Killer Crossover, page 19
In the end, no one was completely happy about the deal between the owners and players, but that was probably how it should have been. It was what it was, but the bottom line was that we needed to get back to playing for the fans. Officially, 191the lockout began July 1, 1998, and lasted for more than six months. For a while, we weren’t sure if the season would even happen. We weren’t allowed to practice in team facilities or work with coaches. Guys worked out on their own or in small groups. We also played pickup games. We tried to simulate NBA practices and games as best we could. All the while we wondered what the future of the season would be.
Before it went down, we knew the lockout was coming. The players had started a fund the year before for those who needed help paying the bills or in case the entire season was cancelled. We tried to prepare as best we could. A lockout is hard—there isn’t unanimity when it comes to the issues. Our players union had to be united while also being open to new ideas. It’s not easy. I wasn’t involved in the decision making, but there was always conversation going between players—on the phone or in the gym—trying to figure out the best path forward.
Another thing I remember from that time was the charity game we played for Showtime. The exhibition contest took place in Atlantic City. There were two teams of NBA players. The RED team included Charles Barley, Patrick Ewing, Shawn Kemp, Dan Majerle, Karl Malone, Reggie Miller, Mitch Richmond, and me. The WHITE team included Zo, Vin Baker, Allan Houston, Chris Webber, Glen Rice, Penny Hardaway, Gary Payton, and Tom Gugliotta.
We liked the idea of the game; it would give fans a chance to see real hoops again and remind them that we wanted to play. In the locker room, we couldn’t help but talk about the NBA situation. “Man, what’s going to happen? What are we going to do?” Wondering about revenue sharing and all that type of stuff. But once we got onto the court and started balling, we just had 192fun. I actually won MVP! I just shot the ball well and dished off to my teammates. Reggie Miller and Mitch Richmond were on fire and I just made the right plays. But I tell you what: after the game, we were all dog tired!
It was a nice break from all the NBA issues … but it wasn’t a fix. Thankfully, things were resolved between the league and the players and we could resume business as usual (or close enough). In the end, the NBA held a 50-game season. David Stern and the NBA Players Association bet on the product itself and eventually things got back to normal. But the 50-game year was tough. The schedule was packed closely together and there were a lot of injuries as a result.
The season began February 5, 1999. There was only about two weeks of training camp and because players weren’t sure there would even be a season, many came to camp out of shape. In the off season, the Heat signed All-Star guard Terry Porter and forward Clarence Weatherspoon. The team had moved on from Brent Barry, but we had a good veteran team and believed this could be our year thanks to our star power and balanced roster. Up north, the Knicks also got better. With their already stellar core of Patrick Ewing, Allan Houston, and Larry Johnson, they added shot-blocker Marcus Camby (trading out Charles Oakley) and former Heat big man, Kurt Thomas.
The Knicks also got my former teammate in Latrell Sprewell, trading away team legend John Starks. Sprewell had missed the entire year prior for choking his coach, P. J. Carlesimo. No team wanted to touch him after that debacle, but the Knicks took a chance and he was a huge help coming off the bench as a scorer and defender. It was shaping up to be another grudge match for us in the East. But, as the season began, we started to distance 193ourselves from the competition. After a 1–3 start (with our victory coming in New York against the Knicks), we won 17 of our next 19 games. It was remarkable since we weren’t allowed to practice leading up to the preseason—not formally, anyway.
Even though players were not allowed to use team facilities, several of us had gotten together in the offseason for pickup games at a Miami grammar school, which had a good gym. We’d get there in the late afternoons and play for several hours. It was a mix of locals who had talent and pros like me, Mash, Voshon, and P. J. Brown. Everyone knew they were there for the possible upcoming shortened season, so even though some games got heated, we kept tempers in check. I also worked with a personal trainer to keep in shape. I made sure to work on my game in the offseason, as even though I’d been an All-Star, my numbers had been down from the previous season. I did not expect the NBA would throw the year away, so I wanted to be ready.
