By keeping tearful promises, Trendon Watford found a role with the Blazers: Immense amount of joy

The path that led Trendon Watford from a two-way-contract player to a rotation player for the Trail Blazers can be traced to the last two times he cried.

One was in front of a casket in 2020. The other was into the arms of his older brother, Christian, in 2021.

In both scenes, before the tears dried, promises were declared. Trendon made one to his uncle. His brother made one to Trendon. And finally, Trendon made one to Trail Blazers coach Chauncey Billups.

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Some mornings, Watford says he wakes and immediately thinks of that day beside his uncle’s casket, and the promise he made to him. And some mornings, he says his mind immediately goes to his first phone conversation with Billups, and the four words he repeated over and over to his coach with tears still in his eyes.

And through all those memories, all those promises, Watford leans on what his father calls the “most unique” of relationships — his bond with brother Christian, who is nine years older.

“I can use one word,” Watford says when asked to describe his relationship with his brother. “Unbreakable.”

Those three promises? They’ve all been upheld as the 6-foot-9 forward has blended his skill, savvy and grit to become a trusted staple off the Blazers’ bench. Among rookies on two-way contracts, Watford ranks fifth in the NBA in points, third in rebounds, second in blocks and fourth in minutes.

“I’m just scratching the surface,” Watford said. “I’m going to keep getting better.”

When Watford speaks like that, it could be easy to dismiss it as youthful bravado. But his background shows he has the determination, work ethic and support system to back up his words. After all, not many 21-year-old players see NBA action, let alone become part of a team’s rotation. Even fewer rotation players are on two-way contracts — a designation for developing players that allows teams to shuttle them between the NBA and the G League.

But here Watford is, carving more of a role with each passing week, an ascension that started long before the Blazers shifted their focus from playoff hopefuls to playing for increased lottery chances.

His story is both surprising and inspiring, and it is best told through his tears, and the promises that came from them.

As more than 50 friends and family gathered in a ballroom at a Birmingham, Ala. hotel to anticipate his being selected in the 2021 NBA Draft, Trendon Watford tried to contain his nervous energy.

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He was an early entrant into the draft after a solid sophomore season at LSU, when he averaged 16.3 points, 7.9 rebounds and 2.9 assists. The Trail Blazers, who didn’t own a pick in the 2021 draft, had Watford on their radar ever since he was a McDonald’s High School All-American in 2018-19. During a standout SEC tournament his freshman season, Watford caught the attention of Blazers’ director of data science, Zach Williams. He went from being on the team’s radar to being closely watched.

Watford figured interest was like that around the league. He had worked out for 11 teams and received positive feedback. Realistically, he thought he would be drafted in the early-to-mid picks of the second round.

“I had a good feeling,” Watford said.

His basketball career had been accelerated in large part by playing in the glow of his brother, Christian, a sharp-shooting wing who played at Indiana and left as the Hoosiers’ ninth all-time leading scorer. Christian was 6-foot-9, and nine years older, and he showed no mercy on his younger brother.

“Oh, they butted heads,” said Ernest, their father. “Because Trendon always thought he could beat Christian 1-on-1. But he was 60 pounds lighter, nine years younger, and still, he was never afraid to play him. Always thought he could beat him.”

There is debate whether Trendon ever beat Christian, but there is no argument about how physical and emotional the games became in the driveway of their home.

“I used to beat up on Trendon all the time,” Christian said. “Like you know, big brother stuff, make him cry. But I knew it was making him better.”

From inside the house, Ernest would watch and chuckle at the determination and competitiveness of Trendon, then brace for the inevitable emotional breakdown.

“I would tell Trendon, ‘Don’t come crying to me about it,”’ Ernest said with a chuckle. “You go out there and fight, scrap. And I’ll tell you, Trendon is a headstrong kid. But Christian would make him come in the house crying … just the physicality of it alone would make him cry about it.”

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There was another dynamic at work, though. Not only was Trendon getting to play against a skilled player like his brother, but he was also getting a front-row seat to the inner workings of big-time basketball. With his parents, Trendon would attend every Indiana home game during Christian’s four-year career, making the seven-hour drive from Birmingham to Bloomington, Ind. And he made at least one trip to every Big Ten arena except Penn State.

