Isaiah Austin is a factor for Baylor, even without playing

During preseason workouts, a 7-foot-1 Baylor student assistant gathered all the Bears players together and, without knowing it, established the tenor for the entire season. He looked at each player and explained how difficult, how humbling it was, to mop their sweat off the court.

Then Isaiah Austin returned to his primary duties of handing out water and wiping away perspiration. All the Baylor players were familiar with Austin's journey: how he was once a blue-chip prospect seemingly destined for the NBA; how he was projected as a first-round draft pick even after the news that he was blind in his right eye since high school; and how those dreams were crushed with the pre-draft news that he had Marfan Syndrome, a genetic connective tissue disorder that could have killed him if he continued playing.

That's why Austin's message — that life's dreams can be dashed so abruptly — resonated with Baylor's players. When he is not traveling for speaking engagements or meeting with children or in classes, Austin is with his former teammates and often here at practice, encouraging, cajoling, wiping away sweat. Player look at him and know one thing: Take nothing for granted.

"From that one moment on this season, we just really transformed as a team," said Taurean Prince, who changed his jersey number to Austin's 21. "Intensity increased. We just play for him, really. He is our inspiration. He is definitely a player without the jersey."

The preseason message echoes throughout this successful Baylor season. Players and coaches say Austin's fingerprints are all over Baylor's team, which has exceeded lukewarm expectations. Unlike the two Baylor teams that reached the Elite Eight under coach Scott Drew — 2010, 2012 — this roster is not dotted with sure-fire NBA talent. There are many reasons for Baylor's success — the third-seeded Bears will play 14th-seeded Georgia State in Thursday West Regional NCAA tournament action — but players and coaches say Austin's influence is a key ingredient.

"When he says something," Drew said, "it is powerful."

Added assistant Paul Mills: "How he helps those guys in unison with us, it is priceless."

In spite of dashed NBA hopes, Austin exudes calmness, maturity. Players see that his commitment to a new life mission was not a public show, said Tim Maloney, the team's director of basketball operations.

"This is him," Maloney added. "What appears to be the worst tragedy you'd think of, his life was spared … His life has a level of meaning that is much more enhanced than it was. Okay, you can't throw a ball up at the rim with strings, and, yes, that would be devastating. He will make more people happy, fulfilled in what he is now."

Players see that. They know his path, know his journey. And they remember when it came crashing down.

***

With its basketball camp in full swing last June, Baylor's coaches began to get the word: After some red flags emerged from Austin's EKG test at the NBA's Chicago pre-draft combine, follow-up tests now confirmed the worst fear — Marfan Syndrome. With a connective tissue disorder that mostly affects the heart, eyes and blood vessels, there would be no pro career.

The eternally optimistic Drew immediately jumped on the phone with trainers and doctors, probing for solutions but finding none. Right there, the staff watched Austin play the last competitive game of his life — a pickup game with teammates. The next day, they'd join loved ones at Austin's family friend's home in Dallas, where his mom, Lisa Green, would break the news to her son.

"You are overwhelmed," Mills said. "This is how he goes out? The weight of it, it was mind-boggling. I was starting to think back to the time we ran 40 suicide (sprints). How fortunate are we that he didn't die with that much cardiovascular activity? We were in tears."

The next day took a somber tone. Austin arrived to see cars lining the street. He knew something was wrong. When he walked in and saw his mom in tears, he knew.

He sunk to the ground. He walked to the corner of the room and then made a brief attempt to walk out the door. His high school coach, Ray Forsett, stopped him.

Austin sobbed. Everybody sobbed.

"It was like a funeral," Drew said. "It's kind of like when you hear that someone passes. You are numb."

Austin took about 20 minutes to gather himself. Then he sat by the circular stairwell. Loved ones shared uplifting thoughts. There was song. His brother, Noah, and sister, Narah, moved in to hug him. Austin lifted his head, looked at each and smiled.