But no matter how much we prepared, it was still a grueling season. First off, we lost six months of training, preseason, practice, and early-season games to get our legs under us. Plus, with the season so condensed, there were stretches where we played three games in a row, back-to-back-to-back. In fact, six of our first eight games were back-to-back-to-back! I imagine it felt like the old 1960s and 1970s NBA and ABA. Players were trying to win games, but we were also trying not to get hurt. The only thing I can compare it to now is the 2020 NBA “Bubble” season. Some said those years deserve asterisks, but it was all about who showed up prepared to win. Despite minor weight issues here and there in my career, I always wanted to show up to a new season prepared.
194 In October, before training camp in my first full year in Miami in 1996–97, Pat Riley told me about the team’s Keith Askins Award. A career backup forward, Askins had been with the Heat since signing as a rookie free agent in the summer of 1990—he was also one of the founders of “Heat Culture.” The NBA walk-on had earned the respect of the franchise for how hard he worked in practice and, therefore, got a team award named after him. Since then, Pat said, he’d given it out to people who practiced hard, got the best times in the sprints, never took a day off, and participated in every drill. Hearing that, I told our coach, “I’m going to win that!”
But in all my years with the Heat, Pat never gave it out, despite telling me about it soon after I arrived. He never even brought it up again. Pat, if you’re reading this, I’m still waiting for my Keith Askins Award! Maybe it was all a joke. Maybe it was a bait-and-switch—after all, a player is supposed to do all the drills, never miss a day, and work his butt off. Maybe it was all a mind game from Riley. But, to this day, I always wonder what that was all about. As far as I saw, no one ever received anything—except Keith, who played for the squad through the 1998–99 campaign. He was an unsung hero of the team, the man who earned his place on the roster and worked hard to prove he deserved to be there.
Over the years, people have asked me about my relationship with Pat; whether we were close, or if it was more like a “frenemies” type of situation. People always think there was tension between us, that it was more love-hate. But that wasn’t the case. We were all good. (I mean, how good do we look with Zo on the January 1998 cover of Sports Illustrated in our tan suits!) I was in Miami to play ball and win. I love to win, and so does Riley. I 195love to go out there and compete, and so does Riley. It was our job to get the team in the right position to win, and we did that year after year, becoming one of the marque franchises of the 1990s. Pat would get on your ass, that was for sure. But I didn’t mind that. Coming from Chicago, I was used to it.
As I’ve said, my thing was to listen to the message—not always how it was delivered. You have to know how to take it in stride. If anything, your job is to go out there and take whatever frustrations or anger you have out on your opponent and the team you’re playing against. That’s always been my philosophy, even going back to childhood. It’s not “hating on you” if it can make you better. That’s the thing about greatness: it takes great pain and sacrifice. Pat only wanted me to be better, which was the same for every coach I’ve ever had. From my father to him. My job was to focus, improve, and get wins while also helping the team stay positive.
And during that shortened 1998–99 season, we won. It wasn’t easy, though. During the season, you’d have three games in a row. It was crazy. No one was used to that. But that’s what we’d all agreed to in order to keep the season. We had to make up games as quickly as possible. Training camp was short and it was an all-out blitz to the finish. If you didn’t come to the season in shape, you were screwed.
The Heat finished the year 33–17, which was good for the top seed in the East. I averaged 17.4 points and 7.3 assists per game and made the All-NBA second team. There was no All-Star team that season (due to the lockout), but if there had been, I would have made that, too. Zo earned his first Defensive Player of the Year Award and finished second behind Karl Malone for MVP. In short, we went out there and did what we were supposed to 196do in the regular season, and once the playoffs came around, we had confidence we were gonna make a deep run. With no Jordan and no Bulls in the way, this was our year.
Until it wasn’t.
