He moves like a water bug, so fast that sometimes all you see is the streak of where he was. Into the corner, back into the middle, through two defenders, back into the corner, grab the ball, turn, shoot. Richard (Rip) Hamilton is such a whirling dervish that you're not sure where his shots really begin. Is it when he flicks his wrist, or when he lifts his arms, or when he lifts his legs, or when he starts running 10 seconds before he ever gets the ball? One thing is certain, when that ball comes, there is little hesitation as to whether it'll be launched.Let her Rip.
It was coming down like hot wax, drip, drip, another fourth-quarter lead, another wild crowd, all melting away in concert with the clock, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated ahead of time. An 11-point lead whittled away like a stick on the wrong end of a penknife. Turnovers. Missed shots. Missed free throws. Booing the refs.And finally, on Tuesday, as it did on Sunday, the final Pistons shot missed the mark -- this time a long jumper by Chauncey Billups into the outstretched body of Jason Kidd -- and even the margin of defeat was the same.Two points down.
That was no accident, folks. That last desperate play of Sunday's Game 1, in which the Pistons tried an alley-oop pass with 1.4 seconds left -- a damn hard thing to do, even with veterans -- was drawn up to go from Tayshaun Prince to Mehmet Okur.Rookie to rookie.And it almost worked."Yeah," Rick Carlisle said Monday, when I asked whether he realized he'd put the game in the hands of two players who had yet to see their 24th birthdays. "That was what we called. I'm not interested in how old they are at that point. I'm looking for who can get the job done."
If you look carefully during these Pistons playoff games, you will observe a small but remarkable ritual.After every buzzer, as the Pistons head back to the floor, reserve Danny Manning, once the greatest college basketball talent in the nation, taps fists with each man to urge them on."It's the only way I feel part of the game," he says. "It's like a little bit of electricity passes through them to me."
Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.
