9101180402
DETROIT FREE PRESS
910503
Friday, May 03, 1991
METRO FINAL CHASER
1D
MITCH ALBOM
SEE ALSO METRO FINAL 1D
Copyright (c) 1991, Detroit Free Press
MONCRIEF RESURRECTS SELF, HAWKS
ATLANTA -- Look who grew up Thursday night. The Atlanta Hawks. A team
that has traditionally, in the playoffs, shown as much heart as a groundhog
running from its shadow -- yet here they were, facing elimination, as usual,
and suddenly they found something. They fought back. They clawed, they
scratched, they outplayed the defending NBA champion Pistons, outrebounded
them, outshot them, outhustled them. And beat them. They found something, all
right: His name is Sidney Moncrief, a guy who was selling cars last year, a
guy nobody wanted, a guy who once shared the stage with Marques Johnson and
Quinn Buckner and who came out of retirement to join this team because he
missed moments like these, when the night was suddenly in his hands and he
could shoot his team all the way into a Game 5.
"Oh, yes, this is exactly what I missed the most," Moncrief said, smiling,
after the Hawks jolted the Pistons, 123-111, to force a showdown finale in
this best-of-five playoff series. "The competition. The feeling of . . .
doing something."
He did something, all right. He scored 23 points -- to go with 34 points
from fellow guard Doc Rivers -- and slapped the Pistons smack in their perhaps
overly confident heads. Of course, to be honest, many of us (including this
writer) were equally confident. If you had written the script before Thursday
night, you would have said, "Hawks play well for three quarters, then fold.
Pistons win. As usual." And that is exactly how it went -- until the finish.
And then, like some flash from a "Back To The Future" movie, here was
Moncrief, with little hair left on his head, wearing a Hawks uniform instead
of the old Milwaukee green, and he turned and hit a 14-foot jumper. Bang! Then
he turned and hit a 10-footer. Bang! Then he stole the ball from Isiah Thomas
and drove the length of the court, against all those younger legs, and he got
there first, lay-up! The crowd roared. Six straight points. Suddenly, to
everyone's surprise, the Hawks could see the finish line, and they still had
an eight- point lead. And they could see something more, something they
haven't had in a long time here: A leader.
Another Moncrief jumper. Two Moncrief free throws. Two more Moncrief free
throws. Twenty-three points? His best game of the season? His best NBA game
since he left to sell cars? Sidney Moncrief?
"I think Sidney watched Nolan Ryan throw that no-hitter last night,"
Rivers joked. "Then he saw Rickey Henderson steal that base at age, what, 33?
And he figured, if those guys can do it . . . "
So can he. Still, who would have expected this -- not just Moncrief, but
Rivers and Dominique Wilkins (24 points, 11 rebounds), the Hawks breaking down
the Pistons' defense, going to the foul line 51 times, more than twice the
Detroit total? Who would have expected this? Certainly not the Atlanta fans,
only 9,854 of whom bothered to come out. This city should be ashamed of
itself. The upper level at the Omni looked like the centerfield bleachers for
a Braves game on a cold September night.
They missed a hell of a show. After blowing a big lead in Game 3 Tuesday
night, the Hawks appeared demoralized, the predictions about an inevitably
easy Detroit victory seemed destined to come true. Even at the shoot-around
Thursday afternoon, some of the Atlanta players were talking about their
vacation plans.
Not Moncrief. At 33, and a year's retirement under his belt, he has had
enough vacation. Not Moses Malone, 36, once the greatest rebounding center in
the game, now reduced, like Moncrief, to a substitute role. There have been
many embarrassing nights for Malone in Atlanta, nights when his age clearly
showed. But Thursday, in what could have been his last playoff game ever, he
found some of the old stuff, too. He bumped, grinded, grabbed the ball and
kept going to the free throw line, where, with all that familiar sweat
dripping from his chin, he banged home six of six. Add that to his 11
rebounds, and you have a whale of a game from the old guy.
And a legitimate problem for the Pistons. Yes, they have been in this
situation before: They needed five games to eliminate lowly Washington back in
1988, then went on to the NBA Finals against the Lakers. And, yes, Sunday's
Game 5 is in the Palace, and if the Pistons can't win there, they don't
deserve to advance. "We're going to win this series," Mark Aguirre insisted.
"It will be different in the Palace."
Still, Thursday was a missed opportunity. The Pistons had a chance to
1) get rest for hurting players such as Thomas, who, with a strained
hamstring, made one basket all night and six turnovers; 2) Start a roll of
confidence -- because the regular season certainly didn't provide one. Coach
Chuck Daly was hoping two wins on the road to close this series might juice
the team for the second round.
Instead, the Pistons must focus all their energy and attention on the
Atlanta Hawks, one game, and even if they win Sunday, they will have only two
or three days to get ready for the next opponent.
"How can you describe what happened tonight?" someone asked Joe Dumars,
who shot 6-for-16.
"They beat us," Dumars said.
Well put.
And the question now becomes, who takes what into Sunday's game? Will the
Hawks be so inspired with their newfound success that they will play above
their heads, as they did in Game 1 when they upset the Pistons? Or will they
fall back on old ways, figuring, "Hey, we made it this far, that's good
enough" and die?
As for the Pistons, you figure they will shake this off, the way they
shake off most defeats. But then, you figured they would close this thing out
Thursday. Know this: Something is painfully flawed in their game. They go
through stretches where they simply cannot shoot. They fall behind by gulps
of points and then must dig deep to come back. One day -- be it this month,
next month, next year, whenever -- they will dig and nothing will be there.
So be it. That will play itself out in time. For now, while you chew your
fingernails and watch the clock until Sunday, at least pay tribute to a fine
fellow who, for one magic night, when his team needed it most, rediscovered
his game, found the touch that used to light up the Milwaukee Bucks, and the
spirit that once made Don Nelson say, "They should erect a bronze statue of
Sidney outside the Bucks' arena."
He's not ready for bronzing just yet. On Thursday, he delivered a painful
message: Teams aren't always dead when they look it. And older men aren't
always dead just because they lose their hair.
"Did that remind you of the old Sidney Moncrief?" someone asked Hawks
guard John Battle.
"I'm too young to remember the old one," Battle laughed. "But I like the
new version."
On we go.
DPISTONS; PLAYOFF; BASKETBALL;Pistons