Patch.com 'Hot and Sexy' Christie: 'I Want to Be Fair, But I Can't Be Stupid' By Brendan Kuty / Link: http://patch.

com/A-fFKv The crowd cheered as Gov. Chris Christie hit familiar targetspublic workers' pensions and health care reformaddressing a filled-to-capacity St. Jude's Parish Center in Hopatcong on Wednesday. But the morning's loudest ovation went to Sparta resident Debra Nicholson, who began her question at the town hall-style meetingChristie's first in Sussex Countyby calling the governor "hot and sexy." (See video of that exchange and others from the governor's visit here, and reactions from attendees here. Christie, a first-term Republican, laughed and said Nicholson should write a note to his wife, Mary Pat, with whom he celebrated a 25-year wedding anniversary on Tuesday. But between jokes and claps from a mostly sympathetic audience, Christie returned to core tenents of his financial platform, heard often in similar meetings throughout New Jersey in recent months. "I want to be fair, but I can't be stupid," he said. Christie reiterated that he wants public workers to pay 30 percent of their health care premiums instead of 1.5 percent of their salary, the current contribution for many. He said health benefits for public employees make up $4.9 billion of his $29 billion budget proposal. Christie said, under his plan, employees would be contributing the proposed 30 percent three years after its implementation. "The majority of teachers in this state pay nothing for health insurance from the day they start until the day they're done. We can't have that anymore. It's not fair," he said. Christie also reiterated his want for four fundamental changes in the state employees' pension system, which he said faces a $54 billion shortfall. He said legislators should raise the minimum retirement age from 62 to 65, roll back a 9 percent benefit increase from 2001, eliminate cost-of-living raises and increase workers' contributions. Christie said the plan would cut the pension system's shortfall to $28 billion in 30 years. He said Democratic Senator Steve Sweeney's own pension proposals would take the shortfall to $108 billion over the same time periodand he said that's simply not aggressive enough. "This is what's killing the state of New Jersey," he said. "The costs of pension and health care are destroying the state's economy, and now it's time for us to get to work."

Christie also said he didn't mind public unions protesting his pension plans adding it was their right to make grievances known. "I'm OK with it," he said. "The real question now is not if we change the pension system, but how we change it. If we don't, it will go belly up." Responding a question by Nicholson (following her endorsement of the governor's sex appeal), Christie said he's dismayed Democrats have blocked his attempt to eliminate the Council on Affordable Housing, the state entity responsible for outlining municipality's obligations for fostering affording housing. Christie said he doesn't believe decisions about local planning should be micromanaged from Trenton. He also said the Highlands Act, an environmental regulation meant to preserve water in northern New Jersey, was "based on a lie"that property owners impacted by preservation would be compensated for any losses. He said the state's never been able to provide that money. And Christie told Hopatcong special education teacher Danielle Kovach, named Sussex County's and New Jersey's 2010-11 Teacher of the Year, that he'd be glad to meet with her and other county teachers of the year about education issues. Most commenters during the question-and-answer session complimented the governor. But some of his most ardent supporters were left out in the cold. Literally. Doors opened around 9 a.m., at least half-hour before the scheduled time, as a line wrapped around the parking lot. Some Christie supporters, denied entrance when the building reached capacity at about 360 people, watched through windows. Janet Durica, 69, of Stanhope, was one of them. She held a homemade "Go Christie!" sign as she stood outside. "We were hoping a few people wouldn't show up," Durica said.

