This story appears in the Nov. 14, 2011, issue of ESPN The Magazine.

HE STILL GROANS WHENEVER his phone rings. If he had his way,he'd never answer it again. You're better off texting him, or just

going to find him at his home away from home -- the gym. Sometimes he's at Allen Fieldhouse three times a day, for the sole purpose of

self-preservation. He's in there shooting, lifting and running with only two things on his mind: his little sister and a tree.

The sister, 8-year-old Jayla, is an aspiring pianist with a smile that could light up 15 city blocks. He just wishes he'd see it more. As for the tree, it's barely six weeks old and stands inconspicuously outside the fieldhouse, feeding off the autumn mist and growing day by day.

He stops and inspects it every time he's walking to the arena sometimes he'll stay for 10 minutes, lost in his thoughts, his hopes

and dreams. When the campus gardeners planted the tree in October, he wrote a letter and buried it with the roots. If what he wrote in that letter comes true, Jayla will be set for life. If it doesn't, it won't be because he didn't try.

"EARL! EARL! Come up in this kitchen right now and learn to cook, Earl!"

Lisa Robinson had a son to raise, and because life is unpredictable, she was always preparing him for emergencies. Maybe she'd have to work late babysitting mentally disabled children, or maybe her chronic high blood pressure would incapacitate her for a day. Someone would have to cook, someone would have to take care of his baby sister. That's why Lisa was always hollering for Earl.

His full name is Thomas Earl Robinson, and while everyone else in southeast Washington, D.C., called him Thomas or T-Rob, Lisa always

summoned him by his middle name. Earl was her "yeah, you heard me" name, the one that made Thomas come running. She was the only one

allowed to call him that, because to him, Earl sounded like an old man's name. And he never wanted to be older than his years.

Besides, being Thomas was getting him attention on the basketball court. As a young teenager, he was raw offensively, but coaches have a

soft spot for kids who can run all day and live to rebound. By 2008,Thomas' junior year at Riverdale Baptist High School in Upper

Marlboro, Md., the college scouts were lurking. Before his senior year -- and now with a build of a Greek god -- he transferred to

higher-profile Brewster Academy in Wolfeboro, N.H., and the buzz was that he was among the top 30 or 40 players in the nation.

Kansas coach Bill Self was already frothing. He had first seen Thomas in the summer of 2008 at the Reebok All-American Camp in Philadelphia, and as much as Self loves McDonald's All-Americans, he adores raw prospects with high motors. "The thing I remembered is how

hard he tried," Self says. "I said, 'Am I missing something in this kid? He looks better than everybody else here.'"

Kansas started calling -- ahead of Memphis, Pitt and Kentucky -- but Lisa wanted nothing to do with the Jayhawks' program. Kansas was

too far away. She was afraid of flying and didn't have enough money for an airline ticket anyway. It was hard enough that her son was

spending his senior year in New Hampshire, so she was not having Kansas; she flat-out told Thomas she was crossing the school off his list.

Lisa, a single mother, was a disciplinarian unafraid to grab her son by the ear. Her mantra: Never blink. But Thomas also considered her his best friend; they'd talk about everything -- girls, movies, even the father who had no part in his life. So when it came to his college choice, he pleaded his case and brought other family members into the discussion. The extended group included his

grandmother, Shirley Gladys White, who often babysat him; his grandfather, Willatant Austin Sr., who loved hoops; and even his half

brother, Jamah, who was eight years older and lived on the other side of town.

Thomas told all of them that he thought Kansas basketball had a

family feel. And he told Lisa about Marcus and Markieff Morris, twins

who were skilled big men and could mentor him. Better yet, their

mother, Angel, lived in Lawrence and served as a second mom to just

about every player. They all called her Miss Angel.

Lisa agreed to a home visit in September 2008, though Self knew she

remained skeptical. The minute the coach walked in, she said, "So

you're the man who's been giving me headaches." But once they hugged

and she sensed the coach's sincerity, all was forgiven. Self was

particularly taken with Jayla, who grinned wide, asked her mom for a

Jayhawk doll and wanted to see the apps on the coach's iPhone. "Not a

cuter girl out there than Jayla," says Self, who loved

her energy. Lisa fell for Self as well, and Thomas committed to Kansas

soon after.

Still, the day in 2009 when Thomas left DC for Lawrence was a

melancholy one for Lisa. After her son made it to campus, she called

Angel Morris to introduce herself and talk mother to mother. "Please

make sure my baby is doing okay," Lisa pleaded. "Can you check that

he's not eating pizza every night and that he's doing his work? Can

you please take care of my baby Earl?"

