The natural
Cager Amaechi exudes genuine charisma, talent

By RYAN JONES
Collegian Sports Writer

There is still coffee to mooch, John Amaechi says.

There are still pickup games, too, along with another practice or two, and at least one more game to play.

All of these are reasons Amaechi isn't ready to leave Rec Hall just yet.

The coffee, which the senior center for the men's basketball team claims as his beverage of choice, still bubbles in pots throughout the building, waiting for him to drain. As for the pickup games -- well, it is a gym, so those are virtually eternal.

And the game, a first-round NIT match up in which the Nittany Lions host Miami, Fla., at 7:30 p.m. tonight in Rec Hall, could be Amaechi's last.

Even if it isn't, the end is near, measured now in no more than a handful of games. For Amaechi, one of the best and easily most popular players ever to grace the hardwood in a Penn State uniform, a banner career is about to close.

The story has been told time and again: raised in England, he moved to Ohio and picked up the game when he was a high schooler in Toledo. He began his collegiate career at Vanderbilt, but lasted only a year with the Commodores before deciding to transfer.

Since then, the numbers leave a daunting impression, with 1,232 points, 704 rebounds and 181 blocked shots in three seasons as a Lion.

What the numbers don't tell, but what the 24-year-old graduate student has deservedly been recognized for, are the other areas in which he has left a mark: the top scholar-athlete in Division I basketball, the head of the University's Student Athletic Advisory Board, he still donates mounds of time to local charities.

Amaechi's impact has been rare, and he knows it.

"I think one of the saddest things -- and one of the best things -- that people say is that they think there'll be a void left when I leave," he said. "I think that's a shame, but also, that's the kind of testament that means something."

Amaechi can admit to this not with arrogance -- "that's not part of me," he adamantly states -- but with a supreme confidence that he has spent his college years doing something worthwhile. And few would argue the claim.

"John's done more for this university than I think any athlete has," said Salima Davidson, an All-American setter for the women's volleyball team and Amaechi's best friend. "I think Penn State's gonna miss someone like that, as genuine as he is, just being at this university."

The word "genuine" comes up often when Amaechi is the topic of discussion. It describes a personality trait that makes him stand out just as much, if not more, than his 6-foot-10, 270-pound frame.

"You can tell as soon as you meet him what he's like," Davidson said. "There's not too much that people don't see about him."

Nor is there much he won't let them see. Amaechi exudes an approachability rare for anyone, let alone a star athlete. It allows him to communicate who he is and what he's about with anyone who cares to know.

"The positives for me . . . that people talk to me a lot, think I'm a nice person," he said. "I think it's positive that people understand that athletes can be more than just athletes. I think it's nice that, for me, every kid in town, it seems, has no bones about coming up and saying, 'Hi', despite the fact that they might consider me famous. I like that part."

Others like it, too.

"Just walking around downtown with him, you interact with people who, you don't know them, but they know you," said freshman Lion guard Pete Lisicky. "Just by watching him, you can learn a lot."

What did Lisicky learn? "Public relations," he said with a chuckle, and no one who has ever spoken a word to Amaechi could disagree. But it is not a glossed-over PR. Rather, it is a genuine -- there's that word again -- approach, a blunt honesty that allows for both self-praise and self-depreciation.

Especially when he's talking about his game.

"I understand that I'm capable of doing some pretty interesting things on the basketball court, and of playing well," he said, "and also that I'll have my days when I have my four points and a bad game."

He is confident enough in his game to believe it won't end in Rec Hall. Many have wondered aloud about Amaechi's name being drawn in June's NBA draft, but he isn't wondering.

"It will happen," he said. "Whatever my limitations basketball-wise, I can learn. That has been proven. I can improve. That's been proven. And I'm a low-maintainance basketball player."

You're not going to have to worry about drug and alcohol rehab, you're not going to have to worry about me, I don't know, attacking women in the street."

No, Amaechi isn't likely to fall into the same traps that snare so many of today's professional stars. If he isn't fortunate enough to fall into one of those professional contracts, however, he isn't worried. Three more years of graduate school will take him into a career in psychology, working with adolescents.

He doesn't know for sure what he'll be doing, nor does he know where. But his days in Happy Valley -- the days when he was the biggest man on a very big campus, everybody's favorite athlete and, seemingly, everybody's friend --are numbered.

It will be sad to leave, he knows. But, like that void he spoke of, it will be sad because he meant something.

"I've had more and done more than most people could ever possibly dream of," Amaechi said. "I got notoriety, I got fame, I got recognition, all those things from basketball, and then I managed to take that and use it for all kinds of opportunities outside of basketball. I think that's very important. The most important thing."