Coach's Corner

"Is anybody going to San Antone?

Or Phoenix, Arizona?

Any place is all right as long as I

Can forget I've ever known ya..."

-- as sung by Charlie Pride

Late Saturday afternoon, driving through a cyclonic storm, with traffic on I-35 plowing through a deluge at five mph, I was starting to wonder if I was ever going to get to old San Antone, where I hoped to witness (God willing!) a match between the first- and second-place teams in the Midwest Division, the Utah Jazz and the Spurs. A brief break in the storm revealed a bizarre, only-in-Texas sky of blinding sunshine to the right, tiny funnel clouds twisting from the sky directly ahead, and pitch blackness to the left. Out of the gloom arose the strange architectural structure that is the Alamodome. Dying courtside, beneath the rubble of a collapsed roof, had more of an appropriate arch-of-life feel to it than being sucked up into a dark funnel in my car, and this thought eased my mind. I've written here - any number of times - on the lack of any real importance in a mid-season NBA game, no matter who's playing whom. Still, a match-up of this sort, between likely playoff foes, can be an interesting February diversion to watching pairs figure skating in Japan. This game offered up some hope of an enthusiastic contest, mainly because both teams were, generally speaking, relatively well rested - an NBA oxymoron.

Once I settled down and looked at the Spur starting lineup, I wondered if anybody at all might be coming to San Antonio in April to see the Spurs in the post-season. I'd forgotten, you see, about the other great NBA mid-season equalizer: injuries. The media guide told me, straightforwardly enough, that Sean Elliot was out due to "surgery, left quadriceps tendon," and that Chuck Person would not play because of "recurrent low back pain." But David Robinson, a surprise scratch, found me in need of a medical dictionary. He wouldn't play due to "chondromalacia (a venereal disease?) right knee." I don't know what horrible thing is incubating in The Admiral's knee, but his void, along with the chronically injured Elliot and the absence of the elderly Rifleman, left the Spurs with a disturbingly less-than-average lineup. A group composed of Avery Johnson (not the source, as many fans think, for Spur problems), Will Perdue (a nice fellow who has never in nine years received a single break from an official), a seven-year veteran named Jaren Jackson (whom I'd never heard of), the rakish but hobbled Vinny Del Negro, and the great rookie, Tim Duncan. The Lakers won't be losing sleep.

The Jazz, on the other hand, are always there. The Jazz being Malone, Stockton, and Hornacek. In a grueling game, where serious and niggling injuries catch up to almost everyone, the Jazz, in this trio, have three of the most durable athletes to ever play the game. That two of them are sure Hall of Famers, and the other is an excellent player, don't hurt things. Karl Malone, the game's finest power forward, has played what amounts to 10 straight years, missing only one game along the way. Stockton, before his knee injury last summer, played in 609 straight games. Hornacek has played in 324 without an ankle sprain. Even reserve center Antoine Carr has missed only one game in the last two years. This extraordinary durability is, of course, Utah's great strength. For the last five years, the Jazz have never had to compensate, as the Spurs do constantly, for the absence of key players.

The Spurs should've lost this game badly. Indeed, for most of the game, they were behind by 10 or more. Their shooting percentage nudged above 40% only in the final seconds. But, they played good defense. Utah helped, not being able to make a shot for most of the third quarter. In the end, the unheard-of happened: San Antonio had a chance to tie the game, because a foul was called against a superstar (Malone) with a half a second left on the clock. Duncan missed his free throw. Another game was in the books.

The Spurs are nothing if not consistent. The team's weakness is the same as it's been for the past five years: a stubborn unwillingness to upgrade the fourth, fifth, and sixth men on their roster. Avery Johnson, whom I once ripped, has earned my respect. Yeah, he can't hit a three. Big deal. Jason Kidd can't make a 10 footer, and everyone calls him great. A.J.'s a tough, smart kid who makes the right decisions with the ball. He's the real soul of the team. Del Negro (4) and Person (5) are both basically the same player: unreliable perimeter shooters. They're both okay, which is why the Spurs remain... just okay. Then, there's the wait-until-Sean (6)-comes-back faction. He's not coming back, sportsfans. It's time to move on down the road.

So, as a stormy Saturday night came to an end, both teams prepared to do just that. I watched the Jazz board the team bus. They didn't look like conquering warriors, just like tired tourists ready to go back to the hotel. For the Spurs' part, they hugged girlfriends, picked their kids up, and walked off into the night. They didn't look too depressed, either. Just another game before they boarded a plane to... where else... Phoenix, Arizona.