Game Face by Bernard King & Jerome Preisler

Author:Bernard King & Jerome Preisler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Da Capo Press
Published: 2017-11-07T05:00:00+00:00

ON MARCH 12, 1977, the Nets played game sixty-nine of the season at home against the Detroit Pistons. Our record was 17–52 and we were on our way to finishing with the worst record in the NBA. Detroit was also having a losing year, although on that date, they were only four games under .500 at 31–35.

It was our third matchup on the schedule, but the first in Piscataway. After they defeated us in the season opener, we came back and won our second game against them in Auburn Hills, 117–112.

I’d been tied for highest scorer on the floor that day with 31 points. The Pistons’ veteran star Bob Lanier had scored the same number. We’d played a tough defensive game, forcing turnovers that gave us a lot of successful fast-break opportunities.

Both teams badly wanted that third game. We knew we could beat the Pistons. Meanwhile, they didn’t want to lose a season series to the worst team in the league. And their leader, Lanier, certainly didn’t want to take a loss while being equaled or bettered in the stat column by a rookie forward, one who’d made his splash in the league scoring 41 against Dr. J.

In those days, every kid in the playground knew Lanier’s name. If you were a tall kid, the other boys on the court would shout, “Yo, Lanier!” whenever you blocked a shot or launched one over an opponent’s head. That’s because Lanier was one of the biggest big men in the NBA. At the time, his name was synonymous with the word “big.” His size-twenty-two feet once held the record of the biggest ever to be measured for a pair of league-approved sneakers. They might still have that distinction; I’m not sure.

That last game was a brawl from the opening whistle. My matchup was John Shumate, the Pistons’ forward, but Lanier was their low-post defender, and I’d pulled down 11 rebounds against them the month before.

Eddie Jordan was hot that night. Early in the second quarter, he drained a jumper that put us ahead by 4 and got our home crowd up on their feet. Then one of the Pistons missed a shot, and I went hard to the boards, reaching for the rebound and pulling it down to my chest. That was when Lanier rattled my head with his elbow.

Now, let’s keep something in mind. Lanier was 250 pounds of bulky muscle. That’s almost 50 pounds heavier than I was. He was also almost seven feet tall.

His elbow felt like an oar from a rowboat. And I knew it hadn’t connected by accident. When you’re in the league a while, like Lanier was, you learn to send a message without the ref seeing it. Even one of the sharp-eyed best in the league like Dick Bavetta, who was officiating that night.

But have I mentioned I’m from Brooklyn?

No, I thought. That isn’t gonna work.

I knew Lanier hit me to send a message. And I knew I had to return it, preferably without getting tossed.

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