Going into the playoffs as the top seed in the East, we would be facing off against the eighth-seeded New York Knicks, who had gone 27–23 on the season. In the league’s history, an eighth seed had beaten a one seed just once (when the Nuggets beat the SuperSonics in 1994). Normally we wouldn’t fear such a low-seeded team, but this was the Knicks. Our foe. Our rival.
Wanting to start out hot on our home floor, we did the exact opposite. We were down by 17 at the half and ended up losing by 20 (!), 95–75. We were blown out, at home, as the top seed in the East, with our fans raining us with boos for most of the second half.
Of course, Riley was heated. He was upset. It was up to us to play harder. It wasn’t about a different scheme or a new idea. It was about playing harder, plain and simple. It may sound strange, not to come up with adjustments. You just had to make your presence felt—WE had to make our presence felt. That’s how both teams felt. But for those in our locker room, we had to forget about the embarrassment and push ahead.
One good thing about the shortened schedule was that we were able to get right back onto the court two days later for Game Two. We wouldn’t allow the Knicks to have a repeat performance and put the pressure on them from the jump. Zo started us off strong with nine points in the first quarter and had 17 at the half as we took an 11-point lead into the break. We knew that we’d had leads at the half before and lost them, so there was no room for error. Even though we went cold shooting 197in the third, we were able to hold on and win the game by 10, 83–73.
With the series tied, we headed to New York for what we knew could be a series-defining game. The margin of error in a five-game series is always small, so playing on the road, in front of a hostile crowd, meant we’d need to give everything we had.
But we didn’t.
In the first quarter we showed our toughness, pulling down 10 more rebounds than them, with the help of P. J. Brown, who had nine points and five rebounds. That, unfortunately, was the best we could do. Zo was our only starter to score in the second quarter, and after leading by five after the first, the Knicks went on a 12–0 run to end the quarter, and we headed into the locker room down by eight at the half. It wasn’t like they surprised us with anything different. They just were playing better than us. Aside from Zo and P. J., none of us could get anything going— especially me, as I had just two points through the first two quarters. It also didn’t help that Dan Majerle hurt his already injured collarbone in the first quarter and was barely able to play the rest of the game.
The truth of the matter was I’d hurt my right knee in Detroit on February 26. The Piston’s Grant Hill collided with my leg and, as a result, had a small tear in my meniscus. It could have been that combined with long practices (Pat was famous for his rigorous practices) and a brutal schedule. Who knows. No one knew about it but me, Pat, and our doctors. There was just a rumor I was a little hobbled or “wore down” from the season. Still, it’s not an excuse. If you’re playing, you’re playing.
The second half started and we just could not get anything going. It was so frustrating. We’d yet to make a three-pointer, 198and it felt like every time we missed, they’d get a bucket. Zo also picked up his fourth foul early in the quarter, and as things went on I just kept getting more and more frustrated. I’ve always tried to keep my composure on the court, but this shit was getting out of hand. We had scored just 12 points in the second quarter, and instead of punching right back, we scored 11 in the third and went into the final quarter down 25, 73–48.
At that point, I’d just had it. Chris Childs kept talking shit to me and I was getting frustrated with the refs. I’d picked up my fifth foul on a bs call and called them out on that nonsense. I obviously went too far, and after two techs was sent to the locker room. When you’re playing like shit and the other team is kicking your ass, you get mad—especially when the guy opposite you won’t shut up about it. You start talking shit and then the ref comes in and tells you to quit it. Then you tell the ref to shut the fuck up and maybe to kiss your ass and he gives you the boot! You’re mad so you just start talking crazy. That’s how you get your second tech. I shouldn’t have gotten myself kicked out, but it was what it was.
The Knicks won the game (obviously), 97–73, and we just played like shit.
With the next game being do-or-die, there was no way we were gonna go out like that. We knew that Zo needed to stay on the floor and out of foul trouble, and that’s exactly what he did for Game Four. He got 16 points and 13 rebounds, on the game, and though we were trailing going into the fourth quarter, we hit our shots while the Knicks went cold, and quieted MSG with an 87–72 victory.
