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Jayne’s Last Shot Stanford's greatest women's player ended her college career with a bad ankle and a host of dreams By Erin Beresini

Jayne Appel has no idea what happens next. Sure, there’s the Final Four three days from now, and the near-certainty that she’ll face the University of Huskies and her longtime friend and rival, Tina Charles, and their 76-game winning streak. Appel wants to break that streak, and to win the national title for Stanford University, her coach, and her team. But then there’s her right ankle, badly sprained, and in a boot. And her right foot is stress fractured, but she can’t let anyone know that. Not yet. How will this affect her in the WNBA draft three days after the NCAA tournament? Analysts predict she will be picked second after Charles goes to Connecticut. If Minnesota doesn’t choose her with the second pick, who will? Where will she live? Chicago? San Antonio? She’s already been living out of a suitcase for a few weeks—she graduated early and lost her on-campus housing privileges at Stanford, so a kind booster family took her in. For sure, she won’t live close to home—there are no WNBA teams near California’s Bay Area. At least her family will be at the Final Four. But so will pro scouts and general managers. Pressure. This is ’s moment of truth. One life is ending, another about to begin. It all comes down to two more games and her head is spinning and her foot is throbbing and it’s no wonder that Appel is anxious talking on camera just before 10 in the morning on March 31—the day before she leaves for the Final Four. “All I really want to be doing is focusing on Oklahoma—the first game,” says the 6-foot-4 into the lens, a few strands of her blonde hair falling out of a ponytail. If Stanford beats Oklahoma, in five days Appel will be playing for the national title. If Appel plays her best, Stanford has a chance to win the national title for the first time in 18 years. If she doesn’t… So the camera is probably not the only reason that laid-back, carefree, sorority girl Jayne is hiding somewhere inside anxious, tired, basketball-star Jayne. “Throw me in, feed me to the sharks and see how I do,” Appel says into the lens with an apprehensive grin.

***

In a few minutes the camera will stop recording, and Appel will be in a larger press conference answering questions about her ankle when she really wants to be talking about her team. But while her team was gearing up for the Pac-10 and NCAA tournaments, Appel was hanging with Marcella Shorty, the team’s athletic trainer, rehabbing the ankle Appel sprained a month ago that swelled up all black and blue and larger than 2 any human ankle should ever swell. And since Appel is the face of the team, her ankle is the top news story. A few weeks ago, Appel made it through only 20 minutes of practice before her ankle puffed up in protest. Instead of doing layups, she jumped on an exercise bike with JJ Hones, a fellow injured teammate and sorority sister, and cheered on her team from there. By the time her team was stampeding across the court in an intense scrimmage—halfway through a three-hour practice— Appel had disappeared into the physical therapy room with Shorty and Hones. Appel sat on a treatment table while Shorty squished gel over Appel’s injured foot, then scraped it with a hard plastic blade to help get the swelling out. Appel grimaced as she concentrated on the Montana—Weber State men’s basketball game on TV. The perky ponytail at the top of her head looked like it was trying to balance out the purple ankle of doom at the other end. “I’m playing on Friday!” Appel said. Meaning she wasn’t going to sit out the PAC-10 tournament that started Friday with a game against Arizona State. Hones kept stretching her calves while Shorty kept scraping Appel’s ankle. Neither said a word. Appel had missed only two games in her entire collegiate career: her very first, as a freshman, and her very last, against Stanford’s rival, Cal. More than 60 family members and friends were in the stands at the Cal game in custom-made House of Jayne/unstopAppel t-shirts. Appel brought her uniform to the game, knowing she might not be able to play. But also knowing that she should seem prepared to play because her unpreparedness might have a negative psychological impact on the team. She majored in psychology, after all. Her studies helped her understand coach Tara VanDerveer’s motivations for making certain decisions, and they would help her understand her injury’s effect on her team. When Shorty finished manually torturing Appel’s ankle, she put electrodes on it to help reduce swelling, then placed Appel’s size-13 foot in a boot that both compressed and iced it. “Want to help me pack for the next 5 months of my life?” Appel asked Shorty. “I wish I were a kid again so I wouldn’t have to worry about money.”

