Yet somehow it all doesn't add up. Despite Kidd's Hall of Fame trajectory, his touch has often been less than magic. As a freshman at Cal he was the biggest name on a team that revolted against coach Lou Campanelli and got him fired. Opinion in the Bay Area is still divided on whether Kidd was a ringleader or a bystander. In Dallas, where he played from 1994 through '96, Kidd feuded with teammate Jimmy Jackson and was traded to Phoenix. Last summer the underachieving Suns dealt him to the Nets for point guard Stephon Marbury. Kidd is on his third NBA team in eight years, too many for someone mentioned in the same breath with Magic and Stockton. He has led a team into the second round of the playoffs only one time, too few for someone whom even Suns general manager Bryan Colangelo calls "a winner." Though Kidd's hustle is unquestioned and his heroics abundant, there's always been an instability about him, a crack in the foundation that, over time and under pressure, has compromised his stature. At home it was no different. After Jason and Joumana married nearly five years ago, he constantly credited her love with keeping him sane and stable. Each time he took a free throw for the Suns, the cameras zoomed in to show him blowing a kiss to Joumana before the shot. She was a TV reporter and he was a gentle star. Many in Phoenix referred to them as the city's unofficial first couple. At home, though, the tension was so thick, Jason's mother hesitated to visit. "When icicles are around," Anne Kidd says, "it gets a little chilly." Then the ice storm hit. After the couple spent most of Jan. 18, 2001, arguing, Jason erupted. Just after 5 p.m., Joumana told him not to pick at T.J.'s food, and Jason spit a french fry at her. T.J. stared. Jason then punched the beautiful face he'd chased for so long, and after Joumana's head snapped back and she tasted blood, she ran upstairs to the bedroom. Jason kicked in the door. She locked herself in the bathroom. She had hated him not so long before, and now she knew why. He has done the unthinkable. Yes, Kidd has instantly transformed the eternally fragile Nets into a tough, selfless, first-place team. Yes, his play has nearly drained the Meadowlands of 25 years of misery. However, his most unexpected impact can be seen on this December night at Madison Square Garden, where the New York Knicks' management absurdly announces its 403rd sellout despite great expanses of empty seats, where a Knicks team plays without cohesion or pride and where, God forbid, the team playing Red Holzman's elegant brand of New York ball hails from across the river. A strange sound echoes through the arena at game's end. "N-E-T-S!" the fans shout. "Nets! Nets! Nets!" "There's not just one team here anymore," says Scott. "It's not just the Knicks anymore." It is a perfect rout. The Nets throw in 14 three-pointers, the Nets stampede the Knicks 114-96, the Nets play fun 'n' gun because Kidd makes it possible. His genius reveals itself best on the move; he sees patterns where others see chaos. With New Jersey up 69-64 in the third quarter, Kidd hits a three-pointer, then grabs an outlet pass, takes two steps and finds the streaking Kenyon Martin for an easy layup, leaving Knicks forward Kurt Thomas shaking his head in envy. With New Jersey up 77-69 and only three seconds left on the shot clock, Kidd drives to the basket. He must shoot -- anyone else would shoot -- but as he jumps he sees Kerry Kittles standing alone at the top of the key. At the last second Kidd flings the ball to Kittles, who drops in the killing three. Under Kidd's watchful eye, there's always an extra pass, and each teammate gets at least one moment good enough for the 11 p.m. highlights. Late in the fourth quarter Kidd hits Richard Jefferson with a ridiculous half-court, underhand alley-oop pass, and the Knicks are broken. -- "I don't look at favorites. That's for (reporters) and fans. I just go out and play."---- Jason Kidd --

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