BREAKING NEWS: First Round exit not what Larry wanted

First appeared on May 1st, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

My dad took me to my first Indiana Pacers game at 13. It was a regular season tilt featuring Larry Bird’s World Champion Boston Celtics. And while I knew the Pacers weren’t good, finding Market Square a swirling sea of green, an army of auto mechanics and accountants shoulder to shoulder in the same Bird jerseys each swooning over Larry Legend, was completely unexpected.

The Celtics arrival had inspired the first sell out since the last time they were in town, prompting a silver haired usher to gush about the curtains finally being raised on the upper level. In the shadow of a World Champion, the Pacers played like a semi-pro team. The crowd surged with every shot Bird made, chanting his name after every pass he threaded, and cheered for every rebound he corralled. Everything about the night seemed out of place as 17,000 strong appeared to resent any resistance the Pacers put forth.

Meanwhile, from the row behind, two rosy cheeked draft experts blasted the Pacers 6’7 rookie wing for not being Steve Alford. The gangly kid from UCLA with the ears. “They should have drafted his sister, she’d help the Pacers more.” “He didn’t play for Knight, he doesn’t know basketball.” Brilliance personified.

Life is funny. Who could have known that so much of Indiana’s history as a franchise would be tied to that fateful night in 1987? Who knew that wide eyed rookie with the big ears would put the Pacers back on the map, shoot them into the Finals while sticking a finger in New York City’s eye along the way? Reggie Miller was fiery, fearless and played with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas.

And when Reggie and Larry joined forces in 1997 Pacers fans rejoiced in George Costanza-like fashion, “Worlds are colliding!” But alas Reggie’s Hall of Fame career is over leaving Larry to look on helplessly from his perch along the baseline, in the city he once dominated as a champion, reduced to watching all his hopes and dreams for a Pacers’ Title swirl down the proverbial toilet.

This unforeseen tailspin has been rife with misery and heartbreak, confounding experts while putting a once effervescent head coach firmly on edge. And as Pacer Fans everywhere hold their collective breath, waiting for the moment the Hawks realize they are the 8 seed and decide to give up and go away, everyone with a brain has reached the conclusion this current group of Pacers are not Larry and Reggie.

They don’t necessarily play together. They don’t consistently outwork opponents. They aren’t hard-nosed and seem to floudner around in an unfocused manner for most of a 48 minute game. For proof one need look no further than Hawks Forward Mike Scott, Reggie would have told a Davis boy to put him in the second row before Scott could make five three pointers in a quarter (Larry would have done it himself).

By Nature Midwestern sports fans are a tolerant lot. They’re willing to suffer through almost anything (see Cubs, Chicago). But a perceived lack of effort is taboo in the Midwest. The Pacers branded themselves with defense and hard work, but there’s been nothing ‘Blue Collar’ about them since the calendar turned 2014.

This isn’t about X’s and O’s. It’s about guts, bravado and playing fearlessly. These are qualities that allowed Larry and Reggie to excel. These are also qualities the current Indiana Pacers would be well served to develop quickly. If Paul, David, Ringo and Roy don’t come to the realization soon that nothing easy is worth having, the only thing hanging from the rafters in Banker’s Life will be a curtain blocking empty seats.


© 2014 Eric Walker Williams

Its not such a 'Wonderful Life' in NBA

First appeared on December 28, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Outside of therapy or a Phil Jackson locker room meditation ceremony, there’s no better exercise for centering one’s self during the holidays than watching It’s a Wonderful Life. The film, best viewed in black and white, sharpens ones focus and encourages a reevaluation of priorities.

So as Adam Silver takes the wheel from departing NBA Commissioner David Stern, he does so in a very despondent George Bailey kind of way. Perched nervously on a bridge outside the NBA headquarters, a blurry eyed Silver curses the heavens while lamenting the league for what it is now. With only three teams in the Eastern Conference mustering winning records to this point and a disappointing Christmas Day bonanza, the NBA equivalent of an NFL Thanksgiving, that saw five games finish with an average margin of victory in double figures, including one 29 point blow-out, trouble looms on the horizon.

