Erik Spoelstra (Getty Images)
Right away, let’s under stand where I’m coming from regarding Sunday’s Heat-Bulls tearjerker.
While it might be over the top for players to cry over a current series of spilled opportunities following squandered large leads (Miami’s latest loss is just the culmination of frustration), it scarcely offended my caveman composition and barely made me gag.
It’s not like the Heat’s unidentified bawlers (if asked, surely Erik Spoelstra will divulge their names) planned or forced themselves to get especially emotional in the locker room. It’s not like they wanted to get misty-eyed in front of their teammates, the coaching staff and ball boys.
No, for those unfamiliar with how it works, such expressions of grief normally are involuntary acts. And even those who consider themselves in a league of their own, are sometimes susceptible.
I’m actually glad these guys are so young and feel so invincible that the pain of losing a game(s) would have them diving for loose tissues. I’m happy they lack proper perspective because some day, sooner than they can imagine, they’ll be older and will experience the pain of losing someone significant or something really worth crying about.
This brings us to Spoelstra; far be it from me to openly opine about his future as Heat honcho, but oil prices are hinging on it.
Off the top, I can’t think of an easier way for a disciple of Pat Riley to lose his job/team than to spill his guts to reporters about what happened in the privacy of the locker room.
Don’t get me wrong, some coaches do it all the time but they do it under the cover of anonymity. I always respected Red Holzman and Jack Ramsay and their class (it’s easy to guess the rest) for never giving up any negative info on a player. I quickly learned to distance myself from coaches who do.
I remember Doc Rivers, celebrated as a player’s coach by the unenlightened or those supplied by info, once pulled me aside in Orlando after a game. He told me Darrell Armstrong supposedly had said stuff during halftime intermission that contradicted people’s perception he was an ideal team leader.
The scheme was to use me to expose the Magic guard and thus make it easier to dump Armstrong, which transpired in due course . . . without my collaboration.
This kind of dirty dealing happens all the time. Anything for an untraceable juicy story . . . frequently fervently denied by the snitch who brands the media account “irresponsible.” Next time you read that quote, think again. That’s our journalism lesson for today.
Spoelstra has instituted an opposite grouping. For some bizarre reason, he felt obliged to disclose to an overflow media gathering that some players cried in the wake of Chicago’s one-point victory.
Come on, son; it’s not as if Spoelstra was on the spot. I don’t recall anyone asking the question, “Was that a player-sobbing loss?”
Surely it would’ve sufficed to say his players were upset, angry and discouraged.
If not, being fed the company line, “That is what’s so great about the NBA. We’ve got another game tomorrow so we’ve got to look ahead (Lakers are in South Beach Thursday) instead of dwelling on the past” is always meaty enough my need-to-know appetite.
What’s Spoelstra liable to tattle about next, a fist fight that took place behind closed doors? A Darryl Dawkins-like attack on a defenseless commode? A pass made in the shower?
Didn’t Spoelstra read Phil Jackson’s book? Why give up inside info for free? Apparently he doesn’t realize how much money can be made authoring a tell-all.
Let’s stay with Spoelstra and the Heat Cramps a little longer. I don’t want to accuse him of being a copycat coach, but that clear-out he called for LeBron James on Miami’s last possession was exactly how I designed it at the Rucker in the ’70s for Julius Erving and revived in the ’80s for Sam Worthen, except they finished strong for two titles apiece.
Considering LeBron’s superior strength, uncommon hops and near untouchable status, Spoelstra might want to find out why LeBron is floating and fading to the hoop, avoiding contact vs. initiating it.
In light of LeBron’s many misses in must-score situations from near, afar and 15 feet without a hand in his face, maybe he has become inhibited about visiting the free-throw line with the floodlights trained on him.
Admittedly the above graph can easily be called a “reaching foul.” What’s unmistakable is that Tom Thibodeau — leading candidate for coaching honors ahead of Gregg Popovich and Doug Collins — caught Spoelstra by surprise on that crucial custody.
Most coaches, I’m guessing, would’ve tried to take the ball out of LeBron’s hands after two or three dribbles. Thibodeau used unconventional warfare by assigning Joakim Noah to cover him like a canopy. His seven-story length and extension rods prompted LeBron to swerve meekly and go left for a lame layup . . . perhaps visualizing Amar’e Stoudemire’s shadow coming from the weak side for the possible splat.
Next time, Spoelstra might want to can the one-on-one routine. Or maybe deputize Dwyane Wade as the decision-maker. Better yet, incorporate the three other Heat players in the blueprint. I thought that’s why Riley hired Eddie House, James Jones, Mike Miller, Mike Bibby and Mario Chalmers — to spread the floor with their long-distance marksmenship.
Chalmers cashed Miami’s last five points and was open on the final play. LeBron had time to find him before he got stuck in mid air. Hadn’t Chalmers earned a shot to be the man of the moment once LeBron realized (or in the huddle) he couldn’t do anything other than force one up?
Michael Jordan (and Kobe Bryant) won many a playoff/title game by improvising for himself and his “supporting cast.” When he knew he’d need help, beforehand or in mid dribble, he had faith John Paxson, Bob Hansen, Trent Tucker and Steve Kerr would bail out the Bulls.
Miami is home for its next five, starting tonight against Portland. For crying out tears, this might be a good time for LeBron and Spoelstra to remember how it’s supposed to work.