Flip Saunders: 47 Games, Plus Playoffs, To Save His Job

When Chuck Daly coached the Pistons, he likened the job to managing twelve different corporations. He understood that there was a time to push, a time to pull back, and a time to simply let the players police themselves. It didn't hurt that he had several deputies on the roster, like Isiah Thomas and Bill Laimbeer, to enforce the Pistons man law.

Flip Saunders, perhaps, doesn't have the same deft hand as Chuck Daly did. But then again, not too many did when Daddy Rich was in his heyday. Certainly never in Detroit, and certainly not since Joe Dumars began hiring coaches and firing them, right on schedule, every two years.

Chemistry is the word, and it is perhaps the most overused, ultimately meaningless group of vowels and consonants in the entire lexicon of sport. And it has popped up in Pistons Land. Tayshaun Prince was the user of it last week.

The chemistry, Prince -- the usually quiet-as-a-mouse Piston -- said, is unbalanced. Can't put his finger on it, but maybe not enough of this, or perhaps too much of that. Maybe not enough respect for the coach, and his system. Maybe too much complacency, again. Something.

Others disagreed with Prince's assessment, uttered before two ridiculous losses to the Charlotte Bobcats and Atlanta Hawks, which join several other ridiculous losses this season. Lindsey Hunter, the most veteran Piston in terms of years of service, shrugged off the analysis of Prince as much ado about nothing. Cynics would say that even disagreements about whether there are chemistry issues to begin with is, by itself, a sign of discord.

Rip Hamilton has been awfully cranky, on the floor. But it makes one wonder if there is an edge off the floor, as well. Meanwhile, though, Hamilton scores relentlessly, through wins and losses. He is beginning to rack up technical fouls at a rate usually reserved for ...

Rasheed Wallace, who has begun to complain sublimely about "things".

"Just life, man. Life and basketball. Life is bigger than basketball. But just things that I'd rather not talk about," Wallace said last week, talking to the reporters who asked him, basically, "Wassup?" It was after Sheed admitted to not being a happy camper.

Chauncey Billups, as you know, can leave the team this summer -- vanish into the night -- via free agency. But Denver, a supposed Billups destination, is probably out of the mix now that they've acquired Allen Iverson. Still, whenever a prized player can leave, it's cause for concern. Read: Ben Wallace.

Nazr Mohammed is a square peg in a round hole, and is clearly confused and frustrated. Flip Murray wonders whether Detroit was a smart choice, and, frankly, vice versa. Others have appeared mystified by their ever-changing roles.

A month or so ago, I wrote in this space that Saunders must have that secure feeling, because he employs two former NBA head coaches on his staff: Terry Porter and Dave Cowens. And that may still be true. But navigating an NBA team through the waters of a sometimes meaningless 82-game regular season takes a special type of captain. But, as Daly so astutely realized, you need capable crewmen to keep everyone in line.

There are question marks, in 16-point font, about whether the Pistons have the cohesiveness that's necessary to win big in the playoffs. There still seems to be, among my fellow media members, the feeling that Flip Saunders will be another in the ever-growing list of short-timers who've served as Pistons coach under Dumars' watch, joining George Irvine, Rick Carlisle, and Larry Brown. The signs seem to point that way, I admit. Early playoff failure this spring might be the last straw.

Now the Pistons are set to bring Chris Webber into the mix, and maybe that'll be some sort of salve. But minutes will be reduced for key players, like perhaps Wallace, or Mohammed, or Antonio McDyess. And reducing players' minutes has never been a recipe for NBA harmony.

Saunders, it says here, has exactly 47 more regular season games, and however many playoff contests the Pistons participate in, to make a case for returning as coach in 2007-08. He works for a man who has a fetish for canning coaches on schedule, don't you know.

Even the alchemist that was Chuck Daly was rumored to be run out of town, before the championship years. Certain players wore scowls on their pusses, and the ever-important chemistry was in danger. One of the sour pusses was worn by Kelly Tripucka, and he was traded, for Adrian Dantley, no less. Proof that you just might do anything to get rid of the unhappy basketball camper.

