<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8701280371
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
870609
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Tuesday, June 09, 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 STATE EDITION 1D
</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
EARLY TRAINING SHAPED COOPER'S ROLE WITH LA
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
BOSTON -- Most high school coaches preach the same old thing: Fundamentals,
teamwork, defense over offense.  And most kids, in keeping with tradition,
ignore every word.

  Michael Cooper was one  of the weird ones. Michael Cooper listened. When
they told him "defense not offense" at Pasadena High School, he said "OK.
Gotcha." He worked on steals, blocks. Scoring was beside the point. 

  "In  my high school, the coach had pretty much decided that one player, a
kid named Michael Gray, was going to do all the scoring anyhow," Cooper, 31,
recalled Monday after practice at the Boston Garden.  "So I figured defense
was my best chance to get my hands on the ball."
  A specialist was born. He is now known, if known at all, as the guy who
defends Larry Bird (and others) better than anybody. Shadow to the stars. On
these explosive LA Lakers, he is like iron among neon, a  defensive ace on a
team of slam dunkers and break-dancers. He even looks more serious. As he
spoke Monday he stood stiffly  in uniform, his hands folded, his voice oddly
pitched, almost academic, as if delivering a science lecture. His tight
features and razor body somehow suggest purpose, concentration. Surely, this
is one  of those film-watching, no- nonsense, defensive eggheads who wouldn't
know a joke unless it tried to dribble past him.
  "Not really," said his wife, Wanda. "Actually, I have it on good authority
that  he once mooned the press room."
  Yes. And  . . .  
  He what?
Every trip an adventure
  "The guy is crazy," Mrs. Cooper continued. 'He sometimes has this image of
seriousness with the press during  championships (such as the Lakers-Celtics
tussle that continues tonight at the Garden with LA ahead, 2-1). But that's
just his game face. Actually, it's hard for me to think of a time when he's
not kidding  around."
  It is true Cooper watches film for fascinating things  such as ball-denial
and body position. It is also true that he got married in blue jeans and
Nikes. "He woke up one morning during college and said let's get married," his
wife recalled. "By three o'clock we had a judge, blood tests,  a couple
friends as witnesses, and we were married." 
  When Mrs. Cooper sends him to the toy  store for the kids, he comes home
with packages for himself.  He earns $700,000 a year with the Lakers, and yet
when he left one day to finally buy a new car -- "I thought he was going to
come back with  a Mercedes or a BMW" -- he wound up returning with four new
wheels for his 1972 Volkswagen.
  Teammates tease him about guarding his dollars as tightly as his opponents.
But as usual, with Cooper,  that's only half the story. "One day I went to
this local recreation facility where our kids swim, and I noticed a new
stairway/ramp for handicapped people to use the pool," said Wanda. "I said to
somebody,  'Oh, that's nice.' And they said, 'Yes, your husband bought it for
us.' " 
  A few months later, she learned Cooper had, for three years, been visiting
a school for the handicapped on his way home  from practice. Three years? "He
never told me," she said.
  Cooper's affinity for handicapped kids may well be because he almost was
one. As a pre-schooler in a rundown section of Pasadena, he fell  on a jagged
coffee can and ripped open his right knee. He needed 100 stitches to close it
and doctors told his mother he would never walk right again.
  Not surprisingly, at the time of his fall, he  was chasing a puppy.
Defense by any other name
  Well, Cooper obviously walked right again, ran again, and, as a sixth man,
became a nemesis for the NBA's top offensive stars. "He a perfect player,
maybe the most versatile player in the league," says coach Pat Riley. For yes,
he now has an offensive arsenal as well, including a three-point set shot that
dropped  six times (a championship record)  in LA's 141-122 Game 2 victory. In
Lakerland, they call that shot the Cooper- Hoop. His personal alley-oop dunk
is called the Coop-a-Loop. His blocks and steals: Cooper-Scoops. Good name,
huh?
  "Mostly  though, this team had a lot of scorers when I got here," he said.
"So I'm glad I had already been taught how to concentrate on defense. That's
what I enjoy the most. A good block, a timely steal. That,  to me, is like
what the sky hook is to Kareem."
  So OK. There is room in one 6-foot-7 body for a guy who loves the thankless
and helps the helpless, and still knows when a good moon is appropriate.  That
stuff about a book and its cover -- which they also teach you in high school?
Well. Let's just say Michael Cooper makes a good case for paying more
attention.
  "What happened to that guy from  your team,  Michael Gray, the scorer?"
someone asked.
  "He's in Utah, running a YMCA,"  Cooper said.
  "Do you take any satisfaction in that?"
  "Yeah, a little," he said, finally allowing a grin.  "But don't ever tell
him that."
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<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN;ANECDOTE;BIOGRAPHY;MICHAEL COOPER;AGE
</KEYWORDS>
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