Trendon wasn’t just a family member and fan at Indiana. He became embedded in the program. Indiana coach Tom Crean allowed him to view closed practices, and be inside the locker room for every pregame, halftime and postgame speech.

“Trendon owned that place,” Christian said. “Everybody in Assembly Hall knew Trendon. He did whatever he wanted to.”

In December of 2011, with 11-year-old Trendon in the stands wearing his brother’s red No. 2 Indiana jersey, Christian hit what is now called “The Wat Shot” — a 3-pointer at the buzzer to beat No. 1 Kentucky. It was the only loss of the season for a Kentucky team that featured Anthony Davis, Michael Kidd-Gilchrist and Terrence Jones. The shot, and the pandemonium that followed, was named the “Play of the Year” at the 2012 ESPYs.

“Those were some of the greatest times of my life,” Trendon said. “As a kid, to have your brother be in the spotlight, and everybody knew I was Christian’s younger brother … I was in the locker room, in practices, had the freedom to be with all the players. It put the competitive drive in me. Seeing it first hand, I wanted to be on that stage. I wanted to be like my brother and be on that platform … and bigger. I think it has a lot to do with who I am today as a player.”

And on this July night in Birmingham Trendon figured the player he had become was about to be drafted into the NBA. With Christian seated to his right, Trendon sat and watched the broadcast of the draft as friends mingled and dabbled at the food and drink.

“We were all together, waiting by the phone,” Christian said. “Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.”

For Trendon, there was more at stake than realizing his dream of making the NBA that night of the 2021 draft.

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Less than a year earlier, he had made a promise.

He was at school at LSU, in the room of a teammate, when his phone rang. His uncle, Stanley Glover, had died at age 63 from lung cancer. It caught everyone by surprise because as he battled, Glover would always live up to his word and “shake back” and recover.

“I got that call, and it tore me up,” Trendon said.

His uncle wasn’t just any relative. He was a mentor, a confidant, a friend.

“He was like my second brother,” Trendon said.

Glover was the older brother of Trendon’s father, and they called him “Uncle Kidd” — a nickname he gave himself when he was younger and working in the Jim Walters Coal Mines in Concord, Ala. Flush with money from working in the mines, he proclaimed himself “Rich Kidd.” After the coal boom died down, he was no longer rolling in the dough, so he just became “Kidd.”

Kidd was a character. Give him a pack of smokes and a beer and he could hold court for hours, no matter the subject. He was well-read and had a quick wit and wasn’t shy about showing off both.

“Just a great spirit,” Ernest said.

He had nicknames for everybody. He called Trendon “Tight Man” because Trendon was tight with his money. He called Trendon’s older sister, Elise, “gorgeous” but he would spell it out like he said it: “G-A-W-J-U-S.”

“He was just the life of the party,” Trendon said. “He would come in here now and make everybody laugh.”

Kidd would often stay with Trendon’s family, and he was closely involved with the athletic careers of all the Watford kids (Elise was a standout volleyball player at Samford University).

“Kidd was always in all their ears about their game, what he thought,” Ernest said. “And he wanted to know about their work, their academics. He just showed that uncle love to them.”

He would often make the drive with the family to see Christian play at Indiana and he would pepper Trendon with the same question: “Are you ready to be on the big stage like your brother?” It was when Trendon was in sixth grade that Kidd first planted a seed he would water throughout the years: “You gonna make McDonald’s All-American?”

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“And he was with us that night that Trendon was named a McDonald’s All-American,” Ernest said. “He was tough on Trendon, he was always challenging him, but all the kids really loved him because he was able to get on the same level with them.”

So when Trendon came home to Birmingham for Kidd’s funeral, it was with more than a heavy heart. All of those motivating talks from Kidd, all of that unwavering support, all the dreams they both talked about … they were weighing on Trendon’s mind. So as his dad prepared to approach the casket of his brother, Trendon spoke up.