Joe Dumars hasn't been one, though, to get rid of players to save his coach. So there you have it: 47 games, plus playoffs. Flip Saunders, whether you choose to believe it or not, is on the clock.

Steelers' Coaching Consistency Defies The Odds

Think about this for a moment: The last time the Pittsburgh Steelers had to go searching for a new head coach, the Internet wasn’t around. The time before that, man hadn’t been on the moon.

It’s true.

The Steelers today are on a coaching hunt, and you’ll forgive them if they’ve hired a consulting firm to reacquaint them with the process. Like, for example, forget looking for resumes with watermarks, or telephone numbers that actually ring inside someone’s home. And not to be alarmed if there is no employment history dated before 1992.

It’s an unusual position the Steelers are in – for them – to be searching for a new head football coach, but there is that necessity now that Bill Cowher has stepped down after 15 years on the job (1992-2006). Before Cowher, someone named Chuck Noll prowled the Steelers sidelines – and for 23 years (1969-1991). That’s two coaches in 38 years, folks. The Supreme Court has more turnover. Much more, in fact.




Two in 38: Noll (top) and Cowher are the only Steelers
head coaches since 1969

Cowher is a Pittsburgh kid, through and through, and his jut jaw would make Scotty Bowman envious. Noll, to give you an idea, played football in the 1940’s, and he was just two coaches ago.
In Detroit, we boast of consistency at the placekicker position: the Lions have employed but two there for more than one game (Eddie Murray, 1980-1991; Jason Hanson, 1992-present).
Terrific. That and a dime will get you a cup of coffee, but that and millions of dollars has reaped nothing more than a single playoff victory. And none since Hanson’s arrival.

Both the Steelers and the Lions are family-run businesses, and both in blue-collar towns. The Rooneys have controlled the Steelers since their inception in the NFL back in the 1930’s, and Bill Ford Sr. wrangled sole ownership away from the consortium of over 100 shareholders back in 1964. Yet the Steelers are a model NFL franchise, while the Lions are a cautionary tale.


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So the Rooney family has a Super Bowl ring for each finger and their thumb, while Bill Ford Sr. and Jr. have never come close to even a pinky ring. Mostly, the only finger associated with their franchise has been the middle one.
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But hold on. The Steelers weren’t always winners under the Rooney name. In fact, for a very long time, they were very bad. The dregs of the league. Laughing stocks. Perennial losers. All that, they were.

But then Art Rooney stumbled upon Noll, an old messenger guard for Paul Brown in Cleveland. He hired Noll in early 1969, months before Neil Armstrong took his small step and giant leap on that big piece of cheese in space. Noll won his first game in 1969 – against the Lions, natch – and proceeded to lose the next thirteen. That landed a top draft pick, which Noll used to select QB Terry Bradshaw from Louisiana Tech, in 1970.

Yet Bradshaw, a Hall of Famer, was awful when he entered the NFL. In his rookie year, he threw 24 interceptions in 216 attempts – a pick for every nine passes. The fans in Pittsburgh called him names and hung him in effigy. People even thought he was too dumb to be a useful NFL quarterback. Sort of what they said about him when he entered broadcasting, though I’ve never considered that business populated by Rhodes Scholars.

The point is, the Steelers struggled to find their mojo. Big time. So when they hoisted the Vince Lombardi Trophy as Super Bowl winners for the first time, after the 1974 season, over 40 years of failure and being a league joke vanished. And, to be sure that it never returned, Chuck Noll’s teams went out and won three more in the next five seasons. They’re otherwise known as the Team of the ‘70’s.

The Lions are the Team of the 70’s, too. As in, 72 losses in their last six seasons. As in, the last decade in which their head coach compiled an overall winning record. But I digress.

The Rooneys didn’t get their act together until they hired Chuck Noll, who’d never been a head football coach. He won four Super Bowls. Then the torch was passed to Cowher, who’d never been a head football coach. He went to two Super Bowls, and won one. Along the way there were many divisional titles and playoff victories.

So the Rooney family has a Super Bowl ring for each finger and their thumb, while Bill Ford Sr. and Jr. have never come close to even a pinky ring. Mostly, the only finger associated with their franchise has been the middle one.

