Playboy Interview: Grant Hill

Who will succeed Michael Jordan as the king of America's number one sport? The candidates include Shaquille O'Neal, the Los Angeles Lakers' tower of marketing power, the Orlando Magic's Anfernee Hardaway and Kevin Garnett, the Minnesota Timber-wolves' $120 million man. But the leading contender for Jordan's throne is the all-world forward from Detroit. Grant Henry Hill, 25, stands 6'8", weighs 225 pounds and is said to be the cure for what ails American sports.

Hill hails from the suburbs of Washington, D.C. His father, Calvin, was a Yale football hero who later starred for the Dallas Cowboys and Washington Redskins. Calvin's wife, Janet, a roommate of Hillary Rodham Clinton's at Wellesley, was special assistant to the secretary of the Army. How comfy and exemplary were the Hills? Grant's friends called them "the Huxtables."

Grant Hill was the first freshman to play varsity basketball at South Lakes High School in Reston, Virginia. He led the team to two state finals and won the Northern Virginia Player of the Year award three times. From 1990-1994 he starred at Duke University. Along with Christian Laettner and Bobby Hurley, he led coach Mike Krzyzewski's team to back-to-back NCAA titles in 1991 and 1992. Hill was a unanimous first-team All-American in 1993, when the Blue Devils barely missed another national title. He had already played more hoops on national TV than many pros.

Soon the smooth, affable Hill was an NBA hero. As the first rookie to lead the voting for the NBA All-Star team, he earned more votes than Jordan in 1995. Yet his Detroit Pistons were terrible. They were 28-54, an NBA doormat. In three years of what he calls the league's "82-game sprint to exhaustion," he led a complete turnaround: Last season Detroit was 54-28, among the league's elite. Hill averaged 21.4 points, nine rebounds and 7.3 assists, his best stats yet, while leading the Pistons in scoring, rebounds, assists, steals and souvenir sales. His 13 triple-doubles led the league.

Now the Pistons are expected to challenge Chicago for league supremacy. And Hill, whom every sportswriter on earth has called Jordan's "air apparent," must either step up or shut up. "It's time to make my potential happen," he says.

He is already a champion in the business world. Indeed, much of Hill's achievement lies in his ability to move from the sports pages to the business section. When he chose Fila as his shoe company, the Italian firm's wares trailed so far behind Nike's and Reebok's that many stores didn't carry Fila shoes. Using his nice-guy image to fuel its growth, Fila improved from annual sales of $188 million to $1.3 billion in five years. Fila's stock price went from $15 in 1994 to $106 in September 1996. Those gains have since faltered, but not Hill's market value. Today his line of $100 shoes accounts for $135 million per year in sales, trailing Air Jordans by only ten percent. "Grant Hill could determine the destiny of our company," says a Fila executive.

As a thoroughly modern jock, Hill is at least as famous for his commercials as he is for his game. His best-known campaign coined his slogan: Change the Game. Coming from anyone else that phrase might sound cocky. Some fourth-year hotshot is going to change a 100-year-old game? Yet from Hill it sounded bold and confident and pure.

He had the good grace to poke fun at his niceness with an ad that showed him calling for "world peace and a quadruple-double." He appeared at a "tough guy camp" run by ex-Piston thug Bill Laimbeer, and grinned at the camera wearing a Rodmanesque nose ring. It was funny because everyone knew that the squeaky-clean Grant would soon remove the nose ring and help an old lady cross the street.

Such a rep can mean millions. That fact was clear last summer when Philadelphia's brilliant young guard Allen Iverson was arrested for drug and firearms possession. For while countless jocks terrify corporate clients with their scary private lives, ad execs know Grant Hill will never be caught with a hooker, a pusher and a .44 Magnum. For his many corporate sponsors, Hill's reliability is money in the bank.

Still, while no one doubts his virtue, a few NBA watchers have begun to question his cojones. Is Hill man enough to take Jordan's crown? they ask. Is he perhaps a bit soft? Doesn't his mother still tell him what to do? Can a mild-mannered superstar win the NBA wars?

We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to, ask. Cook reports: "Hill lives in a relatively modest home outside Detroit--plus a house in Malibu, hotel rooms in two dozen NBA cities and corporate suites throughout America. He squeezed our talks into two days when he was shooting commercials in Los Angeles as well as holding meetings with the bosses of General Motors and Northwest Airlines. He mentioned that one chief executive was a Duke grad like himself, while the other was a Yale man like his dad. Hill is an allstar networker.

"He has great manners. When he first spotted me he clicked off his cellular phone, stuck out his hand and smiled like I was an old friend. He apologized for being five minutes late.

"During our conversations there was never a moment of sports-star hauteur from him. That's rare. Even good-guy sports heroes such as Michael Jordan and Brett Favre can seem impatient when they sit down for interviews. They have a million things to do. They can't wait to check you off and go film a Nike commercial.