Silver can curse SportsCenter and the way Americans lap up its spectacular dunks night after night not unlike the hard drinking husbands of school teachers who haunt Martini’s Bar. And while it still remains largely foreign to those drawing steady paychecks, he can blame a video game culture altogether familiar to owners laboring to appease this younger crowd by filling out rosters with ultra-athletic racehorses well versed in the business end of an alley-oop. All this is done while gambling these still generally underdeveloped talents will work diligently to develop their skills (see George, Paul). In the meantime the quality of play and overall skill level within the league continues to deteriorate.

Silver nervously gazes past his toes at the icy water below, knowing full well games are both sloppy and sluggish at times while consistent refereeing remains professional basketball’s white whale. He realizes even the league’s marketing has grown stale as the Christmas Day jerseys, Grinch shoes and scantily clad cheerleaders in Santa hats only made fans forget temporarily they were watching a wholly substandard product.

And then, just at the moment Silver is ready to give up and throw himself into the frigid black water, something altogether amazing and strangely predictable occurs. Appearing amidst a blizzard of fake snow, clutching a dog eared copy of the NBA Rule Book, is David Stern, his guardian angel.

Stern takes Silver on a guided tour of what the NBA once was. And unlike the somewhat laughable Clarence who was yet to earn his wings, there’s no better figure to guide a pretend tour of the league’s past than the man who oversaw its resuscitation and piloted it to its height of popularity.

Along the way, Silver discovers strong rivalries made the league. Rivalries like Detroit/Chicago, Boston/LA, the Knicks and well, OK maybe we’ll just leave the Knicks out of this since the Thunder’s road win total alone bests New York’s overall victories this season.

A wide-eyed Silver marvels at the league’s most successful days, days built on the backs of likable Superstars like Michael, Magic and Larry seasoned with the occasional rise of a spunky underdog like Reggie Miller who tried his best to stick a finger in the eye of big market viewers everywhere.

The unfortunate thing for Silver is, just when he’s seen enough to climb down off the bridge, no Hollywood ending awaits. There is no culminating scene with Silver running through the streets screaming “Merry Christmas you old referring scandal!”, instead he’s left to clean up Stern’s mess while reshaping the league on his own. This will prove a tall task, even one that can't be solved by the town of Bedford Falls bursting through his door while scrambling to unload their pockets to help save his new league.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers remain so close....

First appeared on June 5th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Back in the day the man perm was an unstoppable force of nature. And, with all apologies to the late Rick James, when it comes to man perms few could rival John Oates of Hall and Oates fame. After Monday night’s debacle in Miami, fans of the Blue and Gold were left lamenting the 32 points King James dropped on Indiana or the fact the league’s MVP absolutely shut down Paul George in the biggest game of his life; but my mind was on Hall and Oates.

How fitting would it have been for one of the greatest duos of the 80’s to be waiting in the Pacers tunnel as they sulked from the floor? Perched on their stools, rocking a single amp, John Oates still looking like 1983 with Daryl Hall’s golden pipes bellowing out “So close, yet so far away”.

That’s what the Pacers were, so close, yet the Heat’s dominating performance in Game 7 made it clear Indiana remains so far away. As great as the Pacers were, the Heat reminded them what a true Champion is. Turnovers erased any chance Indiana had at playing for an NBA Championship, thus deep sixing what Marv Albert had already dubbed the “greatest upset in NBA Playoff History”; clearly Marv hasn’t gotten over Reggie Miller.

Forgetting Marv Albert’s misguided prophecy, and unflattering hat helmet, for a moment, up until Monday night the Indiana Pacers were on a run that seemed destined for the Finals. It could be said everything they touched turned “blue and gold”. The 1980’s brand of smashmouth basketball the Pacers were playing looked so effective that somewhere Chuck Daly was smiling behind a Poker table while those with the most titles in front offices around the league were silently questioning their movement away from a dominating front line.