***

Kid Jayne had things to worry about other than money. Or basketball. A true California girl, Appel grew up in Pleasant Hill, a suburb northeast of San Francisco where life is supposed to be…pleasant. And it mostly was. There was, of course, the time when an older brother knocked Appel’s front tooth out with a basketball. And then the time when he knocked Appel’s front tooth out with a tetherball. But such encounters are almost expected for a girl swimming in a sea of brothers. Jayne is the third of four very tall kids in the Appel family, and the only girl. Papa Appel (Joseph) is a lawyer and Mama Appel (Pamela) is a registered nurse. Appel got in her girly time at Carondelet High School, an all-girl Catholic school where she played basketball and water polo. Coaches across the country— 3 including Stanford’s VanDerveer—took notice of Appel her during her freshman year of high school, when she went straight to playing on the varsity basketball team, even though Papa Appel had committed himself to coaching the junior varsity team because he thought he’d be coaching Jayne. VanDerveer started recruiting Appel early because she saw that Appel was motivated and determined to improve. She saw that Appel knew exactly what she needed to do and worked very hard to do it. Coach-speak translation: Appel was good. Really good. And Appel got really good from training really hard. During water polo season, she would practice from 5:30 until after 7 in the morning, go to school, then practice again for two hours in the evening. Basketball, thankfully, didn’t have morning practices. The love of sport kept her motivated, but there was also something else—life at home had become difficult. Appel was in fifth grade when an older brother started having behavioral problems. Jayne thought he was just a mean, angry older brother. If he were having a problem—he’d broken furniture and thrown a chair out a window before—Appel would be sent to her neighbor’s house until it was dealt with. By the time Appel was in high school, the older brother was still at home struggling. Appel never knew what kind of scene would greet her when she walked in the door. As Appel neared the end of high school, she began to realize that her brother was not actually a mean or angry person—he was suffering from a disease. Police came to the Appel house to carry out a 5150—the act of arresting someone against his will in order to perform a psychiatric evaluation. The summer before Appel came to Stanford, it happened again. Appel stood in her front yard as policemen came for her brother. When he resisted arrest, Appel watched as a policeman tasered her brother, strapped him to a gurney, wheeled him into an ambulance, then drove him away. Appel realized she needed to understand mental illness better so she could help.

***

Appel’s room in the Pi Beta Phi sorority house was very organized and very clean. Roommate Caroline Levin appreciated the cleanliness because Appel’s room served as the entrance to Caroline’s room. College housing is weird like that. The black and white flowered covers were pulled up over Appel’s queen- sized bed every morning. Her computer and a pencil jar were the only things on her desk besides her photos, including Appel’s favorite photo of her and Papa Appel walking down a street in Italy—Mama Appel snuck in the shot from behind them. There were several more photos in frames on the desk and tacked to the wall. And then there was the white-board calendar, also perfectly organized. Events were color coded, and Appel wrote in all of the activities she’d be doing every single day of her last five weeks at Stanford. In early February, first up on the calendar was a visit to the Saddle Rack, a country bar in San Jose with dancing and a live band and a mechanical bull. Appel 4 had wanted to go forever, so she organized an outing, complete with limousine transportation, for her and a dozen of her sorority sisters. (About 60 girls lived in the Pi Phi house with her.) Basketball was not on the calendar that night. In fact, when Appel is not on the court, she rarely speaks about basketball. While the country’s college-basketball-loving community has been buzzing about Appel throughout her collegiate career, she’s been spending time with her friends, holding girlie powwows in her room, studying clinical psychology and working on Pi Phi’s Leadership Nomination Committee. Appel doesn’t keep track of her statistics or what people are saying about her—she didn’t realize she’d become the Pac-10’s all-time leading rebounder until a reporter asked her about it. “Really?” she said, “That’s cool. I didn’t know.” Then she launched into a discussion about how police only have seven hours of mental disability training, which, she explained, is not enough to effectively handle confrontations with people who need psychiatric care. Appel’s stature, smarts, beauty, personality and wicked athletic skills have combined to make her the idol of many young women. One look into the crowd at Maples Pavilion will reveal several girls in No. 2 Stanford jerseys—Jayne’s number. She just seems so friendly and approachable, like the girlfriend every girl wishes she had. Papa Appel keeps a fan letter he received soon after the sad Cal game from one young Miss Abby Katz. She was at the game and saw the neat t-shirts he had made for Appel’s cheering squad and she would like one, please, if there were any left. And even if he wouldn’t send her one, she would like the courtesy of a response. Sincerely, Abby Katz, one of Appel’s biggest fans. Enclosed was an article from the San Francisco Chronicle about Abby cheering for Appel at a previous game. Abby is now the happy owner of a custom unstopAppel t-shirt. Now the question is: Will Appel be unstopAppel at her final Final Four?

