9101210594
DETROIT FREE PRESS
910528
Tuesday, May 28, 1991
METRO FINAL
1A
Photo JOHN LUKE;Photo Color JULIAN H. GONZALEZ
:
Fans wait to see the Pistons outside the Palace on Monday. The
Chicago Bulls beat the Pistons, 115-94, in win the NBA Eastern
Conference final.
Pistons captain Isiah Thomas and center Bill Laimbeer await
imminent defeat near the end of the final game at the Palace on
Monday. The Chicago Bulls gored the Pistons, 115-94.
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1991, Detroit Free Press
GOOD-BYE TO GLORY
PISTONS SHED DREAM OF 3RD TITLE, BUT NOT TEARS
One by one, they walked off the court, surrendering the title like old
sheriffs turning in their badges. Joe Dumars dropped on a table and tossed his
head back. Isiah Thomas hugged Bill Laimbeer. Dennis Rodman, who looked
stunned enough to cry, found Vinnie Johnson and slapped his hands. Then, with
a few seconds left on the clock, they exited the Palace floor together, the
deposed kings, heading down the tunnel where their wives stood clapping in
the echoing silence.
Say good-bye to glory.
No tears.
Not here. No way. Never mind that this championship reign ended like a car
crash, a four-game sweep by the arch-rival Chicago Bulls. Never mind that the
whole series seemed as if the aging Pistons were playing in quicksand, two
steps slow, two steps behind, rebounds going over their heads, Bulls racing
past them at warp speed. Never mind. That was just the final chapter, not the
whole book. This was a hell of a run -- this team, this town, this Detroit
turn atop the NBA pile. They played, they won titles and we had a ball. We
laughed, we sang, we wore Pistons caps and Pistons T-shirts the way rebels
wear their colors. Three NBA Finals? Two straight championships?
No tears.
"When will it hit you?" someone asked an exhausted Dumars, after Bulls
crushed the Pistons in Game 4, 115-94, to capture the Eastern Conference final
and end the Detroit dream of three straight titles. "When will you realize
it's over?"
"I realize it right now," he said. "I realize that someone else will be
having that parade, and someone else will say, 'I'm going to Disneyland,' and
someone else will lower that championship banner next year . . ."
He smiled. "And you know what? If it doesn't rain tomorrow, the sun will
still be up in the sky."
No tears.
So many times, these Pistons went to the well and found an extra bucket
of power, of confidence. So many times they were down, seemingly out of it,
only to come back, win and laugh at the doubters. Isn't that why, until 5:45
Monday afternoon, some of us still believed a miracle would occur? Didn't you
keep waiting for the happy ending?
It never came. Finally, this time, they lowered the bucket and the well was
dry. "No TV, no refs, don't blame anything else," Thomas said. "They beat us
because they were the better basketball team . . . and they caught us at the
exact right time."
Looking back, that was apparent from Game 1 of this series. And maybe it
should have been apparent even earlier. Don't forget, the Bulls had the
second-best record in the NBA this season -- the Pistons had the ninth. The
Bulls raced gleefully into this Eastern Conference final, leaving New York
and Philadelphia in the dust. The Pistons, meanwhile, went the five-game
limit against Atlanta, and needed six to get past Boston. Thomas was injured.
Dumars was injured. James Edwards, Bill Laimbeer and Mark Aguirre were
injured. Fatigue? Mental pressure? Only their reputation made the Pistons
scary in this series; the truth was they were exhausted before it even began.
So we should not be surprised that it ended, ironically, on Memorial Day,
when you honor fallen heroes, and we should not be surprised that it ended
this way: with the Pistons sagging like an aged heavyweight on a humid night;
with Chicago's Scottie Pippen, last year's head case, now dunking, rebounding,
having a blast; with Michael Jordan slamming on a fast break, and Horace
Grant slamming on a fast break, and Scott Williams -- who? -- slamming on a
fast break, while the Pistons could only scream and moan about the fouls,
drawing technicals like raw meat draws flies.
"Before today, I thought it took an awful lot to win a championship, I
thought it was the hardest thing I'd ever done," Aguirre said, shaking his
head in the post-game locker room. "But now I realize that it takes more to
admit defeat. That's harder."
And what made it even worse?
The Pistons created the Bulls.
Bulls never blinked
That's right. The team that now goes to the NBA Finals owes its rise to
Detroit as sure as the monster owed its life to Dr. Frankenstein. All those
years Chicago took a beating from Detroit, losing in the playoffs the way the
Pistons used to lose to the Celtics? All those years, Chicago was learning.
Studying. Imitating. Until this season, finally, Chicago was better at being
Detroit than Detroit was. Think about it. The Bulls won the East with defense,
rebounding, a strong bench, a superstar guard and an indomitable spirit.
