The Book of Basketball (51 page)

Does that make him a Hall of Famer someday? Instead of making Horry’s case in full, I’m telling you a story that hasn’t even happened yet. Maybe it will be this summer, maybe next summer, maybe 15 years from now. But when ESPN Classic shows Game 5 of the 2005 Finals some day and I’m calling my buddy House just to tell him, “Turn on Classic, they’re showing the Robert Horry game,” I can pretty much guarantee his response: “Which one?”

84. CLIFF HAGAN

Resume: 13 years, 7 quality, 6 All-Stars (1 ABA) … top 10 (’58, ’59) … 4-year peak: 23–10–4 … 2nd-best player on 1 champ (’58 Hawks) and 2 runner-ups (’60, ’61) … ’58 Playoffs: 28–11, 50% FG (11 G) … 5-year Playoffs peak: 23–10–3

A valuable playoff piece for St. Louis during their underrated playoff peak (one title, four Finals appearances). If you played for ten years in the fifties and sixties, peaked for five, and starred for a champion and a couple of runner-ups, that was a
really
good career during the
Mad Men
era, when everyone traveled coach, shared hotel rooms with roommates, smoked butts and drank coffee, got plastered after games, didn’t work out, didn’t eat right, didn’t take care of their bodies and banged bodies like they were playing rugby. One positive for the Hagan Experience: If the
Best Damn Sports Show Period
³¹
ever did a countdown of the top fifty racists in sports
history, Hagan’s Hawks teams would have ranked up there with Jimmy the Greek, Al Campanis, Dixie Walker, Tom Yawkey and everyone else.
³²
In an extended section about Lenny Wilkens in
Breaks of the Game
, it’s revealed that Hagan was the only Hawks teammate who reached out to Wilkens and treated him like an equal. As Chris Russo would say, “That’s a good job by you, Cliff!” Twyman and Hagan were definitely the starting forwards for the twentieth-anniversary White Guys You Would Have Wanted on Your Team if You Were Black team in 1966. You know, if they had one.

83. VINCE CARTER

Resume: 11 years, 9 quality, 8 All-Stars … ’99 Rookie of the Year … top 10 (’01), top 15 (’00) … 3-year peak: 26–6–4 … 10 straight 20+ PPG seasons … Playoffs: 26–7–6 (42 G) … Playoffs record: most threes in one half (8)

I’ve never been a fan of gifted offensive stars who couldn’t defend anyone, screwed over entire cities and thrived in dunk contests versus playoff games. In a related story, Vince has played eleven years without making it past the second round. Even weirder, his cousin Tracy McGrady never made it past the
first
round. No truth to the rumor that their annual family softball game only goes six innings before it abruptly stops. But Vince’s career has been particularly annoying for a variety of reasons. His most famous moment? The time he leapfrogged Frederic Weis for a monster throwdown in the 2000 Olympics. (Anytime someone’s career highlight involves Fred Weis, really, what more can be said?)
³³
His breakout playoff
season? The spectacular ’01 showdown against Allen Iverson, when they swapped 50-point games in Games 3 and 4 and the series came down to Vince’s missed three at the buzzer in Game 7. (That was the same day that Vince famously chartered a plane so he could attend his UNC graduation in person, then flew back to Philly afterward. It’s the perfect Vince Carter story—he put himself ahead of his team. And they lost.) His enduring trait? He milked injuries and collisions like nobody we’ve seen and brought the phrase “acting like he just got shot” to another level. (Nobody in NBA history had the words “Get up, you pussy!” screamed at him by more fans. Nobody.) His legacy? He’s the premier “so talented, shoulda been so much better” guy of his generation.

Whatever. That’s not what turned me against him for life. During the ’05 season, a disenchanted Vince tanked so hellaciously in Toronto—killing his trade value for reasons that remain unclear—that the Raptors were forced to settle for Jersey’s offer of Alonzo Mourning (who had to be bought out), Eric Williams, Aaron Williams and two nonlottery picks. You could have predicted when it happened (and by the way, I did) that Toronto damaged its future by not clearing cap space or getting any quality youngsters or picks back.
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But that’s how desperate they were. Rarely has a professional athlete shown more callousness toward his fans. Here’s what I wrote after watching Vince tank a Raps-Clippers game weeks before the trade:

During the pregame “Everyone bunch into a circle and jump up and down” ritual, Chris Bosh accidentally bumped Vince in the head, so Vince dramatically took three steps back to make sure he was OK, then rejoined the circle with a sarcastic frown. He made his first five jumpers, banged his shooting hand on a collision with Maggette, then spent the rest of the game touching the hand, examining it and swearing to himself … only he would not-so-coincidentally forget to do this every time he made a basket. When he was angry after not getting the ball before one timeout, he stormed towards the bench and brushed off a high-five from Donyell Marshall. It went on and on. Forget about the fact that Vince doesn’t play defense; that he doesn’t bother to box out; that he’s shooting pretty much every time he gets the ball (23 shots in 26 minutes against the Clips); that he avoids contact even on drives. His moodiness affected everyone on that team. He’s clearly trying to get himself traded—playing just hard enough so nobody thinks he’s dogging it, but acting up just enough so everyone knows he’s unhappy. At one point, I honestly thought Rafer Alston was going to punch him.

Three months later, Vince hooked himself up to the Juvenation Machine in Jersey and admitted that he had stopped trying for Toronto
—no joke, he admitted this—
presumably to force a trade, which had to have been one of the most depressing revelations in recent sports history.
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Anyway, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to write this book: fifty years from now, we wouldn’t want an NBA fan to flip through some NBA guide and decide that Vince Carter was a worthy basketball star. He wasn’t. Instead, he’s the guy who prompted me to write the following in 2004:

Now that the Sox have won the World Series, here’s my new sports wish for 2004: Just once in my lifetime, when this situation unfolds like with Vince and the Raptors, I want to see the team say, “You know what? Screw you. You signed a contract to become our franchise player, and now you don’t want to live up to that obligation? Fine. You’re sitting on the bench. Don’t worry, we’ll pay you. You’ll get your checks. You’re just getting a DNP for the next five years. We’re making an example out of you. You will never play for us again. And you won’t play anywhere else, either.” Imagine that. Vince banished to the bench, game after game, month after month, until he shapes up and stops bitching about playing for Toronto. It would be the sports equivalent of sending a prisoner to the hole. Like every NBA fan
wouldn’t be
rooting for the Raptors after that?

There’s a happy ending to this story. Every time Vince plays in Toronto, they boo him like it’s Bernie Madoff returning to ring the bell of the NYSE. They boo him for the whole game. They never stop booing. For
whatever reason, this brings out the best in Vince—he plays with passion and pride and even sank a few game-winners against them. It’s the perfect epitaph for his career—the guy who could only get inspired by a fan base that actively detests him—along with the fact that Vince got an enormous amount of respect from other players, not for what he delivered but for his gifts themselves. Of anyone in the league over the past fifteen years, his peers felt like Vince Carter was the one who could do anything. Well, except give a shit on a consistent basis. You will regret what happened one day, Vince. You will.
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82. CHRIS MULLIN

Resume: 16 years, 8 quality, 5 All-Stars … top 5 (’92), top 10 (’89, ’91), top 15 (’90) … 4-year peak: 26–5–4 (52% FG, 88% FT) … 2-year Playoffs peak: 27–7–4, 54% FG (16 G) … league leader: minutes (2x), 3FG% (1x) … member of ’92 Dream Team

After throwing away his first three NBA years because of a drinking/weight problem, a postrehab Mullin shaved his hair into a military flattop, got himself into sick shape and embarked on a rollicking five-year peak before a variety of injuries sidetracked him. Even though he crested a little late, few modern players were more entertaining or intelligent on the offensive end; he was like a left-handed, miniature version of Larry Bird, only with worse hair, paler skin and an accent that made him sound like a cross between Bruce Springsteen and Mike Francesa. You couldn’t hide him defensively, but at least he wreaked havoc from the blind side and jumped passing lanes like Bird, averaging 2-plus steals three different times. He’s also on the all-time team of Modern Guys Who Seemed Like They Were the Most Fun to Play a Game of Basketball With (along with Bird, Magic, Nash, Walton, Duncan, Kidd, Pippen, Stockton, Horry,
Bobby Jones and C-Webb).
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According to Cameron Stauth’s underrated
Golden Boys
, after Chuck Daly was selected to coach the Dream Team, his wish list for a roster looked like this (in order): Jordan, Magic, Robinson, Ewing, Pippen, Malone, Mullin. So the NBA’s top coach at the time ranked Mullin behind Jordan and Pippen as the third-best perimeter player during the deepest run of talent in NBA history. The selection committee eventually sent out eight initial invites: Bird/Magic/MJ (locks to launch the team as a threesome), Pippen, Robinson, Malone, Ewing and Barkley. Mullin received the ninth invite. John Stockton was tenth. (Drexler and Christian Laettner
³⁸
weren’t added until the following spring.) Here’s the point: Chris Mullin was
really
freaking good.

