When the Game Was Ours (45 page)

Yet Bird could not avert his eyes from two disturbing images on his high-definition screen: Wallace lingering on the court several minutes after order had seemingly been restored, and Artest reclining on top of the scorer's table with his hands behind his head.

"Ronny, get out of there," Bird shouted at the television set in his suburban Indianapolis home.

Artest lay serenely on his back, as if he were blissfully unaware of the turmoil he had helped generate.

"This is not good," Bird said to his son Conner, who sat beside him on the couch.

In twelve years, Larry's son had grown from a toddler tossing pool balls down the stairs in Barcelona to an active teenager who loved the NBA and his dad's team, the Pacers. Conner didn't completely grasp what was unfolding at the Palace of Auburn Hills that night, but he accurately read the level of concern on his father's face.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Conner asked.

Within seconds, everyone in America knew the answer. As both Birds looked on, a Pistons season ticket holder hurled a cup of beer at Artest's chest. The liquid splattered across his uniform, and Artest vaulted himself over the scorer's table, fracturing four vertebrae in the back of Pacers radio play-by-play man Mark Boyle as he flailed and clawed his way into the stands.

Stephen Jackson immediately bolted after him, and for a split-second Bird was hopeful that "Jack" would pull Artest away. Instead, Jackson joined Artest in the seats, throwing punches and escalating the confrontation into a full-scale brawl between NBA players and their paying public.

Jack's actions surprised Bird. He knew how important it was to Jackson to establish himself as a centerpiece of the Pacers. In 2003, the year before he actually joined the team, he was a free agent and told both Bird and Donnie Walsh that he would play for them at a reduced rate.

"I think you guys have a great team," Jackson said at the time. "I'd play for nothing just to be here."

"You don't hear that too often," Bird said after the meeting.

"You're not kidding," Walsh answered. "I wish we had the money for him."

Indiana didn't have the cap room to sign Jackson for 2003–2004, so Jackson signed a one year deal with Atlanta. But neither Bird nor Walsh forgot Jackson's passionate interest in their team. In July 2004, they acquired him from the Hawks for Al Harrington and brought him aboard believing he could be the final piece to a team that might vie for the Eastern Conference title, and maybe even the championship.

But now, four months later, Jackson was in the middle of an escalating skirmish in the stands, the last place any NBA player should ever be.

Conner gasped as the fists flew. His father groaned and put his head in his hands.

Earvin Johnson, watching from his study in Beverly Hills, was dumbfounded. He had made a special effort to watch the game, a rematch of the 2004 Eastern Conference Finals, because he knew Bird's team was playing. Magic's habit of keeping tabs on his old rival hadn't subsided even after they stopped competing.

"Cookie, come here, you won't believe this," Magic called to his wife. "These crazy fools are fighting with the fans!"

Detroit forward Rasheed Wallace, attempting to act as a peacemaker, ventured into the stands, but the Palace was in a state of panic, with players and fans exchanging blows. Pacers reserve Fred Jones, attempting to pull his teammates out of the fray, was sucker-punched from behind. A metal chair was tossed into the loge section, striking innocent bystanders.

Soon the melee spilled onto the floor. Pistons coach Larry Brown, his face drained of color, snatched the public-address microphone to appeal to the angry crowd to stop, but they could not hear him. Brown, dodging objects hurled onto the Palace court by his own fans, threw the microphone down in disgust.

As he watched the brawl unfold, Magic began calculating the damage it would inflict on the NBA. The league had been enormously successful, riding the momentum that he and Bird and Michael generated. Their exploits transformed the NBA into must-see TV, and in 2002 the league signed a network contract valued at $4.6 billion, a significant upgrade over the four-year, $74 million pact the NBA inked in Magic and Larry's rookie season.

Michael Jordan had seized the baton and led the league to spectacular new heights with his high-flying, jaw-dropping play. In that time, Jordan cashed in on a portfolio of endorsements that included Gatorade, McDonald's, Coca-Cola, Chevrolet, Hanes, Wheaties, and Rayovac and that was valued at hundreds of millions of dollars at its peak.

But Magic, Larry, and Michael were retired, and in 2004 the league was at a crossroads. The Lakers won three straight championships from 2000 to 2002, but were reeling from allegations of rape by a Colorado woman against their shining star, Kobe Bryant, and from a bitter feud that erupted between Bryant and superstar teammate Shaquille O'Neal.

LeBron James had just completed his rookie season and served notice he would figure prominently in the NBA's future, but he had not yet been ordained "King James." Though his time was surely coming, LeBron's accomplishments, like those of his NBA peers, were about to be dwarfed by the bedlam in Auburn Hills.

"It was the worst thing I'd ever seen," Magic said. "Like watching a car wreck. We're supposed to cherish the fans—no matter what. They say bad things all the time. They throw things and you deal with it and you go home, and it's a new day."

Not this time. The line had been crossed, and the results were teetering on catastrophic. In an unprecedented decision, the referees canceled the final 45.9 seconds of the game. As the Indiana players tried to leave the court, they were pelted with cups, popcorn, batteries, and beer. The Indiana Pacers and the Detroit Pistons, by Magic's calculations, had just set the NBA back ten years.

"Poor Larry," Magic said to Cookie. "This has got to be his worst nightmare."

Within minutes, Bird was on the line with Rick Carlisle, his friend and former teammate who was now the head coach of the Pacers.

"There's cops everywhere," Carlisle told Bird. "It's chaos here."

"Do you have someone with Ronny?" Bird asked.

"Yes, he's surrounded by security," Carlisle reported. "We're getting on the bus and getting the hell out of here. I think we'll be all right."

As Bird hung up the phone and dialed Walsh, who was attending a wedding in New York, he knew the Pacers would not be all right. He recognized a bona-fide disaster when he saw one.

Bill Walton, who was in Auburn Hills to broadcast the game, somberly informed his audience, "This is the lowest moment in my 30 years of the NBA."

While Bird understood the magnitude of what had just occurred, even he couldn't have forecasted how devastating it would be to his franchise.

Commissioner David Stern was out to eat with friends when he was interrupted by a flurry of urgent phone calls. He found the nearest television set and returned to his table, grim-faced. Dinner was over.

So were the championship hopes of Larry Bird and the Indiana Pacers.

Reggie Miller had been injured and wearing street clothes the night Artest whacked Ben Wallace and ignited the worst brawl in NBA history. One of the many things Bird revisited in the wake of the incident was how it might have been different had Miller been in uniform and able to convince Artest to come off the scorer's table.

The morning after the fight, the condemnations began in earnest. This was not just a
SportsCenter
topic;
World News Tonight,
CNN, and the
Wall Street Journal
weighed in. In interviews, Magic Johnson, his voice stern, called for lengthy suspensions of Artest, Jackson, and O'Neal.

"Thanks, buddy," said Bird, as Johnson declared that the Indiana players had "destroyed all the goodwill that Larry and Michael and myself have built up through the years."

Commissioner David Stern handed down sanctions that were unprecedented: Artest was suspended for the remainder of the season, which amounted to 86 games—76 regular season and 10 postseason. Jackson was suspended for 30 games and O'Neal for 25 games, although his punishment was later reduced to 15 games. Detroit instigator Ben Wallace received a 6-game suspension, which left Artest and his teammates crying foul.

Bird didn't care what penalties were levied against the Pistons. His only concern was how he could salvage his team's season.

"I thought Artest deserved at least 30 games," Bird conceded. "I could have even understood the rest of the regular season. But then to hold him out of the playoffs after our guys worked so hard to keep it all together ... I thought that really was unfair.

"Jack's mistake was he should have gone into the stands as a peacemaker and instead he ended up fighting. You can't do that.

"One thing I learned throughout my career in the NBA was players cannot go in the stands for any reason."

Even though Bird was aware that he and Walsh needed to make some major changes, it wasn't without regret. He had grown to appreciate his Pacers players, warts and all. He had seen a side of Jackson and Artest he knew the public would never see. "There is a lot of good in those guys," Bird said.

Bird's private stance on Artest was at odds with the public stance he felt obligated to take. Bird was genuinely fond of Artest and identified with his uncommon intensity, but by stubbornly standing by him, he knew his own legacy would lose some of its luster.

