<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8701250147
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
870520
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Wednesday, May 20, 1987
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>
SEE ALSO CHASER EDITION 1D
</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
ALARMING IDEA: PISTONS MISSED A GREAT CHANCE
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
BOSTON -- As the fourth quarter was about to begin Tuesday night, Pistons
center Bill Laimbeer leaned into his team's huddle, sweat dripping from his
chin, and yelled, "We can still win this thing!  Come on! Come on!"

  You can understand his reminder. Up to that point, the Pistons had played
as if victory was not on the menu in this venue. 

  A rule of basketball: You can't set your alarm clock  for the fourth
quarter. That's like waking up at five to nine, like cramming all of European
history into the walk to the final. By the time the Pistons found some range,
some drop on their shots, some  movement, the Celtics had found some, too.
  No, we were not talking about very good basketball here. For most of this
series-opening, 104-91 Boston victory it was bad, clanking, air-ball,
mistimed,  poorly refereed basketball. And this was the playoffs. 
  Having said that, there were  still a winner and a loser, and when this war
is finally settled, Detroit may be looking back on Tuesday night  as the
golden opportunity that got away.
  How many shots did they miss? How many passes landed in the wrong hands?
Who was good? Nobody was good. It was as if a big champagne bottle was
imported from Detroit, all shook up, and then at game time the cork just kind
of fell out.
  No pop.
  This was supposed to be a Detroit team that was more ready for the Celtics
than the Celtics were for it.  A hot team. A rested team. But Isiah Thomas
was not the Isiah Thomas he can be, and Laimbeer was not the Laimbeer he can
be and Adrian Dantley was not the Adrian Dantley he can be, and forget it. You
get the picture. Who played well? Nobody played well. How many missed shots?
How many bad passes?
  Who were these guys in the Detroit uniforms?
Who played well? Nobody
  Well. This is the difference  between playing the Atlanta Hawks and playing
the Boston Celtics. The Pistons had a few similar bad first halves  against
Atlanta and still won.  That's because Atlanta matched their ineptitude, and
ultimately outdid it.
  You can't expect that from Boston.
  Here was a night  the clouds were low, a fog, a mist, a night when the
stars would not come out, at least not until they absolutely had  to.
  The Celtics, however, had an excuse. They had just finished a grueling
seven-game series with Milwaukee on Sunday. They were walking around like old
men. Kevin McHale was hurting, and Robert  Parish was hurting and Danny Ainge
didn't even dress. It was the Celtics who came into this series sore. But for
the first 30 minutes it was the Detroit offense that was stiff.
  The Pistons were enjoying  the advantage of a cold Larry Bird and a quiet
McHale, and yet when they had the ball, they stood around, Dantley would get
it and stare down  Bird, then pass, and Thomas would get it and stare down
Jerry Sichting, then pass. When the Detroit shots went up they were off, some
were air balls -- Thomas missed 11 of 12 -- and by the time the half had
ended, the score was a meager 44-40, Celtics, and  neither team wanted any
highlight film.
  The pattern continued into the third period. How many missed shots? How
many bad passes? Who played well? Nobody played well.
  And then, slowly, gradually,  the Celtics rose. They seemed to find their
game in the third quarter. Their passes clicked. Their shots dropped. Parish
came alive, stuffed in one basket after the other, and the Boston team seemed
to say, "Hey, even hurt we can take these guys."
  And on this night, they did.
Good guys' win in end
  Remember how the stage was set here. This is a supposedly "injured" Boston
team that is reeling  like Bronson in the finale of one of those vigilante
films, bleeding and gasping and knocking off one bad guy only to turn and find
another jumping from the ceiling. The Pistons are the new enemy, the  new
knife- wielder, and yet there was a feeling here, as there always is in hero
stories, that the good guys are never really that hurt, that they will always
win in the end. In Boston, the good guys wear green.
  So they came alive when they had to, and the Pistons may have missed a
chance to catch Boston with its greatness down.
  Then again, Detroit has some greatness of its own. Chuck Daly knows that.
The Pistons themselves know it. They can only hope it shows up in Game 2
Thursday night.  Sometime before the fourth quarter.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN;REACTION;GAME;RESULT;DPISTONS;BOSTON CELTICS;
BASKETBALL;PLAYOFF;Pistons
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
