The story behind Boom

In many ways, Bambale Osby seems larger than life.

His mountainous afro looks like a well-pruned garden hedge, and his facial features and muscles are enormous. But as he sits with his monstrous hands on his knees and tells of his improbable rise to success, the immensity fades away.

When he speaks of his troubled past with incredible candor and frankness, he is no longer the 6-foot-8 fan-favorite big-man who's turning heads nationwide. Under the massiveness of "Boom" lies a story made up of the complexity of everyday life and the tiny tweaks and turns that paved a dead-end road into a limitless future.

The flight from a dangerous and turbulent childhood in Virginia to an essential role on the Terrapin basketball team made improbable stops in New Mexico, Texas and many other places in between.

But all his perseverance and persistence earned him the right to stand where he does today - as a Division-I college basketball player who has drastically improved his performance on the court with each game, especially in the last month. And his development away from the game is equally inspiring.

Roughing it in Richmond

Osby's father, William, left his family to fend for itself in the crack-ridden projects of Richmond in the late '80s. Osby was 3 years old. And while he doesn't remember much, his distinct recollections paint haunting images of a city that repeatedly ranked among the nations' most dangerous in the '90s.

One day, Osby remembers coming home to see his bunk bed disassembled and on the floor of his family's first-story apartment.

"I didn't understand why," he said. "I looked at the window and I was like, 'Who is throwing rocks at our window?' But they weren't rocks - they were bullet holes. So my mom put us on the floor."

Even when recounting a disturbing memory, Osby's disposition remains upbeat and unchanged.

"It's just life," he said. "It happens."

It would continue to happen as he grew, only getting worse. In seventh grade, an after-school program intended to help Osby deal with any possible anger from his parents' separation instead veered the youngster off-course. It interfered with basketball tryouts at his Richmond middle school, and that's when the Boulevard Knights, an infamous Richmond gang, entered the picture.

"I was pissed, so I stopped going to the program and said, 'The hell with it.' I started running with the Knights, and we were bad, man. Breaking into houses, stealing cars, robbing people. I knew it was wrong. But that's what goes on."

Then, while still in middle school, some acquaintances of Osby's and his newfound posse became statistics to add to Richmond's astronomical murder rate.

"They said, 'Come on, we got to go kill these people.' At that point I was like, 'Look, I can't be a part of this.'"

As he recounts the end of the opening chapter, the scene he paints feels like that from a movie. The local news the following morning, he said, reported the ramifications of Osby's decision not to ride with his gangmates - six people were murdered that night.

Trying to change

Osby returned to school, but still found a line of Fs on his report cards, as his mind was elsewhere.

"I couldn't walk home after school," he said bluntly. "They'd jump my brother; throw rocks at my house. One time they shot up the back window of my momma's car. You can't get out. It's not that easy. Every day I'd wait around after school when the janitor was cleaning up and locking up at 5 o'clock. I couldn't walk home."

The next step in the journey landed Osby in a magnet program at Thomas Jefferson High School in Richmond, where he could get away from his violent past and concentrate on change. After two years of playing basketball and taking French and Spanish, he transferred to a private school, Benedictine High, where he would help his team win two Virginia State Catholic League Championships.

But the transition wasn't a smooth one.

"Thomas Jefferson was an all-black, urban school," Osby said. "Benedictine was all boys, all white, Catholic, military. It was scary, dude. The first couple of months I just didn't talk to anybody. It was something else. The team had probably three black kids [my junior year]. My senior year, it was just me. It was crazy."

Yet through all the differences, basketball was the universal language. Students knew Osby as the new, giant, friendly kid who averaged more than 16 points and 16 rebounds as a senior, and he began to make friends.

Though not highly recruited, Osby received an offer to play at the University of New Mexico while he was touring with his Amateur Athletic Union team, the Richmond Squires.

Through it all, he had escaped.

College hopping

But again, Osby struggled with change.

He had a great relationship with the assistant coach who recruited him, Duane Broussard, but didn't get along with head coach Ritchie McKay.

The Lobos went on to win the Mountain West Conference Tournament, but he said his relationship with McKay deteriorated as the season progressed. He averaged just 7.4 minutes per game.

Osby branched out and tried to establish relationships to settle into a life at New Mexico. He had a girlfriend and also a close friend in Marc Tuwiner, 40, the owner of Annapolis Classic Cars. He heard of Tuwiner's business on the Internet and would contact him about car parts for his Cadillacs. The two quickly became close friends thanks to their common interest in old autos.

Nevertheless, the year was a rough one.

"I didn't know how to be social," he said. "I was alone, and it was my first time being away. And I wasn't real good friends with a lot of guys on the team. That was the hardest part."

It got so bad that Osby said a teammate overheard McKay telling interested head coaches from around the country, "You don't want Osby. He's a jerk."