Back in the day in a Warriors vs Lakers' game in Los Angeles, we were ahead of the Lakers by 2 points going into the final seconds of the 4th quarter. Lakers' ball. The ball was in the hands of LA's point guard Dick Barnett. (actually no one called guards points or shooters in those days, just guards) Dick would become legendary years later as a New York Knick and member of the Knicks' two NBA Championship teams. Back to the story. So, there was Dick dribbling the ball up the court, hippity-hop, which was sort of his style of dribbling. He could really "handle" the ball. Modern day translation: Dick Barnett possessed a great handle. With only seconds left on the clock, Dick was moving at a fast pace. I was watching this action unfolding from my position defending Rudy LaRusso standing on LA's baseline. I could see Dick was not going to pass the ball. Dick was being guarded by Al Attles, no slouch on D. Barnett made it as far as midcourt on the corner nearest the announcers' table and within hearing distance of their great play by play broadcaster, Chick Hearn. I thought Al had trapped in that corner. Seconds left, Barnett rose up for a jumper. Dick's jumper was mechanically perfect from the waist up and an awkward hilariously funny kick back looking thing from the waist down. All of us, players, coaches, fans, and ushers saw what happened next. The ball rose back-spinning into the air. It reached it's apex and descended. It is at this point, Dick Barnett turned to Chick Hearn and said. "Baby, we ah in ovahtime." The ball hit nothing but net. We were tied and had to play a 5 minute overtime period. This is one of Chick's favorite stories part of which is also part of my story that I tell in my forthcoming Memoir: They Called Me The Mad Manchurian. I have long forgotten if we won the game in overtime or not. It doesn't matter who won. In my mind Dick Barnett won the game with that shot. There's probably a stat sheet somewhere that would answer the question who won, but who really cares.
Why am I relating this tale? I just finished watching The Dream Whisperer, the story of Dr. Dick Barnett's successful 9 year quest to get his Tennessee A&I University teams that won 3 consecutive national championships inducted as a team into the Basketball Hall of Fame. It's one hell of a story of determination. And on this Juneteeth day honoring the end of slavery in the United States profoundly appropriate.
One closing remark. Dick and I are about the same age. I'm 85. I watched Doctor Barnett on the TV screen walking, sort of hunched over with a little hop to his hip in his step. And at first thought Dickie, your getting old, but then realized that's the way Dickie Barnett always walked. He was growing old while he was growing young. Dick Barnett, great shooter, funny man, intelligent and honorable,. Thanks for the memory and memories.
I never wrote a poem about Dick. I probably should have, but I did write one for his friend and teammate Earl "The Pearl" Monroe. Here it is.
EARL THE PEARL By Tom Meschery
For Earl Monroe
they called me Black Jesus.
When I walked onto the court
the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
In college, someone found a rhyme
and I became a pearl.
I guess I’ve been a mixed
metaphor ever since.
Today, when I back a player
down toward the paint
and spin into my shot,
I know before the ball leaves
my fingers it’s going in.
At that moment I can heal
lepers, raise the dead.
2 comments:
As a long suffering Knicks fan, I so enjoyed this poem. "Fall back, baby" Dick Barnett is sometimes forgotten when we recall the 69-70 team of Reed's stoicism, Debusschere's toughness, Clyde's brilliance, and Bradley's nonstop movement. Appreciate the territory you cover, Tom, and the way you recount your own journey with sensitivity and detail.
I saw The Pearl play when Winston-Salem, coached by Clarence 'Big House' Gaines, won the National Small College Championship in Evansville, Indiana. He was toying with those players. Like the ball was a yo-yo babies in their cribs were trying to snatch while Earl was performing tricks with it. Walking the Dog. Rocking the Baby. Once, when he crossed half court, he bounced the ball hard and let it go on bouncing between him and the man guarding him until the defender could not resist. When the baby reached for his yo-yo, The Pearl batted it past the baby [I remember it as nutmegging him but that may be my imagination], and driving to the hoop for a basket or an assist. I have no memory of how he finished the play, I was too busy replaying what I had just witnessed. Like a diner with no memory of the meal because the wine was so good.
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