The usually outlandish and cranky Sir Charles was actually spot-on when comparing Roy Hibbert and David West’s dominating play to Russell and Chamberlain. Mix in strong all around play from the emerging superstar Paul George, sharp shooting (at times) from George Hill and the surprising arrival of Lance Stephenson, and the Pacers quickly became the second worst nightmare Erik Spoelstra could have; the first of course being Pat Riley coming out of the stands to ask “have you seen my clipboard?”

The outcome of Monday’s game was far more than “LeBron being LeBron” or the Big Three finally engaging themselves at the same time. It was more than the “will of a champion” or the Heat having stars and the Pacers having players who may or may not be stars depending on who you’re talking to, the day of the week and the price of oil in China. So close, yet so far away.

It came down plain and simply to turnovers. The Pacers were careless with the ball which would be a creative strategy to employ for any coach who actually wants to win. 21 turnovers in an elimination game can be a sign of many things. The short list includes: inexperience, youth, poor eyesight, teammates in camouflage uniforms and really, really dumb decisions. Those who watched Indiana Monday night know the answer is “D All of the Above”.

There’s a restless look in your eyes tonight (Paul George), there’s a secret hurt in my heart (strange little hardhat wearing man who carries a pink flamingo around to every Pacer game), and the dream that pulls us together (winning a championship), is the dream that pulls us apart (this last part is up to Vogel and the Pacers front office to prevent). So close, yet so far away.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Hicks versus Knicks Redux

First appeared on May 16th, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Somewhere between a flopping Carmelo Anthony and a well disguised Tyson Chandler leg whip I was reminded of something Saturday night. Something I’d boxed up long ago. A once deep seated philosophy, forged from titanic showdowns replete with historic moments. I’m talking of course about my hatred for the New York Knicks.

This wasn’t a “how long is this guy going to let cars pile up behind him in the left lane?” kind of hatred either. That’s a mere annoyance. This was the kind of festering disgust that made you flirt with the idea of adopting a homeless dog just to name him Spike, strap a goofy hat to his head before shaving all his fur off and writing “Go Pacers” across him in Sharpie. In its heyday it was “Hicks versus Knicks”, Spike Lee’s mouth and Charles Oakley’s square jaw. It was John Starks’ epic struggle with humility and Patrick Ewing blowing a point blank dunk that became the finger roll heard ‘round the world.

In the middle of it all was Reggie Miller. His contributions are now the stuff of folklore. Eight points in six seconds, jawing with Spike while backpedaling from another three pointer and connecting on the only dunk in traffic I ever saw the guy attempt (and one that nearly caused the premature collapse of Market Square Arena).

Unfortunately today’s version just isn’t the same. These aren’t your Grandfather’s Pacers. Which is good, because if they were my five year old would have A LOT of explaining to do. Few would argue this series lacks the black eyes and showmanship of those mid nineties showdowns. Those were great Pacer teams. A prideful collection of savvy veterans, unselfish, hungry and all firmly in the middle of their strides.

This current group of Pacers seem to still be feeling their way. They’re youth is perhaps one logical explanation for the 30-2 run New York pasted them with last week. Fast forward to Saturday night and we saw a more focused group. One that teased us with a glimpse of what Roy Hibbert may be capable of becoming. In a brilliant performance Hibbert played a brand of tough and hungry basketball, the kind that may as well have been ripped from the heart of those old Pacers-Knicks series.

But as reassuring as Hibbert’s performance was, my recollections of series past went beyond a hatred for the Knicks. I was reminded of old Thirty-One. The cold blooded killer who always wanted the ball, always hungry to make a play. In this series, the standard Pacer response to any Knick run is to appear disoriented. David West has been the closest thing to a closer for Indiana, but it has to be Paul George moving forward. His 14 point, 8 rebound, 8 assist and 5 steal performance was inarguably solid, but George needs to be more. He needs to be a closer.