81. DAVE BING

Resume: 12 years, 8 quality, 7 All-Stars … ’67 Rookie of the Year … top 5 (’68, ’71), top 10 (’74) … 4-year peak: 25–5–6 … leader: scoring (1x) … never won a Playoff series

Bing rode the ABA/expansion statistical surge and put up impressive numbers during his offensive peak (’67 to ’73), when he played with the likes of Dave DeBusschere and Bob Lanier and only made the Playoffs once. Following his eighth season (19.0 PPG, 7.7 APG in ’75), Detroit traded him to Washington along with a future first-rounder for Kevin Porter. Kevin Porter? How good a player could Bing have been? And how could he possibly make the NBA’s 50 at 50 in 1996 over nos. 53, 57, 58, 63, 64, and 65 on this list? Because he was a good guy.
³⁹
Call it the Bob Lanier Corollary: if someone is loved and respected
as a person
by fellow players and media
members, his actual talents rarely match the way he’s evaluated. Bing’s two first-team All-NBA’s help his historical cause more than anything, but both were dubious: in ’68, Bing slipped in because Jerry West missed 31 games; in ’71, Bing made it over Walt Frazier, who only tossed up a 21–7–7 on a 52-win Knicks team and doubled as the league’s best defensive guard. Given a choice between Bing in his absolute prime (playing on a fifth-seeded team in the West), versus Clyde in his absolute prime (playing on a number one seed in the East) … the voters chose Bing. Absurd. Was Bing even better than Sweet Lou Hudson? They both peaked from ’67 to ’76 and finished with similar career numbers (a 20–4–3 with 49% FG for Hudson, a 20–4–6 with 44% FG for Bing), but Hudson played for seven straight teams that made the Playoffs
(’67
–’
73)
and Bing made the Playoffs once in that stretch. Who was more effective? I couldn’t tell you because I wasn’t there. I just know that Bing shouldn’t have made the top fifty.
⁴⁰

80. BAILEY HOWELL

Resume: 12 years, 10 quality, 6 All-Stars … top 10 (’63) … 4-year peak: 22–12–2 … started for 2 champs (’68 and ’69 Celts)

79. BOBBY DANDRIDGE

Resume: 13 years, 9 quality, 4 All-Stars … top 10 (’79) … 5-year peak: 20–7–3 … 2-year Playoffs peak: 22–7–5 (38 G) … 2nd-best player on 1 champ (’78 Bullets) and 2 runner-ups (’74 Bucks, ’79 Bullets), 3rd-best player on 1 champ (’71 Bucks) … career Playoffs: 21–8–4 (98 G)

Dandridge remains my favorite “lost great” from the seventies, a small forward who played bigger than his size, lacked any holes and drew the following
compliment from
SI
’s Curry Kirkpatrick in 1979: “All Dandridge is—a fact known to his peers for a couple of years now—is the best all-round player at his position.” You could call Bobby D. a cross between Caron Butler and Big Shot Brob, someone who did all the little things, drifted between three positions, defended every type of forward (famously outdueling Julius Erving in the ’78 Playoffs) and routinely drained monster shots (like the game-winner against a triple-team in Game 7 of the ’79 Spurs series, which happened after he had been switched to a scalding-hot George Gervin and shut Ice down for the final few minutes). Unquestionably, he was the fourth-best small forward of the seventies behind Erving, Rick Barry and John Havlicek, as well as one of the signature greats from an all-black college who made it big in the pros.
⁴¹
The late Ralph Wiley wrote that while Hayes and Unseld were widely remembered for winning Washington the ’78 title, “it was the sweet j of Sweet Bobby D.
true
aficionados recall,” calling him a “grizzled, bearded, incommunicado jazz soloist” and adding that Bobby D.’s “sweet j ranks with Sam Jones, Dave Bing, Lou Hudson, Jerry West and Joe Dumars.” I’m guessing that Ralph would have had Bobby D. in his top seventy-five.