"If manners were stats Hill would already be in the Hall of Fame. I once risked my life on a Los Angeles freeway driving Shaq, who responded by grunting, 'See ya.' Hill thanked me twice for buying him a club sandwich.

"But being a good guy can take you only so far in pro sports. Winning matters more, and that is the one goal that has eluded him. Hill won't feel complete until he wears an NBA championship ring."

Playboy: What do NBA trash talkers really say?

Hill: Trash talk is misunderstood. It's not vulgar. Nobody says he's going to beat you up after the game. It's more interesting. Guys who talk are trying to get inside your head, to make you doubt yourself. Reggie Miller does it. Gary Payton does it.

Playboy: Payton is supposed to have a foul mouth.

Hill: Our mothers are close friends. They met at a game and now they hang out together. That makes Gary's talk a little harder to take seriously.

Playboy: Does Jordan talk?

Hill: All the time. Michael has his own style. He'll score on us, then we'll be running down the floor and he'll say, casually, "This could go on all night." And of course it does. Late in the game he's got 50 and he's asking if you've had enough. All you can do is laugh.

Playboy: Do you talk back?

Hill: I might tell him that he made a nice move.

Playboy: "Nice move"--that's your idea of trash talk?

Hill: I would rather have a real conversation. Here's an example: Glenn Robinson and I are supposed to be rivals. He got drafted ahead of me and demanded $100 million plus from Milwaukee. That made people mad. I signed for a lot less and people liked me for it. Big Dog and I are supposed to dislike each other, but we get along. We'll be waiting for somebody to shoot a free throw and it's, "How are you?" "Hey, how's everything?"

Now, there is needling when we play Chicago. Scottie Pippin and I have a running conversation. I keep saying the refs are protecting him. One night the ref called me for fouling him. I said, "Must be nice to be an All-Star." Scottie was at the line, dribbling the ball, when he stopped and said, "Wait a minute, you're an All-Star too."

Playboy: Who is the worst trash talker?

Hill: Xavier McDaniel tries to get himself up by talking trash. He thinks he can intimidate me, but it doesn't work. I beat him every time. So when we play I can afford to be polite. I won't say a word. I'll just quietly beat him all night long.

Playboy: Which defenders can stop you?

Hill: I've had success against Kevin Garnett so far, but he worries me. Kevin is a freak of nature, a seven-footer with guard skills. He's where the game is going: big men with finesse. Someday you'll see a seven-foot point guard.

Playboy: Do any other young players impress you?

Hill: Penny Hardaway. He and I will continue to get better. Shaq, too, even though he's the oldest. Allen Iverson. Chris Webber. All of us will be maturing as Jordan and Pippen and Malone and Stockton and David Robinson and Barkley retire.

Playboy: What's your view of Dennis Rodman?

Hill: I think he found a way to make money.

Playboy: And it worked.

Hill: But do you remember when Rodman was with Detroit? He was just a great rebounder who did his job every night. Later he met Madonna and discovered he could make more money dyeing his hair and dressing up like a woman. But he was a better player in the Detroit days. Rodman is in great shape for his age. He can still rebound. He pushes, shoves and torments you and tries to play the mental game. He talks. I don't pay much attention.

Playboy: Is Rodman wacky or is he just pretending?

Hill: He is a genius entertainer. As for pretending, it's like Ozzy Osbourne biting the head off a bat. It's for show. You don't think he does that at home, do you?

Playboy: Do you try harder when you play the Bulls?

Hill: Nothing against New Jersey, but the Nets don't get me up the same way as a game with Chicago does. Playing New Jersey, that's when you remind yourself that you get paid a lot of money for this, and that you should go out and earn it. But Chicago, the Lakers, the Knicks-- you circle those games on your calendar. Chicago toys with you. They'll let you stay close the first half, then turn the screws at the beginning of the third quarter and--goodnight, you're done. I can't wait to beat them.

Playboy: Does it get personal? Do you keep track of Michael's or Shaq's stats during a game and try to top them?

Hill: The team comes first. The only number that really matters is the score. At the same time, you and I know that if Shaq has a good game and I don't, the Lakers are going to beat the Pistons. I have to play great for us to beat Chicago or the Lakers. If I get better numbers than their main guys, we probably win. If that's ego, fine. I'll be an egotist if it helps us beat Chicago.

Playboy: In hoops that's called being the man. It took you years to accept that role.

Hill: It was different at Duke. In college my job was to score 13 or 14 points and play good defense. Christian Laettner was the man. We won two championships. We went to three NCAA Finals in four years. I was called the unassuming star. Then Christian went to the NBA and it was more my team. I kept hearing that I wasn't stepping up enough, wasn't taking over the game in the last three minutes, and that maybe I didn't have the talent to be the man. But it wasn't about talent. I just wasn't ready. I was afraid to step up, didn't want to step on anybody's shoes.

Playboy: Fans doubted your courage. Did that sting?

