Pistol: A Biography of Pete Maravich by Kriegel Mark

Author:Kriegel, Mark [Kriegel, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Free Press
Published: 2007-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

Pete didn’t make it any easier on himself, what with the way he played in training camp. Bill Bridges would get him the ball on the break, the court aligned in anticipation of what the big man calls “pure perfection.” “That’s the high you play for,” says Bridges. “And all of sudden, something would short-circuit in his brain.”

An errant pass. A foolish move. A bad shot. Moves that worked in the SEC didn’t necessarily work in the NBA. “There was,” says Bridges, “a time for showtime and a time to play ball.” At the dawn of his pro career, Pete seemed incapable of making that distinction.

“Training camp, that’s when things started bubbling to the surface,” says Herb White, whom the Hawks drafted out of Georgia. “Pete came in and he’s trying to force his style of play. He’s taking off and hitting guys in the back of the head with passes and taking bad shots. Let’s face it: Pete took a lot of shots, and some of them were bad. I thought Richie Guerin was going to hang himself.”

White, from nearby Decatur—where his high school teammates included Hank Kalb—would himself become a subplot in camp. An eighth-round draft pick without big college stats, he made the team over a black guy from a small college.

“Not because he was white,” says Guerin. “Herbie had some talent.”

The coach, who would start White five games that season, was more easily convinced than some of the players. The least welcoming of them was Walt Hazzard, a classically trained point guard from UCLA. From the beginning, Hazzard didn’t like Herbie.

“You know why you made the team,” he said.

As Hazzard had little cause to be concerned with the eleventh man on the team, one can’t help but think the real target of his remark was Pete. Of all the Hawks, Hazzard was the one with the most to lose. Like Pete, he was a mediocre defensive player who couldn’t play without the ball. Eventually, Hazzard and Maravich would become mutually exclusive propositions. Hazzard understood that, just as he understood that management wasn’t going with a black point guard over a white hope.

If Hazzard’s feelings were personal, other old Hawks disliked only what the Pistol represented. But the anticipatory media glare surrounding Pete, as he struggled to adapt to his new team and a new game, only intensified the bitter sentiments. A typical exhibition game might end with Pete scoring a dozen or so points and Lou Hudson about 30. But afterward, dozens of reporters would be gathered in front of the Pistol’s locker with only one or two chatting up Sweet Lou. “I don’t care how good a guy you are,” says White, “that kind of stuff gets to you after a while.”

It’s only human nature, and it divided the team along racial lines. But again, the Hawks went against type. The black game was advertised as vertical, the province of great leapers. But as it turned out, at six-two, Herbie White was easily the best dunker on a team that was now without the services of Joe Caldwell.

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