“He said he wanted to tell him something,” Ernest said. “It was a tough day on me, and it definitely was going to be tough on Christian and Trendon. So we walked up there together. I walked up to the casket with him.”

With tears coming down his face, Trendon saw his uncle, his “second brother,” and thought about how much he pushed him, motivated him, supported him.

“I just remember looking at him in the casket and telling him, ‘I’m going to make this work,”’ Trendon said.

Ernest was next to his youngest son and said he will never forget the moment.

“He said, ‘I’m gonna make it, Kidd. I’m going to do it for you, Kidd. I’m going to make this work,”’ Ernest said.

As the 2021 draft unfolded, it was becoming apparent it wasn’t going as Trendon and Christian had figured. Players they knew were ahead of them began slipping. Two memorable moments were Ayo Dosunmu dropping to Chicago at No. 38. Then Sharife Cooper slid to Atlanta at No. 48.

“Some really talented guys were slipping, and we began to think, ‘Ah, man, this might be crazy,” Christian said.

Soon, the draft turned into a mixture of bewilderment and frustration. Less talented players were going ahead of him. Players they had never heard of were being drafted.

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“I was sitting there watching guys who I killed in workouts going to these teams,” Trendon said.

With two final draft spots available, the Brooklyn Nets called and offered to draft Watford, with contingencies. Christian advised Trendon that he should look for a better opportunity.

When the 60th and final pick was made, and his name wasn’t called, Trendon couldn’t contain his emotion. He broke down and cried. His brother put his arm around him and whispered into his ear. Told him he believed in him. He told him he would get his chance to prove people wrong. And he told him — promised him — he would be there to help him get to the NBA.

“He put his arm around me and told me ‘We have to make this work,'” Trendon said. “He said, ‘Everything is going to work out how it’s supposed to work out. We have to attack it.”’

Christian was speaking from experience. In 2013, he too was a draft hopeful but watched as 60 players were picked. He later signed with the Boston Celtics, but didn’t stick, and had Summer League stints with the Pacers and Dallas. He remembers being crushed on draft night, to the point where his disappointment became an obstacle.

“With me, he has seen both sides of it — The Shot, and the down part, when things didn’t go right for me,” Christian said. “And I kind of felt I went through those hard times just to know how to help him out. I’ve got kind of the blueprint now. We don’t want to make the same mistakes I did.”

From afar, Ernest watched the scene unfold. Christian putting his arm around Trendon. The tears. The words of encouragement. The hug.

“It took me right back to 2013, when I watched Christian go through the same emotions, and I was the one doing the picking up,” Ernest said. “Trendon was the younger brother then, and he didn’t understand it, and everybody shed tears about it.”

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For years, Ernest had sat back and watched the growing bond between his sons. How Christian worked out Trendon. Coached him. Mentored him. Drilled him. He had assumed that father-figure role and he let it play out on this most emotional of nights.

“I saw a big brother who had lived the same exact night, and I saw a closeness in the tears shed between brothers,” Ernest said. “And I saw a young kid broken down. But it was something to watch Christian move in and pick his brother up, his spirit up, his confidence up.”

For 30 minutes, Trendon cried, and two brothers who had been through so much together — the driveway 1-on-1, the experiences at Indiana, the funeral of their uncle, the training for the draft — became even closer.

“In that moment, he knew exactly how I felt. Exactly,” Trendon said. “And it was like he became a father figure. He kept telling me everything was going to be all right.”

Ernest and his wife Belinda had conflicting emotions. They were hurting for Trendon, but swelled with pride at seeing the moment with their two sons.

“It warmed my heart, warmed my wife’s heart,” Ernest said. “As a father, when you see your two sons connect, and have that level of closeness, that’s all you can really ask for. If something happens to me, God forbid, I feel that my two sons have enough respect for each other, enough care for each other, that they can carry on. So that makes me feel an immense amount of joy and happiness.”

As the two brothers sorted through their sadness and anger, Trendon’s phone rang. On the other line was Chauncey Billups, head coach of the Portland Trail Blazers. The Blazers, a team that had Watford on their radar for two years, wanted him to sign a two-way contract.