The Lions have Rod Marinelli as their coach, who’d never been a head football coach. But if that’s all you needed to have in common with Noll and Cowher to succeed, we’d see statues of Tommy Hudspeth and Marty Mornhinweg outside Ford Field. So obviously it takes more than that. But it’s worth stating that you can find a diamond in the rough, and it can lead you to studded rings.

The Rooneys didn’t find their football god until they’d owned the team for nearly 40 years. The Ford ownership passed the 40-year mark a couple of seasons ago. So there’s still hope.

There has been some scuttlebutt, probably started by a bottom feeder like a blogger or sports columnist (or magazine editor), that Bill Cowher is merely taking a year off, to reenergize himself, before plunging back into the shark-infested waters of NFL head coach. The scuttlebutt goes on to say that the Lions might be one of the teams interested in him when he decides to take that plunge. And that there might be mutual interest.

Hey, if you’re going to jump back in with the sharks, may as well do it in the most densely populated body of shark water of them all.

Another way to use the word “dense” when referring to the Lions.

The Webber Thing Has Been Done Before, And Mostly Without Success

Derrick Coleman tried it with the Pistons, but he was too old, too decrepit, too out of shape to make it work. The Tigers took a flyer on Alex Johnson, but he was too old, too decrepit, and too crazy to make it work. The Red Wings and Jimmy Carson tried to make a go of it, but the pressure was too much and Carson flamed out, falling far below expectations. Wearing Alex Delvecchio's #10 didn't help. The Lions brought DB Todd Lyght home, but he was another of those too old, too decrepit guys.

Now the Pistons appear to be on the verge of wedding Chris Webber in another of those "let's bring the hometown kid home" things.

The above dudes, all (at least metro) Detroit-born and bred, eventually meandered their way back to Motown, presumably seduced by the idea of slipping on the pro jersey of the team they grew up watching. With the exception of Carson, though, they were all long in the tooth, and didn't have much left in the tank.

Webber, at age 33, is in danger of being one of those players low on fuel. Yet he says he feels great after some surgeries on his legs, and why wouldn't he say that, when he's trying to attract suitors?

The Detroit Country Day product is an unrestricted free agent, and rumors are hot that he will land in Auburn Hills, becoming a Piston some 13 years after entering the league from the University of Michigan.

It may be harsh to say, but you can make a case that Webber is, at this stage, nothing more than a talented journeyman. But a journeyman nonetheless. Golden State, Washington, Sacramento, and Philadelphia have employed him. Now one more team will be added to the Employment History portion of his resume.

As soon as I heard the news that the 76'ers had bought out Webber's contract, I said without hesitation, "I bet he becomes a Piston."

This is the type of move that Pistons President Joe Dumars revels in -- the signing of a popular player who won't cost the team an arm and a leg. The risk of disturbing team chemistry, those ancient and overused words. But a possible upside that is too intriguing to pass up, especially at what will almost sure to be bargain basement pricing, in NBA terms.

Webber says his wish list includes Detroit, Miami, Dallas, and the Lakers. The usual suspects. Wouldn't that be the wish list of 80% of the players who don't play for those teams? But the deep throats in the league say he is leaning toward Detroit. His hometown. Another player past his prime who would like to experience the aura of playing for the team he watched on TV as a child.

Oh, I should mention that this scenario actually played out for the good, back in the day. The Tigers acquired pitcher Frank Tanana in 1985, bringing the Catholic Central grad home. And Tanana, despite being over 30 years of age, helped the Tigers win the AL East in 1987.

But there have been far more busts than jackpots, when the hometown kid returns as the vagabond pro.

Sheed's Tardiness Breaks Season's Monotony

The NBA, probably more so than any of the other three major team sports, is a tonic-filled league.

Feeling down, Bunky? Losing a few games? Take some Philly. Maybe a teaspoon of Atlanta. I heard some Charlotte mixed in with your orange juice could work wonders.

It's a league of dregs, really. No real middle class. The Haves and the Have Nots.

The Pistons were a little wobbly going into Philadelphia last night, losers of four of their past five games. They're playing without starting point guard Chauncey Billups. Tayshaun Prince was quoted as saying team chemistry was off kilter. Others denied it, but there you are.