In the waning moments Saturday, the Pacers third year All Star watched the clock dwindling with the ball in his hands and instead of getting to the rim and making a play, he gave it up (before any help had arrived mind you) so the little used reserve Sam Young could take a 19 foot jumper instead. How Un-Reggie-like indeed.

Let me stop you before you label this a “Why can’t you be more like Reggie” rant. Consider it rather one part-time pretend sports columnist’s opinion that Indiana won’t make real progress until they find a bonafide closer. It took a closer to get to the Finals in 2000 and, as much as I hate the Knicks, it will take a closer to get past them in this series too.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

The Difference between Indiana and L.A.

First appeared on September 16th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

So the Lakers start out 1-4 and Head Coach Mike Brown gets an unexpected vacation. And what can you really say, it is L.A. after all. There are no surprises here. The Pacers, with all their lofty preseason goals, have stumbled out to a 3-6 record and there is no groundswell to send Frank Vogel packing; even after a disappointing two point home loss to Toronto was followed by a game in Milwaukee where they trailed by 30 at one point. I suppose that’s the difference between Indiana and L.A.

A little Midwestern patience versus the ‘what have you done for me today’ mentality of the West Coast. The Lakers are masters at the art of sleepwalking through the regular season, winning just enough games to get a decent playoff seed before throwing themselves into winning a championship with everything they’ve got.

And yet this appears to be the mentality of the Pacers to this point. The trouble with following this blueprint is of course that the Pacers are not the Lakers. They do not have a rich championship pedigree or one of the largest fan bases in professional sports; and more to the point they don’t have Kobe Bryant. Such is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

So you have a franchise willing to can a coach a week into the regular season. One that has, with great regularity, made its name sending one aging All Star after another packing in favor of newer, younger models. A franchise that has amassed more championships than half the league combined. This is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

And so the Pacer fan waits. Patiently. His team will figure this out. They will discover that great defense begats steady offense. Their young coach will find a way to string some wins together and their sharpshooting small forward will return just in time to round himself into shape before the playoffs. There will be no panic inspired trades or front office demands. Such is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

For all Reggie Miller went through one can’t imagine a time when he would have felt it necessary to give his “blessing” to the hiring of a coach. In fact it’s unimaginable to think he’d have ever demanded a trade if the front office didn’t change coaches or turn the Earth on its axis trying to rebuild the roster. Pacer fans loved Thirty-One not for the championships he tallied, but for the memories he left behind. Memories of an underdog throwing unabashed uppercuts. But I suppose that’s the difference between Indiana and L.A.

And so we’ll remain the small market ne’er do wells. Sure we’ll still buy our tickets, eat our corndogs and be happy with maybe winning a first round series, maybe not. And while most days we’re just happy to have a little professional franchise to call our own, we’ll also be quick to tell you all about that one time we flirted with a championship. How in one fell swoop a franchise and a fan base both were taught the hard and cruel lesson that there’s more to winning an NBA Title than heart, hustle and desire.

How sometimes there are powers bigger than you at play. And so now when we tuck our children in at night we’re sure to remind them that sometimes in life the monsters under our beds may or may not have the authority to award the other team free throws and send your best players to the bench with foul trouble, and this is why we aren’t the lead story on SportsCenter. But such is the difference between Indiana and L.A.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

That old familiar feeling for Pacer Fans

First appeared on May 26th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

So the Pacers bid to upset the Miami Heat fell short. Thirty two points short in Game 5 to be exact. And as the Pacers ride off into the sunset for greener fairways and All-Inclusive resorts with white sandy beaches, the rest of us are left to ponder what could have been.

Pacer fans sit with incredulous faces, popcorn littered at their feet, luke warm beers in hand. A golden army 15,000 strong sitting in complete silence. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. When was the last time Hollywood gave us a blockbuster where the bad guys actually won?