Fasting, football: 'I have to do both' BY BRENDAN KUTY Special to the Daily Record PARSIPPANY Edreece Saleh was hungry. He was exhausted and thirsty, too. It had been many hours since his last meal he still tasted the bologna but to him it might as well have been weeks ago. Every breath was a chore. Every movement, a strenuous task siphoning more precious energy. But Saleh, 16, had no choice. If he wanted to play football at Parsippany High School, he had to do it tired, weak and sometimes dizzy. He is a Shiite Muslim, and Ramadan a month-long period of fasting during sunlight didn't end until today. "It's my religion," he said. "I've got to do it." Still, that didn't make it any easier. He ran wind sprints without a water break. He lifted weights in a stuffy, windowless gym on an empty gut. He got gangtackled by a handful of teens in shoulder pads when sleep was all he wanted. That was Saleh's life almost every day since late August. "I have a lot of respect for him," Parsippany junior offensive lineman Thomas Cucchiara said. "I wouldn't be able to get through that." Nor would many. Yet Saleh refused to give in, refused to sacrifice the game he adores for his religion. Sure, he had thought about it. There were moments, and even hours, when he wished he could be like the other kids, full of life and nourishment, able to endure an entire practice without taking a few moments on the sideline to return from delirium. But he preferred to serve his God and his coach at the same time. "I love football," Saleh said, "and I have to fast. I can't choose one or the other. I have to do both." "Whoa, look at what he's doing." It was 4 a.m. and the enemy sun wasn't due up for more than an hour. Saleh's mother, Haffeafah, shook him awake and they stumbled to the kitchen, still wiping crust from their eyes. A small feast was laid out before him a couple vitamins, a sandwich, milk, orange juice, and some fruit. First, he thanked his mom. Then he prayed to Allah,

gobbled the grub, and stalked back to bed in a sluggish silence. Saleh slept for a couple more hours. Then it was time for school, where he thought about math, food, science, English, food, gym and food. Sometimes he went to the cafeteria and tried not to watch his friends fill their bellies. Other times it was too much to bear, and he hid in the library and surfed the Internet, reading about his favorite team the Jets. Saleh would get excited when the final bell rang, signaling the end of class and the start of football. On the field, he distracted himself from paying his greedy stomach attention. Saleh has shed a few pounds since the start of training camp, but not enough to make him a liability on the junior-varsity offensive or defensive lines, where he uses his branch-like arms to swat away the opposition. Parsippany head coach Craig Penna has been surprised by Saleh's commitment, focus and improvement. Penna has seen Saleh run down ball carriers on kickoff coverage and better his blocking techniques. Occasionally, the coach privately would wish he had another dozen Edreece Salehs. "What he's giving us is a kid the kids can look up to and say, 'Whoa, look at what he's doing'" Penna said. Saleh's parents agreed. No pressure Wahhid and Haffeafah Saleh have been in the United States since the late 1980s, having fled Afghanistan when the Soviets invaded during the early years of the decade. As Shiites, they follow the Quran, which states that fasting during Ramadan isn't exactly a required practice. While it's encouraged, Shiites don't have to fast if it's dangerous to their wellbeing. Haffeafah doesn't fast because of stomach problems. Also, Shiites can break their fast any day, and at any time as long as they are far away from home. That's the message they gave Edreece this August when he told them he planned to play football. They weren't stunned by his decision to fast, too. "I don't push it," said Wahhid, a 48-year-old Manhattan street vendor. "I never pushed him for it.. You teach him the rules of the religion and the faith, but you have to choose it yourself. If you were born as a Muslim in a Muslim house, you have to be a Muslim by yourself, by your own choice. If you have to be a follower or a sheep that doesn't work in our religion."

