Basketball is an endless search for the “open” man today. An orthodox pass will never find him. Cousy has practiced the no-look feed so expertly, there have been movements to frisk him for mirrors.
Tag Archives: Los Angeles Lakers
Bill Sharman’s Longest Season, 1975
Sharman has had a full, rich life, spiced by stardom in two sports, by team championships and individual honors. But it has not been a perfect life, an idyllic life.
Earvin Johnson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: How the Magic Really Works, 1981
When the Lakers boarded the plane for the flight to Philadelphia, Magic sat in the front row, left aisle—the seat usually occupied by Abdul-Jabbar. Magic looked back at Westhead and said, “Guess you have a new Big Fella, Coach.”
Wilt Chamberlain: A Tribute, 1999
can’t find the box that has Chamberlain’s autograph in it. I’ve looked everywhere, but I’ll keep looking. I know it’s someplace. It really doesn’t matter that I don’t know where it is because I know I did have it once—just like we all had Wilt—and the memory is everlasting.
Bill Laimbeer’s Greatest Hits, 1988
We can argue with some of what he does, but not with the consistency with which he does it. Laimbeer has played in 646 consecutive regular-season games. He has started 522 in a row. Those are the longest active streaks in the league.
The Pro’s Pros: Jerry West and John Havlicek, 1969
Both are intense competitors. To say such is to use a cliché used too often about too many. The fact is, under pressure, some choke up, some do as well as they usually do, only a handful do better.
Abdul-Jabbar Remains Kareem of the Crop, 1983
“His skyhook is still the cruise missile of the NBA. But we need to shore up in the areas where we’re weakest, and they happen to be in areas where he can also dominate.”
The Truth Behind the Chamberlain-Jabbar Feud, 1973
Friendship was only skin deep. But competition was their lives and does not wipe away the driving force of one’s existence simply because some young man comes along and you like him.
Moses Malone: The Indestructible Sixer, 1984
Moses Malone was the hard hat—6-foot-11, 255 pounds of steel-driving man. He showed up in overalls every night. And when everybody else was wobbly with fatigue, he was the guy still pounding rivets, drenched in sweat, a fierce scowl on his face.
Norm Nixon: He Works His Own Magic, 1981
And they were a winning team, because Norm Nixon sacrificed himself to make the backcourt work.
From Way Downtown 