We rush across the driveway and beat the sideways rain on this Thursday, just making it the sandwich shop before we are drenched.

It's lunchtime. It's shoulder to shoulder. We can't move.

We order, take our number and find a table outside among the factory workers and hard-working folk here in Sydney's Golden West. Nobody – and I mean nobody – has even so much glanced at the 203cm, 31-year American with a Sideshow Bob-like afro sitting across from me who has played more than 400 games in the NBA, featured in a Playstation game and is the best player the Sydney Kings or National Basketball League has ever laid eyeballs on.

"I like it," smiles Josh Childress. "I'm not an in-your-face need-to-be-in-the-spotlight kind of guy. I've never been that way. Never. It's just my personality. Naturally, I'm a bit introverted. It's taken me a while to accept that. Society pushes the guy who's in your face, and the guy who has the largest presence in the room. A lot of it is how you carry yourself. If I was to walk in here with an entourage, with five guys walking up, with gold chains, that would get attention. I'm just different. I've always felt like the ones who move in silence are the most effective."

And with that comes a breath of fresh air, from the most unlikely of sports stars, who opted to live in Gladesville and has been to Bondi only once since arriving in Australia a few months ago. Indeed, I've seen footballers strut through the eastern of suburbs in oversized white shirts, with large wooden crosses around their necks, and a sparkling diamond earring in one ear … and they've played a dozen or so games of first grade. Childress went straight out of Compton in Los Angeles, played three years of college basketball for Stanford before Atlanta picked him as sixth overall choice in the 2004 NBA draft.

He's played all over the world, has been valued at more than $40 million, and seemingly has more perspective and wisdom than Yoda. He was about to retire but came to the Kings because they offered him the opportunity to help build the franchise, and therefore himself.

Over our sandwiches, we start talking about money and contracts.

"What are the contracts like here?" he asks. "What's the highest paid sportsperson here on?"

I tell him the best footballers would be on a base contract of about $1 million a year. Cricketers a bit more. It depends on endorsements. "My first contract was four years, $11 million," he says, without a hint of hubris. "So it was pretty serious."

And now? "My NBL contract?" he grins. "My NBL contract is ... modest. For me, there are certain things you can't put a price on, and that's personal growth. If I find the best in myself now that could mean more money down the line. I'm all for that. I'm not desperate for it. I've bought what I wanted to buy, but I'm fine. I bought my mum a house and car when I was drafted. But I've saved as well."

Childress, without question, is the best thing the NBL has going for it right now as it tries to rebuild. He left Atlanta in 2008, went to Greece and played for Olympiacos (where he was subjected to tear gas and abuse, such is the lunacy of their fans), before returning to the US with Phoenix in 2010. The Suns let him go this year. They're still paying him $7 million, while he plays for the Kings.

Well, not so much plays as eclipses. Heading into Saturday night's away clash with Wollongong, Childress is averaging 22 points per game. The stats, though, belie the damage he's doing to opposition. They also don't explain the buzz around the Sydney Entertainment Centre as young and new fans shout "Chill!" every time he touches the ball.

He's also the player casual followers of the sport remember for his vicious foul on Perth Wildcats opponent Jesse Wagstaff during a game in late October. Whether he used a forearm or elbow, and whether it collected Wagstaff's head or chest, depends on who you talk to. Doubtless, it was a foul that reverberated all around the world, including in the States. USA Today branded it "the worst foul we've seen".

"That is, by far, the biggest lie I have ever heard," Childress says, stunned, when I tell him this. "I can show you 5000 harder fouls than that. It's not to say that what I did was right, but the hardest they have ever seen? I went to YouTube and looked up 'hard fouls NBA'. Last year, you'll see a hundred fouls harder than that."

But he's not backing away from what he did. Ask him if he was merely trying to block Wagstaff's shot, he says this: "No. I wasn't. He hit me, I hit him back. It wasn't any more than that. People said it was dangerous. I didn't go at his head. If I wanted to go at his head I would have. It was a forearm. If I wanted to hurt him, really, really hurt him, I probably could have. I hit him with my forearm, in his chest. Hardest foul ever? I don't agree with that." The storm surrounding the foul swung the other way within a day when Childress — who is African American — was subjected to racist abuse on social media.

On that score, he has perspective too. "Initially, it was hurtful," he says. "But after a while, the amount of support I got overshadowed the negative. People were extremely supportive and sympathetic. I can't compare my situation to anything else. Mine was over Twitter. Mine is nothing compared to that stuff."

He is referring to the case of New Yorker Eric Garner, who was detained by police in a chokehold and later died from a heart attack en route to the hospital. The outrage over the lack of action against the police officer is palpable in the US. A legion of NBA stars, headed by LeBron James and Kobe Bryant, have donned T-shirts branded "I can't breathe" while warming up on court.

"I've dealt with it two or three times," he says of racism. "Having people calling me the 'N' word, just out and about. At home, not in Australia. There are ignorant people everywhere."

Stereotypes are as dangerous as generalisations. Childress comes from Compton  and when you learn that, a clichéd world springs to mind of drug dealers, gang violence and rap stars. You also think of Serena and Venus Williams, and how they used the power of professional sport to drag themselves out of the muck. "I've had friends, associates, who went to jail and got killed," Childress says. "You name it. Not close friends, but people who I knew. It's just part of the life. I mean, life is hard in that part of the country. There's a vicious cycle of single-parent households, parents on drugs or parents in gangs.

"But I lived in a quieter part of Compton. There was a large park that separated my neighbourhood from a much worse neighbourhood. My older brothers were more active in it than I was. With that, there was an automatic respect that I got. That's Jamal and Onye's little brother. We won't mess with him. It wasn't like a fearful thing. They're going to come here and play basketball. I didn't have to deal with the pressure of joining the game and that stuff. I went to the park, I played ball, and then I went home.

"I came from a household of two college-educated parents. While sport was fun, it wasn't my way out. I wanted to be a doctor. I never really realised ... It didn't hit me that I was going to go to college and play basketball until I was 16. I never had that dream of NBA or nothing. This was part of my life, not my entire life."

When Childress does go home, he talks to children in his former neighbourhood. What are you ambitions?

"Athlete," says one. "Rapper," says another. "My focus is to show them there are a ton of successful people outside of what they see on TV," Childress says. "That isn't the only measure of success: being on TV or being on a court."

Through professional basketball, Childress realised the exact person he wanted to be. In his first season at Atlanta he admits to living The Life, although he has never touched alcohol because his father, who died in 2009 in car accident, was an alcoholic.

"In terms of parties, for sure," he says. "Early into my career, I did it. I was young, making money, fresh out of college. You're going to enjoy yourself. Over the years, though, and not all guys are like this, I came to a realisation, no matter how hard I thought I wanted to fit into that mould, it's just not me."

For the NBL to prosper again, it needs a thriving Sydney team. Despite having Childress, the Kings are fifth, just outside the top four. He remains uncertain about next year — but hasn't ruled out playing in Australia again. "We've had some very preliminary discussions," he says. "I'll sit down with my agent at the end of the season and see what my options are. It's a possibility."

Which says much, considering he won't be on the $7 million he's being paid by the Suns. Just the "modest" contract the Kings can afford.

Says Childress: "I realised a long time ago that life is about more than money."