DALY FINALE? IF SO, MAKE IT A DOUBLE
PORTLAND, Ore. — It is time to say good-bye to Chuck Daly. No, he hasn’t quit yet. But whether anyone wants to admit it, tonight could be his last game as Pistons coach — if they win, I’ll bet it is — and I think we ought to at least be...
IT’S . . . NO GOOD! PISTONS ONE WIN AWAY
PORTLAND, Ore. — They were mobbed together at the center of the court, like some riot scene at a foreign embassy, raising their hands, waving their hands away, screaming until their eyes nearly popped from their sockets. “IT WAS GOOD! IT WAS GOOD!”...
THE BIGGER THEY ARE, THE MORE THEY WHINE
PORTLAND, Ore. — Buck and Duck are in a pluck. And out of luck. Oh, such a muck.But wait — they’re built like trucks!In other words, lemme get this straight: Buck Williams and Kevin Duckworth, who together stand nearly 14 feet tall and weigh at least...
A SAD FAREWELL TO THE HERO’S HERO
PORTLAND, Ore. — He had been braced for this death for weeks now, calling the hospital, hoping against hope, even instructing his wife, Debbie, “If Dad dies during a game, I want you to promise me you’ll be the one to tell me, OK? And not until after...
GET TRACY! THEN GET A 2ND MORTGAGE
I grab the box of Bat shirts and the carton of Bat hats and crawl into the upstairs attic. It is time to put away old things. It is time to– “Tracy!” comes a familiar voice.”Tracy?” I ask.I have heard this voice before. I hear it every...
No Miracle For Pistons This Time
This time, there was no magic. No Isiah either. This time the Portland Trail Blazers proved that what counts is not how you start but how you finish, and this is how they finished: on top.
PALACE COUP
This time, there was no magic. No Isiah either. This time it was the Portland Trail Blazers who proved that what counts is not how you start but how you finish, and this is how they finished: on top.”Take that!” the Blazers seemed to say as they raced off...
‘Choking Dog’ Finally Has His Day With Open Victory
NEW YORK — This place had always treated him like garbage, and there he was in the gutter again. A zero. A big fat zero. Thirteen stinking minutes into the U.S. Open final, in front of millions of people, and he hadn’t even won a game from John McEnroe — not a single game, and only one lousy point — while McEnroe had cruised to three straight wins without breaking a sweat. People already were whispering “slaughter.”
He could feel it. The collar. Tightening.
“There he goes,” said a reporter in the press box, “the choking dog.”
Excuse Me, Bill . . .’Laimbeer’s Actions Speak Louder Thanhis Words . . . Too Bad
They come at Bill Laimbeer like kids in a zoo. Look at the beast. You think he bites? This is Laimbeer’s life now, every day, in a restaurant, on the street, you can’t hide when you’re 6-feet-11. Even at home, he’s sitting on his porch by the lake, and people approach in their boats and they kill the engine and float past, staring, whispering, “That’s him, there. Look.”
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