By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
By Leif Haven
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Kate Conger
By Brian Rinker
By Rachel Swan
With seven minutes remaining in the first half of a mid-February game, the visiting University of San Francisco Dons begin to break away from their West Coast Conference rivals, the Loyola Marymount University Lions, building a nine-point lead that leaves little doubt as to which school boasts the more athletic, disciplined, and explosive basketball team. In the face of a burgeoning blowout, many of the 2,500 faithful in Gersten Pavilion, a snazzy arena perched on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean to the west and downtown Los Angeles to the east, exercise their right as fickle Southern California fans to turn away from the court and chat among themselves. Even the LMU students occupying The Cage -- a few rows of midcourt seats enclosed by a chain-link fence and named for the supposedly lionlike roar emanating from their rowdy inhabitants -- are reduced to shaking the fence in frustration as their Lions commit yet another ticky-tack foul.
"John Cox to shoot," says the PA system announcer as USF's sophomore shooting guard strides to the line for his first free throw of the game.
The crowd's steady murmur continues unabated, but the hard-core fans in The Cage clearly have read the program bios for the visiting team. Taking up their megaphones, the students unleash a stream of jeers that pierces the hushed arena and is certainly audible to the 6-foot-4 195-pounder at the line.
"Kobe, Kobe, Kobe!" shouts one fan as the referee bounces the ball to Cox. "Kobe -- you suck!"
Cox never flinches as he raises the ball to shoot. But just before he releases, the jeers reach a fever pitch, with one member of The Cage lifting his voice above the generalized taunting: "Hey Cox, you're no Kobe!"
The ball clangs off the rim.
Backpedaling into defensive position, his elbows cocked and legs pumping in what seems to be a frighteningly precise impersonation of the L.A. Lakers superstar who owns this town and also happens to be his cousin, Cox evinces another mannerism that appears borrowed from Kobe Bryant: a self-conscious head wag, a public display of dismay at blowing a free shot.
The missed free-throw is a rare gaffe in one of the most complete performances of Cox's college career, which is finally beginning to blossom after limited playing time in his freshman year and no basketball at all last year because of injury. En route to a convincing 80-67 victory over Loyola Marymount, Cox leads all players with 19 points on 6-of-9 shooting (including three 3-pointers), eight rebounds, five assists, no turnovers, two blocked shots, and three steals.
After the final horn, two giggling young girls catch up to Cox as he threads his way through the lingering crowd into the visitors' locker room. Wearing a sheepish grin, he obediently scrawls his name on the scraps of paper they thrust at him, well aware that such adulation is not normally directed at a sophomore guard averaging 12 points a game on a .500 team in a second-tier conference.
But hey, at least they're asking Cox for his autograph.
"It's worse at home games, when I see the same kids and they ask the same question: "How's Kobe?'" says Cox, who pronounces his cousin's name as if it rhymes with "robe" rather than "Moby," as the rest of the world says it. "I owe, like, a hundred kids his autograph. Sometimes, when they won't stop asking, "Are you Kobe's cousin?' I just say, "Naw, I'm not. That's just a rumor.'"
But spend 10 minutes watching John Cox move across a basketball court, and you know it's true. He shows flashes of his cousin's breathtaking quickness, the ability to close fast on an opponent's lazy inbounds pass or to explode suddenly down the base line for a twisting, improbable layup. He shares Bryant's defensive tenacity, the fundamental attentiveness to footwork, positioning, and ball movement. He's got the same lanky build, although Bryant is two vital inches taller, and the same game-time grimace. When yanked off the court by his coach, Cox pouts like Bryant; when burying a 3-pointer in the face of a lunging opponent, he pumps his fist and spins up-court in what might as well be a re-enactment of a million SportsCenter highlights starring the Lakers' No. 8.
What John Cox doesn't have, however, is his cousin's preternatural talent, the aura of greatness that earned Bryant the tag of "protégé" at age 17 and the burden of being The Next Michael Jordan when he skipped college to enter the NBA draft. Cox doesn't have Bryant's arrogance, the swagger that comes with winning back-to-back NBA championships and the prospect, as long as he stays healthy, of winning who knows how many more.
Instead, John Cox, who will turn 21 in July, has a lot of unfair expectations to meet, a family history of basketball greatness to live up to, and the knowledge that as good as he becomes in his chosen field, he'll probably never approach the talent and fame of the cousin who first exposed him to the sport.
And he's fine with that.
In November 1998 John Cox held a news conference at his high school, Philadelphia's Carver School of Engineering and Science, to announce which college he'd decided to play for. Several big-time programs had been courting the versatile Cox, a swingman who can play either guard or forward, including the University of Southern California, Pepperdine University, St. Joseph's, Cincinnati, Villanova University, Virginia, Penn State, and USF. Surrounded by his family, high school teammates and coaches, and a swarm of reporters who lavish nearly the same scrutiny on Philadelphia prep basketball as they do on the college or professional game, Cox leaned into the microphone and said, "After a lot of thought, discussions with my parents and grandparents, I've decided to bypass college for ..."