Energetic Tucker draws coach's attention 2nd-round pick heir to Junkyard Dog Oct. 6, 2006. 01:00 AM DAVE FESCHUK WATERLOO, Ont.—Sam Mitchell, the Raptors coach, calls P.J. Tucker "a dirt worker." Chris Bosh, the resident all-star, says Tucker "doesn't know his own strength — that's how strong he is." As a 6-foot-5 grinder who is shorter and less polished than most of his colleagues in the NBA frontcourt, Tucker, a second-round pick in the June draft, will have to carve out his professional niche with superior defence and copious rebounds. But if his limited skill set hasn't exactly been inspiring awe in training camp, he is making a name by inducing the occasional "Ow!" The other day, Tucker, the tattooed muscleman from the University of Texas, collided with Jose Calderon, the gangly point guard from Spain. They bumped heads. And while the point man's flesh was split open and required a few stitches around the eye, Tucker said yesterday he wasn't immediately aware the contact had even occurred. Like the trucker whose 80,000-pound diesel has unknowingly crushed some wayward hatchback, the 225-pound rookie shrugged in concerned disbelief. "I busted his face and I didn't even know I did it until (the next morning)," said Tucker. "Jose was like, `I got three stitches.' I was like, `When did you get hit?' He's like, `You hit me.' I was like, `Oh, my fault' ... I apologized, but it was kinda late." Tucker flashed the gap-toothed smile that turns his countenance from menacing to friendly. "Stuff like that has been happening now for a while," he said. "I just play hard, so I don't think about what I'm doing ... I've always played like that." His presence has clearly pleased Mitchell, who has praised Tucker at length. For all the NBA tools the 21-year-old lacks — an ounce of finesse, say, and a 15-foot jump shot on which he is said to be working earnestly — he is attempting to compensate with the frenetic expenditure of energy. In Hogtown, where a barking-and-diving livewire named Jerome Williams was once a fan favourite, Tucker has the makings of an heir to that adoration. It's too early to tell, though, if he shares the Junkyard Dog's self-promotional streak — or if he'll actually see the floor. Said Mitchell: "I would never say never." Still, the list of small forwards is long: Morris Peterson, Anthony Parker, Fred Jones and Joey Graham. "I think he's nipping at these guys' heels," said the coach. "He's going to make them better because they're going to know he's going to be sitting there foaming to play." That is the beauty of Tucker's presence here. While Peterson and Parker and Jones are offensively superior and will undoubtedly play regularly, Graham has yet to prove himself as anything but a laconic underachiever. That Mitchell hasn't gone out of his way to talk up Graham while lavishing kind words on Tucker — who will earn about $400,000 (all figures U.S.) this year compared with Graham's $1.5 million — perhaps underlines the discrepancy in displayed desire. From Graham, at least, there has come a promise. "It's going to be my breakout year," said Graham yesterday, acknowledging the challenge posed by Tucker and others. "Training camp is just one big competition." The game before the games, indeed, is on. Said Mitchell: "Joey can't — none of (the small forwards) can — relax when they come to practice, not with (Tucker) around. He's not smooth and he's not stylish in what he does. ... He's one of those guys, the game is getting ugly, and you may put him out there for three or four minutes and just say, `Just go throw your body around, see if you can get some offensive rebounds or tip-ins ...'" Mitchell was interrupted by a suggestion that Tucker might be employed to, say, bang skulls with a particularly annoying opponent. The coach, perhaps recalling how Calderon had just been heard describing Tucker's head as "like rock," laughed and smiled. "We don't want him to do that. But hey, if he bumps into somebody by mistake, as long as it's not one of our guys, who cares?" --

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