"Don't worry," he said. "We are going to be okay."

In a nod to his mom, who is perpetually stoic and resolute, Austin had flipped a switch mentally and, as he says, already was trying to make the life-shattering development his story and not his excuse.

"God could have let me continue to play," Austin said, "and it could have ended my life."

***

His coaches know that is a mature perspective for any adult, much less a college student. They talk glowingly about how the Austin they know stands in such stark contrast with the one who arrived in Waco as a ballyhooed freshman looking to jump to the NBA after one season.

"It's almost like two different kids," Mills said. How best to describe Austin as a college freshman? "Coach (Jerome) Tang uses the word jack-hole," Mills said. Some one-and-dones "rent you for an eighth-month period. They don't even know if they will unpack their clothes, so why should they even get to know you as a coach?"

Austin is the first to admit that he was long on entitlement and short on maturity as a freshman. These are some of the lessons he now imparts to teammates, and they listen.

"I was a nut, man," Austin said. "I was hard to deal with. I thought I knew everything. God humbles you when you need it. I thought I was going to be one-and-done, but my shoulder ripped."

The torn labrum in his right shoulder nixed a quick jump to the NBA. But returning to Baylor was not guaranteed. After the season, Austin said, Drew visited his home and made him sign a contract with behavioral and body language stipulations in order to return to the team. Be a better teammate. No complaining about being subbed out. No mouthing off to officials. No cursing. Stop asking for the ball every play.

It changed him. It humbled him.

The transformation in attitude was as dramatic as Baylor coaches can recall seeing. But with Austin struggling to live up to the hype that followed him to Waco, outside critics pounced.

Why couldn't he gain weight?

When Austin arrived at Baylor, he weighed 205 pounds, appearing exceedingly thin. Nothing worked to add pounds. He said he took Creatine. He said drank so many protein shakes, in general, that at times he would stop and throw up in practice.

The coaching staff also knew what others were yet to learn: Austin had been blind in his right eye since high school. Because Austin's family was not ready to reveal that publicly, Baylor's coaches bit their lip with critics of Austin's play.

"It was very hard to take the criticism when we knew about the eye issue," Mills said. "All these people who called him soft, they had no idea that when he had his back to the basket he couldn't see half the court."

As Tang, a fellow assistant, said, "It was so unfair."

***

Drew said that anyone who has overcome what Austin has is anything but soft. The coach is forever indebted to the NBA and commissioner Adam Silver for the gesture of bringing Austin on stage at the draft last June and honor his story.

For Austin, life after basketball was just beginning. He owned close to 250 pairs of size-18 basketball sneakers but gave away all but 40 to teenagers who need them.

He is in demand for speaking engagements. He can't spend enough time with children, particularly ones afflicted with Marfan Syndrome. He started the Isaiah Austin Foundation and works extensively with the Marfan Foundation.

That doesn't mean adjusting to life without basketball has been easy. He said early in the season was especially an emotional "roller coaster" because the start of the season hammered home that he will never play again. He said that in the fall he would make up excuses to Drew so he wouldn't have to come to practice.

"I couldn't be around the game that long," Austin said. "It kind of hurt me."

But he's also aware that if he were able to play professionally, even as a healthy adult, he wouldn't have had what he calls as "big a ripple across the nation, or even the world, as I do now."

And that effect is felt within the confines of the Baylor locker room. When Austin is not traveling, he's often at practice, or in the team huddle during games, or addressing players before games. He spends time with many off the court as well. A team with designs on a second consecutive Sweet 16 appearance takes many of its cues of the 7-footer who can no longer play.

"We really admire him," Prince said. "When you see him, you want to practice that much harder. He is your peer. He sets the tone. He still has faith in anything God has for him and he is not quitting on life."

As Maloney said, "He really loves trying to help people. He has a gift. It is his heart."

Prisbell reported from Waco, Texas, and Kansas City, Mo.