Hill: It ticked me off. People think I'm soft because I try to be a nice guy. But I'm here to compete and I will fight you to win. I may even cheat if I have to. I hate it when guys on opposing teams shake hands or pat each other on the back. Magic Johnson and Isiah Thomas kissed before their games, but that stuff is not for me. If you and I are competing, whether it's in basketball, pool or in Ping-Pong, I don't like you during the game. That's why I don't like shows of friendship. We can be friends afterward. During the game I'm out to embarrass you.

Playboy: Aren't you endangering your nice-guy image?

Hill: I am a nice guy. But that reputation can be a burden. When you are thought of as a perfect, angelic person, you know one mistake could tarnish you. I worry about making a mistake that could scar me for life.

Let me tell you a story: As a rising senior at Duke I worked at Michael Jordan's basketball camp in Chicago. One night a bunch of us counselors were driving home when a police car stopped us. Suddenly we were all facedown on the ground, surrounded by police, guns to our heads. I thought, If there are drugs in that car, I'm doomed. I could see the headline: Grant Hill Involved in Drug Bust. That scared me almost as much as being shot. It turned out to be nothing. The car we were in happened to match a getaway car. But it made me rethink my habits. Now when I go out with friends, I drive them in my car. That way I know exactly what's in the car. No surprises.

Playboy: You're cautious.

Hill: I was in a sports bar drinking my orange juice with two old friends. One of them started dancing with a girl. Suddenly this girl's boyfriend comes out of the crowd and--bam--punches my friend. Knocks him straight to the floor. Now there's a big fight and I'm thinking, I do not want to be here. I cannot afford to be here. So I went outside and sat in my car.

Playboy: You didn't try to help?

Hill: Look, if your friend is in a bar fight, naturally you want to help him. But I can't. Forget the bad press--stories about Grant Hill in a bar fight. Suppose I jump in to help my friend and the other guy files a lawsuit. Who does he sue? Me. I have the deep pockets. So he sues me for a million dollars, the media have a field day and I get tarnished.

Playboy: You are being unfair to the media.

Hill: Really? Do you know what happened after that bar fight? The next day a local news team showed up at practice. They said I had been jumped in a bar by four white guys who wanted to steal my shoes.

Playboy: How do you cope?

Hill: By telling my friends that if we're in public and there's a fight, I can't fight. "If you're with me and somebody punches you, you have to walk away. Why? First, because they'll come after me financially. Second, because I have this nice-guy image and people eat it up."

Playboy: What do your friends think about that?

Hill: They understand. They have to understand, or we can't hang out.

Playboy: How much are you worth?

Hill: I don't know, exactly. A lot more than I was worth three years ago.

Playboy: Your next NBA contract should top $100 million. Your Fila deal pays $80 million. Will you be the first jock billionaire?

Hill: What matters to me is working with good companies--with McDonald's, Coca-Cola, General Motors, Kellogg's, Fila--and enhancing my corporate relationships.

Playboy: You recently held a summit meeting of your sponsors. It even had a name.

Hill: Yes, the Charette. It means group effort. It wasn't just about cross-promotion. The idea is to have everybody working together to keep my image strong and consistent.

Playboy: What's your best television commercial?

Hill: My favorite is the black-and-white GMC truck commercial. There's gospel music playing and I talk about things my father taught me: strength, experience and hard work. My funniest is the Sprite commercial where I sing, "I'm a cowboy." I'm a guy who won't even sing at parties. I was scared to death. Then the lights went on and I said, "What the hell. Let's do it," and totally hammed it up. Now when I teach at basketball camps the kids don't ask about basketball; they just want me to sing. In Korea, where my picture is on Sprite cans, people crowd around and say, "Cowboy, cowboy!" They may have no idea that I play basketball. To them I'm Sprite Man, that silly guy on TV.

Playboy: What do you like on TV?

Hill: The commercials. My generation was raised on commercials. They're our art form. Looking back on years of TV, it's the commercials we remember. I can still hear that lady saying, "Where's the beef?" The Life cereal ad with Mikey-- "Mikey likes it!" The lady saying, "I've fallen and I can't get up." Michael Jordan and Larry Bird playing horse in their McDonald's commercial. That stuff sticks with you forever. In 20 years people will still be talking about Jordan's commercials.

Playboy: Your "Change the Game" spots show you discussing sports, life and philosophy. How many admen did it take to write your soliloquies?

Hill: I made them up myself. I believe your image has to reflect who you really are. That's the only way to build a strong, consistent, lasting image. So that guy on TV is me--a basketball player who has a serious side and a goofy side. And people respond to my sincerity. At least I hope they do. If not, I've been making a fool of myself for no reason.

Playboy: David Letterman was amazed when you played piano with Paul Shaffer's band on his show. How much did you rehearse?

Hill: Not at all. Before the show I was fooling around on the piano. They heard me and kept after me to sit in with them. I was totally nervous. I just hoped people would like me for trying.

