lead to four and the pass that gave Mario Chalmers the chance to make the three that forced overtime.
Collins experienced adulation like never before. It came from every direction, and, since he was going to need knee surgery in the offseason, he decided he’d come back for another season. That meant more school, but Collins was OK with that.
“His freshman year and maybe a little bit into his sophomore year, there was just a lot going after him,” Ward says. “To keep his head above water, he had to worry about himself. There was a turning point leading into his junior year where he would always say, ‘I appreciate your help. I appreciate you.’ He really had that sensitive side where he does care.”
After two years, Collins was ready to open up, to start giving instead of taking.
“They’ve engulfed him with nothing but love,” Longstreet says. “Not to say he didn’t get love here, but it was the missing element in his life that could bring out that attribute.”
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Junior year, Sherron Collins had no choice but to lead, and his teammates had no choice but to follow. He was the only returning player who had significant experience, and he was glad to bring along the rest of them. He called them his “young fellas.”
It was easy to lead when he was being asked to score as much as possible. He put the Jayhawks on his back over and over on the way to the outright Big 12 regular-season title (they didn’t even win the thing outright in 2008).
Collins’ big moment came on the road at Oklahoma, which was favored to win the league. He scored 26 points and nailed a couple of NBA-range three-pointers. His teammates started to get it.
“Every time we need something,” Hinson says, “he wants to be the answer. If he can’t be the answer, he’ll make somebody else the answer.”
That wasn’t so much the case last season as it would be this season. Collins came back for his senior year because he wanted his mom, Stacey Harris, to attend his Senior Night, and because he and Aldrich — the goofy kid from Minnesota who was once scared of him — had become close.
If Aldrich was staying put, so was Collins.
“When you got an All-American seven-footer that can go and be a lottery pick,” Collins says, “me coming back wouldn’t be a wrong decision.”
The Jayhawks returned their entire roster and added top NBA wing prospect Xavier Henry, the one piece they’d been missing. In the preseason, Self was hounded with questions. How could he find enough touches for everyone on the No. 1 team in the country?
Self never seemed as worried because he knew he had Collins on his side. During the first two months of the season, Collins had one 20-point game, letting Henry and emerging sophomore Marcus Morris get their bearings.
“A guy like Xavier respects the fact that if Sherron wanted to, he could average 25 a game, if that’s the style we wanted to play,” Ballard says. “Everybody respects the fact that Sherron wants to win more than everybody else. How can you not follow a guy like that?”
Collins exploded for 33 and 28 points in wins over Cornell and Baylor when the rest of the team was struggling. But, for most of Big 12 play, Collins’ outside shot was off, so he had to look out for others.
“Sherron’s very aware of what’s going on around him,” Ballard says. “He’s got an ability. He’s able to read people. He knows when they’re up or down. At times, in a huddle, he’ll suggest a play to get a guy a shot, like, ‘Hey, Xavier hasn’t gotten a shot in a while. Let’s do this.’ ”
Collins rarely stops looking out. He has various methods of keeping everyone happy. With his teammates, Collins will initiate horseplay and joking in the locker room. With his coaches and advisers, he’ll ask them how they’re doing instead of waiting for them to ask him like he would have four years ago.
“He’s always worried about you,” Hinson says.
How far has Collins come? Roger Morningstar is convinced. Roger can’t recall an exact moment when Collins sold him on his personal worth, but it happened around a year ago. Roger had watched Collins’ development as a father with his young son, Sherr’mari, how far he’d come in understanding the responsibility.
“Over time, you get to know a kid,” Roger says, “and Sherron’s like family to us. I’ve just seen it. I’m hard. I’m one of those guys, I want to see it and make sure it’s real. Sherron Collins has the ability to make it without basketball. He can communicate, he’s got a heart, he’s got feelings. Like any kid from that background, he just needs an opportunity.”
Now, it is easy for Roger to see why his son and the rest of the Jayhawks march to Collins’ drumbeat.
“Sherron became a believer,” Roger says. “When you really believe and you’re passionate about something and emotional about it, it’s real easy to convey that. People can read feelings, and I think the way Sherron leads is from the heart a lot of times. It’s the real thing.”
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You can’t beat the real thing. That slogan has sold a lot of soft drinks, and Sherron Collins can only hope it’ll ring true for him during his final NCAA Tournament.
“If we don’t make the Final Four, it’d be devastating,” Collins says. “I think we should be there. I was a big part of the 2008 national championship team, but it’s even bigger now. It’ll mean more.”
A lot of people are rooting for Collins, of course. He has already won more games in a Kansas uniform than any other Jayhawk, and he could become one of a handful of KU players to play significant minutes on two national championship teams.
But to the people who have nudged Collins along to this point, his gang of loyal supporters, another NCAA title would only be gravy. The meat and potatoes of Collins’ story could be seen on Senior Night at Allen Fieldhouse, when the young man held 16,000 people captive with his presence and made them feel something.
“Put it this way,” Longstreet says, “if you had been around Sherron sophomore year of high school and left the country and then came back to Senior Night, knowing what you knew about him when he was a sophomore in high school, you would have thought it was somebody else.”
Collins’ speech had Brady Morningstar, who never cries, according to Roger, bawling on the fieldhouse floor. It had Ward feeling a sense of pride when Collins gushed to Self that everything he had promised had come true.
That promise belonged to Self and Longstreet. After Collins’ speech, Longstreet found him in a hallway, and the old friends embraced.
“This is the vision that I had for you, Sherron,” Longstreet told him. “Even when you didn’t see it, this is the vision I had for you.”