You have to be a Muslim yourself. You have to accept it. You have to teach it. "I will never be disappointed in anything he chooses. I would like to see him as a Muslim. But if he isn't, I won't be disappointed." Haffeafah used to ask her son if she could drive him out of town for something to eat. He always refused, so she gave up. "I'm so proud of this kid," Haffeafah said. "I love him so much." Neither Wahhid or Haffeafah have tried dissuading Edreece. Still, they sometimes would fear for his health, even though they say he was cleared to play by Sanford Epstein, a Parsippany physician. Epstein declined comment when reached by phone, citing physician-patient privacy issues. "What can you do?" Wahhid said. "You can't give up the football if you love it so much and you can't quit on your religion." And that's what will probably hold Edreece back. "I can do anything" Without the right amount of carbohydrates, protein and water, Saleh knows he will struggle to crack the varsity roster. He also knows it could be difficult next year as a senior to secure a starting spot or regular playing time if he doesn't add muscle or, at the least, fight through entire practices and drills to sharpen his somewhat-limited skills. Penna empathized with Saleh, who will celebrate Ramadan's end today with a huge breakfast at a Paterson mosque. "It's hard for him," the head coach said, "with regards to not being able to go fullspeed. But as far as he's come considering the circumstances Edreece is a real character kid." Saleh is OK with that. And he'll continue to be happy just wearing a helmet and cleats, as long as he can sacrifice for his religion without sacrificing his love. "I can do anything," he said. "It's will power and what you choose to do. I don't want to be a quitter."

Patch.com Religions Unite in Time of Need By Brendan Kuty Link: http://patch.com/A-nWX9 Ken Adams' problem was growing. Jody Verdi's was shrinking. Each week the congregation of the century-old Byram Bay Christian Church seemed to expand. Double-session Sunday services, while at first effective, no longer alleviated the swelling of the small white church or the congestion in its cramped parking lot. Meanwhile, The Lake Hopatcong Jewish Community Center, once bustling when the area was a summer vacation hotspot in the 1960s, had gone quiet. With membership and donations on a steady decline, maintaining the almost 40-yearold lakefront building was becoming difficult. So Adams, the non-denominational church's pastor, made a call. And more than a year later, the sight of Christians worshipping each Sunday on Jewish ground no longer phases Verdi, the center's president. "It's a great way to keep the building open," she said. "They were in need of a facility. We had a facility that was being underutilized." Bill Connelly, who said he's only missed a couple of Byram Bay services in the 30-plus years he's lived in Hopatcong, still cherishes the old church, with its high ceilings and big wooden cross hanging outside. But he's thankful for the new arrangement. "It's bigger, nicer," Connelly said of the Jewish center. "I mean, I love the old church. I've been going there since the late-80s. But this is good. It's real good. In fact, I kind of thought I'd miss the old place. But I haven't." Herb Goldenberg moved to Hopatcong just a few months ago. He called himself "a very liberal Jew." "I wouldn't mind doing a service together with [Byram Bay]," Goldenberg said. "There's one God. Many people have different concepts. But we're all one people we still have one God."

An unlikely pastor
Adams never expected this. Never expected to preach in a Jewish center. Never even planned to become a Hopatcong pastor. He moved with his wife, Karen, to Hopatcong, a bedroom borough in Northwestern New Jersey, in 2007, after the pair spent time as cruise ship pastors and immediately gravitated toward a non-denominational church 15 minutes away. But it was en route to the Budd Lake Chapel one Wednesday night that he spotted Byram Bay Christian Church and, at his wife's request, stopped in. Turned out, the church had stopped Sunday services when its pastor left around 2000 and hosted mostly Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. A man at the meeting told Adams tree service company owner Joe Tree, who, coincidentally, was going to Adams home a few days later for an estimate, owned the church. Tree told Adams the church was in danger of losing its tax-exemption status if it didn't find a pastor within the year. Adams offered to take the job in an eye-blink. By April 2010, the church's congregation had outgrown its walls. And though Byram Bay had begun attracting out-of-towners, Adams didn't want to move. "We really felt like we needed to stay in Hopatcong," he said.

An unlikely arrangement
Joseph Williams, a Rutgers University assistant religion professor, grew up in Florida where a Buddhist meditation group often met at a Unitarian-Universalist church near his hometown. And while he said Jewish congregations, dating back to the 19th Century, would sometimes renovate former churches, "this is the first time I've heard of a church using a Jewish facility," he said. Verdi said she was similarly surprised when Adams approached the Jewish center's Board of Trustees. While she welcomed the churchand the rent money the center would use to maintain the facilityshe had her initial concerns. "It was a little bit nerve-wracking at the beginning," Verdi said. "Were they going to be compromising themselves? We were going to be compromising ourselves as a synagogue?