"I knew all along it was a major gamble," Bird said. "But I felt sorry for the guy. Some days he'd come in, and he just wasn't prepared to practice. It was so sad, because he just didn't know how to help himself.

"I knew I was going to take some major hits, but I felt it was my responsibility to stand up for him and all the other guys involved. I did it because I cared about them, even when they messed up. When you spend as much time as we did, day in and day out with these guys, you feel a connection with them. I'm not excusing what they did. But I couldn't see turning my back on them either."

In the fall of 2005, after Artest had served his full suspension, public relations director David Benner came to Bird and told him
Sports Illustrated
wanted Artest and Bird to pose together on the cover.

"I don't think so," Bird said. "Hey, I love Ronny, but that is not a good idea."

"Larry," Benner persisted, "think of the organization. We're hurting. We need some positive publicity. You are one of the only guys that can give us that kind of credibility."

"I knew my reputation was on the line," Bird said. "In my heart I knew, if Ronny had another incident, what it would mean for me, but I did what I had to do."

Larry knew Benner was receiving pressure from above to make the photograph happen, so he relented. The October 24, 2005, issue of
Sports Illustrated
featured a seated Artest on the cover with Bird standing behind him, his arms folded. The headline, "The Odd Couple," was accompanied by a caption that read, "You may not love Ron Artest but Larry Bird does."

In the accompanying article, Bird claimed Artest's work ethic made him a guy he would "pay money to watch." Artest professed his love for Indianapolis, the Pacers, and Bird and asked for a Polaroid copy of his cover shoot with his Hall of Fame boss.

Yet, when asked by
Sports Illustrated
reporter L. Jon Wertheim what he learned from the brawl, Artest answered, "People want to be like, Ron Artest is changed. He's a new man. Wait. I never said I changed. I'm pretty much the same guy. I got a better understanding of things, but it wasn't like I was provoking all that stuff that happened. So what's to learn? Nothing. Only thing to learn is that David Stern was trying to kick me out of the league."

Magic winced when he saw the "Odd Couple" cover. He wondered why Bird would align himself with Artest, and he became even more perplexed when he read the player's comments.

"What's Larry doing with that knucklehead?" Magic said to his brother. "Probably trying to save the franchise. Only Larry Bird could put a positive spin on this. He's taking one for the team, I guess."

Despite Artest's assertions that he wanted to finish his career with the Pacers and owed the fans and management a championship for standing behind him, it took all of 15 games for him to renege on his promise.

Artest announced that he needed a one-month sabbatical from basketball to work on and promote his new rap CD. It was a stunning act of selfishness that immediately put the franchise in a tail-spin—again.

"Ronny, what are you doing? I put myself on the line for you," Bird said to Artest.

"I know," Artest said. "That was cool."

One afternoon Artest timidly knocked on Bird's office door and
slumped into the seat opposite his desk. He apologized profusely for letting his boss down and promised to be at practice, focused and ready.

Forty-eight hours later, he told coach Rick Carlisle he had changed his mind and was going to record the CD.

"I can always play basketball," Artest told Carlisle. "I can play basketball until I'm 50. But I've got to do this CD thing because I'm hot right now."

"Ronny," Bird said. "You are under contract to us."

Artest shrugged.

The conversation was over. There would be a dozen more just like it, but Bird had already made up his mind that the Pacers had to cut ties with their forward.

"Ron had no idea how badly he was hurting us," Bird said. "He couldn't see it."

Artest was placed on the inactive list and eventually shipped to the Sacramento Kings for shooter Peja Stojakovic. He was traded again in July 2008 to the Houston Rockets. A month before that swap, Artest came through Indianapolis to work out and ran into Bird on the practice court. He apologized for all the trouble he had caused and asked Larry to bring him back to the Pacers.

"Ron, how do you expect me to bring you back here after everything that's happened?" Bird said.

By then, Indiana had already traded Stephen Jackson to Golden State and was in the process of dealing Jermaine O'Neal to Toronto. They were going to have to start over, with a fresh approach and new faces.

Larry understood that he was dealing with a new breed of athlete. They were a different generation that wanted to carve out their own course, just as Bird did when he came to the NBA.