The Book of Basketball (115 page)

47.
I’m cringing. This is like a wet T-shirt contest with Scarlett Johansson taking on both Olsen twins.

48.
Although they didn’t win a title until the year after leaving the mammoth Silverdome, the Dome was a disadvantage for opponents because of lighting and depth perception adjustments (thanks to glass backboards and three miles of seats behind them). The ’87 Pistons clawed their way back against Boston because of the Silverdome effect combined with Saturday/Sunday starts for Games 3 and 4. By the way, ’87 was a memorable Silverdome year: Wrestlemania III (Andre-Hulk plus the watershed Savage-Steamboat match), the Bird-Laimbeer/Rodman brawl (Game 4) and Pope John Paul II celebrating mass there. That’s right, big moments from Andre, Hulk, Macho Man, the Pope and the Basketball Jesus in one year!

49.
But not before exploiting Detroit’s personality for the infamous
Bad Boys
video (1989) that featured more cheap shots than a season of
Jerry Springer
shows. All copies of this tape have apparently been destroyed; you can’t find it anywhere. One of the all-time hypocritical moves by a sports league, just behind baseball looking the other way with (name an enhancer) during the McGwire-Sosa era.

50.
The thing I respected most about those ’89 and ’90 Pistons teams: they took care of business on the road, closing six of eight series on the road and finishing 5–0 in road Finals games.

51.
Shades of Rollergirl raving about Dirk Diggler in
Amber Waves’
documentary about him. Is there a basketball scenario that can’t be tied to
Boogie Nights?
I say no. And I think we proved it over these last 4,500 pages.

52.
This sucked doubly for Boston: Thompson went to college with McHale and knew all of his moves; he was the only player in the ’80s who could defend McHale by himself. Also, this was the first salary cap loophole trade: when Kupchak retired, the Lakers were allowed to use half of his salary cap number ($1.15 million) toward another player. Fans were thoroughly confused at the time: “Cap number, exception, half the number … what?”

53.
The Spurs are living proof that the Tanking Karma Gods don’t exist: they did it in ’87 (Robinson) and ’97 (Duncan).

54.
The Mavs took them to seven games one year later, then Roy Tarpley got hooked on coke and they were done. Part of me wonders if Riley and West just sent unmarked packages of cocaine to every ’80s rival and hoped they would succumb. Tarpley, Bias, Lucas/Wiggins/Lloyd …

55.
I once wrote an entire 2004 column about this game. Sleepy actually turns into a fireball at one point.

56.
Bird played 1,015 grueling minutes in 23 playoff games (44.1 minutes per game). That’s the third-highest average for 20-plus playoff games in one postseason behind Allen Iverson in ’01 (22 games, 1,016 minutes) and Thunder Dan Majerle in ’93 (24 games, 1,071 minutes). Bird’s ’87 playoffs also ranks 11th in points, 5th in FTs made, 22nd in assists (first forward) and 80th in rebounds. Of course, it doesn’t rank in Hollinger’s top 50 for PER even though he averaged a 27–10–9, saved the season with the greatest steal in NBA history, logged superhuman minutes and nearly won the Finals by himself. And you wonder why I have trouble trusting player efficiency ratings.

57.
Of their top seven guys only Rodman thrived: he averaged 14.9 rebounds in the Finals (41 of 88 offensive), battled a red-hot Shawn Kemp and was their best guy in two wins (Games 2 and 6). He arguably could have won MVP considering MJ’s struggles (22 for 60) in the final three games—you know, if you were using the same indefensible reasoning that led to Parker’s ’07 MVP and Maxwell’s ’81 MVP.

58.
Kukoc won the “sixth man” award this year but stank in the playoffs. Chicago handed the post-Pippen/MJ team over to him and finished 13–37. For all the hype over the years, Kukoc never made a single All-Star team.

59.
I once created a Ringo Starr Theory for MJ’s teammates: you can’t judge role players properly when they’re playing with a guy who makes everyone else better. Armstrong, Longley, Grant, Kerr and Williams looked better than they were during their Chicago stints (just ask the teams that overpaid them after). Same for Scott, Green, Rambis and Nixon with Magic, or Ainge, Maxwell, Robey and Henderson with Bird.

60.
The good news: Chicago could throw out a frightening whitewash—the twin vanilla towers of Wennington and Longley, with Kukoc, Kerr and Jud Buechler flanking them and Jack Haley cheering them on from the bench in streetclothes. That was almost a blizzard.

61.
I just pulled a Paul Maguire there: started an argument with you, then debunked your point even though you never said anything. “Watch how I made you look bad, watch how I did that, watch this
… bam!
Right there!”

62.
Seattle’s ’96 bench: Vince Askew, Nate McMillan, Frank Brickowski and Ervin “No Magic” Johnson (one of my favorite nicknames ever). Ervin had a long, Shannon Sharpe-like face that was perfect for the “Hey, Ervin, why the long face?” heckle. That reminds me, I spent a lot of time heckling during the M. L. Carr and Rick Pitino eras in Boston (mostly out of drunken bitterness). This was before the “let’s keep noise going for three straight hours” NBA arena era, so if you were sitting within ten rows of a depressing game, you could hear every sneaker squeak, play conversation, and heckle. During one dead Miami game, I screamed, “You never won without Magic!” from 20 feet away at Pat Riley for four solid quarters. (You heard me, Pat. I know you heard me.) As for referee insults, I was always partial to “Hey ref, bend over and use your good eye!” Never failed to bring the house down.

63.
Of the hundreds of tapes I watched, no postmerger player had an easier time scoring playoff points than ’86 McHale: 39 MPG, 24.9 PPG, 58% FG, 79% FT, 16.1 FGA, 7.8 FTA. He barely broke a sweat. The Panda Express post-up menu was churning out orders like clockwork. “Who wants a no. 3? Can I interest you in a combo no. 2? Please, try an up-and-under egg roll, I insist!”

64.
They went 15–0 vs. Milwaukee, Atlanta, L.A. and Houston and 3–2 vs. Philly (one loss by 6 points, the other by Doc’s banked 3 at the buzzer) but lost ten games to sub-.500 teams, including 26-win Indy, 29-win Cleveland, 30-win (and MJ-less) Chicago and the 23-win Knicks. Peter May’s
The Last Banner
has one recurring theme: the players bemoaning after the fact that they blew a chance to win 70 by getting bored too often. They also blew four OT games and two more at the buzzer, with Bird clanking FTs in two of them even though he led the league in FT percentage. So it was a slightly fluky 67-win season; they easily could have reached 71 or 72.

65.
Assistants Jimmy Rodgers and Chris Ford had ghastly perms this season. Just ghastly. They were right from the Mike Fratello Collection. Ford even threw in a porn mustache and a variety of ’80s suits that looked like they came from a Philip Michael Thomas estate sale.

66.
In the regular season, Atlanta went 0–6 against them but every game was close (between three and seven points). There was a memorable game in early January when the Hawks raced out to a 24-point first-half lead, did some trash-talking and got Keyser Söze’d in the second half, with Boston prevailing in OT behind Bird’s 41 points, 7 rebounds, 6 assists, 3 steals and 2 blocks. You did
not talk
smack to the ’86 Celts.

67.
When Wedman broke two ribs during Game 3 of the Bucks series, they played smallball for an extended stretch in Game 4 (Sichting, Ainge, DJ, Bird and McHale), then switched to giantball in crunch time (Ainge, Bird, McHale, Parish and Walton) to pull away. That’s ridiculous.

68.
Funniest chemistry story from that season: Bird thought he had clinched the FT title, but Ainge realized before a meaningless Game 82 that if he went 13 for 15, he’d qualify with enough attempts and pass Bird. In the second half, Danny started driving to the basket recklessly, up-faking and trying to draw fouls—totally uncharacteristic—only nobody knew what was going on until the fourth quarter, and KC Jones couldn’t remove him because Ainge kept getting to the line. Finally McHale decided he would intentionally commit lane violations to stop Ainge, who was getting heckled by his own bench, but that was averted when there was a whistle and Jones pulled him. And by the way, all of this was for fun and everyone was laughing the whole time.

69.
I’m not kidding: when the ’86 Celts were feeling it, every time Bird tossed it in to Walton, it was move-up-to-the-edge-of-your-seat exciting.
What are they gonna come up with this time?

70.
One more reason: because I needed an excuse to hit up my boy Hirschy at the NBA for as many ’86 Celtics tapes as possible. If I ever get divorced, I guarantee you “He made me watch too many ’86 Celtics tapes” will be part of the Sports Gal’s irreconcilable differences case.

THIRTEEN
THE WINE CELLAR

TIME TO PUT
the jigsaw pieces together and make a puzzle.

The puzzle revolves around the Martian Premise. Let’s say basketball-playing aliens land on earth, blow things up
Independence Day–
style, then challenge us to a seven-game series for control of the universe. And let’s say we have access to the time machine from
Lost
, allowing us to travel back Sarah Conner–style and grab any twelve NBA legends from 1946 through 2009, transport them to the present day, then hold practices for eight weeks before the Final Finals. Again, we
have
to prevail or planet Earth as we know it ends. Which twelve players would you pick?

If you learned anything from this book other than “Simmons is incapable of editing himself” and “Rick Barry wore a Burt Reynolds–like wig during the 1975–76 season,” I hope and pray that it’s this: instead of picking the greatest players, you should pick twelve who complement each other in the best possible way … right? (Please nod. Thank you.) You
want a
basketball team.
A group that understands The Secret. A pecking order of personalities/talents that no rogue player would dare challenge. A crunch-time unit that includes one vocal leader, one leader by example and one unquestioned alpha dog. Bench guys who will accept limited roles and not care about minutes. Roster flexibility with heights, styles and athleticism. At least four white guys so we can market more jerseys and posters. (Whoops, I screwed that up—I was thinking of the logic behind the ’92 Dream Team. Scratch that one.) In a perfect world, our best twelve would care only about winning and meshing as a team.

I call it the Wine Cellar Team, and here’s why: Whenever someone makes an all-time team, they casually throw out names without context.
I‧ll take Bird, Magic, Jordan, Kareem, LeBron …
What does that even mean? Did you like prebaseball or post-baseball Jordan? Did you like alpha dog Magic or unselfish Magic? I need more information. Think like a wine snob and regard players like vintages of wine and not the brands themselves. Ask any wine connosseur for their ten favorite Bordeaux of the last seventy-five years and they wouldn’t say, “ Mouton-Rothschild, Lafite, Haut Brion, Latour …” They would give you precise vintages.
The ’59 Mouton Rothschild. The ’53 Lafite. The ’82 Haut-Brion. The ’61 Latour.
If you prodded them, they would happily accept this challenge, “I’ll give you five dinner menus and you give me the ten best Bordeaux, two per dinner, that match up with the food.” That’s part of being a wine connoisseur—not just knowing the wines but knowing the vintages and how they relate to food. They would have a grand old time figuring this out.
¹

Doesn’t that sound like basketball? It’s all about the vintages. I loved watching Bird, but I
really
loved watching ’86 Bird. Why? His teammates peaked in ’86, allowing him to explore parts of his game during his prime that couldn’t be explored otherwise. You could say his career year became special because of luck and timing. With wines, the determining factors for career years also hinge on luck and timing—like 1947, an unusually hot summer in France that created wines of high alcohol and low acidity. That’s how the ’47 Cheval Blanc emerged as a famous vintage and the best its vine-yard
ever produced … you know, just like ’77 Bill Walton. Not every decision is that easy. Mouton-Rothschild peaked in ’53, ’59 and ’61 … you know, like how Magic peaked in different ways in ’82, ’85 and ’87. Wine connoisseurs disagree on the best Mouton-Rothschild vintage, just like we might disagree on the best vintage of Magic. His best scoring season occurred in ’87, but I have more than enough firepower on my Wine Cellar Team. If I’m already grabbing a Jordan bottle (either ’92 or ’96) and a bottle of ’86 Bird, and I’m definitely picking a few more scorers, why would I need Magic to assume a bigger scoring load? Why not start ’85 Magic (the ultimate for unselfish point guards) or maybe even bring ’82 Magic (younger, better defensively, capable of playing four positions, talented enough to average a shade under a triple double) off the bench as my sixth man?