A FULL SEASON LATER, Lisa still hadn't made it to the KU

campus. So when the Jayhawks were scheduled to play Memphis at Madison

Square Garden on Dec. 7, 2010, Lisa and Jayla drove the five hours

from DC. Before the game, Thomas proudly introduced them to his

teammates and their moms, and everyone noticed how he doted on his

baby sister. "He loves that little girl," says Jayhawks guard Elijah

Johnson, Thomas' roommate. "She's his world." Thomas had always

considered her his sidekick. Jayla was born in 2003, just as Jamah was

moving out; when Lisa was working, Jayla would have to tag along to

Thomas' basketball practices.

Twelve years older than Jayla, Thomas also saw himself as her

protector. Lisa gave him leeway to discipline Jayla, so when the girl

showed up in New York wearing multiple earrings, Thomas wagged his

finger. "Why does Jayla have all those earrings?" he asked Lisa.

"They're too grown up for her. You need to take the earrings off."

It was as if he were Jayla's dad. Her real father, James Paris (who

is not Thomas' dad), had recently finished serving a prison term for

distribution of a controlled substance. Lisa and Jayla had visited him

in jail, but according to family members, Paris had never played a

consistent role in the girl's life. Thomas had always been the male

that Jayla depended on, a responsibility he relished. So when Thomas

said so, those earrings came off.

At the Garden, Lisa also

visited with Angel and confided that she'd recently found out her

parents had little time to live. Both were being treated for serious

illnesses in a DC hospital. Lisa, who was stressed and experiencing

intense headaches, asked Angel not to tell Thomas. She wanted nothing

to disturb his basketball.

At that night's game, Thomas, a bruising forward and Self's kinetic

sixth man, was sensational. He had 10 points and 10 rebounds in 15

minutes, and with Kansas comfortably ahead, he sat at the end of the

bench so he could quickly hug Lisa and kiss Jayla, who were seated

nearby. "Having a good game and seeing my mom happy was priceless," he

says. After the 81-68 Kansas win, he was first out of the locker room

so the family would have more time to visit before the team plane left

for Lawrence. Angel took a photo of Lisa, Jayla and Thomas embracing.

She promised to send copies.

Seeing his mom and sister made Thomas miss them even

more. He began spending additional time with Miss Angel and the twins.

Marcus and Markieff had heard Lisa call Thomas "Earl" back in New

York, and when they and some other teammates jokingly said "Pass me

the ball, Earl" at practice, Thomas just stared back at them. "He had

the best physique on the team," says Barry Hinson, the Jayhawks'

director of men's basketball operations. No one dared call him Earl

again. The name belonged to Lisa.

Falling on basketball helped the Jayhawks star through his darkest days. Nancy Newberry for ESPN The Magazine

By late December, Thomas had settled back into his Lawrence

routine. But before practice one day, he noticed Lisa had been calling

his cellphone. He dialed her back and received the bad news: his

grandmother had died. As Thomas wept on the phone, Lisa, who

faithfully read the Bible, assured him that everything happens for a

reason. When Self saw his player sobbing in the gym, the coach urged

him to take the day off. But Thomas insisted on practicing. Never

blink.

When he returned to DC for the funeral, Thomas was a rock for Lisa

and Jayla -- and hid his own emotions. Three weeks later, in the

middle of January, the phone rang again; this time his grandfather had

died. "I'm thinking, This is bad," Thomas says. "This shouldn't be

happening. I'm not even over my grandmother yet. Far from it. And now

I get the call that my grandfather passed."

Lisa told him not to fly in for the funeral. He had a season to

play, and she wanted to protect him. But she also didn't want Thomas

to see what was happening to her. After her mother died, Lisa's

headaches and blood pressure worsened, and when she arrived at the

morgue with a friend, she needed help getting out of the car. She was

in physical pain at her mother's funeral, some of which Thomas

noticed, but Lisa never revealed to him that the doctors subsequently

found a clogged artery in her heart.

The only person Lisa told in Kansas was Angel, and after Thomas'

grandfather died, Angel began calling Lisa regularly. On Jan. 20,

Angel phoned and could hear Lisa fussing at Jayla in

the background. A few weeks earlier, while Jayla stayed with

relatives, Lisa had undergone an angioplasty. She was feeling a little

better but was still suffering with intense headaches. Angel sensed

that Lisa was overwrought and urged her to go to the ER, but Lisa said

she had a new medication and wanted to try it out first.

The next night, Friday, Jan. 21, the Jayhawks players watched film in

preparation for a pivotal Big 12 home game against Texas. Afterward,

around 11 p.m., the Morris twins recall they were kicking back in

Thomas' room when his cellphone rang. "It's from home, man," he said.

"I hope it's not any more bad news."

“ I'm thinking, This is bad. This shouldn't be happening. I'm not even over my grandmother yet. Far from it. And now I get the call that my grandfather passed. ” -- KU power forward Thomas Robinson

"Pick it up," Markieff said.

"Forget it. I'm not answering."

Thomas let the call go to voice mail, then checked the message. It

was from Jayla; she was crying and begged Thomas to call her back.