"The Christian and Jewish beliefs and ways of lifewhether or not they would mesh. That was a large concern for us. We didn't want the building to become known as the place where the synagogue meets." But Verdi didn't want the building going into disrepair, either. So the religious groups struck a deal. First, the Christians could worship in the ballroom near the front of the building, but they had to stay out of the synagogue overlooking the lake. Second, only kosher food would be allowed in the center. (Verdi actually did the shopping for the church for a while and explained to some of its members how to spot kosher products.) Third, the church could only display Christian materials such as Bibles, crosses, pamphlets and other information during service and had to store them out of sight right after. And, of course, there was the rent, which Verdi said has been a boon. "That monthly donation certainly helps us tremendously to keep our doors open," she said. Verdi and Adams each declined to discuss the terms of the two-year agreement. "There is no question about that. We're receiving financial aid; they're receiving a special aid. It seems like, for one reason or another, this is a match made in heaven. We each have a need. We each have something to offer." Verdi said the church has abided by the center's rules. "It's gone along very well," she said. "Our interactions with the church and their interactions with ours is very limited. And the truth is, no news is good news. They have no complaints. We have no complaints. We get along just fine." Adams and Verdi said Byram Bay volunteers have helped renovate the center, steam cleaning and painting walls, replacing lights and repairing restrooms. "If God blessed us with the resources to help people," Adams said, "we need to do that."

An enduring relationship
It was Sunday morning but Connelly felt like Tuesday afternoon. The midNovember air was cold and crisp, and it dug into his lungs even after he finished setting up the church's first service, hauling chairs and heavy sound equipment into the ballroom.

When Connelly finally took his seat in the congregation, Verdi watched from the back. "I was a little jealous of the huge, huge crowd they had, being that our synagogue had a tiny, small following," she said. "It was a beautiful thing to see that the building was getting utilized, and that there was such a big crowd." Valerie Meinhold greeted church members as they walked in. She said the double-session service had the consequence of dividing some of the congregation. "I'd go, 'Hi, I'm Valerie, are you new?' They would say, 'No, we've been here for four months.' I was like, wow, we were part of the same church body and we didn't even know each other." Adams preached from the pulpit. "I remember being up there during worship and ha a real sense that God was no limited," he said. "I kept saying we kept him in a box. That Christians can have a service in a Jewish [facility]. And nobody could say that doesn't happen or no, that's not right, because our God is unlimited."

Young Dover Athlete a Knockout Reyes, 12, has cut over 130 pounds, improved life thanks to boxing By BRENDAN KUTY SPECIAL TO THE DAILY RECORD DOVER -- The Dover Boxing Club prides itself on closeness. Men and women, boys and girls they all gather inside this sweaty underground gym. Some want to fight. Others hope to get in shape. But mostly they come to form friendships and release tension. So why, then, is everybody here calling Joshua Reyes a big loser? Probably because that's the truth about the 12-year-old. He's a prolific loser. In fact, it's become his obsession. When Reyes met Ed Leahy, the Club's owner and operator, about three years ago, the hometown kid was dangerously overweight at 265 pounds. Reyes couldn't run, jog or punch, let alone slip one. Worst of all, his back-off-me attitude needed serious retooling. "I used to see him out on the streets," boxer Anthony Gangemi said. "He used to be the most miserable little kid. I didn't know him, but I would see him on Blackwell (Street) picking fights with little kids." But most of that has changed, and with one glance at Reyes it's easy to see why they say he's a big loser: Reyes has dropped more than 130 pounds and become an inspiration to friends, family and his coaches. He's even gained fame around Dover. "He's the talk of the town," Leahy said. "You go into the deli or the barber shop and they all know him. 'I can't believe what you did with Josh Reyes. I can't believe how he looks.' He's like the star of Dover now. He's a GQ model." "I have fears" Reyes' path to recovery has been bumpier than a potholed highway. It wasn't even his choice to join the Club. Victoria Jordan, Reyes' mother, said that though doctors told her that her son was healthy, Reyes was ordered by a Family Services of Morris County case worker to train at Leahy's establishment.