Playboy: You seem disturbingly modest for an All-Star.

Hill: I was never overly confident. Always nervous. Maybe I was as too sheltered at home. I was an only child and my parents were strict. It made me shy. I never raised my hand in school. I was too embarrassed to tell a girl that I had a crush on her.

Playboy: What was it that brought you out of your shell?

Hill: Basketball. Finally I learned to express myself through my game.

Playboy: Why are NBA games so popular now?

Hill: We are better marketed than other sports. We're more international. People in Europe and Japan know all about us. We're big in China. We owe some of that to [NBA commissioner] David Stern, who is the best marketer in sports. But it's more than marketing. Our game is better. I mean, I hate watching football and baseball. They're too slow. Our game is constant action, and you don't have to be an expert on Xs and Os to enjoy it. Our popularity is scary. My grandmother got a satellite dish so she could watch me play, but it got out of hand. Now she watches the whole league every night. She goes around quoting Shaq's rap songs.

Playboy: Aside from smelly gyms and two-fisted saloons, where do you hang out?

Hill: I used to love the mall. I'd play video games at the arcade for hours. Then the local kids found out. They all wanted autographs. I learned to go on weekdays during school hours; that way there weren't so many autograph seekers. But people found out and that got impossible, too. So I bought some of the machines from the arcade and put them in my house. That was a few years ago, and now I'm behind the times, still playing Pac-Man and Galaga while everybody else plays the new games.

Playboy: Do you play NBA Hangtime?

Hill: My friends and I love it. We hold tournaments. You can choose your character in NBA Hangtime. You can be me if you want. Sometimes I'll be me, but usually I make up characters, great jumpers or great shooters who might do better than the Grant Hill character, and I'll name them after my parents and friends. That way my mom or my girlfriend can dunk on the superstars, even dunk on Grant.

Playboy: Are you a good sport when you play video games?

Hill: No. I have to win. Even playing Ping-Pong with my girlfriend, Tamia-- something comes over me and I have to win. I'll even cheat if I have to. I don't want to be labeled a cheater, but I have cheated.

Playboy: How can you cheat at Ping-Pong?

Hill: I like to confuse her about the score. I'll do a lot of yelling. I'll trash-talk her. Tamia can play, but I know how to get under her skin. I'll say, "I'm a world-class athlete--don't you ever think you can beat me!" And she'll cry.

Playboy: And we thought you were America's dream date.

Hill: [Shrugs] I want to win, that's all. Ping-Pong or video games, it doesn't matter. If we're playing basketball, I want to dunk on you and embarrass you.

Playboy: A dunk is a statement, isn't it?

Hill: It's the best feeling in the world. I got my first dunk when I was 14. I wanted to do it again and again. When you dunk on a guy, it embarrasses him totally. You completely erase his ego.

Playboy: What if you're the dunkee?

Hill: I can count on one hand the times I've been dunked on. The worst was on my first day at Duke. Here I was, a freshman, just trying to blend in, when Laettner comes bombing down the lane and--bang--dunks right on my head. I didn't know he could jump that high. I never let him do it again, but Christian will not let me forget that dunk. I'm sure I'll hear about it again this year.

Playboy: What else do you hear during your games?

Hill: Not much. During warm-ups and player introductions you might hear the crowd, but once the ball is in the air it's like playing five-on-five with nobody around. The sound doesn't come back on until after the game. That's when I might hear people again, yelling, "Good game, Grant," or, "Work on your free throw!"

Playboy: So you don't know how fans experience a game?

Hill: One night I found out. Last year I hurt my wrist and had to miss a game. I sat at the end of the bench and thought, Wow, there are 20,000 people in here. Once the game started I almost marveled at what the guys were doing, at how good they were. It was hard to believe I was that good.

Playboy: What are you bad at?

Hill: I can't shoot. [Smiling.] But I can read the court. In a split second I can see and react to nine other guys on the court. Does Joe Dumars have a step on his defender? Where is Pat Ewing? I don't want to go where Pat is. Can I fake and slip through that little gap behind Brian Williams? As a point forward I'm like a quarterback, constantly reading the defense. It's read and react. Read, react, do your utmost all game and then forget the game. Afterward, take a shower and let the game go down the drain.

Playboy: You were a thinker even as a kid.

Hill: I was always skeptical. I doubted myself. Didn't want to play high school varsity, didn't want to come on like a star at Duke, stepping on the upperclass-men's toes. And maybe I was reluctant to take on a leadership role with the Pistons.

Playboy: Why so much doubt?

Hill: When I was growing up there was a feeling in our house that I was being groomed for something. That I would grow up to run for president, or at least be somebody important. And I resented it. It made me nervous. My parents were doing their best, but I resented their plans for me and even their success.

Playboy: Your mother, Janet Hill, was in those days special assistant to the secretary of the Army. Your father, Calvin Hill, was the great Dallas Cowboys running back. A Yale grad, he was thought to be the smartest NFL player.

