Get Ready

NOTE: Here's the post on Billy Donovan as it was written before he apparently had a change of heart. If he comes to Orlando, all still applies. If he stays in Gainesville, Gator fans rejoice while we confirm that the Magic are, in fact, cursed.

I really liked this post, too. Guess we should treat it as a writing exercise in fiction.

On Thursday of last week, Sun Sports received a phone call from upper management at the Orlando Magic. The message was simple: "get ready."

The call came to our downtown office; within minutes, the studio staff, based 15 miles away on the back lot at Universal Studios Florida, had been alerted. I work at that studio. We, too, were told to "get ready." We didn't know precisely what we were getting ready for; the implication was that press conferences were coming, a major announcement to follow. Something big. That much we knew.

"Get ready," indeed.

Let's back up for a moment.

Spring, 1992. I was a junior at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. My fraternity brothers and I gathered around the TV set in the living room of our putrid chapter house to watch the NBA Draft lottery. The Orlando Magic -- my hometown team, the only professional franchise in Orlando at the time -- had a shot at the number one pick.

There were three college players that anybody cared about that year. Christian Laettner had won back-to-back NCAA championships at Duke. Alonzo Mourning was the scowling, menacing pivotman from Georgetown. And then there was Shaq.

Shaquille O'Neal, Louisiana State University. He was a monster. A man-child. A freak. Shaq was once in a lifetime; everyone knew it. While Laettner and Mourning were great college players, Shaq was a phenomenon. He was history in high-tops. The NBA team that won the first overall pick in the draft in 1992 would be the team that drafted Shaq, and would therefore change the course of its franchise -- and the NBA -- forever.

David Stern pulled the second-to-last envelope, and it read, "Charlotte Hornets."

All I can remember from that day is a vision of myself -- a younger, more innocent, blissfully unaware kid -- running down the hallways of a cavernous fraternity house in Ithaca, screaming "We just got Shaq! We just got Shaq!"

I bring this up because on Friday, June 1st, 2007, Orlando's home team received the second-biggest jolt in franchise history. Number one was, and will always be, Shaq; running a close second is the hiring of Billy Donovan. That's how big this is.

When I walked into the practice gym at the RDV Sportsplex in Maitland on Friday morning, there were at least 400 people lining the bleachers. Magic staff members, mostly young and fresh-faced, filled the back rows. I was carried back in time once again, to my four years as a Magic staffer, when I was just as ambitious and audacious as the kids I saw that morning. They were buzzing, marveling at the enormous media crush in front of them, soaking up the atmosphere. They knew they were about to become a part of franchise history -- something that I can clearly recall, seeing as how I was on staff when the team went to the NBA Finals in 1995. This was big, and they knew it. I knew it, too.

Orlando Mayor Buddy Dyer was there. The media horde that covers this team on a daily basis, many of whom have been there since my formative days as a Magic television producer, were dutifully assembled. We were joined by cameras from ESPN, reporters from every media outlet in Orlando, and dozens of representatives from stations in Tampa, Miami, Jacksonville, and yes, Gainesville. We were buzzing too. This was big. The biggest thing to hit this erstwhile franchise since, well, Shaq. We all knew it.

The Magic had hired Billy Donovan.

No, wait. The Magic had convinced Billy Donovan. The Magic had proven themselves, as a team and an organization, to be attractive enough to compel the most successful coach in University of Florida history to leave Gainesville. Dwight Howard, JJ Redick, Darko Milicic, Jameer Nelson, Trevor Ariza, and the promise of miles of room under the salary cap did it. Team president Bob Vander Weide did it. Otis Smith, once the most popular player in a Magic uniform, now a general manager bent on proving himself in the cutthroat world of NBA basketball, did it. They all did it. They convinced Billy D to leave his "comfort zone" -- his words -- and take on his first ever NBA head coaching job.

Sure, geography had something to do with it. Orlando is 115 miles south of Gainesville. Donovan's four children can stay in school in Gainesville; his wife, famously media-shy, can live something close to the normal life she has worked so hard to create for her family for the last 11 years, for the time being. Memphis was never in the picture, folks. Too far away, too much of an upheaval.

Plus, the Grizzlies are terrible. The Magic are not. This is not a rebuilding project. This is, as Donovan stated on Friday, the "next challenge."

If Donovan had not just won back-to-back national championships at Florida, this deal never happens. If Dwight Howard was not the Magic's franchise player, this deal never happens. If this job were available in Atlanta or New Orleans or even Miami, this deal never happens. It had to be Orlando. It was the perfect storm.

Many Gator fans are apoplectic, and for good reason. Not because Donovan left them high and dry -- quite the opposite, in fact. He built that program from absolutely nothing. There was no Gator basketball before Billy. Not on the national stage, anyway. Florida reached the NCAA Tournament five times in 77 years of basketball prior to Donovan's arrival; his second national championship at the school was also the Gators' 9th consecutive NCAA Tournament appearance. He was there for 11 years.

Two national championships and nine straight NCAA appearances in 11 years. I think he did his part.

No, Gator fans were bent because they know, in their heart of hearts, that they will never find another coach like Billy D. They may find a guy who wins; in fact, I think they will, seeing as how Donovan has built that program into one of the most attractive jobs in America. The Gators are not dead, not by a long shot. They've arrived. Billy saw to that.

Gator fans are upset because they've lost another legend. First Spurrier, now Donovan. For those fans who have been torching Donovan for his decision, let me offer this: you won a BCS football championship after Spurrier left. There's no reason to think you can't do it after Donovan leaves. You're in a different place now. You've arrived. Just say "thank you, Billy," and move on. Face it, were it not for Donovan, you wouldn't care about Gator basketball in the first place.

Back to those press conferences: a number of things happened on Friday.

JJ Redick's career just took a dramatic turn for the better. The Magic sold 200 more season tickets in a 24-hour period, with many more to come. Two or three summer free agents who otherwise wouldn't have cared less about Orlando just called their agents. And the big one: maybe, just maybe, the Magic secured themselves a new arena, in addition to securing themselves a new head coach, their 8th in eighteen years.

In the spring of 1995, I was on the floor at the Orlando Arena when the Magic beat the Indiana Pacers in Game 7 of the Eastern Conference Finals. I was wrapping up my first season as a full-time Magic employee, having completed a season-long internship with the team the year before. The Magic were heading to the Finals. The world was ours. No limit, no ceiling. I had just turned 24 years old, and I thought it would never end.

It did, quickly. It hasn't come back since.

Billy Donovan has never coached a game in the NBA. We know he can relate to young players, but we have no idea if his philosophies will translate to the pro game. We know he will sell tickets, but we have no idea if he will win. We're about to find out. History is not on his side, as many have noted.

But I do know this: on Friday, the Magic mattered again. The Spurs are about to play for their fourth title in the last eight years, and the Cleveland Cavaliers have just won their first Eastern Conference championship since, well, ever. But in Florida, all of that fell to the back page after Friday.

This is big. Get ready.