Beating the odds — Despite disability, Crum continues to prove he belongs

To: Columbia Pictures, Warner Bros., Disney, Paramount, MGM, etc.

Dear Sirs;

Have I got a feel-good sports movie for you.

This is "Rudy" times 10.

This is a true story, and the trailer goes something like this: A school custodian at a small university makes the school's basketball team. It takes him years, but he actually gets some playing time and finally earns a basketball scholarship halfway through his senior year.

He's not going to make the NBA, but he's already working on an MBA.

Oh, and did we mention this: He has one hand.

Dax Crum, a 6-foot-2 guard at Southern Utah University, was born without a right hand. All he has is a small, stunted digit at the end of his wrist that serves as a partial finger.

Somehow, he has made himself into a solid college basketball player. He has seen action in 10 of 19 games this season, collecting 12 points, 2 steals, 3 rebounds, 8 assists and 7 turnovers in 59 minutes of action. But his recent emergence as a defensive stopper (more on that later) can't be measured by numbers.

The weird thing is, opposing players often don't even notice the hand until the post-game handshake. One rival player grabbed Crum's right "hand" and stopped in mid-shake. Holding up both lines, he held it close to his face, studied it a moment, then looked at Crum and continued moving down the line without saying anything. Other players have been more vocal. "What happened to your hand, man? Or: Holy *#&!, how are you doing that? Or: You aren't the same kid who was out there, are you?

Crum has adapted to his one-handed game so well — shooting, catching, dribbling to his right — that one teammate confessed he didn't notice the hand for the first three days of practice.

Coach Roger Reid was predictably skeptical when he first saw Crum shortly after taking over the school's basketball program last fall. "He wasn't going to just give me a spot on the team, that's for sure," says Crum. The coach gently told Crum all the reasons he shouldn't play basketball — he could devote more time to his MBA pursuits and to his wife, Ashley, his chance of playing was slim, he could use his afternoons to earn more money, etc.

Crum's reply: "I appreciate that, but I just want to play."

Crum had heard all this before, every step of the way. Coaches in Little League, high school, junior college and college all looked at that right stump and told him, as kindly as possible, that the odds were stacked against him making the team.