Hill: He gave a speech at my eighth grade graduation. I got sick. Actually, I faked getting sick so I wouldn't have to be there. I hid in the infirmary. The principal kept calling out my name--he wanted a picture with my father and me. But I was nowhere to be found. I just wanted to be liked for myself, not because my dad was Calvin Hill the football player. So all through high school I was embarrassed. He was Calvin Hill, scholar at Yale, Super Bowl champion. It's hard to compete with that, you know? You can't be famous as a kid.

Playboy: Did your father speak at your high school commencement?

Hill: No. They got my mother.

Playboy: She roomed at Wellesley with Hillary Rodham. Are you tight with the first family?

Hill: We aren't close, but we are acquainted. The Clintons were people my parents had known and liked for years. I met Governor Clinton when I was ten or 11. Once we went to an amusement park with them. I think Chelsea and I rode the water slide while the adults talked. My mother said Bill Clinton was going to be president. I didn't pay much attention, since she also said rap music was just a fad.

Playboy: Your mother studied math at the University of Chicago, then worked for years at the Pentagon.

Hill: And she was strict. When I was playing varsity as a high school freshman, almost a man, I had to go home with my parents while the other guys went out to a club. I wanted to be a DJ in those days. I was the only DJ who had to be in by 11. All I could do was stay home and make tapes for everyone else to dance to. And I was allowed only 15 minutes a day to talk on the phone. If I talked to a girl for 16 minutes my mother came on the line and said, "Grant, get off the phone."

Playboy: Your mother sounds like Bob Knight.

Hill: My friends called her the General.

Playboy: How does she feel about your success?

Hill: [Laughs] My mom is an NBA groupie. She is totally starstruck. My mother likes Michael and Shaq and Penny. She flies in when we play Chicago, the Lakers or the Magic, but she never comes to see me get 30 against Vancouver.

Playboy: You are devoted to your parents. Of all the superstar jocks in the world, you may be the most dutiful son.

Hill: Look, I truly love my parents. But what did they know about raising kids? Neither of them had any brothers or sisters. I was the only child of two only children--sort of a guinea pig. My childhood was full of great stuff too. When my father got traded to the Washington Redskins we lived in Reston, Virginia. We went to dinner parties. My mom worked for the secretary of the Army; by the age of four I was roaming the halls of the Pentagon. I remember poking around the secretary of the Army's office, looking at all the flags and war paraphernalia. It was like Star Wars. My mom took me with her to London, Rome, Paris and Cairo. I remember using the U.S. embassy in London as a playground, doing handstands up and down the halls. She took me to see the pyramids, though I was more interested in playing soccer with the Egyptian kids.

But it could be lonely at home. My parents were busy. Mom was busy all day with the secretary or Senator Bradley, whoever. Dad had football and traveling. I spent a lot of time at friends' houses or with babysitters or alone.

Playboy: Being prepped for success.

Hill: I don't mean to sound arrogant. It's hard to put into words--nobody ever said, "Here's the plan: We're exposing you to the world because we expect you to play a role in it." It was unspoken.

Playboy: You felt it, though.

Hill: Don't do something you'll regret later. Because you're going places. If not president, something important.

Playboy: While your mom worked at the Pentagon, your dad was starring at RFK Stadium.

Hill: He wasn't such a star by the time I really knew about his career. He was past his prime by then. My football memories aren't positive. He would be practicing all week, getting psyched, preparing for battle. He might be in the house, but his mind was on the game. Sunday after the game, that was my time with him. He could finally relax and be with me. But when we left the locker room he would be swarmed by fans. "Calvin! Calvin!" You're just a little kid and these people are pushing past you to get his autograph. All those autographs taking up my time with my dad. To this day I do not like autographs. Never asked for one, don't want to sign them.

Playboy: But we have seen you signing autographs.

Hill: Sometimes I do it because it's part of the job. But I hate it. Sometimes I refuse and people get pissed off, but you can't please everybody.

Playboy: Were you in awe of your dad's career?

Hill: Not to dis my dad, but I didn't think he was all that great until a few years ago when he brought home a tape of the old 1970-1975 Cowboys. And he forced me to watch it. An old black-and-white film he put in the Betamax--yes, my dad is so cheap that he still uses an old Betamax. But seeing him in his prime, running and jumping, I could see his athleticism. I could see where I got mine.

Playboy: Your father never mentioned he was a Super Bowl star?

Hill: He had two Super Bowl rings but never wore them. He kept them in a safe-deposit box. Sometimes we went to the bank and looked at them. He let me try them on. They always slipped off my fingers.

Playboy: Is it true that Cowboys quarterback Roger Staubach gave you your name?

Hill: He didn't think it up out of the blue, but he made it official. The name Grant goes way back in my father's family, back to when his ancestors were freed slaves and took Ulysses S. Grant's name. So after I was Baby Hill for a while and my parents still couldn't pick a name, Roger Staubach said, "Enough indecision; you're calling him Grant."

