May 20, 2014
The studio was set up with the precision of a production that had been executed many times before, yet still treated every edition as if it were the first. Three rows of seats in a low bleacher setup featured the draft logo in blue and silver against the backdrop, the cameras were in position, and lighting technicians made final adjustments as the production clock counted down the minutes.
Aaron sat in the second chair of the front row, wearing a dark suit and a blue tie that Walton had selected that morning without much debate: the colors couldn't belong to any specific team—that was the rule when you still didn't know where you were going. To his left sat Andrew Wiggins, wearing a gray suit with a red tie and carrying the expression of someone who had learned to appear calm in public even while calculating twenty things simultaneously in his head. To Aaron's right was Joel Embiid, the only one of the three who seemed genuinely relaxed, or at least the best at acting like he was.
No one had given them specific instructions beyond sitting down, looking toward the camera when spoken to, and avoiding saying anything that could be interpreted as preferring one team over another. Protocol instructions were simple in theory and considerably more complicated in practice when you had been sitting under studio lights for two hours waiting for the broadcast to begin.
Aaron crossed his hands over his knees and looked straight ahead.
"Two minutes," someone called out from behind a camera.
Mark Jones stepped onto the set with the swift stride of someone who had been doing this for years and knew precisely what speed to maintain to hit the camera mark at the exact right moment. He adjusted his earpiece, glanced at the teleprompter once, and then turned toward Jay Bilas with the expression of two people who had worked together long enough to need little preamble.
"Ready," Mark said.
"Ready," Jay confirmed.
The camera's red light turned on.
"Good evening and welcome to ESPN's special coverage of the 2014 NBA Draft Lottery." Mark Jones's voice carried the distinct weight of voices that had spent years in radio before transitioning to television—a resonance that wasn't forced, but existed as a permanent characteristic. "We are broadcasting live from New York, and tonight fourteen NBA franchises will learn their fate for June's draft. I'm Mark Jones alongside Jay Bilas, and we have a promising night ahead." He paused for exact timing. "Jay."
"Mark, before we talk about the lottery, we have to talk about what's sitting right there in the studio." Jay Bilas turned slightly toward the camera—the gesture of someone who wanted his next sentence to land directly. "Because this draft class possesses qualities you don't see every year. We have three of the absolute best college prospects of the last decade assembled right here tonight, and any of the fourteen teams hitting the stage tonight would be targeting one of them."
"We have them right here in the studio," Mark said, as the camera widened the shot to include the front row. "Aaron Reed, Andrew Wiggins, Joel Embiid. Good evening, gentlemen."
All three nodded. Wiggins briefly raised a hand. Embiid smiled with the natural ease of someone completely unbothered by cameras.
Aaron said "good evening" in a normal tone and kept staring forward.
"We'll check back in with them shortly," Mark said, as the camera cut back to a two-shot of the hosts. "But first, Jay, let's talk about the draft. If you had to order tonight's top five, how do you construct it?"
"I start with Reed," Jay said without hesitation. "There is no debate at number one. A seven-foot center with perimeter coordination, passing vision, and you just saw in Kentucky what he does when the game hangs in the balance. There are generational centers, and there are generational seasons. Reed is both at once." He took a beat. "After Reed, Wiggins. A shooting guard with every physical tool, elite defensive potential, still developing in offensive decision-making, but possessing the highest ceiling in the draft after number one. Third, Embiid, who would have been the consensus number one pick in almost any other draft, but in this one he has two extraordinary prospects ahead of him and a medical history that teams will evaluate differently."
"Fourth and fifth?" Mark asked.
"Fourth, Dante Exum. An Australian point guard with athletic explosiveness you haven't seen in a guard in a long time. The question with him is how long it takes to adapt to the professional level coming from a league that doesn't compare to the NCAA or top-tier EuroLeague. Fifth, Marcus Smart. A defender. A competitor. The kind of player a coach wants in the locker room even if the offensive statistics don't tell the whole story."
"Five very distinct prospects," Mark noted.
"That's how good drafts ought to be. You don't want five versions of the same player."
The screen behind them displayed the five names in order, flanked by action photographs of each. Aaron's picture was from the championship game against UConn—the exact moment he sank the game-winner with three seconds on the clock.
Mark pointed toward it without pointing, letting the image speak. "And now over to Heather Cox, who is standing by with the representatives of all fourteen teams. Heather."
The screen shifted to another section of the studio—a distinct set featuring a long table with fourteen occupied seats facing a monitor displaying the draft logo. Heather Cox held the microphone with the posture of someone who had covered enough major sporting events to know exactly how much space a camera occupies.
"Thank you, Mark. I am standing here with representatives from the fourteen teams participating in tonight's lottery, and before I introduce them, I want to outline the format for those watching for the first time." She turned slightly toward the screen. "The NBA uses a system of numbered ping-pong balls. Fourteen balls are placed in the hopper, and the lottery determines the combinations for the top three picks. The team with the league's worst record holds the highest mathematical odds of winning the top pick, but it is never a guarantee. Anything can happen tonight, and that is precisely what makes this broadcast so compelling."
