As kids, when we got in trouble, we blamed a sibling. As adults, we blame a disease.
A guy gets caught with hookers? He’s a sex addict. A guy gets caught shoplifting? He’s a kleptomaniac.
A college coach gets caught drinking beers with coeds? He’s an alcoholic.
Naturally.
ORLANDO — Ben Wallace leapt for a rolling rebound and rammed it through the rim. A minute later, he whacked a Gordan Giricek shot halfway to the Magic Kingdom. Two minutes later, Chauncey Billups, finishing the night of his NBA playoff life, banged home a three-pointer that silenced the crowd. And before you knew it, the Pistons were on their jet, waving good-bye to the city of Mickey and Minnie, with one question on their minds:
What are you doing Sunday?
In the end, they were counting down the seconds to the next game. Six. Five. Four. Mehmet Okur, with nothing else to do, threw the ball at the basket.
It swished.
It was that kind of night.
Before the playoffs began, I asked Pistons coach Rick Carlisle if he could buck the trend and win the Eastern Conference with a no-superstar team in a superstar’s league.
“We’re about to find out,” he said.
Maybe we already have.
The honeymoon is nearly over. The good feelings between Detroit fans and the Joe Dumars/Rick Carlisle/goin’-to-work philosophy are on the verge of collapse.
The wife sighs. She has seen this before. Her husband is face-down in the pillow, Monday morning, and he is not moving.
“You’ll be late for work,” she says.
“Can’t do work,” the husband mumbles.
“Why not?”
“Red Wings tonight. Need sleep. West Coast game. Gonna be up late.”
“What about your job?”
He pulls the pillow around his ears. “This is my job,” he yells.
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