Playboy: You were a Staubach audible.

Hill: And always a Cowboys fan. I hate the Redskins. That's another way I was a loner growing up in Virginia.

Playboy: Why didn't you play football?

Hill: My dad wouldn't allow it. Football was too dangerous. I was a soccer player growing up. Dad didn't play that, but we played one-on-one basketball. Those games got physical. He was bigger and stronger and he used his strength, pushing me. Maybe that helped me develop my slashing style--I had to use finesse against his size and strength. I remember the first time I beat him. I was 13 years old, already 6'2" and getting better fast, and when it finally happened it was a blowout. Twenty to six, I think it was. He was upset, but he wouldn't show it.

Playboy: So how did you know that he was upset?

Hill: Because we never played basketball again.

Playboy: As you made headlines in high school, Calvin Hill became your number one fan.

Hill: He was the one who told me I had to develop guard skills. Here I was, a 6'2" eighth grader--naturally the coaches always put me at center. And of course it's the guards, who often happen to be the coaches' sons, who get to shoot the ball. My dad watched this. He said, "You'll have to get the rebound and bring the ball up yourself." This pissed off the coaches, but we won almost every game. I could handle the ball, pass it over the press, run the offense.

Playboy: You had changed the game.

Hill: Yeah. If I could only shoot, I might be really good.

Playboy: What does your father think of you now?

Hill: He is amazed. He says, "I remember when you were little and I threw you up in the air. Now you're jumping in the air, doing your magnificent things." He loves it. He probably gets more joy out of my career than he got from his own.

Playboy: Any rivalry?

Hill: Constant one-upmanship. I'll say, "Hey, Dad, did you win any championships at Yale? I got two NCAAs." He comes back with his Super Bowls. I say, "Well, I got a gold medal."

Playboy: What of your golden reputation? Is it true that your lips have never touched alcohol?

Hill: My parents taught me that you make decisions with your brain, not your heart. Avoiding alcohol was one of those decisions. Back in high school I decided not to drink. Part of that decision was being scared of my parents. Another part was based on observation. My dad did charity work at rehab centers. I went with him and saw people whose lives were ruined by alcohol and it worried me. Those people never planned to be alcoholics when they took their first sip, did they? It was a long road that took them there, but it started with one sip. That's what scared me--not that one drink was so terrible, but that it could escalate. What if I tasted it and enjoyed it? What then?

Playboy: Duke University has hosted a party or two. How did you stay pure?

Hill: I'm good at blending in. Whether it's keggers, faculty meetings, foreign students' groups or African American groups, parties in the D.C. projects or in Bel Air, I have my liter bottle of orange juice and I blend in.

Playboy: How did you choose Duke as your college?

Hill: Growing up in Washington I was a huge Georgetown fan. That was always the plan, Georgetown. Then I went to the campus and met an academic advisor. She handed me a book and asked me to read it. I started reading. "No, out loud," she said. She wanted to see if I could read. I was insulted. That was it for Georgetown.

I was a Carolina fan, too. When my father and I met with coach Dean Smith and he described their offense to us, I already knew it. I was a video junkie. I watched the 1982 Georgetown-North Carolina final--the Michael Jordan game--so many times that I could describe every play frame by frame. Carolina and Duke are seven miles apart, but it (continued on page 196) Grant Hill (Continued from page 60) could be a million miles. Dean has his set of plays, a system that restricts you. With coach Krzyzewski we had a couple basic setups and pretty much no plays. "Now go out there and win." There's no curfew at Duke. Coach K treats you like a man unless you give him a reason not to. And there was another advantage: When we played North Carolina, I knew what they would do from watching all that film.

Playboy: You earned your degree in history, just as your father had majored in history at Yale. Special interests?

Hill: Medieval Spain, the Greeks and the Romans. Also the Harlem Renaissance of the early 1900s, when black people made some important art and music. Native American history shows how prejudice hurt another group of people. I like the history of sports, too. Jesse Owens' kicking butt at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin with Hitler looking down-- those were great moments.

Playboy: Other young stars leave college, or even skip college altogether, for NBA money. Why not you?

Hill: Duke guys don't leave early. Our story at Duke was never "I gotta get to the league." We were consumed with winning NCAA championships. Maybe that's not wise. But I did have insurance against a career-ending injury. The NCAA provided a $2 million policy with Lloyd's of London for the top players. And I honestly don't think I was ready to leave college. I needed to develop as a person. Even if your job is to spend two hours a day on the basketball court, there are 22 hours when you have to be a person, an adult, a useful citizen. The league doesn't necessarily teach you about that.

Playboy: In his first press conference as Pistons coach, Doug Collins ripped you. He publicly questioned your guts, saying that in his regime "Grant's not going to be able to hide in the last three minutes."

