Jump: Sebastian Telfair and the High Stakes Business of High School Ball Book

History books, given the gift of hindsight and the element of time, are wonderful things since they carry with them contradictions and 'I can't believe people did/thought/said/etc. that back then' kind of moments. The greatest parts of the history book are when someone is proven either incredibly right when faced with continued denials or proven immensely wrong due to some sort of malevolent fate. History is full of moments where some genius will say something like 'television will never last' or something and then are, of course, made to look like fools.

What if you read a book where EVERYONE was a fool except, perhaps, one of the 'villains'? And what if that book was written during the height of the hype as opposed to years after when the results have truly finished the story? I found that book. . .and it's called The Jump, by sports columnist Ian O'Connor. I have nothing against Ian O'Connor at all: he's a solid writer and, if anything, The Jump (officially titled The Jump: Sebastian Telfair and the High Stakes Business of High School Ball), is his first book and is under the shadow of bigger and better projects that made his project possible. His task, unfortunately, was to comment on a trend in the NBA during the upcoming 2004 season, where high school players were being drafted directly to the NBA.

Sounds great. But that issue was reaching it's peak during that time and no matter how in depth O'Connor gets, his book, so far unpublished in a third edition with an updated epilogue (the last 'update' was 2005), the book will always be incomplete. But, that aside, O'Connor also has the misfortune of doing a disservice to almost every 'character' in his book by making them all look like doofus windbags working so hard for so little.

The book is a history of Sebastian Telfair, one of the greatest high school basketball players in New York City (Coney Island to be specific) history. During his senior year of high school at Lincoln. Telfair debates whether to go to college or to enter the NBA Draft, the latter choice becoming ever more popular with young 18 year olds trying to get cash. Telfair's final year is exposed: academics, traveling, recruiting, scouting, and all the legal and illegal activities that go along with it. Add family tragedies and controversy and you have a compelling look at young men aging faster then they should.

The Jump is an unofficial sequel to The Last Shot, a masterpiece of a book that depicted the lives of four Coney Island/Lincoln basketball players. Three are seniors looking to get college scholarships and going through the recruiting and academic madness to make them eligible while the fourth player, future NBA star Stephon Marbury, is a freshman being exposed early with media fame and an expectation of success granted no one in Coney Island to that point.

The Jump is an extension of the themes of that book and even features some of the same people and places. The largest piece is, of course, Stephon Marbury, who is the cousin of Sebastian Telfair. Marbury, the first superstar success from Coney Island, was a bridge between two worlds. He went to college for one year (the one and done plan) and went to the NBA and became a sensation (granted, with many problems). His mates before him had to deal with colleges and colleges only and their struggle was meeting academic standards and not breaking any rules. Years later, Telfair's class represents the school-option and the rich-option. Colleges are now just one of MANY choices.

Marbury not only became a sensation as a player but became the ideal for thousands of ballers especially those in the heavily lauded Coney Island. Telfair was the next big thing. By the end of his senior season at Lincoln, he had graced the covers of Slam and Sports Illustrated and became the poster boy for 'should high school kids go straight to the pros' (or, make 'the jump'). The Jump is not about Marbury but the person we saw in The Last Shot has changed over the years: he now has money, fame, big time contracts, and an image both respected and tarnished and, both from hangers-on and genuine people alike, is expected to do things for others. Marbury ends up being a pseudo-villain of the piece, perhaps not all black, but a bit grey, who stands as the moral standard which Telfair has to either accept or go away from.

Telfair, unlike a lot of student athletes from poor neighborhoods, has no academic problems thus one major hurdle doesn't exist for him. But he does have that image of Marbury hanging over him. You can be a success but what does money, fame, and early adulthood, meant for people five to ten years older then he, do to you personally. This is just one of the many situations Telfair deals with in The Jump.

Author O'Connor's job is a large one. If we put aside the fact that he was providing a piece of work as a result of some sort of knee-jerk reaction, O'Connor had to put Telfair's world on paper to be understood. O'Connor wisely chooses a different path then Darcy Frey did in The Last Shot. Coney Island does have it's place in the story (a few crimes play an important part in Telfair's story) but O'Connor instead chooses to focus on the perils of college eligibility and the fragile nature of a young psyche when approached with financially protecting a family and being surrounded by such forceful personalities.

