Trouble with agents, trouble with coaches, trouble with people to whom he gave his trust has accompanied Willoughby throughout his basketball career like a persistent little sister.
Tag Archives: 1970s NBA
Rap with Earl Monroe, 1972
As far as me changing the style of play of basketball, I think my style is basically just the style of about every Black player in America today. As you know, most Black players are, more or less, playground players, and this is just about the basic style that I play.
Pistol Pete: Just a Simple Man with Simple Ideals, 1974
This is what eats at Maravich’s brain. “Pistol” basketball is different, he calls it “futuristic.”
Pistol Pete Maravich Fires Back, 1975
There is a sparkle in his eye that is the tipoff that the Hawks may have provided Maravich with a cause. And that’s the last thing you’d want to do for a man with this kind of talent.
Forever on Tryout, 1980
Every time a man is waived, the odds of finding a job in the NBA decrease. Deserved or not, he gets a book, a rep that he can’t shake.
Charlie Criss: Guts and Elbows Basketball, 1977
Criss became known as “The Mosquito,” and it was not a phony alliterative or geographical title invented by a P.R. man. It was a high sign to Criss that even though there were guys on the playground nobody ever heard of, many of them could hold their own with the best in the NBA.
Dave Stallworth: ‘I’m One Lucky Man,’ 1970
A silver medallion hung around his neck and flew in and out of his practice uniform. Dave fingered it as he moved around the court. There were sweatbands on each of his wrists.
Rick Barry Rates His All-Time Opponents, 1980
As one of the few players who had the chance to play pro basketball in three different decades (the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s), it also was my fortune to play both against—and with—most of the great players produced by the National Basketball Association.
No One Plays It Harder Than Dave Cowens, 1977
Cowens’ defensive brilliance is probably more valuable to the Celtics than his offensive contributions.
Calvin Murphy: The Little Man Plays It Big, 1972
It doesn’t matter where Calvin Murphy will be operating—even among all those tall Texans—he’s sure to be one of the giants in his specialty. So what if he’s only 5-foot-10 . . . errr, 5-foot-9. Every inch of him is a professional.
From Way Downtown 