Hill: I resented that. But I still hadn't proved myself. Even now, when our relationship is better because I have proved myself to him, I haven't proved enough. I haven't won a championship.

Playboy: Maybe you should shoot more.

Hill: That's not it. My game is more about distributing the ball. It's about trusting my teammates. That makes the Detroit Pistons harder to stop.

Playboy: Trusting your teammates?

Hill: Getting them the ball. Paying attention to them. Does our man in the post like a bounce pass or a chest pass? Does he have good hands? If I go inside and dish off the ball, can he catch it?

Playboy: How did you prove yourself to Collins?

Hill: By taking over in the last three minutes. That's when most games are won. That's the time when I need to assert myself.

Playboy: Were you disappointed when Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf re-signed Jordan for another run at the title?

Hill: Part of me wanted him to break up the team. Give somebody else a chance. Another part of me wants them to stay together so we can beat them. It might happen this year. If not, Jordan will retire or go elsewhere before long. Our time is coming. It might be two or three years down the road, but my career is geared to that moment

Playboy: Will you rise to the occasion like Jordan?

Hill: I don't know. So far I know how to be good in the regular season, but only Michael and Scottie, Clyde, Hakeem, Joe Dumars--those are the guys who know for sure that they have what it takes. You can't be sure until you do it.

Playboy: Are you a role model?

Hill: Yes, and I welcome that role. I hope I would be a role model even if I weren't playing basketball.

Playboy: Charles Barkley has certainly spurned that role.

Hill: I disagree with Charles but respect him for saying what he thinks.

Playboy: You sound like Voltaire.

Hill: [Smiling] Maybe Charles is the role model for guys who refuse to be role models. Charles has made a lot of mistakes. He made a mistake by punching a guy in a bar a couple of years ago. And it ticks me off when veterans like Charles say that we Generation Xers don't respect the game. They should let us grow up before criticizing us. I mean, Jordan wasn't Jordan until his third or fourth year in the league. He evolved. I hope to evolve too. Even Charles has done some growing up since he was my age. I'm sure Allen Iverson will grow up. Give us time.

Playboy: As a collegian you scrimmaged with the Olympic Dream Team that featured Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. You were the hoops equivalent of a tackling dummy--a practice opponent. Then you joined 1996's Dream Team III with Shaq and Karl Malone. Which team was better?

Hill: The first Dream Team had more legends, but most were past their prime. We could beat them. They might sell more posters, but we'd win.

Playboy: Barkley reportedly blasted you to your face, saying that you and other young stars were selfish.

Hill: No. Charles never sat me and Penny and Shaq down and said, "You guys have to start thinking about the future of the league." There was no summit meeting. He did needle me about my knees. He said that I was too young to have sore knees.

Playboy: You announced that you had lost respect for the league's older stars.

Hill: That came out wrong. I should have said I lost the awe I had for them. I gained confidence. Once you have good days practicing against those guys you think, Hey, I can do this. Today, I belong up there with the top five players in the league. Playing with Dream Team III, getting over my awe of players I always watched on TV--that was the springboard to my best season. I thought, These are my heroes, but you know what? They're no better than me.

Playboy: Barkley didn't like it when you said you had lost respect for your elders

Hill: I apologized to him. He said, "Cool, no problem." And now Charles has practically adopted my parents. He calls them Mom and Dad.

Playboy: We hear there are perks only superstars enjoy.

Hill: The rules are different for different guys. For example, Patrick Ewing walks every time. Every single time. But that's his trademark move, so he gets away with it. Michael walks, too. If I go to the hole with the same move Michael uses, the ref probably calls me for a walk. But Michael always gets away with his signature move.

You learn about referee relations. In college you might call the referee "Mr. Official." In the league you can use his first name. I might say, "Bill, I got fouled on that play and you missed it. I'm going to the hole next time." Give him a chance to make a better call. That's a part of the game fans and even some players don't know about.

Playboy: Being a rookie must suck.

Hill: I had a great rookie moment. One night we beat Philadelphia and after the game Julius Erving walked up to me. He said, "Good game," a few words I barely heard because I was just staring at him. It's Dr. J! And he gave me his business card. He wrote his home phone number on it. I showed it to all the guys on the bus: "I have Dr. J's number." Got out my cell phone and called it over and over just to hear his message. "Hello, this is Julius Erving."

Playboy: Did you leave a message?

Hill: No, I couldn't think of anything. I hung up.

Playboy: Now you are just as big a star as Dr. J ever was. How does it change your life?

Hill: It can make you suspicious. For one thing, you learn to be cautious with women. My life now is not like when I was in high school and had trouble getting a date. Women throw themselves at NBA players. They chase us. Which isn't bad, I'm not complaining. But you have to be cautious--some of them want your money. Some of them want celebrity. You have to decipher who in your life is real and who just wants a piece of you. I have seen a lot of ugly guys in the league with beautiful women. It makes you think. If a beautiful girl in the hotel bar says that she is dying to get to know you, it may not be smart to take her upstairs. I mean, I like to think I have some appealing qualities, but not all of these girls are after my personality. I don't go to clubs. People say they go to clubs for the music, but I am convinced that it's all about meeting the opposite sex. Or sometimes the same sex, depending on the club. Either way, it is about sex, and I am a little suspicious of that scene. I don't want to meet my friends, associates or girlfriends in no club.

