The Chris Andersen Thread.

Dude brings awesome energy into the game
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One of the saddest stories in sports is now one of the happiest.In 2006, Chris Andersen destroyed his good life. He tossed away his job as a professional basketball player along with his $3.5 million salary and, it seemed, his future.
The NBA suspended him for partaking in "drugs of abuse," which are amphetamines, cocaine, opiates or PCP. He seemed on his way to becoming one of those stories of lost riches and lost promise.

But Andersen shredded that sad script and constructed a new one - full of surprises, full of hope, full of joy.

In the spring of 2009, Andersen is a crucial part of the surging Denver Nuggets, who look en route to the best season in their less-than-sensational history.

The Nuggets are pounding the New Orleans Hornets, taking all the life from one of the league's more exciting teams. Against the swarming Nuggets, the Hornets are averaging only 88.5 points, down seven from the regular season.

Andersen is a prime reason for the Hornets' woes. He leads a tenacious, relentless defensive crew.

He's the menacing, if goofy, defender who swoops in on unsuspecting shooters. Basketball games are won in the lane, and Andersen makes the middle a terrifying destination for opponents.

No doubt, shooters despise him.

Yet fans embrace him. Few players in the NBA - few athletes, period - boast Andersen's natural bond with spectators.

His act is strange. He's the self-proclaimed Birdman, flapping his arms after dunks and blocked shots.

He turns 31 in July, and he's a little too old for his untamed, eccentric behavior, but there's no doubt he's genuine. Fans adore him, and he adores them.

"If I do something exciting and they get excited," Andersen said, "I want them to get even more excited. ... If you're not having fun out there, what's the point?"

Good question.

He is a radical. No one competes with more fervor than Andersen, but he insists on his right to have fun in what is, after all, a mere game.

When he basks in the praise of his fans, it's hard to remember that for two years - from January 2006 to January 2008 - Andersen endured exile from all this adulation.

Yet he refused to sulk. He went to rehab in California. He spent hours in the gyms shooting jump shots and in the weight room sculpting his body.

He vowed to return as a more mature, more complete player and person.

And that's exactly what he's done.

"I broke the rules," Andersen said in a matter-of-fact drawl. "And then I followed the rules."

During his months away, Andersen converted into a student of the game. He had survived in the NBA from 2001 to 2006 on talent and hustle.

During his exile, Andersen watched games, usually by himself, and picked up small secrets. He became more of a thinking man's player.

"I sat there," Andersen said, "and I watched games and I worked on my game and I improved and I became more basketball smart and knowledgeable and I came out and I showed everybody."

Yes, he did.

At this point, Andersen offers a fantastic story of redemption. He's a walking, shot-blocking example of how a man can defeat his demons.

But one of the problems about unlikely triumphs is the likely always lurks. Andersen's past and all his mistakes are still there.

Yet when he's communing with fans, when he's hopping and strutting and laughing, all his troubles seem far away.
Let's hope they stay there.
 
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