The Book of Basketball (104 page)

4.
Why doesn’t anyone else use this trick? I don’t know. Maybe he was an Ass Attack savant.

5.
In 1982, Houston GM Ray Patterson said, “There have been only four dominant players: Wilt, Russell, Abdul-Jabbar, and Mo.” (I would have thrown in Walter Dukes for his legendary B.O., but whatever.) And Patterson said that
after
he traded him; the Rockets didn’t have a choice because Philly had signed Moses to a $13.2 million offer sheet.

6.
Another thing in his favor: he had one of the best athlete names ever. If you were writing a movie about the first player to jump from high school to the pros, wouldn’t you give him a name like Moses Malone? Everything crested when Nike released their “Moses” poster with Malone dressed like the religious Moses, only with NBA shorts and a basketball. It’s proudly framed in my office. As is Nike’s “Supreme Court” poster with eleven early-eighties NBA stars dressed like Supreme Court justices (including Artis Gilmore standing defiantly in the middle). I keep telling you: the eighties were fantastic.

7.
The best part of this analogy: North was the master of the money shot; Shaq was the master of the monster “don’t try to dunk this or I will put your arms through the hoop with the ball” dunk. Both moves left their opponents wincing, recoiling backward in fear and then needing two or three seconds to recover. And possibly a towel.

8.
We also made him a “6th man” for 2 other years where nobody was allowed to draft him as a center. Any time fantasy leagues change their rules for someone, you know that person is good.

9.
The crazy thing about Shaq’s FT shooting: he shoots them like line drives. Imagine you’re trying to throw a rolled-up piece of paper into a garbage can—instinctively, would you throw it with a Nowitzki-like arc, or would you whip it in a straight line at the can? You’d throw it with the arc. So why would Shaq whip straight line drives at the rim for fourteen consecutive years? Have we ever definitively answered this question? And while we’re here, was it my imagination or did Shaq become cross-eyed in close games?

10.
Shaq’s scoring/rebounding averages in the Finals: 28–12 (’95), 38–17 (’00), 33–16 (’01), 36–12 (’02), 27–11 (’04). In his first 19 NBA Finals games, he averaged 34.2 PPG. He also averaged a 38–15 in the last 2 games of the ’02 Western Finals (both must-wins) and a 25–18 in the last 2 games of the ’95 Bulls series.

11.
In the ’90s. Shaq mistakenly thought he could act and rap. This led to him playing a magical genie in a movie called
Kazaam.
It wasn’t even awful in a fun way; it was just awful. With that said, I absolutely think he should take over the lead role of
CSI
when he retires.

12.
Through 2009, Shaq had earned over $270 million just in salary. That doesn’t include endorsements or business opportunities. And he did it despite frequently turning off the button in his brain that told him, “You should be lively and interesting during this interview, and you definitely shouldn’t mumble your words.”

13.
My single favorite Shaqism. The analogy worked and became eerie when you consider the potential parallels between Sonny’s tollbooth execution and Kobe’s brush with moral death after being accused of rape. Whoops, we’re not supposed to discuss this. My bad.

14.
By the way, MJ didn’t do these things.

15.
You can’t play the “Wait, why didn’t you give Wilt the same leeway here?” card for this reason: Wilt never knew what the hell he wanted. He was constantly changing his mind, his game, his goals, everything. He talked himself into whatever reality suited him the most at the time (or even after he was finished playing). Shaq never did that.

16.
One series never earned him enough credit: his demolition of Philly’s Dikembe Mutombo in the ’01 Finals. Dikembe was considered the best defensive center of his generation and Shaq rolled through him for 44–20, 28–20, 30–12, 34–14 and 29–13 (despite missing 36 FTs).

17.
We called this game “Jai Alai.” You could only lose; you couldn’t win.

18.
Of all the Pyramid guys, Hakeem was the best example of Gladwell’s
Outliers
theory—someone who succeeded for reasons that went well beyond pure talent. Hakeem spending the summers learning from Moses was like Bill Gates and Paul Allen going to a high school that just happened to have the most advanced computer programming in the country.

19.
Grumpy Old Editor: “That’s a sentence worthy of Moses Malone.” And it is.

20.
This one ranks high on the list of trades that were a major news story at the time but seem positively pedestrian now. At the time, it was one of the five biggest NBA trades ever. Nobody thought it was a red flag that Houston was getting guys nicknamed “Sleepy” and “Barely Cares.”

21.
I’m almost positive this qualifies as criticizing your teammates. In his defense, Dream’s best teammates from 1988 to 1992 were Sleepy, Carroll, Otis Thorpe, Buck Johnson, Vernon Maxwell, Kenny Smith and Mike Woodson. Hakeem played with one All-Star from ’87 through ’95 (Thorpe in ’92).

22.
Dream had such little control over his temper than Kupchak goaded him into a wild fight in Game 5 of the ’86 West Finals (Sampson won it at the buzzer). Shades of the dorky
Fast Break
backup getting Nevada State’s best player to punch him by dropping an
n-
bomb. Okay, not really. I just hadn’t referenced
Fast Break
in a while.

23.
If McHale had the Panda Express menu, then Hakeem was In-N-Out—only a few options, but all were otherworldly. The complete list: the up-and-under, the double clutch jump hook, the deadly fall-away, the deadly over-the-backboard fall-away; the fake fall-away, fake up and under, the step-back jumper; and the Dream Shake (which can’t be described—it’s the equivalent of the Animal Burger). My Mount Rushmore of fast-food options: Chick-fil-A, Subway, Panda Express and Arby’s. In-N-Out would have made it if their fries didn’t suck.

24.
In Game 6 of the ’87 Playoffs (when Houston got knocked out by Seattle), Hakeem nearly beat Seattle by himself by slapping up a 49–25. A 49–25!
What?

