For the second time this evening, I’m explaining my “NBA play-offs as a
substitute for real life” doctrine. It’s quite late at La Zona Rosa.
Most of
the chairs are up. I’d floated this hypothesis earlier. It drifted
across the
littered table with as much substance as the choking cigarette smoke.
Capitol
Rats, toting portable fax machines in purses, all makes of beepers and
phones…. “Did you hear,” someone breathlessly intones, “what they did
to
House Bill 6268???” No wonder I’m not considered odd.
Several hours, one-and-a-half games, and multiplevodkas
later, I’m
back to give it another try. Only a couple of guys and the bartender
are left.
I explain: When your life is in the doldrums. When you’re certain the
answering
machine is defective, perpetually stuck on the big, red, unblink-ing,
accusing
zero. When you’re melancholy because, after 11 years, your ex-wife is
getting
remarried, beating you to some invisible but important-feeling life
marker.
Although, as my friend the Whipp points out, “Coach, it wasn’t exactly
a
sprint.” When your gestalt feels like the ancient mariner’s, “As idle
as a
painted ship upon a painted ocean,” then the playoffs can act as an
effective,
albeit temporary, elixir. I make a good, animated case, complete with
pounding
on the bar, enthusiastic hand-gesturing, perhaps even a tear of
passion.
The bartender, a female psychology student, wants to pick a fight,
saying this
is clearly a male “competition” thing. My ex is a member of this
alleged
science. Maybe I shouldn’t feel depressed. One of the guys, after
listening
patiently, allowed he had not seen a basketball game in years. He,
sucking up
to the attractive bartender, allows that I’m sick, very sick, and
confused. The
bartender nods smugly. I was once so convinced of my
normalcy….
The West: It’s not classifiedinformation. The
West is better. The West ranup a 206-158 record against
the
step-child East. Six of the top eight scorers are in the West. Eight of
the top
10 rebounders, seven of the top 10 assist leaders are in the… Oh,
yawn! Too
bad they have to play each other first with no guarantees of justice at
the end
of the trail. What follows are the Coach’s revised playoff power
ratings!
-
San Antonio: I want to be different.
- Suns: A great strength of Phoenix is they’re loaded with
what
Seattle so desperately needs – leaders. Like Charles, of course, and
KJ, even
lesser players like Majerle and Ainge. Troops who won’t panic. Loss of
Manning
was devastating as Suns’ glitzy 38-10 record at the All-Star break
dropped to
near .500. Will lose to San Antonio in Western Final. - Utah: Were I writing for the
Provo
Times, I could make the same case for the Jazz as I’m now making
for the
Spurs. I don’t and I won’t. Quoting from The Village Voice,
“Utah is the
best good, but not good enough, team in NBA history.” - Houston: Up `til just a few weeks ago, Houston seemed poised. A
nasty,
venomous snake hidden and overlooked in the high weeds, getting healthy
–
finally – ready to make a run at a title defense. Then it passed. Good
chemistry of one year ago has gone bad. Hakeem and Max both come
down
with anemia at the same time!! I thought only pregnant women got
anemia! It’s
just not the Rockets’ year. - Seattle: The
Supersonics are
basketball’s metaphor for the Internet: confused, loud, chaotic, filled
with
promise, with no semblance of a leader. Like a really super YMCA
team – no
clear focus, no idea of what to do on offense or defense, except move
quickly
and hope for the best. Great talent creates lots of regular season
wins. The
playoffs are an entirely different kind of ball. The worst trade
never made was Scottie Pippen for Shawn Kemp. Pippen is everything
Seattle
needs: a winner, a leader, and someone who wants the ball with the shot
clock
winding down in the fifth game of a best of five series when you’re
gagging on
a two-point lead. After two years as a supporter of their BBS, I’m
logging off.
I’ve seen enough. - Lakers: LA is the surprise team of the year. Del
Harris,
retread coach his entire career, either got very lucky or, suddenly,
very
smart. He’s got to be coach of the year. Lakers have an excellent
chance to
knock off powerful but clueless Seattle. Then, it’s reality time in San
Antonio.
I don’t
like running with the pack, but sometimes you just gotta conform. From
any
angle, this seems to be the Spurs’ year. The least obvious but
vital-under-the-surface reasons are three: Del Negro, Johnson, and
Elliot. Del
Negro and Johnson are career water-bucket ballplayers, lucky to be in
the
league. Elliot, a prodigal son, was battered and washed up; even the
dreadful
Pistons didn’t want him. They’re each having lifetime-type years. When
a
notorious bricklayer like Avery Johnson is hitting 53% of his shots,
even I’ll
start believing. Don’t scoff about cosmic forces and championships. Ask
the
Rockets. Last year, the light of the powerful but fickle hooplord shone
upon
them. The omnipotent hoopgod appears to like Texas, but Houston was too
damned
humid!
Denver was lucky last year, overrated this. Portland is
outclassed.
Talk to me on-line Coach36@aol.com
This article appears in May 5 • 1995 and May 5 • 1995 (Cover).