She's got next: Watts brings game, style to Dillon Gym floor

The greeting is always the same. "WE GOT NEXT," she hollers, announcing her arrival to everyone and no one in particular.

It's familiar scene for those who come to play pickup basketball at Dillon Gym. Two, three afternoons a week — for 13 years now — Johnnette Watts has bounded onto the ancient hardwood floor, raring to play some ball with the guys.

She makes quite a sight, a tiny woman in a sea of much larger college guys. With an outfit straight out of the streets of Brooklyn, she looks like an extra from a Spike Lee movie. She's got the baggy shorts, the sleeveless t-shirt, and the armbands just above either elbow.

And then there's her hat, the piece de resistance. It's the type Wesley Snipes wore in "White Men Can't Jump," tiny brim flipped upward, Jesper Parnevik style. Hanging out the back are her thick, dark braids, which dangle down to nearly her waist.

"Can't play with my hair out," she says by way of explanation. "It's just me, you know, it's my hat."

Of course, none of the guys dare give Johnnette any grief about how she dresses. Sure, the Princeton kids will spend four years playing on this court, but they're just passing through. This is her home, her element. And for the guys who play here, she's part of the experience.

"After playing with her for four years," senior Chris Kirk says, "I'm going to miss her when I leave."

See, there's a crowd of regulars on the court at Dillon every afternoon. By day, Johnnette works for building services, proudly taking care of Lourie-Love Hall. But once four o'clock rolls around, it's time for her to go to the place where everyone knows her name.

Well, maybe not everyone. A lanky freshman on his first trip to Dillon looks confused, shooting glances at her as he waits to get into a game. Before long, he sidles up to an older friend and wonders aloud, "So what's her deal?"

Forgive the kid for asking — he'll find out for himself soon enough. Besides, every guy on the court had the same thought once upon a time. But they learned.

"I thought she's too small, she can't play," recalls Russell Barnes, a sophomore who plays club basketball. "But she can play with the big boys, she's got some skills."

Johnnette knows the young guys are suspicious of her at first, and she understands. She's happy to prove herself every day, knowing full well they'll come around.

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"Once I make a shot, they're like, 'oh cool,'" she says, laughing. "After that, they don't really care — if you can help, you can help. They're pretty cool, pretty good guys once you get to know them."

The time for talking is over. With a new game about to start up, she politely excuses herself and walks on to the court, greeting the guys with jokes and high-fives.

At five feet and change, Johnnette gives up at least half a foot to everyone on the court, but she's not backing down. On the first play of the game, she fights through several screens to stay with her man and deny him the ball. On offense, she looks first to pass the ball and create. But if she finds herself with an open jumper, well, she'll take it.

Thanks to his years of playing with her, Kirk is ready on the sidelines to provide a detailed scouting report. "She's been around for a while, so she knows the gym," he says. "She's got a quick shot, so you gotta play her. She's not afraid to do what it takes to stop people on defense, even if it means ripping their shirts."

Today, the shots aren't falling, and she let's a groan of disgust after leaving a jumper short. She doesn't stay down for long, though. A few minutes later, after a nifty assist, she lets everyone know about it: "I told you, I'm the baddest s—- in town."

In truth, during the game — just like off the court — Johnnette never stops talking. She calls out picks and shouts at teammates to play tighter defense or not to give an open shot.

"She's like a coach on the floor, really smart about the game," junior Timon Lorenzo says. "It's nice to play with her."

Remember the lanky freshman? He's getting a crash course in playing with Johnnette, alright. A couple trips up and down the court were all it took him to figure out what her deal is, and now she's on his case. "Come on, slim," she implores as he grabs an offensive rebound. But when he misses the putback, she sounds heartbroken. "Aww, slim, you're killing me."

Yeah, she doesn't hide the fact she's here to win. But, more importantly, she's here to have — and bring — fun. And, no doubt about it, the guys appreciate it.

"She's a character," sophomore Freddy Flaxman, another club basketball player, says. "She's always in here having a good time."

For now, though, she's more exasperated than anything. Another game is winding down, and her team is losing for the second straight time. As soon as the game-ending shot hits the bottom of the net — "That's it, NEXT!" — she trudges off the court and waves on the waiting players. The sooner the next game starts, the sooner she'll be back on the court. She's not satisfied yet.

"Gotta win a game before I leave," she grumbles, to everyone and no one in particular, as always.

"Gotta win a game."