Sound familiar?
"They definitely paid attention over the years," John Salley said. "They
told themselves, 'We're not gonna do the old stuff anymore. We're not gonna
make the same mistakes.' "
They didn't. In 1988, the Pistons beat the Bulls, 4-1. The next year, it
was 4-2. Last year, it was 4-3. And this year? Whoa. This year, Chicago
refused to bleed. It was like Arnold Schwarzenegger in "The Terminator." It
did not even blink.
When Jordan was covered, he dished to John Paxson or Bill Cartwright.
Score! When Grant missed, Pippen came flying overhead to slam down the
rebound. Score! When the starters went out, guys you never heard of -- I still
can't get used to Cliff Levingston making a pressure shot -- came in to carry
the load. The Bulls won because they had two men, it seemed, on every Detroit
player. Because they had two men going for every rebound. And because they
knocked down their shots. Make no mistake. That is the biggest difference. No
matter what the pressure, what the defense, what the score, what the arena,
these new Bulls did not flinch, they hit their baskets, something the old
Bulls did not always do.
"We knew we could beat the Pistons," Jordan said, after winning his first
Eastern Conference title, "but with the sweep, we even surprised ourselves."
Jordan's shortcomings
A word here about Jordan. A brilliant player, yes, but he has a few things
to learn about dignity and championships. His comments over the weekend were
enough to make you ill: "The people I know are going to be happy (the
Pistons) aren't the reigning champions any more. We'll get back to the image
of a clean game. . . . When Boston was champion they played true basketball.
Detroit won . . . but it wasn't the kind of basketball you want to endorse."
Well, as Mr. Endorsement, Michael ought to know. But before he reduces the
world to good guys and bad guys -- the good, of course, being players like
himself who will talk trash non- stop, while getting fouls called whenever
another player breathes on him -- he should understand that there are many
ways to reach the playoffs but only one way to win a championship: you must
be the best. The Pistons were. For two years. They didn't win because they
were dirty. They won because they were unselfish, because they played great
defense, because they never gave up hope, and because they didn't put one
player on a pedestal above the others. You may notice, Michael, that your team
didn't get past the Eastern Conference until it did exactly those same
things.
"If Jordan thinks we're so bad for basketball, let him buy the league and
replace us," Rodman sniffed afterward. "He's got all the money, anyhow."
"Bad for basketball?" Dumars said, when informed of the comments. "Hey,
if us winning two championships was bad for basketball, it was damn sure good
for me. I got two rings in my closet."
No tears.
Can we ever forget?
And that's the spirit we ought to wake up with this morning. In the days
to come, there will be talk about changes -- trades, free agents -- there is
always such talk after a crown is lost. But for today, as the final embers of
this championship era die, better to remember the Pistons for what they were.
Can you ever forget their dance off the Silverdome floor the night the
Celtics were finally vanquished? Or their champagne shower in the visitors
locker room of the Forum, after sweeping the Lakers and claiming the crown? Or
the stunned silence of the Portland Memorial Coliseum after the Pistons went
there and did the impossible, three straight road victories to win Title No.
2?
Can you ever forget the slogans? "Bad Boys"? "U Can't Touch This"? "Three
The Hard Way"? Or the music that played when they took the floor, the trumpets
of that "Final Countdown" song that sent shivers down your spine? Can you
forget the sight of Chuck Daly, Mr. Dapper, croaking out instructions, waving
his arms like a mad scientist? And the players. Most of all, can you ever
forget the players? Thomas, hitting those magic shots against Boston in
overtime, or Dumars, coming back from his father's death last year to lead
the title charge, or Laimbeer, defying the boos in every arena, or Rodman,
waving that fist after his 16th or 17th rebound, or Edwards, turning and
sinking yet another fallaway jumper, or Aguirre, lighting up the nets from
long distance, or Vinnie, who goes all the way back to the embarrassing years
with this franchise, hitting that jumper last spring in Portland that now and
forever will be known as :00.7?
"How do you think history will remember this team?" came the question.
* Salley: "As the blue-collar guys that beat the glamour boys in LA."
* Aguirre: "As a team that defied the odds and kept coming back to win.'*
Thomas: "As one of the greatest that ever played."
In the final seconds Monday, the scoreboard flashed the image of two fans,
holding up signs that read "THANK YOU FOR 2" and "YOU'LL ALWAYS BE CHAMPIONS
IN OUR HEARTS." A nice way to say good-bye. Hell of a run, guys. Hell of a
team. No tears. Just a handshake and a nod of thanks.
Now.
How are those Tigers doing?