9001210552
DETROIT FREE PRESS
900602
Saturday, June 02, 1990
METRO FINAL
1A
Photo CRAIG PORTER;JONATHAN KIRN Associated Press
Joe Dumars of the Pistons dribbles past Chicago's Michael
Jordan in Friday's game in Chicago. But Jordan came back to
score 29 points and the Bulls won, 109-91. Chicago's victory
forces a deciding seventh game Sunday at the Palace. More
coverage starts on Page 1B.
Detroit's John Salley holds off Chicago's Scottie Pippen during
Friday night's game in Chicago. But the Bulls victory means
the Eastern Conference best-of-seven series is now down to a
final game Sunday at the Palace.
MITCH ALBOM
SEE ALSO METRO FINAL EDITON, Page 1A
Copyright (c) 1990, Detroit Free Press
BLOWN OUT OF CHICAGO
PISTONS STYMIED AS BULLS FORCE GAME 7 SUNDAY
CHICAGO -- So there was another bullet in the chamber after all. The Bulls
fired, the Pistons went down, and now we are left with 48 minutes of
basketball war to determine who gets off the ground and who stays there until
next fall.
Seventh Hell. Who needs this? Not the Pistons, who are finding the nickname
Windy City really means you never know which way the Bulls are going to blow.
Cold and tired -- as they did in Detroit on Wednesday -- or hot, inspired and
deadly, as they did Friday night in Game 6. The bad news: Detroit lost. The
worse news: It was more than Michael Jordan this time, folks. It was Scottie
Pippen pulling up inside and burying shots, and Horace Grant grabbing rebounds
as if they came with bonus money, and Craig Hodges, who had been shooting so
terribly in this series you could count his baskets on one hand, suddenly
finding the bottom of the net and dropping the Pistons hopes there as well.
Oh, yeah. Jordan had 29. That's all.
Seventh Hell.
"We are more driven than ever to win this thing," said Jordan, after the
Bulls demolished the Pistons, 109-91, to force a showdown Sunday at the Palace
for the Eastern Conference championship. "We are going to Detroit with a
clear mind. All bets are off. We did the job."
No argument. There was no give from the Bulls. Not this time. This was the
anniversary of their NBA departure last season -- it was this very night, one
year ago, when they sucked wind as Detroit rode off to the airport and the
Finals. But new year, new story. This time, the defending champions did not
even raise a shiver from the Chicago team. But then, the Pistons didn't
really play like defending champions, either.
Mistakes? You don't want to know. Missed shots? Many of them were open
jumpers. Defense? This might have been the most depressing part of all. For
much of the night, the Pistons looked a step slow. Chicago beat them with the
pass, got inside. If champions revert to form when threatened, well, where was
the form? The Pistons have played three games in this building and have not
looked like themselves in any of them. And the Bulls have looked like giants.
"Take this with you!" the fans here seemed to thunder, raining noise on
their heroes as they left the floor. "Take these smells, these sounds, take
them, and you can do it!"
I don't know for sure. But I bet the Bulls are trying to find a plane
right now big enough to fit the stadium in the cargo bin.
It is time to ask a serious question here: Can a building really do this?
Turn a championship team into a slower, less accurate, less concentrated
version of itself -- three times in one week? Or is it that the Bulls are
getting that much better with each game?
"You know that stuff about it being the one-year anniversary of last
season?" John Salley had said in the locker room before this game. "Well,
don't you think they know that? Don't you think they're talking about that
right now, saying remember last year, when we all went home after the game?
I'll bet you anything that's what they're talking about."
It was either that, or how to get rid of the pin when you pull it from the
grenade. Chicago was one explosion after another Friday. The Pistons had the
lead once all night. In the first quarter. The rest of the night was horrific.
Intense? Try sheer heart-attack, like holding your breath and squeezing
all your face muscles. Pistons fans in this building could sense that at any
moment, the game could just fly away, gone on the wings of Bulls euphoria.
They had to be scared in the second quarter, when, with Michael Jordan
resting on the bench, the Bulls opened an 11-point lead. It was a low moment
for the Pistons; they looked confused, their offense consisted of a few spins
and a dump back to the top of the key. Nobody could drive. Nobody could take
a good shot. Balls slammed off the side of the backboard. Mark Aguirre threw
up several bricks; one missed everything. Detroit was called for a cluster of
violations, everything from offensive fouls to a technical foul for too many
men on the court. Too many men? A championship team? In Game 4's defeat, Isiah
Thomas defended his team, saying the Bulls simply outplayed the Pistons. But
on Friday, the Pistons were making their own mistakes, thanks anyhow. No help
needed. They were losing -- and Jordan wasn't even breathing hard.
How does that song go? "Bet your bottom dollar you lose the blues in
Chicago?" Yeah. Well. You can lose a few other things there too. Like your
shot. How else do you explain that third quarter, when almost everything the
Pistons threw up looked like something, well, they threw up? Gimme that stat
sheet again. Six baskets? Twenty-four tries? Five full minutes without a field
goal? You knew they were in trouble when Joe Dumars missed a driving lay-up
and Isiah rebounded, only to throw up an air ball from the baseline.
Meanwhile, the Bulls, smelling the kill, gave the ball to Jordan and he went
nuts. He simply hung in the air until all the Pistons came down, then bang,
bang, bang, bang, bang. He scored 18 points in just over eight minutes.
It ain't the shoes.
On Sunday, we'll find out what it really is. And what everybody is made
of. Understand the mind wars going on here, and maybe you can understand this
series. Remember that while the Pistons are blessed and cursed with having
been through all this before, the Bulls have never reached a seventh game in
the Eastern Conference finals. They went out last year in Game 6. If they
had lost Friday, the whole year would have been a wash. They do no better
than last season. Surely, that was an enormous motivation.
The Pistons, meanwhile -- and this is unfortunate -- have been through so
much that they can't shake the idea that there is still one game left, and
that's all they have to win. Consciously, no one will admit this played a part
in defeat. But subconsciously, you had to believe it did. The more of these
playoffs you win, the less scared you get. That's too bad, seeing how well
fear worked for the Pistons. If they are now so confident that the home arena
will propel them to glory, that seven games, six games, five games, what's the
difference as long as they win? -- well, let's hope they're right. They'll get
their wish -- although Detroit is 0-3 in playoff Game 7s.
One more game. Of course, everyone now wants to know who has the
advantage, and in the next 36 hours you'll hear every kind of theory. 1) The
Pistons. It's their home court. 2) The Bulls. They have the momentum. 3) The
Pistons. They have experience in seventh games. 4) The Bulls. They have
nothing to lose. Who's right? Nobody's right. Theory doesn't win basketball
games, players do, and whoever shows up most ready to play and most capable of
executing will walk away with the plane tickets to Portland. About the only
thing the Pistons can be glad of is that they won't have to see in this
building anymore this season. Although Detroit won two games during the
regular season here, trying to win in Chicago Stadium during the playoffs is
like trying to douse a five-alarm fire with a garden hose.
And this Chicago fire is hot enough already.
Seventh Hell. Somebody burns. Hold your breath.
GAME; BASKETBALL; DPISTONS;Pistons