During the search for his current sophomore class, Roy Williams knew he had found a gem. An all-everything point guard of the Jacque Vaughn prototype. Williams marveled at the vision that seemed to come out of all sides of his head.
The flick passes. The darts to the basket. The court creativity. This guy had it all. Just one problem — UCLA and Arizona recognized it, too. The stages were set for a recruiting battle.
Williams searched for an edge — some inside way for an outsider to sway the talented youngster. So he got to know the point guard. They discussed family, friends and futures. They pondered what would give the high schooler ultimate happiness. One point irked Williams’ attention.
The point guard had a friend. Not just a buddy, a life-long companion. They had played sports with one another since they were tykes. They attended church together. Their families were extremely close.
At their high school, the point guard was the star quarterback, and the friend the star tight end. The point guard was the floor general in basketball, the friend the quiet contributor.
So Williams looked at the friend. This guy can play, too, Williams thought. He was just not as flashy about it. Not much attention from coaches. He was a shooting guard, jumped out of the gym, succumbed to no one and was built like a linebacker — wait, he was a linebacker. Legitimate football offers were there, but the point guard relayed to Williams that his friend yearned to play hoops.
“I probably would’ve been better off in football than in basketball in the long run,” the friend said earlier this year. “It’s just that I really like basketball a lot more than football.”
An idea started to form: Why not get a two-for-one? Invite the friend to Kansas and the point guard follows. Packaged deals are common in basketball; they just hadn’t been a practice at Kansas. Until this. Williams persisted with the friend. He saw a potential role player. He acted and the point guard reacted in accord.
“When coach Williams offered him a scholarship, I knew that was where God wanted me to go,” the point guard said at the time. “He’s been my boy since I was ankle low, since I was a baby.”
And with that, the Kansas careers of Aaron Miles – the star McDonald’s All-American point guard – and his friend, Michael Lee, began.
Also with that came a stereotype, almost a warning, about Lee. The perception was that Lee was at Kansas strictly to entice Miles to attend, and, to some extent, that was the truth.
So nothing special was expected of the 6-foot-3 former tight end and linebacker at Jefferson High School in Portland, Ore.
Last year, he sputtered along. The speed of the game was overwhelming. His shot became a permanent brick. He resorted to constant hacking on defense, earning the nickname of “Tweet” from his teammates, which referred to the noise of a referee’s whistle.
By tournament time, he took the court with the walk-ons only at the tail end of blowouts. Through it all, Miles — who set a Kansas freshman record for assists and started all but one Jayhawk game — stuck by his boy, always assuring him they were in this together.
Lee said last season that if he were anywhere else and not playing, it would have been harder on him. “There were days I’d come home frustrated and Aaron would talk to me some or joke with me. He wouldn’t let me get too down on myself,” Lee said. “He made sure I knew he was behind me. He’s a great friend.”
As the offseason hit after Kansas’ Final Four loss to Maryland, Lee vowed to be more than just a great friend to Miles. He strived to evolve into a great teammate. He spent endless hours shooting, perfecting his ball handling and restraining himself on defense.
When this season began, he felt ready to be more than just Miles’ high school sidekick. His playing time became consistent. Williams commended him on a consistent basis. Lee took to heart Williams’ plea of “help us by not hurting us.”
Slowly, Lee’s persona has been altered. It started with a homecoming trip to Oregon. The Jayhawks lost, but Lee starred, scoring 11 points in 20 minutes and outperforming Miles. He was now Michael Lee, Kansas 6th man, not Michael Lee, friend of Aaron Miles. Monday against Missouri, Lee cemented his place as a crucial fixture in the Jayhawk lineup. Again, Miles was off — he had the flu and turned the ball over six times — but Lee picked up his friend. In a career-high 28 minutes, Lee scored seven, grabbed four rebounds, knocked down two clutch last-minute free throws and, most importantly, permanently swayed minds.
Lee is now as important as anyone. Forget the past. Forget the recruiting process. Lee has deemed that all forgettable. He fights for loose balls. He swarms defenders — without fouling. He drives to the bucket hard and pulls up for jump shots with ease.
Who knows? Lee could fight for Kirk Hinrich’s vacated starting spot next year. But for now, Lee is content contributing, because even that seemed unlikely to most Kansas fans.
Improbable to most, but not to his best friend, the one who wouldn’t come to Kansas without him.
“I love him, and I love to see him succeed. Every time he does something, I’m happy for him,” Miles said. “He means so much to this team now. I knew he had it in him.”
He knew, Lee knew, now everyone knows. Lee is more than just Miles’ friend.
