The projected top pick in the 2016 NBA draft just suffered his first ulcer, brought on by indecision. Should he choose Duke for his lone college season, play for (and inevitably rebuild) his home state’s Colorado Buffaloes or just start playing pro ball next fall in Europe, where he can make quick cash to buy video games and, fingers crossed, woo Miley Cyrus? The world awaited his announcement.
Kevin Jason is 10 going on 20, a Park Hill hoops prodigy who, as legend has it, nearly beat Chauncey Billups in one-on-one last summer, until the NBA star comprehended the potential embarrassment and stepped up his game.
The adulated adolescent was born, fittingly, June 14, 1998, the day Michael Jordan hit the Finals-winning shot against Utah. And they’ve been coming to his crib since he was in a crib.
Word spread about Jason, whose first words were “Gimme da rock” and who was terrorizing his pops with playground ankle-breakers by his “terrible 2s.”
And so came the college coaches, hoping to pamper the Jason family with Pampers. One dealership sent over a free 1999 Hummer, hoping Jason would be their pitchman when, you know, he learned to talk.
These days, being the chosen one isn’t always fun. Jason has to carry three cellphones, just to hide from the college recruiters, while still keeping up with texting and Twittering (“KJthenextMJ is goin 2 recess, werd”).
Envelopes stuffed with cash are stuffed in his mailbox, but a steadfast Mrs. Jason said the only allowance her Kevy-Wevy gets is his $20 for mowing the lawn.
His teachers pull him aside and whisper things like: “Don’t worry about that homework I babbled about to the class . . . and have you considered the prospects of Michigan State University?”
And the nights he just wants to go to the movies with friends, prepubescent prospective groupies always seem to show up, swarming Jason like he’s a Jonas Brother with a jumper.
All which brought us to this morning, when Kevin Jason would make an announcement between science and social studies.
His school was abuzz. Was the fifth-grader going pro? Was he committing to a college? Was he transferring to an elementary school with better facilities and lunches?
The 10-year-old stood at a podium that went up to his chest, peered at the anxious onlookers in the jam-packed gym, leaned toward the microphone and quietly said: “April Fool’s. I’m a kid, for goodness sakes. Just lemme be a kid.”