Jordan at first feared for her son's safety. She went to his first training session and cringed at the sight of body bags and sounds of grunts filling the thick air. "Of course, that's every mother's fear," Jordan, 47, said. "I guess in every sport, every mother has some fear. But crossing the street, he could get hit by car. I have fears, but that's not going to stop him." Her apprehensions didn't slow Reyes down. But his almost did. "I felt like I was out of place," he said. "I looked at myself like what am I doing here? I saw guys in perfect condition and stamina and I would just go home sad because I would want that." Sometimes the constant working would exhaust Reyes and force him into hiding. After particularly straining workouts, Gangemi and Co. would have to coax him out of the gym's bathroom. Gangemi didn't think Reyes would last. "I just figured he'd probably be here for a week or two," the County College of Morris student said. "I had to do a double-take" But then a week turned into two, which turned into a month. Reyes started feeling better about himself, his physique, his skills. He still couldn't do as much as even the younger kids, but his progress was obvious. He began taking fewer breaks. He often shut his mouth long enough to listen to Leahy and his assistant coach, Eric Beck. Beck, a Rockaway police officer, had in the past dealt with troubled children, but took great interest in Reyes, according to Leahy. Beck would walk stride for stride along the Club's indoor track with the boy, coaching him up, prodding Reyes to finish his laps. But Beck, a National Guard soldier, didn't get to see much of Reyes' transformation. In May 2008, Beck was called into action and served in Iraq. He almost hurt his neck when he visited Reyes at the gym while on leave in March. "I popped in to say hello (and) I had to do a double-take because he had lost about 100 pounds by then. It was really great to see him," Beck said.

Reyes' waistline wasn't the only area in which he saw improvement. Leahy said he and other boxers, such as Jamie Lee Smith and Whitney Bracco, aid him with his homework and even taught him how to read a clock. "This is pretty much his home," Gangemi said. "We treat him like family." "A God-given gift" Nearly all of Reyes' boxing family watched with pride when he won his first amateur bout last July. His real family did not. Leahy provided Jordan two free tickets to the fight held at Schuetzen Park in North Bergen, according to Gangemi. They went unused. Jordan claimed it was because she doesn't drive and couldn't secure a ride to the fight because her son didn't give her sufficient notice. If Reyes was affected by his mother's absence, it wasn't apparent. The youngster fighting at a svelte 140 pounds threw a straight right in the middle of the first round that sent his opponent staggering toward the ropes. "And from that moment on I knew they say everybody has a Godgiven gift from that moment on I knew that this was my God-given gift," Reyes said. "I knew there was probably no other thing for me except this sport." His opponent rose to his feet but never recovered. Reyes peppered the kid with shot after shot, outclassing his more experienced rival to a three-round unanimous decision. After the fight, Reyes celebrated with his boxing companions and Gangemi said it was the "happiest I've ever seen him. He's come such a long way." Off the scales, into the ring Nowadays, Reyes hovers around 135 pounds. He's quick. He's coachable. And though he's only heading into sixth grade, Leahy called him one of the Club's best prospects, alongside Gangemi. "You have to see how good he is," Leahy said with a laugh. "He can shake and move. He's got the lateral movement. He's a treat to watch."

That is, when Reyes isn't checking his weight. Gangemi said he notices Reyes on the scale a handful of times every practice, making sure he isn't regressing. Gangemi just hopes that Reyes understands that he's just 12 and must grow sooner or later. Leahy, however, isn't so worried. "As far as a kid coming in overweight, that everybody suspected was going to die from being overweight, what a great story, he said.