***

Appel is cracking eggs on her teammate’s heads. To be more precise, Appel is cracking de-egged, confetti-filled eggshells on her teammate’s heads. Appel landed in San Antonio hours earlier with her team to compete in the Final Four NCAA Tournament, and this is her grand Texas welcome. It’s April Fool’s day, but that has nothing to do with the egging—it’s a Texas tradition, Appel says. It’s easier for Appel to keep her cool at her third Final Four in as many years—she is accustomed to the media rigmarole. And this year, she’s the odd- woman out in room assignments, so she gets her own hotel room and the absolute TV remote control privileges that come with it. That means it’s Law & Order time! And family time—Appel’s parents and two of her brothers have flown in and soon, Appel will paint her brothers’ nails “playoff pink” to match her own. But it’s not phone time. Appel can’t talk to her boyfriend, former Stanford football player Chris Marinelli, before games. He makes her nervous. So does Papa Appel, but he’s physically there and can’t be put on silent. 5

Now is not the time to think about Tina Charles—or to show any weakness. When it comes time for Sunday’s game against Oklahoma, Appel is excited. She’s focused. She’s also praying her right foot won’t break all the way through. She also hopes the injured foot won’t hurt too badly—she decides against taking a shot of Toradol, an anti-inflammatory that got her through the Pac-10 tournament, because she thinks it makes her loopy. Appel eats her requisite pre- game peanut butter and jelly sandwich and pops her requisite just-before-the- buzzer pre-game Skittles. She is ready to go. Turns out skipping the Toradol shot wasn’t such a bad decision. Her foot, miraculously, feels pretty good during the game. Appel scores 13 points and has 10 rebounds to help her team advance to the final round of the tournament. Appel and team watch the first half of the Connecticut-Baylor game, then return to their hotel to rest up. Now is the time to be thinking about Tina Charles. And UConn’s 76-game winning streak. In less than an hour, after Appel and her teammates leave, after UConn finishes off a tough Baylor team, it becomes 77.

***

Appel sits in silence in the Alamodome locker room. It’s minutes before her final collegiate game and she doesn’t like listening to music right before a game. Right now, she’s not really thinking of anything—or she’s thinking of everything and it all cancels out. Her hair is braided in her trademark double-French braids—she quit playing big games in a ponytail after her uncle Mike observed she didn’t play well in ponytails. So no ponytails. No thoughts. She’s in the zone. Her family arrived at 5pm for the 7:30pm tip off. They aren’t going to miss a thing. Papa Appel is so nervous he can’t eat, while her brothers are starving and look for food. Appel is all taped up. She discussed her Toradol shot with the team physician and decided against it again. She downs a few Skittles. She’s ready. When the ball tips off, Appel’s mind goes blank and she just…goes. The first half is a whirlwind. Jayne doesn’t make any shots yet, but her ankle feels fine. Just fine. Papa Appel crosses his arms and watches the game with the seriousness of a coach. But he can’t help but cheer during this half. In fact, he’s cheering more than her brothers have ever seen him cheer. Mama Appel gets really nervous and shrieks so loudly it makes Appel’s brothers jump out of their seats. That’s been happening a lot this game. Stanford keeps UConn to 12 points in the first half—it’s the lowest scoring game in NCAA Championship history. Jayne is proud of her girls. They’ve been executing their game plan flawlessly. But, she reminds them, they were up at half-time last time they played UConn in December. Don’t let up. 6

