As an unassuming sophomore at Canyon Springs High in Moreno Valley, Calif., Kawhi declined to correct a reporter who kept awarding his points to a teammate. "Doesn't matter," Leonard told his mom. As a senior at Martin Luther King High in Riverside, he blew off the Nike camp when his peers would have cut up their Kobes for an invitation. "I don't need the exposure," he told his AAU coach, Marvin Lea. He ruled out UCLA and USC because San Diego State recruited him first. Still, he was difficult for Aztecs coaches to reach over the phone, leaving them perpetually panicked that he'd renege.
A lot has changed for Leonard since that conversation with Pop—he was named Finals MVP in 2014, captured Defensive Player of the Year in '15 and this season seized the unofficial title of best two-way player in the NBA—but a lot hasn't. Leonard spends his summers in a two-bedroom apartment in San Diego, where he hangs a mini hoop over one door so he can play 21 against Castleberry. He carries a basketball in his backpack even when he isn't going to the gym. He often drives a rehabbed '97 Chevy Tahoe, nicknamed Gas Guzzler, which he drove across Southern California's Inland Empire as a teenager. "It runs," Leonard explains, "and it's paid off."
"You'd think we were talking about a starving journeyman in the D-League," says Randy Shelton, San Diego State's strength and conditioning coach, who trains Leonard every off-season. But the player's hunger is real. He is the rare professional athlete who distinguishes between greatness and stardom. "He wants the greatness badly," Popovich says. "He doesn't give a damn about the stardom." You won't find him on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram. You probably won't catch him in a photo shoot, on a red carpet or at an awards ceremony, even if he is the guest of honor. Check that—especially if he is the guest of honor. "He loves the game," Popovich continues. "He ignores the rest of it."
Popovich informed Leonard that his defense would determine his minutes. Shelton, who also trains professional football players, treated Leonard like a shutdown corner. Shelton made him backpedal through speed ladders, wiggling his hips and cycling his feet, as if shadowing a receiver running post patterns. In his second season, Leonard averaged more than 30 minutes as he began to anticipate sets and diagnose pick-and-rolls. "I look at film," he explains, "but more than watching individual players, I'm trying to watch a team's whole offensive scheme. I'm trying to know their tendencies so I can ... guess. That's what it comes down to, really, making the best guess. I'm trying to change up their scheme."
