“I’m not condoning it in any way.”

That, before any other statement, is the only way to begin an explanation of why Grayson Allen kicked Steven Santa Ana as the Elon guard spun by him. It’s the only way to begin a conversation about the first incident, when Allen reached out his foot to take down Louisville’s Ray Spalding, or the second, when he kicked back to send Florida State’s Xavier Rathan-Mayes sprawling to the floor.

There’s no defending Allen right now. Especially not 24 hours after the incident. Even for Allen’s high school coach, Jim Martin, who first coached young Grayson in fifth or sixth grade and watched him develop into one of the best high school prospects in the country. Martin watched the incident last night, and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He also immediately knew what was coming.

A lot of words have been thrown around in the past 24 hours to describe Allen and his actions: Punk. Brat. Childish. Immature. Dirty. And many more that shouldn’t be written here.

Martin brings up one, however, that is at the heart of the most compelling discussion of Allen the serial tripper:

“Bizarre.”

Allen’s behavior is bizarre. It’s abnormal. It’s flagrantly unnatural, like Draymond Green’s flailing limbs or Luis Suarez’s chomping teeth.

And it’s confounding, even for coaches who knew Allen before he arrived at Duke. Both Martin and Brian Hoff, a Providence School assistant who was close with Allen, say there were never any kicking or tripping incidents during Allen’s high school and middle school days.

The closest Martin’s memory can come is a game in middle school. Allen and an opponent dove for a loose ball. After the whistle, both jumped up and stared each other down. “Both of them looked like that at the drop of a hat, there could be an incident,” says Martin. Allen was removed from the game.

“From that point on, the rest of JV and varsity, we never had any incidents,” Martin says. “But there was always that … ” — he pauses, choosing his words carefully — “as that competitor, there wasn’t a time we didn’t keep our eyes on him because of the intensity that he played with.

“He was that kid that you might have to go over to and say, ‘Hey, it looks like you’re taking this game a little too seriously. Next game I’m going to sit you out. Cool down a little bit.’”

None of that, however, explains Wednesday night. Nor Feb. 25. Nor Feb. 8. It doesn’t explain the abnormality or the bizarreness.

One thing that might, though there’s no way to be sure: Allen grew up playing soccer. And while sticking out a leg to trip an opponent who’s escaping up the field is by no means within the rules in soccer, it’s not as out of place as it is on a basketball court. It’s a foul. Perhaps a yellow card. But it happens, occasionally.

“I just wonder if he reverts back to an instinctual move,” Martin ponders. “As he’s on the ground, or he’s using his legs … basketball players, we foul. We foul with our arms. Somehow, he reverts to some weird soccer background that he has using his legs. Because it is bizarre.”

The soccer influence, in the end, is unknown. And neither Martin nor Hoff has talked to Allen since the incident; neither really has an explanation for it. But both are more certain that there’s a clear connection between Allen’s success and his transgressions. They agree that the Draymond Green comparison is apt on the court, though the two couldn’t be more different off it.

“He’s a chippy guy, he plays with an edge,” Hoff says. “It’s the same thing that makes him go. It’s the same thing that makes him so great.” So many similar quotes have been applied to Green.

“It’s kind of a fine line,” Hoff explains. “Obviously the tripping is too much. But it’s a fine line because you want him to play really, really hard, where he’s diving on the floor, playing physical, but you also don’t want him to cross the line. He’s gotta get better at playing as hard as he possibly can and as aggressive as he possibly can, but at the same time not crossing that line.”

Says Martin: “He plays reckless. Everybody’s seen Grayson dive on the floor, everybody’s seen him do crazy stuff. Reckless. I mean, when he goes and dunks on a guy, I still say, ‘Grayson, don’t do that, there’s too much risk for your body.’ Well, he’s the same guy who can’t turn it off when a guy’s about to beat him. And he thinks, ‘I gotta do something.'”

Of the three incidents, the one that both Martin and Hoff were most puzzled by was the second one, against Florida State. While last night was more violent, in a way, it was within the flow of play. So was the first. Perhaps, they say, it’s just Allen’s very unorthodox and very out-of-bounds, inexcusable way of stopping an opponent.

And finally, the outburst on the bench. Both Martin and Hoff immediately recognized what triggered it. It wasn’t anger at the call. It wasn’t petulance. It was a realization: I did it again … How’d I do this?

Allen knew what was coming. He was so acutely aware of the barrage of criticism that was inevitably going to fly his way. He knew he had just self-inflicted days and weeks of hell upon himself. That’s what brought him to tears.

“I guarantee you he’s a mess right now,” Martin says. “I guarantee you he’s a mess.”

By all accounts, Allen is a soft-spoken, humble guy. Both coaches say his apologies and remorse are as genuine as can be. But until this weird impulse of Allen’s — one that even a coach who was around him for seven years, a coach who says he talks to Allen weekly, can’t fully explain — is curtailed, the apologies will be hollow.