<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8701280373
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
870609
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Tuesday, June 09, 1987
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
STATE EDITION
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>
SEE ALSO METRO FINAL 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 -- Don't high school coaches all preach the same things?
Fundamentals. Teamwork. Defense first, offense second. And most kids, in
keeping with tradition, pay no attention.

  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 now is known, if he is known at all, as the guy
who defends Larry Bird (and others) better  than anybody. A virtual shadow to
the stars. On these "showtime" LA Lakers, he is like iron among gold, a
defender on a team of slam dunkers and break-dancers. As he spoke Monday he
stood stiffly in uniform, his hands folded in front of him, his voice oddly
pitched, almost academic, as if delivering a science lecture. His tight
features and razor body somehow suggest purpose, seriousness. 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 and said let's get married," his wife
recalled. "By three o'clock we had a judge, our 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. 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.
  He earns $700,000 a year with the Lakers, and will for another four years,
and yet teammates tease him about being tight with the dollar. Which,
naturally, is 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
  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 body for a guy who loves the thankless and
helps the loveless, 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>
MICHAEL COOPER;ANECDOTE;BIOGRAPHY;AGE;QUOTE;COLUMN
</KEYWORDS>
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