It’s a call that Billups won’t forget for two reasons: it was his first official call as head coach of the Blazers. And the prospect kept promising him the same thing. Over and over.

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“He kept telling me that I wouldn’t regret it, that he was going to come here and work his butt off,” Billups said. “And I was there on the other line listening, and I just loved it. He kept saying it, ‘You won’t regret it.’ And you know what? He has done just that. He really has. I’m really happy for him.”

Watford hasn’t forgotten the moment either.

“Chauncey calls my phone, and I remember, I was all upset, and I thanked him and told him ‘You won’t regret it. You won’t regret taking a chance on me,”’ Watford said. “And I have pretty much kept that in the back of my head throughout this whole opportunity. I keep waking up with the mindset of sticking what I told Chauncey — that he won’t regret it.”

Once Watford arrived in Portland, it wasn’t an easy route to become an every-game rotation player. He had a so-so Summer League in Las Vegas, after which Billups outlined areas he needed to improve. One thing Billups told him was he didn’t think he was moving well and needed to lose weight.

Watford went to Houston, and with his trainer Aaron Miller, began to fine-tune his diet and workout drills. By the time he returned to Portland in September, he had lost around seven pounds, opening the eyes of Billups.

“His whole body looked different,” Billups said. “To transform your body like that, that spoke a lot to me. It spoke to his work ethic, and it showed a level of focus and dedication that has to happen at this level. So, he came back, and I was like, ‘Whoa.’ It impressed me.”

Watford was inactive for 18 of the Blazers’ first 20 games, but around Thanksgiving started getting spot duty. In 2022, he has played in 22 consecutive games, during which he has averaged 5.5 points, 3.6 rebounds and 1.2 assists in 15.3 minutes a game.

“He’s a plug-and-play guy, where you can put him in so many places,” Billups said. “He can do so many things because of his feel, and I don’t have to teach him, he just knows. And those things are quantified in numbers, or analytics, but those things are big. Big.”

Back home in Alabama, in the small town of Adamsville outside of Birmingham, there is a tree where Uncle Kidd and his friends would meet and shoot the breeze. They called those sessions Under the Tree.

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“He would love to brag about his nieces and nephews,” Ernest said. “And I tell you, if he was living now, his friends wouldn’t be able to stand him Under the Tree because he would be bragging.”

Bragging because the kid who didn’t get drafted, the kid who learned from his brother, the kid who made promises and lived up to them, is now an NBA player.

“When I see his guy friends, they talk about it,” Ernest said. “That Kidd lived to see this moment. He lived for this, he lived to see this. And I think it’s what motivates Trendon a lot internally. He might not say it a lot. But I know that’s what he goes through a lot. He really misses him. Really misses him.”

Watford says he makes sure he never forgets Uncle Kidd. He writes “RIP Unc Kidd” on the shoes he wears in games.

“I wake up every day and think about him,” Watford said. “Because he always wanted to see me on this stage.”

He said if Uncle Kidd was still alive, his wardrobe would be one-dimensional.

“He’d show up in all Portland gear,” Watford said, smiling. “Head to toe, Blazers.”

Meanwhile, Christian has continued to be his mentor. He always said if Trendon could get to the NBA, he would be able to keep him there. He stayed with Trendon in Portland for the Blazers’ recent homestand and sat in the Moda Center stands, filled with pride.

That day his younger brother was crying in his arms was not the end. It was only the beginning.

“That’s my ride-to-die, honestly,” Trendon said. “I’ve always looked up to him, and now, he’s been with me every step of the way.”

But Trendon Watford’s path, his story, has not reached its end, he says. There is one more promise, a promise he has made to himself. His dad, a retired sheriff deputy in Alabama’s Jefferson County, and his mom, a special needs teacher, are living in the same home Trendon grew up on in the East side of Birmingham.

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“One day, I gotta get us out of that house,” Trendon said. “We’ve been in that house my whole life. I gotta pay them back.”

This promise was made with dry eyes. But eyes of determination.

“I’m telling you,” Trendon said. “I’m just scratching the surface.”

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