It was almost a magical story. The Indiana legend turned Executive of the Year and his band of blue collar players, those same players who were branded misfits by the media and NBA officiating during the series, almost eliminating the league’s two sacred cows. In the end it wasn’t the MVP who stepped on the Pacers throat, rather it was Dwayne Wade who made so many impossible shots Thursday night it seemed as if he were trying to beat himself in a game of Horse.

But beyond the court the Pacers have aroused within us a spirit of bygone days. The inner Pacer fan in all of us had lay dormant for many moons. We first crawled our way into the cave in 2000 when the Pacers made the NBA Finals only to go on and lose in 6 games to the Lakers. Hibernation seemed the only tonic strong enough to prevent what we all saw coming; the collapse of a franchise that had carried us through the 90’s. And while we struggled to keep our eyes propped open through Reggie’s retirement, we succumbed to the sweet relief of slumber through the Brawl and subsequent countless nightclub melees and shootings. And we snored long and hard through many a fruitless season.

Now with a spirited performance against the Heat, the Pacers have done nothing but leave an entire fan base wanting more. Younger fans got a taste of what we all gorged ourselves upon during the days of the Davis boys and the Dunking Dutchman and yet now the lights are out in Banker’s Life and the only person moving up and down the floor is a lonely custodian sweeping away the blood, sweat and tears of another lost season.

Unanswered questions remain. What will become of Larry? Will Roy Hibbert and George Hill be back? The Pacers front office and players have both done so much work to get to this point that it would seem this group deserves to stay together at least until West’s contract expires. And one would think pushing Miami as far as Indiana did would be enough to eradicate the scourge of empty seats that has befallen Banker’s Life Fieldhouse for lo these many years.

So as the Aussies say, “Belt Up” Indiana Fans. It’s time to move on. But as you do, remember to nurture what the Pacers gave you this year. For it is a seed. A seed of hope. Make sure you care for it. Give it all the love and attention it requires for that seed holds great promise. Perhaps next year, or at some other not so distant point, that seed will bloom into the promises that went unfulfilled oh so many moons ago.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers are Back Baby!

First appeared on April 28th
in The Lebanon Reporter

“Hello relevance, my old friend. It’s been a long time. Seems like just yesterday Reggie was slinging 3’s from the rafters with Slick swooning ‘Boom Baby!’ into the microphone as if he were one Davis boy dunk away from keeling over for good.” If the Pacers Franchise were a comatose patient granted an unforeseen and temporary reprieve from the land of squash and turnips to utter his first words in 10 years as friends and family look on in disbelief, there is no question this would be the bleary eyed response.

The Pacers are back. And we don’t mean back from vacation or back from the dead, rather they are back in the land of relevance.
Finally the Blue and Gold are more than a bottom feeding zygote fighting for the last playoff spot in a Conference dominated by sub .500 teams. In fact they have the 3rd best record in the Eastern Conference and 5th best in the League.

And for you fans of the artificial cacophony of whining Indy Cars being piped in over the Banker’s Life loudspeaker, it would seem things are coming together at the right time. Danny Granger is no longer shooting the ball as if he were the victim of a botched Lasik procedure while David West has been playing out of his mind the last two weeks. And while Darren Collison appears to be handling his demotion like a mature veteran, fans of the Blue and Gold should also relish the fact the Pacers are healthy and, perhaps more importantly, Orlando’s Dwight Howard is not.

Saturday the Pacers will begin just their second Playoff Series since 2006 and it’s been a long road. From the depths of the Brawl Larry Bird bid Reggie farewell and basically kicked everyone else off the elevator with the exception of Jeff Foster (who took himself off earlier this year by retiring). It hasn’t exactly been a meteoric rise either. There were times when the elevator jammed (see Shawne Williams and Jammal Tinsley) and there were times when those non-part-time-pretend sports columnists wanted Larry to step off as well.

