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<UID>
0305150439
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<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
030515
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Thursday, May 15, 2003
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT; SPORTS
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1G
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM FREE PRESS COLUMNIST
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 2003, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
PISTONS KNEW THEY COULD COUNT ON ATKINS
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
The suit said it all. It was light charcoal gray, matched with black loafers
and a knit shirt. A nice suit, really. But on the wrong man. Chauncey Billups
was wearing it, and it was nearly game time, which meant two things: He wasn't
taking it off, and Chucky Atkins had just become the most important player on
the floor.

Step in, step up. By now, everyone knows the story of a bench player rising to
his opportunity. Normally, they call it "a star is born." But when that bench
player was last year's starter, when he sat to make room for a new guy, and
when he is asked, in a pivotal playoff game, to resume his old job, with Allen
Iverson on the other side, he's not being born, he's being held over the fire.

But there was Atkins, replacing the injured Billups, handling the heat
Wednesday night, directing the offense, dishing out assists, making steals,
drawing fouls and heaving up long three-pointers with arcs that were high
enough to sing a verse of "Ave Maria."

And finally, at the most critical moment of this playoff war, with the Pistons
down by one and less than three seconds left -- and, let's face it, if they
lost this game, they were likely losing the series -- here was Atkins again,
taking the inbounds pass and driving the baseline and throwing up a rolling
touch shot that hit the rim, hit the rim, hit the backboard and was falling
through when Philadelphia's Derrick Coleman poked it out through the net --
goaltending!

Count it.

Count on him.

Stepping up.

Bad memories erased

"What were you thinking when you got that ball?" someone asked Atkins, after
the Pistons survived this scare, 78-77, and took a 3-2 lead into Game 6 on
Friday night.

"I was just praying it went in," he said, laughing. "Honestly, I wasn't
thinking about making a huge play. I was just trying to get the ball and make
up for a few mistakes I'd made earlier."

He wasn't alone. The Pistons came out like a blowtorch but faded like a doused
campfire. Their 55 percent first-quarter shooting wound up at 39 percent for
the night. You do the math.

And the rebounding was sad. Philly had twice as many offensive boards. Every
Piston had a shot he regretted, or a pass that got away. Atkins himself had
just a minute earlier thrown the ball into Aaron McKie's palm, leading to an
Iverson steal.

"I didn't want that to be my last memory of the night," Atkins said. "We
survived this tonight. But this Philly team has been to the Finals. They know
how to win. We have to put in a full 48-minute effort."

Speaking of minutes, Atkins played 40 himself, scoring 17 and dishing five
assists. This was important because in Game 4 Atkins was unable to get a
rhythm to his game as Billups tried to test his ankle, playing 23 minutes. On
Wednesday, getting minutes wasn't a problem. Making them count was. Especially
the last one. You almost wondered if anyone would take that last shot for
Detroit. In these playoffs, and much of the season, it had been Billups as the
go-to guy in the crucial moments. In these playoffs, and much of the season,
Billups had been the Pistons' go-to guy in the crucial moments.

On Wednesday, Atkins took over that role as well and got that goaltending
basket with .9 left on the clock.

Isn't it funny? The most important shot of his Pistons career never came
through the net.

Now they need one for the road

Having said all that, does anyone not expect this series to go seven games?
For one thing, the Sixers can't keep shooting that badly. And Iverson, warrior
that he is, likely won't leave anything on the floor in Philly. If he misses
20 of 25 shots Friday, I'll eat this newspaper. Besides, the Pistons are,
let's face it, a pretty bad playoff road team, save for the one big win in
Orlando. And a suddenly healthy Billups seems about as likely as Barry
Sanders' singing the national anthem.

But if that's what it is, then that's what it is. There's a reason the Pistons
won 50 regular-season games, just as there was a reason they didn't give up on
Atkins when Billups joined the team.

"I knew when Chauncey couldn't go, Chucky was ready to step in," coach Rick
Carlisle said. "Remember, he was our starting point guard last year on a team
that went to the second round of the playoffs."

And there he was again, leaping into the arms of his teammates for a shot that
never went in but counted more than any that did. The starter wore the nicer
clothes Wednesday -- a grey suit, black loafers, knit shirt. But for one sweet
moment, the backup wore the smile.



Contact MITCH ALBOM at 313-223-4581 or  albom@freepress.com. Catch "The Mitch
Albom Show" 3-6 p.m. weekdays on WJR-AM (760).
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<DISCLAIMER>
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
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<KEYWORDS>
BASKETBALL;PISTONS;PLAYOFFS
</KEYWORDS>
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