Bronx native, like Stadium, has seen it all By Brendan Kuty SNY.tv Link: http://www.sny.tv/news/article.jsp?ymd=20080921&content_id=1476184&vkey =8 NEW YORK -- He's got a bum back, a false knee and a foe in Father Time. But Hank Goldman, nearly as old as the Stadium itself, wouldn't have missed this for anything. Goldman, 81, caught his first Yankees game in 1935, the same year Babe Ruth retired. The Bronx native returned to his second home Sunday, one of thousands watching baseball's grandest stage host its final act. "This is the stadium in New York," Goldman said. "The Dodgers left. The Giants left. The Yankees will be here forever, I hope." Goldman, unlike many fans, won't have a difficult time detaching himself from the Bombers' current home. The former Marine has owned Sunday seats near the left-field foul pole since 1985, and the Yankees have offered him a similar pair in the new digs. Goldman looks forward to moving across the street. "It'll be, how should we say, a completely new experience," he said. "I was in the old stadium [pre-renovation], and I was in this one. The new one will be something different again." A Long Island resident, Goldman drove his son-in-law Steve Marlin to the park despite his ailments early Sunday afternoon. The pair could have joined countless Yankees fans strolling about the hallowed field's warning track. Instead, they planted themselves in their seats one last time, opting rather to enjoy the view they've known best. Goldman had a difficult time pinning down his all-time favorite player. He's seen too much baseball. Goldman was in the Stadium the day Tom Seaver won his 300th game with the White Sox. He witnessed a 12-year-old Jeffery Maier help birth a dynasty in the 1996 American League Championship Series. But when pressed to choose, Goldman picked legendary first baseman Lou Gehrig. The player that comes closest to matching Gehrig's greatness, Goldman said, is current Yankees captain and future Hall of Famer Derek Jeter. "The one that puts out all the time is Jeter," he said. "He's the all-time player. So, he never gives up. He's always fighting." Baseball -- like the Yankees -- has changed over the decades, and not all of it has been for the better, Goldman thought. He hates the designated hitter, saying that

while it prolongs some careers, it alters the game's original strategy far too much. Goldman also thinks players nowadays are spoiled. "In the old days, they played their nine innings, the pitchers pitched their whole games," he said. "I was here when Tommy John pitched 14 innings and won the game. You don't find pitchers today doing that." Goldman remembers when guys like Bo Jackson -- who once cracked a foul ball so hard, Goldman said, that it knocked over his friend standing beside him would bring kids on the field to play catch and sign autographs with a smile. Those days have long passed, he said. But Goldman holds out hope they'll return. He recalled George Steinbrenner as a "great owner" because he would tour the Stadium before games, making sure it was clean. One time, Goldman's wife, Janet, got a laugh out of the maverick owner, telling Steinbrenner he did a great job imposing his will to clear up a congested street near the ballpark. Goldman retired 12 years ago after owning a Long Island gas station and auto repair shop. A weekend-tickets owner at Shea as well, he said baseball keeps his marriage fresh. "It's a pleasure. It's relaxing. You get aggravated with everybody, you can yell, scream," Goldman said. "I can't do that at home." Goldman also can't get his baseball fix at home, in front of the TV. So he'll be at the new Stadium next year, the year after, and until I turn 160 and they have to wheel me in here, he said.

From Senegal with Basketball

By BRENDAN KUTY bkuty@njherald.com Linke: No longer active on NJHerald.com, so here it is, from blair.edu: http://www.blair.edu/Athletics/News/09_10/ath_news09_Gomis1209.shtm BLAIRSTOWN Scared, alone, Lionel Gomis could barely lift his eyes the first time he stood on Blair Academys campus. Home was an ocean away. Worse, the teenage basketball prodigy was surrounded by strangers speaking a language he didnt know. Where the hell am I? Gomis asked himself after reaching his dorm room that night more than a year ago. Now, big-time college scouts ask Joe Mantegna a similar question. Hes got a chance to play at the highest level of college basketball, the Buccaneers head coach said, and hes certainly got a chance to make money playing basketball. Gomis, Blairs 6-foot-9 Senegalese center, has spring-loaded legs and saucer-sized hands. Gomis, a junior, also has a chance to follow in the sneakers of Royal Ivey, Charlie Villanueva and Luol Deng all current NBA players and former Blair stars. Hes in hot demand, Sports for Education and Economic Development Foundation (SEEDS) U.S. operations manager Brian Benjamin said in a telephone interview. It wasnt always this way. Gomis didnt start playing basketball until age 14. Soccer ruled Dakar Senegals capital and Gomis hometown. But after a few days of basketball which, he said, included multiple dunks on family members Gomis realized something: This sport could pave his road to a better education, a better life. Then tragedy struck.

