Sports

Love’s mentors played big role

LOVE TRAIN: Kevin Love went for 31 points and 31 rebounds Friday against the Knicks, but he may never have gotten to the NBA if not for the tutoring of his father, Stan, and Swen Nater (above, guarding Larry Bird in the 1984 NBA Finals).

DENVER — When Kevin Love was eight, he was shooting around with his father outside their home in Lake Oswego, Ore., but his heart wasn’t into it. He kept begging his dad to let him play some football.

“No way, basketball is your game.”

The same cherished game played professionally by his father from 1971 (the draft’s ninth pick by the Bullets) until ’75 when the 6-9, 215-pound eccentric retired to work as a bodyguard for his older brother Mike’s group, the Beach Boys.

Stan Love’s NBA averages were a benign 6.8 points, 4.0 rebounds and 14.7 minutes in 227 games. Once upon a time during that relatively rapid career, he broke Dave DeBusschere’s nose with an errant elbow.

Mostly, however, Stan impacted the league and its players very little. Instead, it was the other way around. He worshipped the rebounding and outlet passing prowess of undersized center Wes Unseld to such an extent, Stan gave Kevin the same middle name — though he misspelled it Wesley when it should have been Westley — and shaped his talents to his teammates’ specifications.

And when Stan became a Laker, he was so moved by Connie Hawkins’ magnificence, something he never stopped talking about, Kevin later adopted him as his idol, hence his No. 42 Timberwolves’ jersey.

So, there they were, the ambivalent 8-year-old and his forceful father on the family’s basketball court. And as Stan was pacing the paint’s entire rectangle he said to Kevin, “See this key, this is your football field. You can beat the life out of anybody in this area.”

Kevin smiled maniacally and replied, “Really, dad?”

When Kevin was a high school sophomore, he and his brother Collin unofficially visited UCLA. Bill Feinberg, a forever friend of Stan, knew Swen Nater was going to be in L.A. that weekend visiting John Wooden and doing a book signing.

So, Feinberg called Tom Lubin and Nater and asked if they’d meet Kevin at Pauley and teach him some big man stuff, their untouchable specialty. Then Lubin discovered Nater and Mark Eaton, both of whom were cut by their high school coaches and told to give up the game.

By 7 a.m. the next day, the front seat of Lubin’s red pickup truck was packed to the nostrils with the 6-7 Lubin, 6-10 Kevin in the middle, and the 6-11 Nater — the lone player to lead both the NBA and ABA in rebounding — riding shotgun.

Kevin received an introductory three-hour course on the tricks of the turf that morning. Lubin later called Feinberg and remarked he’d never seen “such a naturally skilled rebounder with a God-given nose for the ball.” And then there’s the delight at crashing the glass and ignoring the shards while absorbing and inflicting pain.

“I just dug out an AOL Instant Messenger string from our conversation when Kevin was a high school junior,” e-mailed Feinberg.

It read, “I want to be a rebounder like Dennis Rodman. I want to get every rebound and bleep up everybody up on the boards.”

Fast forward to Saturday night. There I was, dialing my Dumont to Knicks-T’wolves. Not the most attractive matchup of the evening, but, truth be known, I’m a pushover for the pushovers.

And there was Minny Ha-Ha, down 21 points early third, eventually winning going away by nine.

And there was Michael Beasley, coming off a career-grand 42 points at Sacramento, dropping 35 on Camp Cablevision.

And then, there was Kevin (What’s Not to) Love . . . playing an unseasonably high 40 minutes (apparently Kurt Rambis lost track of the time) and going for 31 points and 31 rebounds (Denny McLain was first to call with congratulations), something unseen since Feb. 11, 1982, when Moses Malone (32 and 38) ruled the rack and the scoring column that completely in beating the Sonics, 117-110.

Oh, yeah, that’s 96 and 92 in What’s Not to Love’s last five forays, under-carded by 23 and 24 against the Lakers last Tuesday.

I’ve been around the Association long enough to realize one very simple truth — artistry and jumping beans be damned, some guys can just flat-out ball and bogart.

Not that Rambis is expected to coach What’s Not to Love any differently in the next game. No doubt he’ll have to sing for his supper and mambo for his minutes.

What makes that surreally strange is — in theory — Rambis ought to appreciate Kevin’s comprehensive grasp of the fundamentals and intensely identify with his Clark Kent qualities (nobody even mentions his clever playmaking in passing; see five assists against the Knicks) and innumerable intangibles.

For example, in a perfectly overlooked, game-changing play, What’s Not to Love mimicked Dave Cowens, out-hustling Amar’e Stoudemire to a loose ball at the outset of the third quarter. In the process, Amar’e fouled Kevin, his fourth, and was forced to sit for all but those first 53 seconds. Knicks led at the time, 67-53.

How much of a fuss would Tommy Heinsohn have made over that?

I wonder if Rambis even noticed.

Correct me if I’m right, but in the Schmaltz of Showtime, wasn’t it the workmanlike Rambis who performed that kind of dirty work?

Before we leave Friday’s frivolities, how apropos was it that the Knicks — down 10 with 1:17 left — let the Wolves howl 22 seconds off the shot clock before fouling a jump shooter (Beasley)?

Afterthought: It’s fascinating to note since the merger, seven players have flexed for 30 and 30 or more . . and two of them are Swen and Kevin . . mentor, student, and friends. Another fun factoid: On Nov. 26, 1971, Stan Love was on the court when his Bullets teammate Gus Johnson went for, yipe, 31 and 31.

So, there you have it: Love, American Style.

peter.vecsey@nypost.com