9905130132
DETROIT FREE PRESS
990513
Thursday, May 13, 1999
METRO FINAL
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1999, Detroit Free Press
A DIFFERENT TEAM PLAYED THE PALACE
AN OBVIOUS question: Who were these guys?
These couldn't have been the same Pistons who crawled under the tires of the
Atlanta Hawks the previous two playoff games. The crushed-by-Mt. Mutombo
Pistons? The can't-break-70-point Pistons? Where'd they go? Who were these
guys?
Who was this Lindsey Hunter? Not the Lindsey Hunter from Games 1 and 2. That
Lindsey Hunter couldn't buy a basket and couldn't finish a play. That Lindsey
Hunter heard his father call him up after Game 2 and say, in so many words,
"You were terrible." And that was his father!
This Lindsey Hunter, the one playing Wednesday night, was, for my money, the
best player out there -- when the game was in hottest contention -- doing the
noticeable big things, like nine points in the first half, and the more
important small things, like cutting in front of Atlanta passes for steals,
leaping over taller players for rebounds, diving for loose balls, drawing
offensive fouls.
Who was this guy?
And who was this Bison Dele? This could not have been the same Bison Dele from
the first two games. That Bison played like, well, a bison. Slow, lumbering
and completely out of it. This Bison played as if failure meant death. He
scored the first basket of the night -- which instantly gave him more points
than he had in Game 2. He threw a hook over Dikembe Mutombo. He grabbed a
rebound. He charged a loose ball. He stole a pass, then rattled the rim on
another slam over Mutombo.
He had 12 points and seven rebounds in the first half. He even blocked a
Mutombo shot, which is sort of like catching a refrigerator.
"What was the difference tonight?" he was asked after a 79-63 victory kept the
Pistons alive in this best-of-five series.
"Home cooking," he said.
In that case, big man, bring on the pumpkin pie.
The truth is, Dele had to play better. He couldn't have played worse. His
teammates were glaring at him. The fans were booing him. I wrote a pretty
severe column after his no-show performance in Game 2.
"Maybe you could write that again on Friday morning?" asked Grant Hill.
Call my editor.
Taking nothing for Granted
Speaking of Hill, who was this guy? Not the Grant Hill who tried to carry the
team in Game 1, scoring 26 points in 38 minutes. Wednesday's Grant Hill lasted
only 25 minutes, saddled with foul trouble. His best contribution was a
bulldoze into Mutombo that knocked the mountain over. As a result, Hill would
later describe himself as "Greg Kite." I promise you, that is the last time
you'll hear those two in the same sentence.
"Were you worried that you might watch your season end tonight?" Hill was
asked after the game.
"No," he said, reaching behind him, "because I had this."
He handed over a copy of Norman Vincent Peale's "Why Some Positive Thinkers
Get Powerful Results." He pointed to the last chapter, "Happiness At Last."
"I read up to here," he said.
This is such a literate team.
Speaking of team, who were these guys doubling on Mutombo? Not the Pistons
from Games 1 and 2, when they left Dikembe alone with one defender, which is
like leaving a tree alone with a lumberjack.
The Game 3 Pistons had two men clinging to Mutombo whenever he tried a shot,
pass or dribble. Which is why, after his wrecking crew numbers in the first
two games (45 points and 32 rebounds) he took only four shots in Game 3 and
made only one. Four shots?
Where was this defense in Games 1 and 2?
"We thought we could play him straight up," admitted coach Alvin Gentry. "We
were wrong. That's on me."
And as long as we're talking Atlanta, who were these guys? The Hawks of the
first two games won by 20 twice, and stopped scoring only because their arms
got tired.
Wednesday's Hawks had all the offense of a rock pile. You thought the Pistons'
70 and 69 points were bad? The Hawks' 63 was the second-lowest output in
playoff history. Somewhere commissioner David Stern is researching the
four-point basket.
The sounds of silence
One more obvious question: Where was everybody?
The Palace, at tip-off, was disgustingly empty. If there were 5,000 people
there, it was a lot. Was this the NBA playoffs, or an aerobics class?
Three words for our sports fans: Shame on you. This could have been the final
time the Pistons were introduced this season -- and more important, the final
time Joe Dumars laced up the sneakers. That alone should have demanded a
sellout, instead of the mere 14,812 tickets sold -- which is far more than
were actually there.
This was the smallest Pistons playoff crowd ever at the Palace. And there were
seats as low as $10 available! Come on. This was the first NBA playoff game
here in two years. They should have drawn 20,000 on curiosity.
Instead, the Pistons had to crank up themselves. Of course, you could argue,
that's what they're paid to do. Or, until Wednesday, what Dele seemed paid not
to do.
So let's make a deal. Fans show up to cheer Friday night. Pistons show up to
win Friday night. And I'll take the day off while my editor runs the Dele
column again.
What? You have a problem with that?
MITCH ALBOM can be reached at 1-313-223-4581 or albom@freepress.com. Listen
to "Albom in the Afternoon" 3-6 p.m. weekdays on WJR-AM (760).
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
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