On this Memorial Day, and with the Pistons tinkering along in the NBA's Final Four, a.k.a. the Eastern Conference Finals, it's appropriate to take time to honor those who have given their basketball lives for the franchise.
Ahh, screw that. Actually, I'm thinking of two guys who proved memorable, but in a far less honorable way. But they're relevant to my opinion.
When Marvin "Bad News" Barnes toiled for the Pistons (1976-77), there would be some occasional concern as to whether he would make it to practice, or downtown to Cobo Arena in time for the game that evening. Then there was some debate whether, once he got into the ballgame, he would be effective or sleepwalk on the court.
William Bedford (a Piston from '87 to '92), seven feet of babysitting fun, had his own issues, too. Some of those issues ended up snorted into his nose. Anyhow, because of his quirky ways -- and when I say quirky I mean self-destructive -- he earned a clever nickname from Isiah Thomas, a play on Bedford's name. "Willy B," Isiah called him. As in, "Willy B here? Willy B late? Willy B good?"
Sometimes coach Herb Brown, urged by the chants from the Cobo crowd, would insert Barnes into the game and he'd turn the place on, canning jumpers and grabbing rebounds, starting a Kevin Porter-led fast break. Fun times.
Bedford, when the spirit moved him, would occasionally be effective, too. He'd block a shot, make a post move for a dunk, and in a flash he would show why GM Jack McCloskey was so fascinated by his tall frame and high ceiling. Fun times, as well -- but oh, so fleeting.
I'm reminded of Barnes and Bedford -- two coach-killer B's -- when I see today's Pistons wrestle with themselves in these NBA playoffs.
For reasons that they will perhaps take to their graves, these Pistons don't always seem too interested when the introductions are over with and the fire has been shot off by the cannons behind the backboards and the referee blows his whistle and tosses the ball into the air at center court. They treat the first quarter, and indeed sometimes the second and even, from time-to-time, most of the third, as a grade school child treats school mornings.
It happened yet again last night, as the Cleveland Cavaliers, no doubt pumped by their home crowd and the prospects of an 0-3 deficit, raced out of the gate in the opening minutes while the Pistons wiped their eyes and asked for five more minutes under the covers.
It was 16-9 before the Pistons, as Red Wings analyst Mickey Redmond would say, "Got 'er goin.'" They would recover to take a 24-22 lead, and the game was nip-and-tuck from that point on.
The Pistons talk with their chests puffed out about how they "know how to win" in the closing minutes of games, and that they've "been through all this before." But doesn't knowing how to win also include knowing how to take games just as seriously in the opening minutes -- heck, the opening 24 minutes, for gosh sakes -- as you take them in what everyone likes to call "crunch time"?
You've heard all the quotes before -- the ones about the other team coming out with more energy, and with more of a sense of urgency, after the opening tip. Pistons coach Flip Saunders called the end of Game 2 "Groundhog Day," for its similarities to the end of Game 1. But if there's a continued repeat about the Pistons, a la the Bill Murray movie about a man who relives the same day over and over, it's the beginning of games, not the ends of them.
It's been said derisively about the NBA that you only really have to watch the last two minutes of an NBA game to find out what happened. I have said the same thing -- about movies on Lifetime. Anyhow, it seems as if the Pistons themselves subscribe to this "last two minutes" theory, but with a twist. They act as if they only have to bear down for those final 120 seconds.
If they're not careful, the Pistons will still be hitting the snooze button while the Cavs are preparing for San Antonio or Utah.
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