Back in December of 2004, Adam Morrison hadn’t taken the world by storm just yet. His hair was only starting to look shaggy, and nobody would have recognized the slogan “fear the stache”. He probably couldn’t even grow one yet.  

There were no Larry Bird comparisons, no triple teams, and no verbal battles with overmatched opponents. We had yet to see the buzzer beaters, the 40-point outbursts, or even one article referencing how he plays Halo with JJ Redick in his free time.

Nonetheless, Adam Morrison was already well on his way to becoming the player you grew to love or hate this past winter.

I first became aware that Mark Few had a special player in December Morrison's sophomore season. The Zags were hosting a highly-ranked Georgia Tech team, and I skipped a Saturday night out on the town to check in on the progress of Gonzaga’s star big man Rony Turiaf, and Georgia Tech point guard Jarrett Jack.

Of course, Turiaf and Jack were far from the story that night. Adam Morrison scored 24 points, mostly of the spectacular variety. There were baseline fadeaways from well behind the backboard, midrange floaters of nearly impossible difficulty, and a few standard set 3-point shots thrown in for good measure. The final score was 85-73, but Morrison won that game for Gonzaga before halftime.

I began talking about him as a lottery pick immediately, and sat back to watch him emerge as an All-American.

He slowly moved ahead of Turiaf as Gonzaga’s number one option, and even though his potentially game winning 3-pointer clanked off the back of the rim in the Zags’ 2^nd round Tourney loss to Texas Tech, Morrison ended the season on a high note. He scored 25 or more in each of his last four games, including a then-career high 30 in the WCC championship game.

By this time, Adam Morrison had grown a full-out mop on the top of his head.

Over the summer, I casually mentioned to several confidants that Adam Morrison was going to average 30 points per game in 2006. Of course I said it with a smirk on my face – I don’t even know if I fully believed myself. At any rate, even I wasn’t prepared for what hit the Maui Invitational last November.

The newly mustached Morrison played like a man possessed. He wasn’t connecting on his usual assortment of midrange concoctions against Maryland in the first round, but the Terps were no match for his energy and craft around the basket and relentlessness in the open court. He finished with 25 points in the Gonzaga win.

But Morrison was far from finished. One night later he poured in 43 points from every conceivable angle in Gonzaga’s amazing 3-OT win over Michigan State. Pundits called it one of the greatest basketball games ever, and despite playing 52 of 55 possible minutes, Morrison was at his best in the overtime sessions. He created shot after difficult shot, and looked ready to go another 40 minutes as he celebrated the win.

Adam Morrison was a scraggly-haired, skinny white kid with diabetes - the ultimate underdog - playing for the ultimate underdog team, and well on his way to making my half-hearted 30 points per game projection look like genius. The Larry Bird comparisons popped up everywhere, and the whirlwind began.

Morrison fought off constant double and triple teams score 43 points in archrival Washington’s building, and shocked Oklahoma State at the buzzer with a now famous banked-in, buzzer beating 3-pointer. The national media fell in love with their new unlikely hero, and he was now gracing magazine covers and newspaper headlines on a daily basis. Fans were wearing fake mustaches to games. If people weren’t talking about whether or not the Larry Bird comparisons were accurate, they were imploring him to take a shower.

Morrison’s individual achievements and aura of invincibility continued to pile up as conference play began, but such unprecedented success had put a giant target on his back, especially when he entered hostile, crackerbox WCC gyms. The WCC had never seen such a spectacle, and suddenly everybody wanted their fifteen minutes of fame – at the  expense of Adam Morrison.  

As the Loyola Marymounts and San Fransisco’s defended him more physically and effectively, a more brazen Morrison began to appear. Where he once would have silently (well, maybe not silently) gone about his business of breaking down opponents, he didn’t appear to stop chirping the entire West Coast Conference tournament – whether it was at his opponents, or the officials.

His verbal battles with San Diego’s Corey Belser (the one player who successful defended Morrison at the college level) became public, and his on-court outbursts more blatant. There were still moments of sheer brilliance (37 points in the second half of a win over Loyola Marymount; 34 points and numerous clutch plays in a comeback win over Stanford), but Morrison’s college career was destined to end on a low note.

Morrison scored 24 points in the heartbreaking Sweet 16 loss to UCLA, but missed a crucial jumper in the final moments, and had to pass the ball to his center after being trapped in the backcourt with the 10-second clock ticking. This resulted in a JP Batista turnover, and the loss.

There was still a bit of spectacular in the tourney. He took over down the stretch in Gonzaga’s second round game against Xavier in classic Morrison style. The game was close headed under five minutes to play, and then Adam Morrison decided that it was time for that to end.

Still, one has to wonder if the old, “underdogish” Morrison would have screamed at the ball and bashed it against his head - like a different kind of man possessed - after converting a crucial late game shot. Morrison eventually would seal that victory at the line, yelling at Xavier guard Stanley Burrell (things I can’t repeat here) literally as the ball was leaving his hands on the decisive free throw.

Morrison’s career would end with a stumble to center court, the once practically invincible madman collapsing onto the jump circle in tears as camera lenses flashed. There is little doubt in my mind that the pre-superstar Morrison would have reacted with that same anguish. I also have little doubt that he would have made his way to the sideline, and cried away the end of his college career in the comforting presence of his teammates.

Morrison’s time at Gonzaga ended in a way very much unrepresentative of the man he has tried so hard to become. Larry Bird would have made that shot and found a way to get around UCLA’s frantic trap, so the legends would say. But Morrison’s true greatness came not from the mustache, the high socks, or all the on-court antics. The fact of the matter is that it will be a long time before we see another player capable of hitting contested, body-contorted, high-arcing jumpers the way that Adam Morrison could.

Adam Morrison’s next stop is the NBA. Some say he doesn’t have the footspeed or defensive ability to keep up. I say the NBA is a constantly evolving game, and that Morrison would fit like a glove on any of the teams that have freewheeled and fast breaked their way to success in the Western Conference playoffs. Give Morrison space on the court, and he will find the bottom of the net.  

Most of all, this is the chance for Adam Morrison to forget about all the fanfare and hype that so obviously weighed on him by the time March rolled around. Come November, he is just another rookie. Nobody is expecting Morrison to come in and turn a franchise around, so the Larry Legend comparisons should be left at Gonzaga. Adam Morrison now has the chance to make his own name.