Playboy: Would you sleep with a woman on the first date?

Hill: No.

Playboy: You seldom discuss your love life in interviews. How did you and Tamia meet?

Hill: Anita Baker fixed us up. Tamia's a singer and she's great. She sings on Quincy Jones' Q's Jook Joint. She is good at Ping-Pong. Like a lot of girls I've dated, she reminds me of my mom. Tamia and I have been together for more than a year and a half. You could say it's serious.

Playboy: Wedding plans?

Hill: No. We're still young. But I want to get married sometime in the next five years. By then I'll be over 30. I want to have at least one child by then, and eventually at least four kids. I want to have a clan like the Kennedys.

Playboy: What sort of father will you be?

Hill: I will never allow people to take my picture in front of my children. I won't sign autographs in front of my kids. I want them to see me as Dad, not somebody famous.

Playboy: To some black people you are "not black enough." Do you ever try to prove them wrong?

Hill: Sure.

Playboy: You said "ain't" in an interview with Boyz N the Hood director John Singleton.

Hill: I can talk slang when it's appropriate, and proper English at a corporate meeting. I can talk with CEOs or with Method Man from Wu-Tang Clan and be equally comfortable. There is nothing wrong with that. It's like being a point forward--I'm a jack-of-all-trades.

Playboy: Which is the real Grant?

Hill: All of them. Everything I'm exposed to is part of me. Wealth, poverty, politics, hip-hop. No, I'm not from the projects, but hip-hop is part of me. It's part of what I listen to and how I act and dress and walk. I'm from the hip-hop generation.

Playboy: You are also on Wheaties boxes.

Hill: Maybe it's that ability to cross over--maybe that's who I am.

Playboy: You were always proving that you belonged somewhere.

Hill: Growing up, I would be on the team from our mostly white suburb. The black kids from the hood thought I was soft. I was always proving myself to them. They had an economic motive to get to the league. I wasn't about that. My parents already had food on their plates. So maybe the city guys had more drive, but I felt driven too. I had to show them I was as tough as they were.

Playboy: Are you satisfied now?

Hill: No. So far my career in the NBA is a failure. Great players win championships. That's why Michael, Magic, Larry, Isiah and Hakeem are in a different stratosphere from the Charles Barkleys and David Robinsons of the world. But David is going to carry that too-nice label around until he finally wins a championship. Too nice to win. Too soft to win. No offense to David, I have no desire to be the next David Robinson.

Playboy: Maybe you aren't as nice as advertised.

Hill: People hear I like rap and they say, "No, not Grant." They hear me curse and they're shocked. It makes you want to say, "Oh, stop it. Nobody is that nice." There's another side to me that's not so nice: the competitor. When the game is on the line I want to dunk on you, embarrass you. I want to take out your heart.

Playboy: Next you'll tell us you've actually tried alcohol.

Hill: I have.

Playboy: Stop the presses! You just told us you're a total abstainer.

Hill: [Smiling] I'll admit for the record that I drank wine. It was last summer. I took a sip of merlot. Didn't like the taste. So there.

Playboy: How far will the Pistons go this season?

Hill: We can get to the Eastern Conference finals. I don't know if we can get over that hump. Maybe not this year.

Playboy: Jordan, Shaq and Rodman have all crossed over into movies. Why do you stick to commercials?

Hill: There have been movie offers. Nothing that fits me, though. If I get to Hollywood it might be as a producer or director. But there's no rush. Michael was 32 when he made Space Jam.

Playboy: Will Smith could star in a movie of your life. He is even in love with your former girlfriend Jada Pinkett.

Hill: Maybe I'll play him in a movie.

Playboy: Do you think you are the next Michael Jordan?

Hill: I'm one of the people who can help carry the NBA into the next century, a guy the league can market the way Michael was marketed.

Playboy: According to GQ, you are going to "save sports."

Hill: They don't need it. Sports are doing fine.

Playboy: Who is your best friend?

Hill: My parents.

Playboy: Tell us about something you learned off the court.

Hill: My first kiss. Not a family kiss--my first real boy-girl kiss. I was 15 and all I knew about kissing was what was on TV. So here I am pressing my lips to hers like the guys on TV when all of a sudden there is something slimy in my mouth. It's her tongue! I had no clue. But then something happened. It started to feel good. Not to get too graphic, but I applied myself and got better.

Playboy: You evolved.

Hill: You learn to master it.

When we play I can afford to be polite. I won't say a word. I'll just quietly beat him all night long.