The graphic displayed the odds table.
"Milwaukee holds the highest odds tonight, with a twenty-five percent chance of landing the top pick." Heather walked through the standings as she spoke. "Philadelphia, Orlando, and Utah follow at 19.9%, 15.6%, and 11.9% respectively. Boston sits at 8.8%. The Lakers at 6.3%. Sacramento at 4.3%. Detroit at 2.8%, and Cleveland enters with a 1.7% chance of claiming the number one pick tonight."
She paused.
"1.7%. NBA lotteries have been won with less."
The camera panned across the table of representatives as Heather introduced them by name. Mallory Edens for the Bucks—a young woman carrying the quiet composure of someone who knew the numbers favored her side and preferred not to celebrate prematurely. Julius Erving for Philadelphia—Dr. J in an immaculate suit with the poise of someone who had navigated high-pressure situations far greater than a televised lottery. James Worthy for the Lakers, offering a brief smile as Heather spoke his name. David Griffin for Cleveland, wearing the expression of someone who had learned never to expect anything, and therefore was never disappointed.
"Now let's head back to one of our studio prospects. Aaron Reed, could you join us?"
Aaron stood up from his seat and crossed the set toward Heather. The walk was a mere eight steps, but under live broadcast lights with the studio silent, those eight steps felt altogether different from a normal stride.
"Aaron, thank you for joining us tonight." Heather held the microphone between them with the natural rhythm of someone who had conducted thousands of interviews and knew that the difference between a good one and a bad one was the speed at which the first question landed. "How are you processing tonight?"
"Staying calm," Aaron said. It was the shortest possible answer and also the most honest.
"The season you just completed at Kentucky was..." Heather searched for the right word. "...historic. How would you describe that year from the inside?"
"It was the year the team decided we could win," he said without special emphasis, delivering it simply as a fact that required no decoration. "Not me. The team. When that happens, everything else is just a consequence."
"The final against UConn." Heather waited, giving him room.
"We won," Aaron said.
A brief pause hovered over the studio before Heather smiled. "Yes, you did. Let's take a look at the highlights."
The screen behind them lit up with the package ESPN's production team had cut that afternoon: the opening possession of the final with Aaron scoring in the low post over two defenders, the third-quarter block that flipped the momentum, the kick-out assist to the wing that opened the lead in the final two minutes, and finally the game-winning jumper with the score tied and the clock expiring.
Aaron watched the highlights with the expression of someone looking at something that had occurred weeks ago, yet felt as though it belonged to another era—back when the decisions he was about to face weren't yet inevitable.
"Thank you, Aaron." Heather turned back to the main camera. "And now, Mark, I believe it's time."
"It certainly is, Heather. Thank you." Mark Jones settled into his seat with the posture of a broadcaster who had waited hours for this exact moment. "For those just joining our broadcast: we are live from New York for the 2014 NBA Draft Lottery. In just a moment, John Daniels, NBA Vice President of Security, will announce the order of selection for June's draft. Jay, any final thoughts before the results?"
"Just one," Jay Bilas said. "There are teams at that table that have been building toward this moment for years. Today's picks will define franchise trajectories for the next decade. That is no exaggeration."
"It isn't." Mark looked into the camera. "Let's go to the results."
John Daniels stepped onto the set holding the envelope. He was a man in his fifties, medium build, carrying the quiet authority of someone tasked with managing critical information who understood that the most effective way to deliver it was without theatricality. He positioned himself before the microphone and awaited the stage manager's mark.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I will now announce the order of selection for the 2014 NBA Draft, starting with the fourteenth pick and advancing to number one."
The studio fell completely silent.
Aaron, from the front row, looked straight ahead. On the edge of his field of vision sat the representatives' table. Mallory Edens had her hands clasped on the table. Dr. J looked at Daniels with the calm of a man who knew Philadelphia held favorable odds, but also understood that odds guaranteed nothing. David Griffin of Cleveland wasn't looking at Daniels at all, but at a point slightly above his head, as if staring directly at the messenger might influence the message.
"The fourteenth pick in the 2014 NBA Draft belongs to... the Phoenix Suns."
Marcus and Markieff Morris, the twins representing Phoenix, exchanged a brief look. They had traveled from Phoenix knowing the Suns would pick somewhere between twelve and fourteen; fourteen was no surprise, merely a confirmation.
"The thirteenth pick... the Minnesota Timberwolves."
Milt Newton gave a single nod. Minnesota had also anticipated their range.
"The twelfth pick... the Orlando Magic."
"The eleventh pick... the Denver Nuggets." Brian Shaw, Denver's head coach, let out a slow exhale. Eleventh wasn't the outcome they had hoped for, but it fell within expected parameters.
