8801250387
DETROIT FREE PRESS
880604
Saturday, June 04, 1988
METRO FINAL CHASER
1A
Photo PAULINE LUBENS, GARY KANADJIAN
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1988, Detroit Free Press
PISTONS! YES!
MOVE OVER, GREEN MEN: 95-90 DID IT
At the buzzer, they hugged each other. Isn't that the right reaction?
You're happy, you hug. You're grateful, you hug. Joe Dumars was hugging John
Salley and Chuck Daly was hugging Dick Versace and Isiah Thomas was hugging
Adrian Dantley at midcourt -- as the crowd mobbed them in celebration --
hugging as if they'd never let each other go.
"Have you ever hugged another man that tightly?" someone would ask Thomas
after the Pistons captured the Eastern Conference title with a 95-90 win over
the Boston Celtics.
"Never," he said, breaking into a smile. "Never."
Gloryoski! Somebody up there finally heard us. Whatever magic power
decides what's fair is fair, what's due is due, was surely pressing that final
buzzer Friday night at the Silverdome, the one that sent a dozen Detroit
basketball players into a heavenly leap, and an entire state into unbridled
ecstasy.
Move over, green men.
Our turn now.
"YEEEAAAH!" yelled the Pistons. Over and in. How about that? They will
play for the NBA championship; they are sliding down the rainbow, and the
Boston Celtics are finally -- count the seconds, one to 10, check for breath,
take a pulse, poke their eyes, it's true, it's true -- dead. And if it feels
this morning like the final seconds of a monster movie, when the sun rises and
the monster is history and your heart can finally come out of your throat,
well, that's because that's what this series was like.
Everybody . . .
. . . breathe!
Our turn now.
"I'm more excited about beating the Celtics than winning the Eastern
Conference," said Vinnie Johnson, whose 24 points did the most to make that
happen. "It feels great!"
What a series! What a war! Did you ever believe the Pistons were home free
until that final buzzer? Have you ever lost more sleep, endured more goose
bumps, suffered more stomach aches over any other dumb old sporting event?
This thing took on dimensions beyond the court, it became an obsession. "Beat
the Celtics!" "Kill the Celtics!"
So fervent was that wish, that Bill Laimbeer brought an iron sickle in his
gym bag Friday night, and he showed it to his team upon arrival.
"Chuck said the Celtics are like a snake, you have to cut their head off
to kill them. Well . . ."
Well. That'll do it.
Here was the nightmare put to rest. Here was Detroit, reaching championship
status. And here are the scenes that linger: Johnson hitting jumper after
jumper, from inside, from outside, from New Jersey, from Paris, from Peking.
And Dantley, driving, spinning, going to the hoop with the determination of 12
NBA years and a million NBA miles. And Thomas pushing the ball upcourt,
running, running, as if his youth and exuberance alone could carry him to
glory. And Salley, in the best game of his career, soaring to block Kevin
McHale, to block Danny Ainge, to block Larry Bird, twice.
"Have you ever jumped higher than that in your life?" he was asked
afterward.
"Not since some guys were chasing me back in Brooklyn," he said.
He grinned. All around, the Pistons' locker room was stuffed, high fives
and low fives and hugs, always hugs.
People in Boston may not understand why this victory meant so much. But
then, as they say, people in Boston don't live around here.
Try 31 years without a basketball champion. Try four years since any major
Detroit team has reached a final in anything. Try the sting of defeat by a
stolen pass, by a pair of banged heads, by a little green leprechaun. How much
of that can one team take?
This time, it was the Celtics -- minus center Robert Parish, out with a
knee injury -- falling apart in the clutch. They looked old, they shot poorly
(38 percent) they missed open baskets. (Bird actually missed a lay-up and two
consecutive free throws; does that tell you something?) As the minutes wore
down, it was the Boston players making faces of defeat, brows creased, mouths
hanging open in disbelief. They haven't missed the final in four seasons.
Losing hurts, huh, fellahs?
Your turn now.
And the Pistons? They waited until the appropriate time against Boston.
