It takes one to rate one, so that makes me eminently qualified to lump Reggie Miller among the NBA’s all-time oddballs.
While Indiana Bones vacillated from being accommodating, caring and kind to inaccessible, condescending and rude during 18 NBA seasons, his personality remained unchanged. Being different and eccentric and affected and fanatically superstitious was no act; it just came naturally.
Miller never gave the impression throughout his career, all with the Pacers — their all-time leader in points and steals, if the NBA Register can be trusted — he worried one iota about what people thought of him.
To this day, he can’t be put in his place, because he doesn’t have a place.
Off the top, I cannot recall a single instance where circumstances dictated that Miller needed to apologize for something he said or did, on the court or after hours. Not that he would’ve felt obligated had that been the case. Past childhood, it’s improbable Reggie ever suffered an embarrassing moment.
On the eve of the Pacers NBA playoff dawning, late April ’94, I tried my best to embarrass Miller into taking off his sunglasses for an NBC halftime feature interview in an Orlando hotel room.
Not a chance. So, I changed tactics, explaining this would be the first time a national audience got more than a brief glimpse of him and it’d be nice if they could check out his long eyelashes.
OK, so, I’m exaggerating a sliver. Fact is, I learned Miller would listen, if given solid grounds; he removed the shades.
The next night, the Pacers upset the Magic, 89-88, on a Byron Scott jumper, wound up sweeping the series, 3-0, and beat the Hawks in round two before the Knicks stopped their surge in seven.
After six beside-the-point seasons, Miller Time had arrived abruptly, though his fated epoch at the expense of the Knicks was delayed until the two frosty franchises resumed their beef in May of ’95, and over two weeks again rolled seven deep.
That stunning subjugation by the Pacers and Miller — taunting all the way — of Pat Riley, Patrick Ewing, Charles Oakley, John Starks, Anthony Mason and the force they brought with them on every custody battle, inspired award-winning director Dan Klores, whose basketball brain just keeps bouncing higher, to christen his latest documentary “Winning Time.”
Last Friday night in Indianapolis, about 8,000 Pacers loyalists — including Miller and many blasts from the past, including Slick Leonard, Mel Daniels, George McGinnis, Roger Brown’s widow — showed up at Conseco Field House for the screening and celebrated the most compelling pairing, if not the greatest finish in team history.
I was sitting in the first row to the left of the Knicks’ basket when Ewing short-armed his game-losing finger roll. Miller averaged 22.6 that series, lower than his 24.7 mark the previous time they’d met and lower still than his 31.5 in ’93.
But, as some might recollect, Miller flexed mightily whenever the situation demanded he assume sovereignty and ran his mouth afterward. So much so, he bestowed The Post with a boisterous back page early after Game 1 (eight points in eight seconds), when I reached him at the Plaza Hotel . . . and then walked the walk again after that, though not in Game 2.
Tonight, at the Ziegfeld, there’s another screening of Winning Time — part of ESPN’s 30 for 30 documentary series — and Miller gets to emote and gloat in New York, his favorite place, he never tires of repeating, for doing both.
It’s all good.
Still, the most worthwhile screening of Winning Time, I’m here to advocate, takes place March 8 (7 p.m.) at the Broad St. Ballroom — 41 Broad St, between Beaver St. and Exchange Place — with all proceeds going to the Rebecca Association for Autism.
How did I get from there to here? Well, Klores happens to be someone who hasn’t forgotten where he came from (Brighton Beach) or those he knew back when before he was when.
One of them was a kid named Rock Eisenberg (long time Tilden basketball coach), whose back he had in the 2nd Street Park when they were kids, though Klores was five years older. One afternoon the local bully was picking on Rock, 12, more than usual. As he was drinking from a water fountain, the older boy came from behind and smashed Rocks’ face into the spout, costing him a couple teeth. Klores nailed him.
In 1993, their paths crossed again. Klores, who’d become a very successful public relations honcho, wondered what it’d be like to coach and asked if he could assist Rock. Tilden made it to the PSAL semis before losing to Walton, the eventual city champ.
Years later, Klores again has volunteered his services, or, in this case, product, and is helping one of the boys from the 2nd Street Park. Rock’s young son, Griffy, 5, is autistic. In 2009, he was accepted by the Rebecca School. It has been a fabulous fit. Klores is showing his appreciation to the administration by giving it another means to fund-raise.
Here’s a chance for Knicks fans to make Winning Time a happy ending after all.
Suggested donations at the door are $100. Checks are payable to the Rebecca Association for Autism: 40 East 30th Street, New York, New York, 11016.