"The tenth pick... the Philadelphia 76ers."
Julius Erving absorbed the announcement with the same stoicism he had brought to the set, though on the monitor visible from Aaron's angle, Erving's reaction was marked by the faintest drop in his shoulders—the subtle gesture of a man processing news that wasn't what he had hoped for.
"The ninth pick... the Charlotte Hornets."
"The eighth pick... the Sacramento Kings."
"The seventh pick... the Los Angeles Lakers." James Worthy, who had maintained his smile throughout the entire program, kept it intact through the announcement. The seventh pick meant the Lakers hadn't moved from their projected spot, though with the Lakers, anything outside the top three felt like a setback.
"The sixth pick... the Boston Celtics." Stephen Pagliuca bowed his head briefly.
"The fifth pick... the Utah Jazz."
Each announcement narrowed the table through process of elimination. As the numbers decreased, the quality of the silence in the studio shifted, growing denser, as if the air itself carried more weight.
"The fourth pick... the Orlando Magic." Pat Williams, co-founder of the Magic, received the call with the expression of someone who already held one lottery pick and had just received another—a result carrying vastly different implications depending on where the remaining picks fell.
Three teams remained at the table: Milwaukee, Philadelphia (with the New Orleans pick still in play), and Cleveland.
"The third pick... the Philadelphia 76ers."
Dr. J, who had remained perfectly still throughout the entire broadcast, offered the smallest possible nod. Philadelphia taking the third and tenth picks was a scenario their scouting department had modeled as a distinct possibility, though that didn't make it any easier to digest in real time.
In the studio, Mark Jones leaned slightly toward his microphone. "Two teams remain, Jay. Milwaukee and Cleveland."
"25 percent versus 1.7," Jay Bilas said. "The math says Milwaukee. But math doesn't play this lottery."
John Daniels held the envelope for a beat before opening it.
"The second pick in the 2014 NBA Draft goes to..."
The studio held its breath.
"...the Milwaukee Bucks."
Mallory Edens closed her eyes for a single second. An exact second, no more. Then she opened them and kept staring ahead with the composure required of someone sitting at that table in that moment, though contained within that single second was everything that comes with entering a lottery with a twenty-five percent chance and leaving with number two.
David Griffin, beside her, didn't alter his expression.
"Which means," Daniels said, pausing with the deliberate timing of a presenter who knows the phrase he is about to utter will be the soundbite everyone remembers from the broadcast, "that the first pick in the 2014 NBA Draft belongs to... the Cleveland Cavaliers."
The studio erupted.
It wasn't the rehearsed applause of a television audience following a cue sign. It was the distinct sound of people witnessing something the mathematics claimed was highly improbable, yet had transpired anyway. Cleveland with the top pick on 1.7% odds. Cleveland—having already won the lottery in 2011 with LeBron James still in Miami, and again in 2013 when no one anticipated it—had just won it for the third time in four years.
David Griffin stood up from his chair. He didn't raise his arms or do anything that could be photographed as excessive. He simply stood up, as though needing additional height to process what had just occurred.
Aaron, from the front row, took it all in.
He saw Griffin stand. He saw Mallory Edens maintain her composure through the silent effort of someone aware that the cameras were rolling and that this moment would play on repeat on tomorrow's highlight shows. He saw Dr. J with the gaze of a man who had won championships and understood that draft lotteries operated under their own unarguable logic.
And he thought of LeBron.
He didn't say it out loud. There was nothing to say in that moment because the studio was noise and confusion, the production crew was repositioning cameras, and Mark Jones was speaking with the rapid pace required when breaking news rewrites the entire show script. But Aaron thought it with the precise clarity with which he understood things he already knew were bound to happen: Cleveland had the top pick. And in the summer, after the draft, LeBron was coming back home.
The piece fit into place.
Walton appeared at his side—not from where Aaron had expected, but from the left—wearing the expression of someone who had been observing the studio chaos and calculated the exact second to approach.
"How are you doing?" Walton asked in a low voice beneath the surrounding noise.
"Good," Aaron said.
"Milwaukee has two."
"I saw."
Walton said nothing more for a moment. On the studio's main screen, they were replaying Griffin's reaction. At the table, John Daniels was taking questions from approaching reporters. Mallory Edens stood with her phone in hand, speaking to someone presumably back in Milwaukee.
"What are you thinking?" Walton asked.
Aaron considered the question in its true form, not the public version he would have offered if a microphone were placed in front of him.
On set, Mark Jones was signing off with the summary standard to television broadcasts when the main event has concluded and all that remains is shaping the narrative for the audience that just tuned in. Jay Bilas was discussing the implications for each team, explaining how priority boards shift when the lottery proves projections don't always dictate the outcome. The graphics displayed all fourteen picks in order, Cleveland sitting at the top with the Cavaliers logo flashing briefly.
Aaron looked at the screen for a moment, then turned his gaze away.
The draft was in June.
Authors thought
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