When the Garden Was Eden (35 page)

The Knicks drew the Bullets in the first round. Though the teams remained rivals, the regular-season meetings were awkward, especially the first one, 11 days after the trade. In street clothes, the injured Riordan stood on the Bullets’ side, glumly watching the Knicks warm up. Stallworth got an ovation when he was announced as a starter, but he was dominated by DeBusschere once the game began. No one, however, had a worse time of it than Monroe, who played an embarrassing five second-quarter minutes off the bench, scored two points, and watched the Knicks roll, 125–114. He and the Bullets weren’t sure whether to resent or pity each other.

“I didn’t know what to say to them and they didn’t know what to say to me,” he said. “So we hardly said anything.”

Archie Clark had replaced Monroe as the primary backcourt scorer, averaging a shade over 25 points on the season, but Gus Johnson was injured and fading, Kevin Loughery and Fred Carter were missed, and the result was a 38–44 regular season that was somehow good enough for a Central Division title and the home-court advantage that came with it. That didn’t stop the Knicks from snapping a 2–2 deadlock by pummeling the Bullets in Game 5 at the Civic Center before wrapping up the series at home.

The Celtics, also with home-court advantage, were next in the conference final. After beating Atlanta in the opening round, Heinsohn worried that Cowens and White, in their maiden playoff run, might not be ready for a team as wily as New York. The fears proved well founded when the Knicks rolled into Boston Garden for Game 1 and could do no wrong, blitzing the Celtics early and riding Walt Frazier’s 36 points—equaling his championship-night total—to a 116–94 victory.

“Having Lucas at center instead of Reed gave them a whole different look,” Havlicek said. He, better than anyone, was familiar with Lucas’s shooting range, his unusual skills. “The guy never studied in college the way the rest of us did,” Havlicek said. “An hour before a midterm, he’d sit down and read ten, twelve chapters. His brain was different than the rest of us. It was scary how he stored information. When we’d play against him, we’d call out the two play and Jerry would be yelling like a madman, ‘Watch the high screen for John.’ ”

With Lucas countering the youthful energy of Cowens with positioning and experience, the Knicks finished off the Celtics in five games, and suddenly a title without Reed was four victories away. When the Knicks went into the Forum for Game 1, shot 72 percent in the first half, and blew the Lakers out, 114–92, it occurred to us all that we were playing with house money and might actually pull off the unthinkable. Lucas tormented Chamberlain in Game 1 by bombing away from outside for 26 points on 13 of 21 shooting. Bradley made 11 of 12 shots. DeBusschere had 19 points, 18 rebounds, and 6 assists. Frazier had a triple double of 14, 12, and 11. Meanwhile, West’s anxiety was painfully obvious: Mr. Clutch missed 12 of his 15 shots.

Chamberlain didn’t know what to do about Lucas stationing himself in the exurbs of the offense. “I never saw a team as dumbfounded as they were,” Lucas said. “We were absolutely killing them.” But Cleamons insisted that the Lakers shrugged off the walloping because they didn’t believe the Knicks would continue that kind of shooting.

“We felt like it was easier to recover from a game like that, because everything they threw up went in,” he said. “It happens. I remember the veterans saying, ‘Keep doing what we do. Things will turn.’ ” Sure enough, late in the second quarter of Game 2, fate ran a bone-crunching screen on the Knicks. With Barnett slowed by injury and Monroe still wandering around like a jet-lagged tourist, DeBusschere pulled a muscle in his right side, limiting his minutes and productivity and essentially undoing the team’s fragile chemistry. Without three frontcourt players who were outside threats, Chamberlain was able to anchor himself in the lane with impunity and shut down the rim.

“Jackson had to play more, and Phil couldn’t throw it in the ocean from the beach,” Lucas said, conceding that his shooting tutorials had been largely in vain. Chamberlain had 26 points and 20 rebounds as the Lakers took Game 3 on the road, and the Knicks’ last chance to make it a series came two nights later.

On another wild Friday night at the Garden in May, L.A. rallied from a 7-point deficit in the fourth quarter and had a 2-point lead when Frazier tapped in a missed shot with three seconds left. The game went to overtime, then double overtime. Two free throws by West gave the Lakers the lead before Goodrich—scoring in bunches all series long, relentlessly attacking Monroe, who was playing with bone spurs in his foot—grabbed a long rebound off a missed Lucas jumper and went the length of the floor for the game-clinching southpaw runner. Down 3–1, the Knicks were reduced to hoping that a sprained right wrist suffered by Chamberlain might be a factor. He was questionable for Game 5 in L.A., but he took the floor with his wrist heavily taped and still dominated Lucas, who lacked Reed’s upper-body strength, with 24 points and 29 rebounds. After the Lakers’ 114–100 victory, securing the championship, Chamberlain was handed the MVP trophy.

Who would mock Wilt Chamberlain now? “I know everyone talked about Jerry finally winning a title, but I always thought that series was more of a validation for Wilt,” Goodrich said. “Jerry was one of the greatest players ever, but those days people expected the big men and especially Wilt to dominate. He was always under the most pressure because of Russell. When Wilt won a second title and with a second team, I thought that really put a stamp on his career.”

Truth be told, West didn’t give a damn about the MVP trophy, the accompanying car, the media fuss. Been there, done that—in a losing cause in 1969. With Riley alongside him, he ran off the floor, feeling an acute sense of relief, stronger even than his jubilation. “I remember saying to myself, Thank God, I’m not going to be a loser all my life, we finally got lucky enough to win,” West said. “You know, people say it’s not about luck—but that’s not true. Ball rolls off a rim, officials make calls. Someone gets hurt. It’s a huge element. I felt a number of times that I had the right teammates but the stars just weren’t aligned.”

He counted Baylor foremost among them, of course. West’s lasting regret was not being able to share the moment with his old friend. Even Reed, watching from the sideline, could recall being struck by the merciless irony of the Lakers winning it all months after Baylor had walked. “You felt sorry that he hadn’t stuck around,” Reed said. “I still wish he had.”

But then, who was to say what the inclusion of Baylor would have meant? Would a war of wills with Sharman have affected team chemistry? Would the Lakers have gone on the winning streak and developed their own Celtics-like sense of manifest destiny? Would McMillian have been given the minutes to average almost 19 points as a fluid jump shooter and lane filler, the better frontcourt complement to Chamberlain? There has never been a series and season that wasn’t subject to the impossible but irresistible computation of what we might call “the human element.” West, for example, could never quite forget how the Lakers were beating the Knicks by 10 points on the night Reed crashed to the court in Game 5, 1970, changing the dynamic of that crucial swing game.

“Through all the years, you remember every turn those games took, every time there was a play you didn’t make, every shot that rolled in and out that might have been the difference between winning and losing,” he said. “And take it from me: you can drive yourself crazy doing that.” Not Lucas, though. He lived by an obscure calculus that only he could solve.“I guarantee you that if Dave hadn’t gotten hurt, we could have beaten them four straight,” he said. “Guarantee it.”

THE RAGE OF THE SIXTIES HAD GIVEN WAY TO THE RUIN OF THE SEVENTIES
. A war-weary country was looking toward an end in Vietnam, more desperate than triumphant. The airwaves carried word of a political scandal that within two years would derail the second term of Richard M. Nixon. Hope was scuttled, heroes were scarce, and even rock stars who had given voice to youthful rebellion were dying of their own drug-fueled recklessness. The presumed safe haven of sports wasn’t spared, either. Eleven Israelis were taken hostage and murdered by Palestinian terrorists at the Summer Olympics in Munich, West Germany. The studio host, Jim McKay, looked red-eyed into the ABC camera on that early September day and uttered the three irrevocable words—“They’re all gone”—that would echo forever. Scandalously, the Olympics carried on. Life trudged ever forward. When another NBA season began in October, at least Old Knicks fans had the Garden, our erstwhile Eden and fortress of enchantment, in which to drown our real-world discord and despair.

As they had in 1969–70, the Knicks of 1972–73 started fast, winning 10 of their first 11 with Reed back in the lineup. They were 15–3 when the Milwaukee Bucks pulled into town on Saturday night, November 18, and appeared to be coasting to victory behind Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. In the arena of his rookie discontent, the placid-faced big man was toying with Our Guys, scoring 32 points, hitting 14 of his first 21 shots, making it look as gracefully easy as only he could. The Bucks rolled to an 86–68 lead with 5:50 left in a game for which the Knicks were not at full strength. Jerry Lucas had badly twisted an ankle a week earlier, forcing Willis Reed, who had been coming off the bench, to play more and more on a bum knee. Not that Lucas had the size or strength to deal with Abdul-Jabbar’s length in the post: that was more a job for the Captain.

Reed had reentered the game after a rest on the bench at the eight-minute mark, replacing John Gianelli, a mop-haired rookie from the University of the Pacific, as the Knicks regrouped for the obligatory and seemingly futile last run. While a fair number of fans had already headed for the exits, the more sophisticated among them could on some dispassionate level appreciate the grace of Abdul-Jabbar and the all-court wizardry of Oscar Robertson.

So Woody Allen sat with one leg crossed over the other, accompanied by his favorite costar, Diane Keaton. Stan Asofsky and Freddy Klein leaned forward in their baseline seats and baited the refs—while on the other side of the floor George Lois tried to ignore his fairly bored wife. Rosemary Lewandowski-Lois didn’t know much about basketball beyond her husband’s love for the game, an obsession that had moved her to remark a few weeks into the marriage that he would have to make a choice, “basketball or me.” Lois left the room for a few moments and returned with a ball, which he proceeded to dribble. She got the message, learned to work around his passion for YMCA tussles and nights out with the Knicks. As it was, she was attending her very first game, and even Lois had to admit it was a competitive dud. But just when the notion of leaving early in deference to the missus actually crossed his mind, the Knicks began pressing full-court, man-to-man. If they’re not giving up, Lois thought, why the hell should I?

Immediately, the press seemed to bother the Bucks, forced them to accelerate their offense. Off a missed jumper, Earl Monroe got out on the fast break, scored on a layup, and cut the deficit to 16. Monroe was a starter now, finally a Knick, at least by the measure of his minutes, with Dick Barnett having turned 36 and more into his graduate studies than basketball. This would be his final full season in uniform.

Monroe’s ascension was accompanied by the presence of his Baltimore acolyte Dancing Harry, who began showing up with tickets usually obtained from Monroe. He quickly became a favorite of the Garden crowd and embellished his act with a flowing cape. Harry didn’t quite fit the image of the button-down Knicks or management’s idea of courtside entertainment, but that was the appeal of Earl the Pearl. He was different from the others. He was spice. On Broadway, he was Cirque du Soleil. With Monroe starting, Lucas, Phil Jackson, and Dean Meminger were the primary reserves on the 1972–73 Knicks. Gianelli received occasional spot duty, as did Henry Bibby, the UCLA guard who would regale Reed, his roommate, with tales of John Wooden and especially the great young Bruins center, Bill Walton.

“The big redhead—can he get it done?” Reed would ask Bibby. “Cap,” Bibby said, “the big redhead, he’s a motherfucker.” Of all the Knicks newcomers, the most intriguing was a man who would log 59 minutes in 13 games, or 59 and 13 more than anyone would have believed. Harthorne Nathaniel Wingo was a 6'9" forward with long arms and limited skills beyond running, jumping, and dunking. The small-town North Carolina native was even less credentialed to be an NBA player, having kicked around junior college and the Eastern League, living with an aunt in Harlem, and working in the Garment District pushing racks of clothing around Manhattan streets. The barnstorming Harlem Wizards discovered him in a Greenwich Village pickup game. From there he found his way to the end of Red Holzman’s bench, where, by virtue of his name alone, Wingo became someone for whom the crowd would chant when games entered what Marv Albert liked to call gar-
bage
time.

Another coach might have cleared his bench when trailing a team as powerful as Milwaukee by 18 with less than six minutes to play—no point in draining the hourglasses within Reed’s knees. But to Holzman it was always bad precedent to concede too soon.

“I always felt that you’ve got no place to go, anyway,” he said. “You can’t go to the movies until after the game is over. You can’t go out to dinner until after the game is over. So you might as well give it your best shot until it’s over.”

Still, against the Bucks, Holzman couldn’t have thought they had a chance. How long could anyone keep Abdul-Jabbar and his sky hook from the scoring column? “You think about it, we were down 18 and we didn’t have the luxury of shooting threes,” Frazier said. “To come back, you would have to hold them scoreless, and how were you going to do that when they had Kareem?”