25.
The complete list since ’74: Hakeem (12x), Robinson (7x), Ben Wallace (4x), Julius Erving (4x, all ABA), Kareem (3x), Ewing (3x), Bobby Jones (3x), Jordan (2x), Josh Smith (2x), Andrei Kirilenko (2x), Pippen (1x). MJ is the only guard on the list.

26.
The ’95 Rockets won the title despite never having home-court advantage and winning two deciding games on the road (Utah and Phoenix). During those two title seasons, they won
eight
do-or-die games (four on the road) with Hakeem averaging a 32–11–6.

27.
A bigger deal than you realize. Only Russell and Kareem were the best players on Finals teams at least 12 years apart. As for the worst players, the unofficial record holder is Will Perdue (played for Finals champs nine years apart).

28.
And if they do, I hope they start with Paul Mokeski.

29.
Oscar wrote this bizarre book himself. He spends 331 pages railing against everyone, spinning stories his way and writing I-was-so-great things like “I ended the night with 43 points, including 21 of 22 free throws. No other Royal had more than 20.” (His way of explaining Cincy’s Game 7 loss to the ’63 Celtics.) I finished the book and thought, “Now there’s someone who didn’t totally get The Secret.” Even his defense of his excruciating announcing career is self-serving—apparently it was CBS’ fault for not working with him, Brent Musburger’s fault for not making him better and the NBA’s fault for not wanting a black announcer to succeed. The Big O’s book explained a lot. Let’s put it that way.

30.
Crap, I just gave Disney a crappy idea for a formulaic sports movie. “Think
Remember the Titans
crossed with
Glory Road
crossed with
Mississippi Burning.
If we can get Jon Hamm as the Crispus Attucks coach, we just need a director and we’re good to go!”

31.
How much of a closed-minded asshole did you have to be to say the words “Oscar Robertson’s playing against us tonight—let’s rattle him by sticking a black cat in his locker room”? I mean, the losers who spend an hour making lame signs to hold up during games are bad enough, but imagine making a plan that includes questions like, “When do you want to stop by the pound and pick up the black cat?” and “Should we throw it in there before the game or at halftime? On the short list of the Worst Sports Fans of All Time, the black cat culprits rank up there with the ASU students who chanted “PLO” after Steve Kerr’s father was assassinated in Lebanon. Other candidates: White Sox fans on Disco Demolition Night; everyone who was mean to Jackie Robinson or Larry Doby; William Ligue Sr. and Jr.; and the dude who threw beer at Ron Artest in Detroit.

32.
Bill Bradley’s take on Oscar: “Perhaps he doesn’t give lesser players a large enough margin of error, but when they listen to him he makes All-Stars of meager talents. He controls events on the court with aplomb and the authoritarian hand of a symphony conductor.” Sounds like a delight!

33.
I only found one Oscar story that made him seem semilikable: In
Tall Tales
, it’s revealed Oscar called rebounds “ballboards.” The book has a story in which Oscar’s excited about playing with some young teammate, scrimmages with the guy, gets disappointed, and finally screams at him, “Man, get out of here—you can’t grab me no ballboards!” And even that story was angry. Do you think it’s a coincidence that one of the Sesame Street muppets was named
Oscar the Grouch?.

34.
When the guy running your offense averages 1,700 FG attempts and 900 FT attempts for nine solid years, and his team finishes 2–6 in playoff series over that stretch, haven’t we reestablished the premise that you can’t seriously contend if your PG doubles as your top scoring option? It’s no accident that Oscar finished with the following totals on the ’71 Bucks: 19–6–8, 1193 FGA, 385 FTA (regular season); 18–5–9, 210 FGA, 59 FTA (14 playoff games).

35.
Borrowing a premise from Elliott Kalb, Oscar’s PT/REB/ASS averages from his first 5 seasons (30.3, 10.4, 10.6) surpass the best possible one-of-the-first 5-years in each category from Bird (’84: 24.2, 10.1, 6.6); Magic (’82: 18.6, 9.6, 9.5); LeBron (’08: 30.0, 7.9, 7.2); Bryant (’01: 28.5, 5.9, 5.0); and nearly West (’62: 30.8, 7.9, 5.4).

36.
I nominate Bucky Bockhorn as the whitest name in the history of professional sports. I picture a flattopped Bucky Bockhorn chain-smoking during halftime while drinking a glass of whole milk.

37.
Since the league grew from 17 percent black to 75 percent black from 1960 to 1977, and that percentage stayed consistent ever since, only a fool would argue that a “modern” black player didn’t have an enormous advantage. Even Walt Bellamy kicked ass for a couple of seasons. Ask yourself what would happen to the NBA in 2009 if 55 percent of the league suddenly transformed from black to white. A question that Adam Morrison and J. J. Redick ask themselves often. And I mean
often.

38.
West peaked statistically in year ten with a 31–5–8 and 50% FG, then 31–4–8 in 18 playoff games.

39.
Grumpy Old Editor: “So true—watching any single game was doubly frustrating. He never raised his game to the spectacular moment, ever, and yet at the end of the game, there were those maddening stats in the box score.”

40.
This analogy works better than you think: ’89 Magic was the same age as ’68 Oscar, although his sex life was infinitely more exciting.

41.
This fascinates me. Cousy played on six champs and understood The Secret as well as everyone, but he decided it made sense to trade Oscar for Flynn Robinson and Charlie Paulk after the Knicks and Lakers turned down every overture. Said Cousy after the trade, “Two superstars don’t always mesh. The onus is on Oscar. If he decides to adjust to Alcindor, he could be terrific.” Even though Oscar adjusted, doesn’t it worry you that Cousy wondered if he could? By the way, Paulk lasted two years. There’s a reason Cousy became an announcer.