He dialed Lisa's cellphone, but she didn't pick up. "Oh man, I

don't know what's going on," Marcus said. Thomas' eyes were watering,

and the twins were starting to tear up. He dialed his mom's home

phone, and Jayla answered. She told him that Lisa had had a heart

attack. Their mother was dead.

Thomas dropped his phone, sobbing. In less than a month, he had

lost both maternal grandparents and his mother. The twins called

Angel, who, when hearing the news, yelled, "Oh my god." She

immediately left for Thomas' apartment and phoned Self on the way. The

coach started weeping. "He was crying, I was crying," Angel says. "I

said, 'Coach, we gotta get ourselves together. Because we both got to

walk through that door and be there with that kid.'"

They found Thomas slumped on his bed, surrounded by teammates. When

Self entered the bedroom, the players cleared, and the coach asked

Thomas: "What can I do to help? Is there anybody you

need to talk to tonight?" Thomas had been sobbing uncontrollably. But

he stopped, dry-heaved and looked up at Self. "Coach, you don't

understand. I don't have anybody. All I have is my sister. All I have

is Jayla."

THE NEXT 12 HOURS were a blur. Thomas kept howling that

Jayla needed to fly to Lawrence and pleaded to Angel: "Just don't

leave me. Can you stick with me through the entire thing?" Self called

the team doctor, who said to make sure Thomas wasn't left alone. Angel

brought him to guard Josh Selby's mother's house, which was quieter;

he didn't fall asleep until about 4 a.m. The other players were up

most of the night as well, with the Texas game only hours away.

The team met that morning for its pregame shootaround, and out of

the blue, Thomas arrived in uniform. Self hadn't expected him to play,

but Thomas remembered how Lisa had always prepared him for

emergencies, how she ordered him to never blink. He found himself

being pulled to Allen Fieldhouse, and once he arrived, he asked Self

if he could address the group.

"Nobody treat me different," he told the players and staff. "I

don't want anybody to baby me. Babying me is not going to help me get

through. I don't need the coaches not to yell at me. I'm a grown

man."

When he finished, he was the only one not in tears. Self asked

whether Thomas wanted the PA announcer to ask for a moment of silence,

but Thomas said he couldn't endure it. Self reminded him that Lisa had

never been to a home game; this would be the way to finally get her

there. Thomas agreed, and the second he checked into the game, Allen

Fieldhouse erupted. "It wasn't loud in a fan way," Hinson says. "It

was, if there is such a thing, loud in a loving way. I looked around,

and I mean grown men, ladies, kids, students, little ones -- just

tears."

The team played the first six and a half minutes on

adrenaline, leading 18-3, but finished the game on fumes. The

Jayhawks' shots kept rimming out. In the stands, Angel kept repeating

three words: "Release the rims." Hearing her, guard Tyshawn Taylor's

mom, Jeanell, asked, "Who are you talking to?"

Angel replied: "Lisa. She's here."

But two hours later, the Jayhawks' 69-game home winning streak was

over. Hinson accompanied Thomas to DC, with Angel following the next

day for the funeral. Angel shielded Jayla as best she could, while

Thomas and Jamah picked out a casket and an outfit in which Lisa would

be buried. Even more difficult for Thomas was entering her apartment.

He took her favorite sweater, some photos and her Bible as mementos,

but he quickly had to get out of there. All Angel kept saying was,

"Baby, it's going to be okay."

Out of necessity for Jayla, Thomas tried to remain a rock. The

funeral -- paid for by KU, with the blessing of the NCAA -- was held

during a snowstorm, and the electricity was out for much of the gray

afternoon. But for Thomas, the day brightened a bit when the entire

Kansas team walked, single file, into the church. Afterward, the KU

coaches watched Jayla cling to Thomas on the way to the hearse, and

one by one they began thinking the same thing: We'll adopt her.

IT WASN'T JUST FOR SHOW. Bill and Cindy Self, who had raised

a son and daughter, were serious about gaining custody of Jayla.

Assistant coaches Danny Manning, Joe Dooley and Kurtis Townsend, as

well as Hinson and Angel, made similar inquiries. But that wasn't the

half of it. Kansas fans around the state were e-mailing and texting,

offering to be Jayla's guardians. They were also donating cash to a

newly formed scholarship fund for her.

Still in a fog, Thomas was grateful. But he was the one who wanted

custody, even though he was living in the Jayhawker Towers apartments

and had a full load of classes. It didn't seem feasible that a

19-year-old basketball player could raise a second-grader, which is

why Self and his staff were willing to step in. But up until Lisa's

funeral, Thomas was still thinking of ways to fly Jayla to Lawrence,

still looking into area grammar schools. "He thinks every day of his

life, Jayla, Jayla, Jayla," Angel says.

