Sports have become increasingly about numbers in recent years, as if the cold and the calculated can render insight into what make sports resonate: people. And their emotions. And their humanity as they deal with all the biggies: birth and death, war and peace, harvest and drought, victory and defeat, rumor and fact, love and hate, crime and punishment, destruction and invention, wisdom and ignorance, truth and lies, discovery and loss, health and poverty, loyalty and betrayal, work and play.

This was of particular relevance Thursday night in the big, bad city when one of our kids made it. Kris Dunn, lottery pick. The No. 5 overall pick by the Minnesota Timberwolves. We all rejoice with him.

And sometime in late October, Dunn will play his first regular-season game in the National Basketball Association, thus making the parcel of land at 490 Jefferson Ave., otherwise known as New London High, unique to Connecticut — and you'd assume across most of the country. New London High: our state's only school with alumni in the NBA (Dunn), NFL (Jordan Reed) and Major League Baseball (Rajai Davis).

Lest anyone think, however, that this is merely another example of a local sports factory producing more inventory, or something that can be explained by statistical analysis, may we offer the following: Dunn, Reed and Davis are beacons for all of us. Of both genders. Of all ages. And backgrounds. There is a story behind the glory. And it is this: Nobody handed them a blessed thing.

Their lives were once awash in uncertainty. Fear. Doubt.

And they all overcame.

"I would ask the youth of New London to learn from them," said new football coach Juan Roman, who has a professorial grasp on the rhythms of New London and its people. "Don't make permanent decisions based on temporary circumstances."

Here were the temporary circumstances:

Davis, now playing for the Cleveland Indians, never had scouts following him or advisers pestering him. He was just anonymous and inconspicuous, all those days when he looked like every other kid walking down the hallways of New London High, like every other kid who wore the green gown on graduation.

Davis was drafted in the 38th round for a song in the 2001 draft. This just in: Low draft picks aren't often seen one day in Lexus showrooms.

But what lies within, something that not even today's intrusive cameras can reveal, burned like an inferno throughout Davis' innards. He learned a long time ago that it's not what you tell the guys at the water cooler or what they tell you. It's what you tell yourself.

And so one night in 2001, Davis had his Tom Cruise/"Risky Business" moment. He had the same thought Cruise did in the definitive line of the movie: "Sometimes, you just gotta say what the (bleep)."

Davis, playing summer baseball in a wooden bat league, was told the Pirates were interested in a workout, but, you know, weren't about to send the team plane.

"I just decided to go one night," Davis said. "I had heard they were interested in me before, but I didn't know if they were serious. I knew it was 14 hours out there. I got a ride home from a game, got my dad's keys and took it for a ride."

And there he was, zipping across Pennsylvania, in a purple Dodge Neon, this reserved, unsuspecting, gentlemanly kid, unwittingly on the ride of his life.

Davis proved that if you want something bad enough, no other circumstances count.

Reed's story begins with Tommie and the late, great Barbara Major. The quintessential New London family: biracial, inclusive, opinionated, loyal. They opened their home to their son Tyler's best friend: Jordan Reed. They assumed legal guardianship. They added more responsibility to plates that already runneth over with two full-time jobs in the city and a lifetime of raising their own kids Melissa, Alexis, Tommie, Todd and Tyler.

They took in Jordan because Karen Reed, Jordan's mom, a single mom, couldn't pay a mortgage in New Britain and rent in New London anymore, even working two jobs. Karen Reed wanted her sons to play for Jack Cochran, who had already sent a battalion to college football and even some to the pros before he even met David and Jordan Reed.

The Majors became Jordan Reed's legal guardians. It was multi-layered sacrifice: Karen Reed loved her son enough to have a plan for him that didn't include her. The Majors, already pied pipers for the city's admirable levels of benevolence and tolerance, opened their home to a teenager.

Karen Reed absorbed much criticism for sending her children all the way to New London to play for Cochran, who was also hammered for furthering a win-at-all-cost reputation. Surely, the Reeds helped Cochran win. Know what they got in return? A lifetime of self-sufficiency.

How can any of us not emerge from this without respecting Karen Reed's sacrifices? Without respecting Cochran's diligence? Without respecting the Majors' selflessness? And Jordan's diligence?

Then there's Dunn, who once called himself a "lost child" until the dad he never met, John Seldon, rescued him one night in Virginia. From not knowing where — or if — there would be a next meal, to the snazzy suit of Thursday night.

They could have all allowed temporary circumstances to defeat them. Instead, they won. The story behind the glory. Humanity.

"There's a bigger thing here people need to appreciate," Roman said. "In order to get where there are, they went to school. They put the time in the weight room. They took coaching. They understood that people who go pro are few and far between, but sports can sure get you to college."

Roman was happy to report that Dunn's one-time football teammate, Stephan Dance, recently graduated from Husson University in Maine.

"Here's a kid with a learning disability who used all of his eligibility before graduating," Roman said. "He stayed in school — in Maine — until he got his degree. It's all nice when you're getting great feedback and everyone knows what you're doing. But Stephan did it with nobody watching. I think that's a greater accomplishment than being drafted."

Many of Dunn's high school friends were at Barclays Center Thursday night: Jevon Elmore (who may be an NFL draftee one day), Doug Henton, Jevon Clark, Khaleed Fields and Rob Key. All kids who have their stories, too. All kids who have endured. Forever friends. And role models.

That's being a true Whaler.

Here's to more of them walking the halls.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro