Likable Laimbeer?After All These Years,It’S Still Hard To Decide Whether He Is Or Isn’T
BOSTON — The last time I had breakfast with Bill Laimbeer he stole my grapes. Just reached across the table and grabbed them. Didn’t even say thanks
— although he did close his mouth when he chewed. “These are good,” he said, swallowing.
Then he stuck me for the check.
So it’s risky business eating with Laimbeer. But I am doing it again, four years later. I am sitting here as he orders eggs Benedict, two bagels, cream cheese, large orange juice, coffee — and I am doing it because I want to know one thing: I want to know whether he is ready to quit.
Pistons? They Never Take The Easy Way Out
BOSTON — The sneaker sat in the paint, all by itself, as if it had fallen from a shelf. The man who had been wearing it, Isiah Thomas, was on his back now, a few feet away, grabbing the foot with the sock on it, writhing in pain. Even here, 800 miles away, you could hear the groans from Detroit: “Oh, nooo. Now what?”
SPEED DISTINGUISHES NEW CELTSFROM OLD NEW CELTS FROM OLD
BOSTON — Good morning, class. Welcome to Pistons-Celtics 101, the course that specializes in one of the fiercest rivalries in sports. I’m sure you are very excited about tonight’s Game 1 in the conference semifinals. And I’m sure you have many...
Heroes Like It On Pins, Needles
Like all good heroes, they waited until the final reel of the movie, until you were on the edge of your seat, chewing your fingernails. And suddenly — ta-da! — they were Indiana Jones, ducking the spears, dodging the boulders, swinging across the canyon by a single rope. Never a doubt, right? The home team wins? So when it was all over, and the Atlanta Hawks were lying in shreds on the Palace floor — their hopes of upsetting the champions almost laughable now — here were the Pistons, blowing on the smoke of their guns and saying “Trust us. We know what we’re doing.”
Tough Veneer Can’T Veil A Good Heart
There is one less tough guy in the world this morning: We buried Eddie yesterday.
Even as I write this, I can still see him, punching me in the arm when I was a kid and saying “Put em up, buddy boy” — then striking a pose like one of those 1920’s boxers. I can still feel his steel-hard muscles when he lifted me in the air, and the sandpaper edge of his whiskers when I kissed his cheek.
MONCRIEF RESURRECTS SELF, HAWKS
t breath, facing elimination, their normal fate in the postseason, and suddenly they found something. And they fought back. They clawed, scratched, and lookie here: They outplayed the defending NBA champion Pistons, outrebounded them, outshot them, outhustled them and...
Hastings At The Bar Gets Plenty Of Playing Time
“You wanna be where everybody knows your name. . . . “
— Theme from “Cheers”
ATLANTA — Over in the corner, Dennis Rodman is racking up amazing points on the basketball machine. In another corner, Gerald Henderson talks quietly with a businessman. At the bar, Mark Hughes and Lance Blanks are chewing on hamburgers.
In the back, George Blaha is eating catfish. Meanwhile, a large group of customers sits oblivious to all of them, watching a big-screen TV — or one of 20 smaller screens — and cheering a hockey game.
Chalk 1 Up For 3 Littlewords (More Or Less)
ATLANTA — It was the best of periods, it was the worst of periods. And it is the reason why you cannot dismiss these Detroit Pistons — not until the last breath is gone from their lips. You can criticize them, shake your head at them, wonder about them, get sick over them, lose money on them, lose hair on them, but you cannot dismiss them, no way, simply because of nights like Tuesday, when, in two hours of basketball, they played one quarter like
“Night of the Living Dead” and another like “The Greatest Story Ever Told.”
And they won the game.
Champs Even The Scoreoh, Isiah! The Captain Flashes His Old Magic
For a few minutes Sunday night, he was his old self, firing those high-arching jump shots that threaten to bring down rain before they swish through the net. Two points. Another two points. Then he drove deep into the Atlanta defense and did the between-the-legs thing, the trademark left-right-left-right dribble — sort of like the old Ali shuffle — followed by a one-handed whip pass across the court. Beautiful. Then he led a fast break. Then he stole the ball. Then he shot again. Two points.
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