The last 10 seconds. And then Laimbeer raised his arms, and Dantley raised
his arms (Dantley raised his arms?) and even Dumars, Mr. Quiet and Private,
raised his arm and chanted "John! John! John!" at Salley, probably because he
didn't know what else to say.
"Is that the most you've ever celebrated after a game?" he was asked.
"That's the most," he said. "I even raised a fist. One fist."
"How'd it feel?"
He smiled and shrugged.
"It felt good."
Our turn now.
Think of all the stories that marched triumphantly into that locker room
Friday night. There was Daly, 57, the coach without a contract, his voice
shot, his eyes baggy, but finally, after a lifetime of finishing second, a
smile on his face. "This is the hardest thing I've done as a coach," he
admitted. And maybe the hardest anyone has ever worked for free.
There was Dantley, the "old man," the quiet superstar who discovered that
sometimes playing co-star can take you further than all the statistics in the
world. And alongside him, slapping his back, his best friend, Dumars. "AD said
he's buying me a deep-dish apple cobbler tonight," Dumars said. "We never
eat dessert all year. Tonight, it's everything."
There was Rickey Mahorn, who hurt so bad he had to lie down whenever he
was taken out of the game, and James Edwards, the sleepy-eyed giant who never
thought he'd see this celebration in his career. There was Salley and Dennis
Rodman, "Spider" and the "Worm," the kids of the team who are kids no longer,
and may they never forget how good this feels, because they will be the ones
to help do it again.
"Slap me four!" Salley yelled to a friend. "One, two, three, four! That's
how many we need for the championship."
There was Vinnie Johnson, the streak shooter, who had a magnificent game
(10-for-15), and Laimbeer, the nation's villain, who has the reputation of the
class bully, but, deep down, the personality of a mischievous kid. So what
if everybody out there hates his guts? He's home. Pop the corks.
"I'm gonna go home and drink a few beers and play some cards," he said,
laughing. "And I'll probably win.
And finally, Thomas. This has been his team; for better or worse, his play
has swayed it. You could make a case that the angel-faced guard really wasn't
ready for a title before this, things had gone too well; but the events of
the past year -- the loss last season to Boston, the Bird incident, the
criticism from the media -- have seasoned him, matured him, and yes, hardened
him. You may need that to become champion. He had the look of one Friday
night.
"Is this the way you always imagined it?" he was asked.
He smiled. There was lipstick all over his face.
"Yeah . . ." he said slowly. "Exactly. I guess when your dreams meet your
reality, it's what? Fantasy?"
Why not?
Our turn now.
So the series that would not end finally ends, to the delicious noise of
38,912 fans singing and dancing and stomping their feet. It was rainbows and
lollipops and sunshine for Detroit. A happy ending. Like a Dorothy in
sneakers, the Pistons may have had the power to do what they needed to do all
along; they just had to believe in themselves. And click their heels three
times. And say there's no place like Dome.
"To beat the Celtics you need to beat three things," Thomas explained.
"The mind-set, the team, and the five great players. Through determination,
effort and never giving up, we finally did that."
And more than that. They have crossed a bridge now, these Pistons, jumped
over the broom of expectations. Simply put, they have grown up. Give them long
pants and a corsage and send them to the prom. They beat the Celtics because
they beat the demons inside themselves. They believed.
Whatever happens next, never forget the sweetness of that sentence, or this
one Saturday morning when the sun is out, and a little-train-that-could has
finally pulled into the station. Have a hug. Have an apple cobbler. Have a
sickle and chase a snake. Green is gone, blue goes on.
Our turn now.
Over and in.
CUTLINE
Above, Pistons guard Vinnie Johnson, left, hugs teammate Isiah Thomas with
three seconds remaining during Friday night's 95-90 victory over the Celtics.
Left, forward Adrian Dantley flexes his muscles in the locker room as he and
his teammates celebrate the victory.
Above, Russ Simpson yells through a megaphone, spurring on the Silverdome
crowd of 38,912. At right is Celeste Monforton. Left, Bill and Sandy Fullmer
of Birmingham, dressed as a priest and nun, talk to John Salley before the
game. Below, singer Bob Seger finds plenty to laugh about.
DPISTONS;BASKETBALL;Pistons