9001180423
DETROIT FREE PRESS
900509
Wednesday, May 09, 1990
METRO FINAL CHASER
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1990, Detroit Free Press
OH, THOSE ACHING HEADS: KNICKS STILL
AREN'T SURE WHAT HIT THEM AT PALACE
Good morning, New York, and how are we feeling toda --
Ooh, sorry. Are we talking too loud? Bad headache, huh? Here. Try some of
these aspirin. That was a nasty fall you took last night. All the way from
the clouds to the pits. Lie back, and we'll try to explain what happened.
What's that? Who were those men at the end of the game? Well, their names
are William Bedford, Scott Hastings, David Greenwood and Gerald Henderson.
Yes. They are Pistons. Well, yes, they were pretty good, I suppose. Starters?
Oh, no. They weren't the starters. They were the subs. You mean you don't
remember the starters? They left the game after you fell behind by about 40
poin --
. . . New York?
Oops. Lost you for a minute there. Maybe some warm milk would be good.
I'll call downstairs.
Ice pack?
There you go. Now then, listen up, New York. I might as well be frank. I
don't know how you did it to the Boston Celtics -- and, from the looks of it,
neither do they -- but you should know this: You can't beat the Pistons with
one weapon. I don't care how big that weapon is, or how many knee pads it puts
on. No good. It's like trying to stop a cattle herd with one rope.
But hey, I can see by your eyes, you already know that. And your face and
hair, all disheveled like that? You look like Kenny Walker. But then, it was
rather a rude awakening at the Palace Tuesday, wasn't it? Don't feel bad.
Happens to a lot of teams. Around here they call it defense. They call it a
point guard. They call it Detroit basketball and, apparently, even sending it
on a one-week vacation doesn't take away its sharpness.
Whoa. Room is spinning, isn't it?
Just lie back for a minute.
Better? Good. The final score? Um. Well. I'm not sure that in your
condition you really want to hear the final --
OK. OK. It was 112-77.
You lost by 35.
New York? . . . New York? . . .
Ah, welcome back. You just passed out again. I know how it is. Here you
were, flying so high after that Boston series, and the Pistons had been off
for so long, so it was such a perfect opportunity and all that.
But maybe you got a little too excited. You forgot where you were. This is
not Boston Garden. Didn't you notice, we had air conditioning? And there were
no rats? Well. Maybe like John Salley said after the game, you were tired.
Salley defended you. He said you "barely had time to go home, change
underwear and fly to Detroit." Plus you had to eat all that hotel food.
That explains the queasy stomach.
Want some Pepto-Bismol?
You see, New York, the problem is this: Around here, the front line is
not as old or as slow as the Boston Celtics, and the guards actually have
names you can remember. Like Isiah Thomas, who played one of his more
beautiful playoff games, coming out focused and directing the offense -- with
his shooting and his passing -- so deftly, so easily, that he was able to sit
down in the third quarter and stop sweating for the night. You remember that
terrific bounce pass to Joe Dumars on the fast break that opened an 18-point
lead? Or those rainbow jumpers from the top of the key --
Sorry. Got carried away.
And then there is that defense. It was something wasn't it? Like the time
Bill Laimbeer slapped the ball out of Patrick Ewing's hands as he rose for a
lay-up, leaving the big guy hanging there, like a bank robber without a gun.
Heh-heh. That was really kind of --
Forgive me.
Smelling salts?
There you go. Much better. Patrick? Yes. I suppose you want to know about
Patrick. Did he score? Of course. Don't be silly. He had 19. No, not in the
first quarter. In the whole game.
Rebounds?
Well. He had -- and I think you should lie back before you hear this -- he
had . . . four rebounds.
Hello? . . . Hello? . . .
Ah, good morning again. Listen. Why don't we just rip up this final stat
sheet since I think it's doing a lot of harm. Especially the part about the
free throws. I can't believe this. Only 10 of 22. That's kind of like a high
school game, wouldn't you sa --
Never mind. We'll just rip this sheet up.
Listen. It might help to know that none of the Pistons were gloating. They
just said you had a bad night. I guess that's what you call 35.6 percent
shooting. A bad night. Chuck Daly said the Pistons were so tired of waiting
for this game that when it started "it felt like we were sprung from a cage."
They kind of played that way, didn't they?
Oh, well, New York. It's all behind you now. Here. Have some orange juice.
Besides, you have lots to feel good about. Remember that guy, Scott Hastings?
He usually sits on the end of the bench and talks to the fans. He chews towels
to keep from being bored. But you gave him a chance to play. He even scored a
basket. Afterward, he said, "I never expected this. . . . That was probably
my first and last five minutes of the playoffs."
Now don't you feel good about that?
Yes. You're looking better, already. Sitting up and everything. By this
afternoon you'll be walking around, and maybe even shooting baskets, although
I would stay away from the free throw line for at least 24 hours.
And before you know it, you will have forgotten all about this nasty
evening, and the big bad Pistons and their tenacious defense and their
spread-it-around offense and that time John Salley slam-dunked on Ewing and
drew a foul that sent Ewing to the bench for the night. It will all pass. I'm
sure you'll be fine.
Just one more thing. Tomorrow night?
You have to play them again.
New York? . . . New York? . . .
NURSE!
COLUMN; GAME; BASKETBALL; DPISTONS;Pistons