But finally it would seem the Blue and Gold are nearing the Penthouse Suite. And on their way they’ve shot past so many others including Rick Santorum, whose polite nod assured the doorman he was in fact heading down. The problem for the Pacers now is that someone has hung a tag on the door to the top floor which reads “Ocupado”. By all accounts the Miami Heat and Chicago Bulls appear to be chummy roomies in the Eastern Conference Penthouse Suite and it would seem there is no room for an upstart franchise, especially one from a small market with no Superstar or NBA Championship Pedigree.

So there’s only one way to get inside now. If Indiana wants to break through this year they’ll have to kick the door down Steven Segal style. And while it will take more than skin tight blue jeans, a ponytail and some really poorly written (and equally as poorly delivered) catch phrases to get past Orlando, Indiana seems poised to make a run at least at the Eastern Conference Finals this year.

Of course along the way Larry and Frank Vogel will likely need to stop on Commissioner Stern’s floor first to collect some hardware, but the last stop most definitely is the Penthouse. And before you fret, I’m fairly certain Paul, Danny, Roy and the rest will be happy to squeeze in to make room for you should you choose to come along for the ride.


© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

R-E-G-G-I-E wasn't always popular

First appeared on April 5th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Donnie Walsh is a well dressed man. And whether he chooses his shirt and tie combos in the morning or some fashionista recently fired by the E! Network because numerous plastic surgeries have her face resembling a traditional Gabonese Fang mask does it for him remains a mystery. But in the summer of 1987 Donnie made a choice that was as public as the library or a Facebook rant against your boss.

The spring of ‘87 saw Steve Alford lead the Indiana Hoosiers to the National Championship. I know it to be true because I watched it sitting in the living room with my Dad sharing a bowl of popcorn and a coke (or an eighth of his coke that is; which was customary per our arrangement as father and son) and also because there is a giant red banner in Assembly Hall (which most Indiana fans generally are not slow to point out) which stands in remembrance of that monumental moment.

My Father said Alford would be a saint for leading Indiana to the Promised Land and, after he’d explained what a saint was, I fully agreed despite our not being Catholic. Alford was a dashing young man with perfect hair who had proposed to his wife by hanging the net during a private shoot around; she the beautiful girlfriend who hung around the gym to climb the ladder and pull the net down anytime her boyfriend wrapped it and was surely surprised the day she reached the top of the ladder and found an engagement ring box stuck on the back of the rim. Storybook indeed.

So it looked to be a match made in heaven. The Pacers were a professional franchise that was an ABA Title Machine turned Floundering NBA Failure. In the summer of 1987 they were desperately in need of direction. A hero; a face. And for the average Hoosier fan moonlighting as a casual Pacer fan, what better face than pretty boy Steve’s?

So it was the sharp dressed Donnie Walsh went to the 1987 Draft with Hoosiers one and all fully expecting to hear Alford’s name called as the 11th pick. But upon hearing the loudspeaker boom out “Reggie Miller” fans responded with a hailstorm of boos and cat-calls. Yes, even from the start Reggie was polarizing.

The first time I saw Reggie Miller in a Pacer uniform he was bald, looked like an untwisted pretzel and appeared to have the quickness of a newborn dairy calf. I didn’t see the player who would become the Pacers All Time Leading Scorer and the second best Three Point Shooter in League History; probably one strong indicator of why my front office days have been so slow to develop.
But from the day Pacer fans first booed the 6’7 wing out of UCLA until the day he played his last game in that same uniform 18 years later, all he did was prove people wrong. Despite a highly unorthodox release, Miller became one of the greatest sharpshooters in NBA history. He climbed many mountains including the aforementioned reservations of Pacer fans as well as Spike Lee, while leaving others unconquered (Michael Jordan and an NBA Title).

And if Manning brought a passion for professional football to Indiana then Miller was Manning before Manning was Manning. He built the following the Pacers enjoyed at their height and along the way, be it 8 points in 8 seconds or “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead”, Reggie carved out a lasting place in Hoosier Hearts big enough for both himself and the Blue and Gold as well.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams