<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
9001170338
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
900502
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Wednesday, May 02, 1990
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL CHASER
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1990, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
PISTONS HUSH PACERS IN RITE OF CHAMPIONS
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
INDIANAPOLIS --  So there was Chuck Daly, standing in the hallway before
the game, and a little kid in a Pacers jersey and yellow Pacers buttons
saddled up next to him.

  "You the Detroit coach?"  he asked.

  Daly said, "Yep."
  And the kid said: "Don't beat us tonight, OK?"
  Sorry, kid. Farewell, Indiana. Despite the dreams of this basketball
state, the Pistons did to the Pacers Tuesday  night what any defending champ
should do to a team still sucking from the playoff bottle: put it to sleep and
say good-night. Sweep.
  See ya later.
  "We came here to win," said Isiah Thomas,  shrugging at the obvious after
the Pistons did indeed win, 108-96, to advance to the second round of the
playoffs. "We didn't come to enjoy the weather or see the sites, you know."
  We know. So do  the Pacers. The Pistons grabbed this game by the neck in
the second period, and tucked it away in the fourth. Thomas stole the ball and
Dennis Rodman slammed the dunk and Bill Laimbeer threw in jumpers  and that's
it. Outta here. The Pistons were following one of the cardinal rules of the
NBA: never spend any more time in Indianapolis than you have to.
  Of course, you can't tell that to a Hoosier.
  Prior to tip-off, fans rocked Market Square Arena, cheering for their
first playoff game in three years and only their third in a decade. Blue and
yellow streamers hung from the rafters. Music blared.  All the players were
introduced. The crowd -- perhaps showing playoff naivete -- even stood and
waived white handkerchiefs in support. Memo to Indiana: bad symbolism.
  Not that it mattered. Surrender  was obvious. Before Thomas sizzled the
nets (23 points), before John Salley continued his spring blossom, before the
Pistons tossed in eight points in 42 seconds to close the first half (three
steals,  three lay-ups) this series was, for all intents and purposes,
decided. No way Indiana gets a game against Detroit. Their day will come. But
not this year.
  "Are you already finished thinking about  the Pacers?" someone asked Joe
Dumars just a few minutes after the victory.
  "We don't play them anymore, do we?" he said.
  One down.
Detroit connects with Game 3 KO
  Daly had predicted  "an all-out war" for this game. It never materialized.
Yes, there were double technicals called in the first minute of action, when
Rodman and Detlef Schrempf did a little dance. But other than that,  this was
your basic basketball on basketball, which means the Pistons did it a little
better, a lot deeper, and see ya later. Balance? All but one Piston scored in
double figures. Dumars earned his pay chasing Reggie Miller around all night.
Vinnie Johnson proved why he is an invaluable playoff weapon, coming alive
during the fourth quarter. Salley continued his sudden gallop with 16 points
in the  first half. If he could learn to avoid fouls and hang onto rebounds
instead of slapping them, he might get that $2.5 million contract on a silver
platter.
  Anyhow, in the end all the noise, all the  clamor, all the Pacers'
homecourt hype was doomed to fade. This is the difference between champions
and wanna-bes. The latter desires it; the former gets it done. So it was that
during a loud and crazy  fourth quarter, fans on their feet, waving,
screaming, it was still the Pistons -- particularly Thomas -- making the key
plays and getting the hoops, as calmly as if they were working in their
basement.
  "We don't get rattled by noise," said the  captain. "We expect spurts like
that. But we're an opportunistic team. If we were boxers, we'd be
counterpunchers. We jab, jab, jab, wait. . . . " -- he  laughs -- "and then we
hit you real hard."
  The Pacers don't wake up until next October.
  One down.
 All that's left is who's next
  And three to go. The Pistons had forgotten this city by the time the plane
left the runway. Next concern, Boston or New York. How many days rest? What
plays are gonna work? How late can we sleep tomorrow?
  "Are we the first team to advance this soon?"  Mark Aguirre had asked in
the locker room afterward. When he was told yes, that's when he smiled. This
is where defending champs take quiet pride. Doing it quickly. Getting to the
real stage first.
  It is a fascinating process, these NBA playoffs, like charting a singing
career. You start on the Louisiana Hayride, you make it to the Grand Old Opry,
and one day, if you're really good, you play  Carnegie Hall. You have to
endure and learn from every level. It's a season unto itself, complete with
slumps and injuries and heroes and momentum shifts. The Pistons know this. The
Pacers will learn  it. Maybe by the time that kid in the hallway grows to be a
teenager.
  Daly put his experience in perspective: "After a while, all the hotel
rooms and plane trips and arenas blend together. You just  focus on the game
at hand. There is no reason to look back in this league. . . . "
  He paused and grinned. "Unless there's something back there that will help
you win tonight."
  Farewell, Indiana.  Sorry, kid. 
  One down.
  Next?
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<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN; BASKETBALL; DPISTONS; GAME;Pistons
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
