The Book of Basketball (43 page)

Answer for Question No. 2

Kobe. He’s the best all-around player in the league, the best scorer, the best competitor, and the one guy who terrifies everyone else. Plus, if you
didn’t
pick him, he would make it his mission to haunt you on the other team.

Answer for Question No. 3

If you replaced Kobe with a decent 2-guard (someone like Jamal Crawford) for the entire ’06 Lakers season, they would have won between 15 and 20 games. I can say that in complete confidence. Terrible team. When Smush Parker and Kwame Brown are your third-and fourth-best players, you shouldn’t even be allowed to watch the playoffs on TV. Throw Kobe in the mix and they’re headed for 45 wins. So he’s been worth 25 victories for them. Minimum.

Here was the voting in 2006: Nash: 924 (57–32–20–8–6); LeBron: 688 (16–41–33–23–7); Nowitzki: 544 (14–22–25–36–17); Kobe: 483 (22–11–18–22–30); Chauncey Billups: 430 (15–13–22–18–25).

(Translation: I give up.)

2. Willis Reed, 1970 MVP

With Russell retired and the Celtics floundering, the Knicks took command of the East, won a league-high 60 games, ignited Manhattan and became the media darlings of the ’70 season. Their two best players were Reed and Frazier: Reed averaged a 22–14, shot 50 percent and protected his teammates; Frazier averaged a 21–6–8, ran the offense, guarded the best opposing scorer and would have led the league in steals had they kept track. If there was ever a season for co-MVPs, this was it. Since the belief was that centers were more valuable than noncenters, Reed (498 votes, 61–55–28) squeaked by Jerry West (457 votes, 51–59–25). And nobody ever thought about it again.

Well, check out West’s season again. He averaged a 31–5–8 for a 46-win Lakers team that lost Wilt at the 12-game mark with a torn knee (he never returned in the regular season) and had its other two top players (Baylor and Happy Hairston) miss 55 games combined. The next four best players on that team? Mel Counts, Dick Garrett, Keith Erickson and Rick Roberson. Even Charles Manson had a better supporting cast than the Logo that year. Somehow the Lakers finished second in the West, then Wilt returned for the playoffs and they rallied to make the Finals. Statistically, this was West’s finest year: he led the league in points, finished fourth in assists and
shot 50 percent from the field and 83 percent from the line. From a big-picture standpoint, West carried the Lakers all season and dragged them to within one victory of the title. From an alpha dog standpoint, if you had to pick someone who bridged the gap between Russell’s retirement and Kareem’s ascension, you’d pick West. And beyond that, he’s one of the best eight players ever, as well as the guy they selected for the freaking NBA logo, only he never captured an MVP. So why wasn’t this his year? Because the New York media were too busy losing their minds over an admittedly entertaining Knicks team. This was an eight-month circle jerk that eventually led to something like seventeen books being written about that season.
⁶²
A Knick was getting the MVP and that was that. The Logo never had a chance. Just know that the trophy was pilfered from him.

1. Karl Malone, 1997 MVP

This wasn’t an MVP race, it was a crime scene. The previous season, Jordan averaged a 30–7–4 for a 72-win team, finished with 109 first-place votes and would have been the unanimous MVP if not for the four morons who voted for Penny Hardaway, Hakeem and Malone.
⁶³
During the ’97 season, Jordan’s credentials “dropped” to 69 wins and a 30–6–4—in other words, he was 98 percent as good as the previous season—only Malone stole the award with a 27–10–5 for a 64-win Jazz team. Here’s the voting from that year:

Malone: 986 (63–48–4–0–0)
Jordan: 957 (52–61–2–0–0)

Look, I was there—this was inexplicable as it was happening. We’ll cover Malone’s inadequacies in a later chapter, but here’s the best analogy I can give you: For my buddy House’s bachelor party in 2008, a group of us trekked to Vegas for four days and landed at the world-renowned Olympic
Garden one night. Normally in strip joints, I suggest we find a corner and surround ourselves with those big comfy chairs—I call it the “Chair Armada”—so we aren’t continually approached by below-average strippers trying to pull the “Maybe if I plop right down on his lap, he’ll feel bad for me and buy a lap dance” routine. There wasn’t a corner this time around, so we grabbed a few chairs facing the stage and it worked almost as well. Unable to dive-bomb us from behind, the strippers settled for circling repeatedly and trying to catch our eyes. This strategy could have worked if most of them didn’t look like Hedo Turkoglu. One mediocre Asian with fake cans probably circled us twenty times in two hours—never drawing an extended glance from any of us—before our buddy Monty checked her out on the twenty-first approach, gave up on finding a more appealing option, and said, “Fuck it.” And off they went. When we made fun of him the next morning, he said simply, “It was getting late.”

What does that have to do with Karl Malone? Just like that fake-boobed Asian stripper, the Mail Fraud circled the MVP voters for ten solid years and never finished higher than third. Meanwhile, the NBA was becoming more and more diluted—expansion had ravaged the league, some younger stars (Shawn Kemp, Penny Hardaway, Larry Johnson, C-Webb, Kenny Anderson, Derrick Coleman) weren’t panning out, and Hakeem, Barkley, Robinson, Drexler and Ewing were past their primes—which meant Utah, a team that was worse in 1997 than they were in 1988 or even 1992, suddenly became a juggernaut in the West.
⁶⁴
There also wasn’t a dominant
story in ’97. Everyone was Jordaned out. The “Shaq goes to Hollywood” and “Here comes Iverson” stories had been beaten to death. So had the “Hakeem, Drexler and Barkley are three future Hall of Famers and they’re all playing together” story. Latrell Sprewell hadn’t strangled P. J. Carlesimo yet (although he’d definitely considered it). The Grizzlies, Spurs, Celtics and Nuggets spent the last two months desperately trying to outtank each other for Tim Duncan. By mid-March, once everyone realized that the Bulls couldn’t win 73 games, we were just plain bored and awaiting the playoffs. Then,
SI
’s Jackie MacMullan wrote the following piece for her March 19 column:

Headline: “The Jazz Master”

Subhead: “Malone is playing like an MVP—not that anyone has noticed.”

First sentence: “Jazz forward Karl Malone knows Michael Jordan will win the league MVP trophy again.”

You get the idea. You can’t blame Jackie for looking for a cute angle—she spent about 800 words talking about how underappreciated Malone was over the years. (Which was true, to a degree.) That got the ball rolling, and within a couple of weeks, this became the cute story du jour. Why
couldn’t
the Mailman win the MVP? I hadn’t started my old website yet but remember thinking, “Why couldn’t he win the MVP? Because MJ is in the league! How ’bout that reason?” I just thought this was the dumbest thing ever. I couldn’t believe it. So the playoffs rolled around and fifty-three voters turned into Monty at the OG: Malone strolled by them for the umpteenth time, they shrugged, stood up and brought him into the VIP room. And that’s how Michael Jordan got robbed of the ’97 MVP. Fortunately for us, he exacted revenge in the Finals over (wait for it) Karl Malone and the Utah Jazz! In Game 1, after Malone missed two go-ahead free throws in the final 20 seconds, Jordan swished the game-winner at the buzzer, turned and did a clenched-fist pump, a move that Tiger Woods later would hijack without paying royalties. And that’s when everyone who voted for the Mailman felt really, really,
really
dumb. I love when this happens.

1.
Or at a Lakers game, where you can hear Kobe bitching out teammates and coaches! That reminds me of the highlight of the ’08 Finals: Matt Damon cheering the Celts in Game 5 when Phil Jackson turned and hissed, “Sit down and shut the fuck up!” Had they won, I think I would have sacrificed a pinky for Damon to snap into Will Hunting mode and pull the “Hey, Phil, you like apples? … How ’bout them apples?” routine.

2.
Another classic example: Olajuwon sounded like Prince Akeem in
Coming to America
, only if he hung out in downtown Oakland for 10 years.

3.
The halfcourt shot is my lifelong passion. It should only be shot one way—a three-step start, followed by a heave from under your collarbone. After spending 15 years watching fans shoot it like a free throw or whip it like a baseball, I asked the Clips to let me shoot one for an ESPN segment. That morning, they let me practice at the Staples Center and it took 20 minutes to adjust to the glass backboard and the rows of seats behind it (you have to shoot it 2 feet farther than you’d think). By game time, I was ready but had too much adrenaline and banked it off the front of the rim—one inch lower and I would have banked it home. Story of my life. Here’s why I’m telling you this: if you ever get picked, do the three-step heave and aim two feet farther than you think.

4.
Let’s hope that’s the first and last time anyone writes that sentence.

5.
My favorite Stern story: he held up the 30th pick in the ’08 draft for four full minutes to ream ESPN officials for reporting rumors about Darrell Arthur’s supposedly problematic kidneys, dropped roughly 800
f-
bombs, put the fear of God into everyone and then calmly strolled out and announced Boston’s pick. The man has no peer.

6.
It’s the Hart Memorial Trophy, named after Dr. David Hart, the father of Cecil Hart (coach and GM of the 1924 Canadiens). Dr. Hart donated the trophy that year to the league, so they named it after him. I’m not making this up.

7.
You know it’s a memorable flick when fifteen years later you can remember exactly where you saw it. I saw
Shawshank
in Braintree and
Pulp Fiction
at a scummy Loews Theater in Somerville. (Whoops, cue up the porn music.) “Bow-cha-cha bow-bow-bow … thank you for coming to Loews … sit back and relax … enjoy the
show!”

8.
The only way that title could have been worse was if they called it
500 Yards of Shit-Smelling Foulness
or
The Prison Rape Redemption.

9.
The Cleveland crew: Daniel Gibson, Damon Jones and Eric Snow, whose shooting prowess I described in 2007 by writing, “If my life were at stake and I had to pick any NBA player to miss a 20-footer that he was trying to make, or else I’d be killed, I’d pick Snow and rejoice as he bricked a set shot off the side of the rim.”

10.
This is a hypothetical example. As far as you know.

11.
Actually, with the way the NBA works now—players from different age groups bonding by coming through the ranks at the same time and, in some cases, knowing each other since AAU ball—it’s not far-fetched to think that there’d be more politicking now. The whole Bron-Melo-CP generation loves each other. Wouldn’t those guys have swung 2008 votes behind Paul? Wouldn’t the older guys have gravitated toward KG?

12.
That’s not a lie. I spent as much time working out the kinks for this MVP theory as Jonas Salk did on the polio vaccine.

13.
Come on, he was the heart and soul of the Tankapalooza All-Stars in Miami! Do they get Michael Beasley without him?

14.
I think this is how the annual Rucker League tournament works in Harlem. I’m not kidding.

15.
Do you think they created the verb “wilt” because of Wilt Chamberlain? It’s an honest question.

16.
The NBA definitely needed a Barkley charisma injection that season. Look at the elite veterans other than MJ: Malone, Stockton, Ewing, Hakeem, Dumars, Drexler, Mullin, Pippen, Robinson, Brad Daugherty, Mark Price. All nice guys, but would you want to spend the weekend in Vegas with any of them?

17.
I keep typing “Chris Paul” because he’s one of those guys whose name has to be said all at once. It’s weird to call him “Chris” or “Paul.” He’s like my friend Nick Aieta in this respect.

18.
The same phenomenon happens with parents: they spend so much time with their kids that they begin to think, “There are no other kids like this!” and “He’s so far advanced over every baby his age!” By the way, you should see my daughter run. Fast jets, phenomenal balance. Much better than the other four-year-olds.

19.
They didn’t hand it out this year, but Cousy averaged a 21–8–6 and finished second in scoring and first in assists. He was the Imaginary MVP.

20.
Kareem was a wash with McAdoo in ’76 and Walton in ’77–’78.

21.
Can’t pick between Magic and MJ in ’89–’90. Impossible.

22.
I hated the 50-game, strike-shortened season when everyone was out of shape. I refuse to pick an alpha dog. You can’t make me. It’s like choosing between syphilis and anal warts.