What Thomas didn't expect was the fast bond Jayla was forging with

her dad, James Paris, back in DC. Perhaps Jayla was subconsciously

gravitating to the only parent she had left, but Thomas noticed Jayla

latching on to James and his three sisters. James implored Thomas to

let Jayla stay with him. Rather than uproot a brokenhearted little

girl, Thomas gave his approval.

"I have a lot of mixed feelings about James," says Thomas. "But he

loves his daughter and she loves him, so that's something that I

thought about, as far as me wanting to take my little sister. She'd

lost a lot, and all she knows is me and him. So I couldn't be selfish.

That's why she's home.

"It kills me. I pray the days go by fast sometimes, just so I can

see her. I wished that she could be with me here right by my side. But

it wasn't the best timing for it, you know?"

Thomas' uncle, Willatant Austin Jr., who had filed for custody of

Jayla, took Paris to court in the spring, claiming he was unfit to be

a parent. (Lawyers have advised both Paris and Austin not to comment.)

For his part, Thomas just wanted the legal haggling to stop. He was

drawing up his own long-term plan for Jayla, and he began implementing

it on Jan. 29 against Kansas State, his first game after Lisa's

funeral. Coming off the bench to another tearful ovation -- "I

couldn't even look up," Hinson says, "because I'm bawling like a baby

with about 16,000 other people" -- Thomas was a beast. He scored 17

points, shooting 7-for-11, and in the stands Angel thanked Lisa for

releasing the rims. Thomas, then a sophomore, was the best player on

the court, including the twins, and there was one overriding reason:

"My whole purpose of playing basketball was different," Thomas says.

"I don't care about the points anymore. I don't care about the stats.

I don't care about being the man. This was just a stepping-stone for

me to get where I have to go.

"I want Jayla with me. I want full responsibility for everything.

And I was in a position that if I took care of business with

basketball, everything I wanted for her could become possible."

His teammates could sense what was happening. At first, they had

wrestled with the deaths, wondering why a good kid would have to bury

three relatives in a month. But they would hear Thomas, quoting Lisa,

say that everything happens for a reason. They soon realized what that

was: The deaths motivated Thomas to become a star. He had to take care

of Jayla.

The plan was delayed, if not derailed, last February when Thomas

needed surgery to repair a meniscus tear in his right knee. After

coming back, he didn't even score in KU's Elite Eight loss to Virginia

Commonwealth. But that just made him more determined.

Over the summer, Thomas was a workaholic. He wouldn't take a day

off and was the most electric player at the Amar'e Stoudemire Skills

Academy, outplaying even Ohio State's Jared Sullinger. "He has the

speed of Kobe and a body like LeBron's," Markieff says. "Sky's the

limit."

When Thomas wasn't on the court, he was back in DC with Jayla or on

the phone with her. She'd begun asking when she could live with him.

He'd tell her: "Soon, baby. Soon." What he didn't tell her is that the

minute he gets to the NBA, he is going to request full custody and

move her in with him.

“ He has the speed of Kobe and a body like LeBron's. Sky's the limit." ” -- Phoenix Suns power forward Markieff Morris

"I would never say he needs to leave for the NBA," Self says, "but

I hope Thomas is able to leave. I hope this is his last year at the

University of Kansas. Selfishly I want him to stay. We would win more

games. But it needs to be his last year."

Now a 6'9", 237-pound junior, Thomas is no longer a sixth man. In a

preseason poll, he was voted first-team All-America by CBSSports.com.

Some NBA scouts are even predicting he could be the No. 1 overall pick

in the next draft. In the meantime, he lives part-time with Angel, who

is fulfilling her promise to Lisa and keeping an apartment in

Lawrence, even though her twins were both NBA lottery picks in June.

Angel also flies regularly to DC to check on Jayla, who, because of

her scholarship fund, is attending private school and learning piano.

And on both Thomas' and Jayla's bedroom wall is the same photograph --

the picture Angel took at Madison Square Garden of Lisa and the two

kids, hugging.

"I'm still scared for my little sister," Thomas says. "I cry and I

complain about how it's not fair for me, but she's going through way

more. She's 8 years old. She ain't got the memories that I got with my

mom. I just feel like I can't stop. I got to do something to where I

make her so happy that she'll never have to go through any pain in her

life ever. No more bad phone calls. None of us can have any more bad

phone calls."

Basketball and Jayla: That's about all Thomas thinks about. When

Self recently suggested planting a tree in memory of Lisa outside

Allen Fieldhouse, a place she never lived to see, Thomas thought it

was the quintessential idea.

He and Self watched the gardeners dig the hole, and Thomas placed his

letter in with the roots. It reads:

Mom,

I guarantee you have no worries about Jayla.

I will make sure everything is okay. I won't blink.

My promise.

Love,

Earl

Tom Friend is a contributor to ESPN The Magazine.

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