And Rasheed Wallace was late for practice.

Coach Flip Saunders held Sheed out of the starting lineup against the Have Not Sixers, presumably as some sort of disciplinary measure for being late Monday.

Coming off the bench, Wallace played about 30 minutes, scoring eight points and snaring six rebounds.

"I'm straight," Wallace said afterward. "I might even ask him (Saunders) to do it tomorrow. Maybe that's one of the things that we need, just try something different."

Right.

Even Saunders admitted in his postgame comments that he liked the way the team played with Wallace coming off the bench. Jason Maxiell started.

The Wallace "benching" is a non-issue. The reality is that the Pistons are in the middle of a glorious part of their schedule, where they play Charlotte (9-23), Atlanta (10-22), Boston (12-21), and Minnesota twice (17-15).

NBA Tonic.

That's how you do it in pro basketball. Wipe the floor with the Have Nots, and try to break even with the Haves. I'm telling you, a team could chalk up 50 wins easily if they follow that recipe. Especially in the Leastern Conference, where the Have Nots mostly reside. Nine of the conference's 15 teams are playing below .500 ball, and four of those are under .400. Two are even below .300.

The cure for what ails ya.

It's the time of the season -- the frigid cold of January, the playoffs months away -- to exercise in experiments such as Rasheed Wallace off the bench. The players are bored. And what better time to tweak, with the Have Nots dotting the schedule over the next couple of weeks?

But circle next Wednesday, the 17th, on your basketball calendar. The Pistons host the Utah Jazz that evening. A real life Have. A Western Conference team, natch.

Even the defending league champs, the Miami Heat, are a Have Not, currently. The curse of the East.

All will be right again with the Pistons after they take their generous dose of league tonic this week and next.

Then they'll be ready for Sheed to be late again. Maybe he should come off the bench against some Haves. It's still January, after all. Experiment time.

Overwhelming Rejection Of McGwire Stunning

There is no such thing, really, as "qualifying" for a Hall of Fame, in any sport. It's a misnomer, so don't let anyone use that word -- "qualifying" -- without challenge.

You can get elected into a Hall. You can be admitted. You can be enshrined. You can even be allowed.

But you cannot qualify.

There is no qualification, because there is no threshold -- no minimum accomplishments to achieve that mean automatic inclusion.

This has never been more true than today, when voters who cast the ballots for Baseball's Hall of Fame so overwhelmingly rejected the, ahem, "qualifications" of a man with 583 career homeruns, its effect should reverberate for years.

Mark McGwire is not a Hall of Famer today. Not even close. Only 23.5% of 545 ballots tabulated had his name on it. Seventy-five percent is needed to be elected, so he came over 50% shy of what was necessary to order his bronzed plaque in Cooperstown.

Normally, a ballplayer with almost 600 homeruns would cruise to election. He would be in the same percentile range as Cal Ripken, Jr. (98.5), and Tony Gwynn (97.6), both of whom were elected today. We would be talking about the dodos who left him off their ballots, rather than what we ARE talking about, which is how much this rejection is directly tied to the cloud of suspicion of steroid use that hovers around McGwire like that ball of dirt Pigpen from Peanuts comic strip fame walks among.

Cheater! Fraud! Lab experiment!

Uhhh...NO.

All those, and more, will be used to justify the dismissal of McGwire's Hall eligibility like so much lint off a coat. He got what he deserved, it will be said, written, and otherwise argued. We don't let cheaters into the Hall of Fame!

Yet Gaylord Perry is enshrined. And so overt was Perry's admission of doctoring baseballs, done with a wink and a smile, that doubtless some voters chuckled in recollection of his exploits as they filled in his name.

There are others, too, whose likeness resides in the Hall, who engaged in various other shenanigans, like sign-stealing, more baseball doctoring, and magic with the insides of their baseball bats.

Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.

But McGwire's transgressions -- unproven, mind you -- are considered to be so heinous that not even one-quarter of the voters felt obligated to grant him induction, despite his 583 homeruns.

No liars. No cheaters.

Not this time, anyway.

Mark McGwire is not a Hall of Famer, not today. Not even close.

Barry Bonds, beware.