His mother died, leaving him and his two older sisters with just his father, a middleclass banker. Gomis wishes his mother could see him now. When she passed, thats when I really started improving my basketball skills, he said. I showed her that I started loving the game." She was always reminding me to never forget about my studies. That was the only thing she wanted from me. Soon Gomis caught the eye of SEEDS founder and Dallas Mavericks director of scouting and vice president of international affairs Amadou Gallo Fall. He invited Gomis to join Senegals SEEDS Academy, which provides its students 10 months of athletic training and academic guidance. Fall, also from Dakur, saw a lot of himself in Gomis. Great kid, Fall said in a telephone interview. Obviously high-energy. He wants to be good and hes eager. At SEEDS, Gomis refined his game and study habits and became his teams unquestioned captain. He became a leader out of 20 boys, Benjamin said. It was a no-brainer that when we were talking with Joe that he would be a logical fit. Mantegna agreed to take Gomis without seeing him play. Instead, Mantegna embraced San Antonio Spurs general manager R.C. Bufords recommendation and his own history with SEEDS. Cameroon native Alexis Wangmene, a former SEEDS standout, graduated from Blair in 2007 and plays at the University of Texas. Gomis was grateful for the opportunity. But he was also afraid. I felt like I had what I wanted, he said. But I was going to have to leave my family." Gomis, traveling with friend and Lake Forest Academy (Ill.) senior Remey Ndiaye, landed at John F. Kennedy Airport on June 13, 2008. He said the fresh air, of all things, awed him most.

It was the same thing I saw in my dreams, Gomis said. Gomis spent the next few weeks in Manhattan with his legal guardian, who requested anonymity. Then it was off to the Chicago school for a monthlong English language crash course. When Gomis arrived in Blairstown, he said he immediately felt pressure. Would Mantegna like him? Would he understand the plays and mesh with the team? It was kind of awkward, Gomis said. The game was faster than I thought. And my teammates were trying to get me into the atmosphere of the team, joking around. But I didnt understand in the beginning because I didnt understand the language." Said Mantegna, He was just like a young colt that cant quite keep his legs under him. He was raw, physical, a little weak. And there were three 19-year-old big guys that basically knocked him down every day. Austin Johnson, a Rutgers University freshman guard, was one of them. Gomis spent the season mired on the Buccaneers bench frustrated, upset. But Johnson, who couldnt be interviewed due to NCAA recruiting rules, helped Gomis assimilate, introducing him to students, teaching him the playbook. Still, Gomis took his bench role like a gut punch. He felt like he didnt play because he wasnt good enough, Benjamin said. If he wasnt good enough, (he believed) he was pretty much letting down all of Senegal. Gomis got a better grip on English while living with his guardian in Manhattan for the summer. And in June, Gomis attended the NBA Draft with other SEEDS representatives and even had his photo snapped with commissioner David Stern. He returned to Blair in the fall like a new kid. With the language barrier weakened, Gomis flourished on the court, muscling into the starting five while drawing interest from Stanford University, Davidson College and other Division I programs. He made a big jump this summer, Mantegna said. He put on a half-inch of size and 15 pounds. Hes finally starting to fill out his broad shoulder and become an explosive athlete. Then Mantegna paused. Now hes kind of the big man on campus, he said. Hes come a long way."