This is where the idiots come in. Since the book had no time to see the results of the entire, year-long affair of Telfair's choice, in hindsight, the book takes on a sensational and highly goofy take on Sebastian Telfair and his situation. Many of you probably don't know who Sebastian Telfair is. . .and there is a reason why. Telfair never became a Marbury. He never even became a Kenny Anderson (probably the second most recognizable Coney Island baller of yesteryear. . .though very disappointing). He became. . .a disappointment. Not a bad pro. . .but the legend of his high school days were also the height of his prominence as a player.

And Telfair was good. . .but the book is packed with so many quotes and so many 'ew, they did THAT' moments that you can't help but laugh at how much time, money, and anger was spent trying to wrap paws around someone who didn't pan out. Sebastian Telfair was a lottery pick in the 2004 NBA Draft (sorry to spoil it for you), was given a $15 million dollar shoe deal months before the draft, and was ferried across the country for all the people to go 'oh' and 'ah' at. People salivated over the kid and college recruiters prayed to god they would come to their school (primarily Rick Pitino of Louisville).

This stuff happens all the time but very rarely in Telfair's case. Telfair was the first phenom post-LeBron to be considered, well, the next LeBron. His star shined so high that he was given his own shoe just to see how it looked in HIGH SCHOOL basketball games. The problem: LeBron is a once in a decade kind of player (if that). Almost every player picked before Telfair in the draft has become a superstar or a massive role player while others considered less then Telfair, like Orlando Magic guard Jameer Nelson, have long surpassed the kid.

And I feel sorry for Telfair. I do. If the book and all it's participants are correct, Telfair was a good kid. He was smart charismatic, a hard worker, and a damn good basketball player. You almost can't blame him for his meteoric hype that, I suppose, in the end, he could never live up to. Telfair has been a decent player (never averaging more then 9.8 points or 5.9 assists in his six year career) but nothing worthy of the heights people would go to get the kid's signature on any contract. In the end, you're glad such a great deal was made of him because, at least, he got to help his family. But Telfair, for those who have even heard of him, will always be a victim of pro basketball history, not a champion of it.

A slightly updated epilogue depicts how Telfair's first season in the NBA went (which wasn't great) and how he would strive to get better. And for the most part, Telfair got better. . .but never lived up. Since I knew these things, the book's goings-on were continually hilarious. Old AAU coaches were fighting each other over who raised Telfair and who deserved a cut. Shoe execs were pissing off college coaches and making enemies of other companies by laying claim to Telfair. Jealous former coaches were filing Board of Education investigations to get Telfair's high school coach, Tiny Morton, fired. Agents were pitting Telfair's family against each other to snare Telfair's signature. Celebrities were trying to get photo ops with him. It was truly, truly madness. All for nothing.

And they were idiots all. I mean, if you are in the business you MUST go after what looks to be a hot commodity but a precious few in the book stuck to their guns and knew Telfair was no LeBron, Marbury, or Anderson. One in particular is ambiguous sneaker rep Sonny Vaccaro. When you read about Vaccaro, you get the feeling that the dude is a loser or a trouble-maker. He's done great things, like form the ABCD camps, but he's also moved from company to company making enemies along the way (enemies who would be heavily involved in the Telfair situation). Of everyone in the book, he ends up looking like a genius since, though he loved Sebastian, he saw his limits. Everyone else was trying to bring heaven down to earth to get the kid's respect. . .Vaccaro knew when he lost and never wavered.

The Jump is perhaps not as telling as it could have been. Since it is O'Connor's first book, he manages to put himself into the story too much and he focuses on way too many strands to make the book impactful. This might also have to do with his reverence of The Last Shot which will always be the go to book for Coney Island basketball, college recruiting, and dreams gone asunder. The Jump is not a failure but, like the subject of said book, it doesn't amount to anything more then sensational coverage on someone and something that, now with hindsight, is no longer important.