Five minutes into the second half, Appel turns her ankle—far worse than the first time. Her ankle hits the hardwood, then bounces back, then Appel feels flames engulf her foot. The almost 23,000 basketball fans in the Alamodome hush. Horrified Stanford students watch as the incident is replayed on television in the student union lounge on campus over and over and over. Appel gets up and hobbles over to the bench. Shorty asks Appel if she can still play. “Yes!” Appel says. The team physician jumps over a barrier and she and Shorty and two security guards hustle Appel off-court to give her a shot of painkillers. Cameras follow Appel wherever she goes—they don’t know Toradol shots are administered in the bum. Appel lets them know. A few colorful words from her and they back off. The two security guards hold up their coats so Appel can get her shot, then she hustles back to the court to let VanDerveer know she’s ready to play. Appel attempts shot after shot, but nothing goes in. Not a single shot. She’s never had a scoreless game—ever. Can now be the first time it happens? She keeps putting the ball up, but it keeps bouncing back. Appel plays with everything she has, but it’s not enough. When the clock hits zero, UConn’s players pour out onto the court in celebration of their 53-47 victory. Appel didn’t make any of her 12 shots. She is emotionally gutted. She can’t feel the pain in her foot. Just the pain of losing her final collegiate game—of not scoring at all in her final collegiate game. Of not stopping UConn’s winning streak for VanDerveer. Mama Appel cries—she knew how badly Jayne wanted this win. Papa Appel is silent. Jayne doesn’t want to take off her jersey—her collegiate career is over. But she doesn’t have time to think about it—she has to tell the media that she’s been playing with a stress fracture, then she’s flying to New Jersey in the morning for the WNBA draft.

***

In New Jersey, Appel looks like a new-age Charlie’s Angel. Her blonde hair is down and falls in waves on her shoulders. Her tanned face is perfectly made up with an ethereal shimmer and glossy lips. And her long, lean athletic body is dressed up in a creamy white suit that fits like it was made just for her. In fact, it was made just for her. Stylish women’s suits don’t come off-the-rack in super-tall so Appel commissioned this suit a few weeks ago, and had it flown to New Jersey just in time to meet her for this event: Appel’s grand entrance into the working world. Only four people are allowed to sit at Appel’s table on the floor of the draft room, a room crammed with a stage, flat-screen televisions, and circular tables occupied by basketball stars and their limited entourages. Appel’s parents and Stanford assistant coach Amy Tucker sit with her while her boyfriend watches from the audience. Appel battles her nerves—there is nothing to distract her now. No more games. No more team time. All those weeks living out of suitcases and hotel rooms 7 come down to this moment. Now she’ll find out where she’s going to unpack her bags and start her post-collegiate life. She’s aware of all the expectations so many people put on her and hopes she’ll live up to them. The room is full of nervous energy as dozens of other young women wait to hear where they, too, will begin their adult lives. For many of them, professional basketball will be their first full-time job. Draft picks one through four will make $45,827 their first year. Five through eight will make $42,390. Add in health benefits and a 401K and it’s not a bad job right out of college. Of course the average Stanford humanities and sciences majors will make about $50,000—if they can find a job. And then there are the WNBA players’ male counterparts. The first eight NBA draft picks will make between about $2.1 and $4.3 million this year. The 30th pick will make $850,800. Finally the announcer steps onto the stage. UConn’s Tina Charles is picked first by the . She’ll stay close to her fans. Close to her family. For much of the 2010 season, Appel was projected to be the number-two pick. She waits to hear if she’ll be next. of Virginia is called up on stage next, selected with the pick by the . Is Appel’s ankle injury keeping teams away? Is her final collegiate performance—unrepresentative of her collegiate career—hurting her now? Appel tries to stay calm. Whatever happens will happen, and she’ll be excited about wherever she goes. of Nebraska goes to the Minnesota Lynx with the third pick. Then Epiphany Prince of Rutgers goes to . Ok, now Appel is super nervous. “With the fifth pick in the WNBA draft,” says the announcer, “the San Antonio Silver Stars select Jayne Appel from Stanford University.” Relief. This is her moment. Cameras follow Appel as she walks to the stage. Right now, she doesn’t have to worry about Tina Charles, or UConn and its 78-game winning streak, or about the national championship title, or about Toradol shots or playing injured, or about letting down her team, her coach, herself, or about not knowing where in the country she is going to live. This is the moment when Appel will accept the invitation to the next chapter of her life. For the first time in a long time, Jayne Appel knows exactly what happens next.