Jason Maxiell: "The Quiet Monster"

He glances at the replay occasionally. As the raucous home crowd at Fifth Third Arena anxiously awaits the opening tip, he tilts his neck back and, with his large, perfectly round, brown eyes, scans the highlight reel on the scoreboard that dangles above center court, joining more than 13,000 who watch the same replay with a feverish temperament. To the fans, this highlight is never old.

March 11, 2004. The Conference USA Tournament Quarterfinals. Cincinnati against Louisville, before 16,202 delirious fans, intoxicated with excitement. The Bearcats trail the Cardinals, 29-27, with 17:45 remaining in this slugfest. As Cincinnati strives to tie the game, Louisville's Otis George swats a fast-break, alley-oop attempt, commanding the few inches in front of the hoop for a fleeting moment.

The ball lands in the hands of a streaking bullet, perfectly in stride, seven feet from the basket. He takes one step and propels to the goal. The power with which he attacks the rim is only overshadowed by George cowering as this white-clad penetrating force runs him over and slams home two forceful points. George is already shielding his face the instant after the force collides with him, well before descending to the hardwood.

That night's crowd, 3,000 stronger than a typical UC home game because of U.S. Bank Arena's seating capacity, erupts to a degree that makes the referee's whistle inaudible. The only unaffected person in the arena; the man who sent the crowd, his teammates and press row wild. He unassumingly walks to the free-throw line, concerned with nothing else except completing the three-point play.

Jason Maxiell peers at the replay for a second. Did you see it? Too late; the glance returns to the game and opponent at hand. You just missed him at his most egotistical moment. And those do not come around too often.

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Quiet. No word depicts Maxiell better. Ask his mother, Patricia Maxiell. Ask his teammates. Even he confirms his non-verboseness. His quiet nature is no accident. It is the result of growing up an only child and the son of a single-parent who, likewise, was an only child.

His father was never a part of his life. "Even when I moved from Chicago and let him know we were moving to Texas, I had no responses from his family," Patricia said of Jason's father. So he spent his entire childhood with his grandparents and his mother, who never perceived his silence as unusual.

"If I saw [loneliness], I didn't realize I was seeing it because I don't know what it's like to have siblings," Patricia said. "I don't know what a person acts like when they have siblings. To me, whatever he did was normal."

On the court, Maxiell is far from normal. He is a 6-foot-7, 250-pound beast of a basketball player. The Bearcat senior power forward instills fear into the opposition with his presence alone. With long arms like the Spiderman villain Dr. Octopus, a stalwart upper body and an agile leaping ability that enables him to elevate at the snap of a finger, he garners an abundance of attention from opposing players and coaches. Despite modest career statistics (12.0 points, 7.0 rebounds and 1.9 blocks per game), head coaches shower Maxiell with praise usually anointed to superstars.

"He's tough, hard-nosed, he plays with a good attitude. I always said Bernard King was my favorite player and I compare him to King; that's how much I think about him," Louisville head coach Rick Pitino said earlier this season.

Said DePaul head coach Dave Leitao, "Jason is Jason and always will be a great player in [Conference USA]."

As his numbers have gradually improved throughout his career, the volume of his praise has steadily decreased. Cincinnati fans' adoration overflowed during his freshman season, thanks to his rim-rocking jams and gargantuan rejections. With an athletic prowess and his Texas roots, comparisons to the then recently departed Kenyon Martin quickly ignited.

Yet the adulation slowed as Maxiell's introverted personality became apparent. He does not attract attention with flair on the court, like Eric Hicks, or with a quote-a-minute persona in press conferences, like Tony Bobbitt. Still, his work ethic does not go unnoticed.

"He's a hard-working guy," said teammate Jamaal Lucas. "He gives 100 percent in everything he does."

"Max is a real, no-nonsense kind of guy," said Andy Kennedy, UC associate head coach. "He has a very workman-like approach to the game. You know day in and day out what you're going to get from him."

That includes another constant: silence.

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Patricia Maxiell was born Aug. 11, 1966, the lone child of James and Bernice Maxiell. Growing up on the west side of Chicago, and moving to the suburbs when she was 12, Patricia enjoyed a privileged, yet lonely childhood. Her father worked for the Chicago Board of Education and her mother for Sears payroll. They were the typical supportive, overprotective parents. Patricia was the typical quiet kid.

"I had a cousin that lived nearby me and went to school with me," Patricia said. It was hardly the makings of a gabbing haven. The foundation of her normal life vanished toward the end of her sophomore year in high school. She was pregnant. She was only 15.

Jason Dior Maxiell, her only child and her parents' only grandchild, was born Feb. 18, 1983.

Patricia did not miss a beat at high school after her son's birth, and graduated as schedule in 1984. She enrolled at Illinois State University, first studying computer science, before graduating with an accounting degree in 1988.

While attending college, she also worked a full-time job at McDonald's to support herself and her son. Because of their daughter's hectic life, James and Bernice handled a brunt of the parenting load during much of Maxiell's early childhood.

"My parents were crazy about him," Patricia said.