9101180029
DETROIT FREE PRESS
910501
Wednesday, May 01, 1991
METRO FINAL CHASER
1C
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1991, Detroit Free Press
CHALK 1 UP FOR 3 LITTLE
WORDS (MORE OR LESS)
ATLANTA -- It was the best of periods, it was the worst of periods. And it
is the reason why you cannot dismiss these Detroit Pistons -- not until the
last breath is gone from their lips. You can criticize them, shake your head
at them, wonder about them, get sick over them, lose money on them, lose hair
on them, but you cannot dismiss them, no way, simply because of nights like
Tuesday, when, in two hours of basketball, they played one quarter like
"Night of the Living Dead" and another like "The Greatest Story Ever Told."
And they won the game.
That must have been one hell of a halftime speech.
"Not really," said a relieved Chuck Daly, after the Pistons overcame a
17-point first-half deficit and beat Atlanta, 103-91, to grab a 2-1 lead in
this first-round playoff series. ?=I went into the locker room and wrote three
words on the board. 'Poise' because we needed to stay poised. 'Frantic'
because we were playing too frantic, and, uh . . . and. . . . Ah, I can't
remember the other one. . . ."
Wait a minute. Don't leave us hanging like that! Poise. Frantic. And . . .
what? "Destroy"? "Annihilate"? "Pay Cut" ? It must have been something good,
because the Pistons sure turned around in a hurry. That first quarter and
that third quarter had as much in common as Tommy Tune and Norman Schwarzkopf.
"What did Chuck write at halftime?" someone asked Bill Laimbeer.
"He wrote 'Poise,' 'Frantic' and . . . I can't remember. Some other
cliches sports writers use."
It was a tale of two Pistons
Well, Bill. After that first quarter, it wasn't cliches they were
writing. It was adjectives. Does "awful" ring a bell? Here was the kind of
performance you wanted to record on tape -- then set on fire. The problem for
the Pistons was execution; they played as if they had been executed. If this
was championship basketball, I'm Nancy Reagan. Here, in an arena that was
loaded with empty seats, the defending NBA champs began a game they had to win
-- and looked like dog food.
Here was William Bedford falling asleep, letting a pass bounce off his
body and out of bounds. Here was James Edwards stepping on the line, turnover.
Here was Isiah Thomas throwing the ball right into the hands of a defender.
Here was John Salley, missing an open lay-up by throwing it off the backboard
and missing a dunk by slamming it off the heel of the rim.
Before the first quarter was done, Detroit trailed by 15 points. If not
for Vinnie Johnson's discovering his old shooting touch in the second period,
the Pistons might have been so black and blue, even Ted Turner couldn't
colorize them. By halftime they were down 12 points, and I had my own thoughts
as to what Daly might say to them:
"You stink. I'm leaving."
"Hello? Has anybody seen my team?"
"OK, campers. Are you ready for your nap now?"
Of course, it was none of these, as we know. It was three words: Poise.
Frantic. And. . . .
Hey, Joe Dumars, what was the third one?
"I dunno. I can't read his writing, anyhow."
Take the good with the bad
Well. Whatever. It worked. The third quarter was every bit as magnificent
as the first was ugly. The Pistons emerged with the look of a killer and the
focus of a marksman. They also had their old starting lineup intact for the
first time in at least a month: Isiah Thomas, Joe Dumars, James Edwards, Bill
Laimbeer, Dennis Rodman. And they went to work.
Here was Edwards opening with a trademark fadeaway jumper. Here was Dumars
making a beautiful bounce pass to Thomas for a breakaway lay-up. Here was
Rodman taking a feed deep under the basket and somehow rising from behind the
board, twisting his body and rolling the ball in. Here was Thomas, bad wrist
and all, driving into traffic, spinning 360 degrees, and finger- rolling two
points. The defense tightened like its usual vise, and by the time the horn
sounded to end the quarter, the Pistons had held Atlanta to seven baskets,
and had turned a 12-point deficit into a five-point cushion.
They never trailed again.
"What did Chuck write at halftime?" someone asked Salley. "What were the
three words?"
" 'Poise,' 'Frantic' and . . . I think it was 'loose ball.' "
"No it wasn't," Laimbeer yelled. "He wouldn't write 'loose ball.' "
"No? Oh, well. Maybe it was 'intensity.' "
Maybe it was "Kill!" Maybe it was "Yuck!" Who knows? The word seems
destined to be a mystery, which is pretty symbolic for this team. The Pistons
are not done with their problems. The fact is, they shouldn't be falling
behind so badly to a team such as Atlanta. They are also saddled with
another injury to Thomas, this time a hamstring, and it could be bad. Plus
Mark Aguirre, who was already grumbling, sat out all but two minutes of the
second half Tuesday -- and who knows what that will turn into.
All of which means we are probably in for more of this: best of periods,
worst of periods. And whichever they do more of will determine the Pistons'
fate. "It would be a lot easier if we just led from the beginning, but what
are you gonna do?" Daly said, looking like a man who had been dragged from the
back of a car.
I think I know what he wrote on that board. I think he wrote, "I'm
getting tired of this."
COLUMN; DPISTONS; BASKETBALL; PLAYOFFS;Pistons