Now the series was tied again, and we’d be on our home court for the series-deciding Game Five. I remember how loud the 199fans were that we had to wear earplugs! Before the game, Riley told us to remember the pain of the previous year’s Game Five. “If you remember that pain, remember that hurt, you will not want to repeat that here.” But sometimes even the best motivation goes awry.
While we started out strong in the first, at one point up by 13, the Knicks went on a 15–2 run to finish the quarter. It was pretty much even after that, with us trading baskets, and we went into halftime leading by four, 41–37. Then, after three, we were tied again, with the score 60–60 heading into the fourth. It remained a back-and-forth game, and while we were up by as many as seven with 5:35 left, the game was tied at 69. Riley called time out.
In the huddle, he said, “Would you guys run the ball?! Patrick can’t even get up the court!” Pat always wanted us to run, to get easy buckets. But if a team is making their shots, that can be difficult. The game stayed close and with just under two minutes left in regulation we were up by one, 75–74.
After a few free throws by Terry Porter and Ewing, we had the ball with 39.4 seconds left. We could taste victory. After getting a pass from Terry I went to drive in but the ball slipped right out of my hands. I couldn’t believe it. I tried to grab the loose ball, but Larry Johnson got it and the Knicks called a time out with 19.9 left on the clock. Everyone was gassed—I think even the fans were tired. You try to find any kind of second to catch your breath. Coming out of the time out, Zo put his arm around me—I can’t remember exactly what he said, but it was probably, “God damn, Bigs! You should have got that ball. You know we needed that ball!” That’s the competitiveness in him, and with the amount of time we shared the floor I knew he was 200not only saying what he felt, but what I needed to hear to help me zone in.
When the game began again, we made sure to smother New York once they got the ball in, and Terry put pressure on Sprewell as the clock was running down. Tery’s stellar defense knocked the ball out of Spree’s hands, and though it was still Knicks’ ball they had just 4.5 seconds to score.
With their last chance, Charlie Ward inbounded to Allan Houston at the top of the key, who cut down the lane and threw up a floater from 15 feet that bounced around the rim, like, twelve times, before it finally dropped in. He might as well have taken my heart out and put it in the net, too. We knew what they were going to run. We actually made them adjust on the play, but when Allan got the ball, he knew what to do. The game had been called tight all night—anything could have been a foul. While I was close to him—I even took a step toward Houston when he got the rock—I didn’t want to put him on the free-throw line. I didn’t want to take that chance.
In the film room later, I could see that I had an opportunity to block him from behind. But, in the moment, the last thing I wanted to do was give the refs the excuse to blow their whistles. The game already wasn’t going our way. Pat was mad I didn’t make the attempt, but so be it. The thing is, I don’t even mind that Allan made that shot. That happens. What made it bad was all the bounces the ball took, which cut seconds off the clock.
On our next possession, Majerle got the ball to Terry right away, who got off a 40-foot shot with 0.8 seconds, but it just missed.
And, just like that, it was all over. It was the second straight time New York had eliminated us on our home floor. That 201devastating pain again. It was also the final playoff game in Miami Arena, only the second time in NBA history that an eighth seed knocked off a one seed. Out of all our playoff losses, this was the hardest to swallow. I mean, the Knicks had needed to win six out of their last eight games to even make the playoffs! Now they were moving on, and we weren’t. I still believe we had the better team, but the Knicks kept playing and went on to the NBA Finals (thanks to Larry Johnson’s famous four-point play against the Indiana Pacers), though lost to the San Antonio Spurs and their twin towers, Tim Duncan and David Robinson.
Even so, I think we would have given the Spurs a better run. We had the size and could have even won our first championship. All I can chalk it up to was that our teams were so familiar with one another that seedings didn’t matter. We’d played each other a million times, and it was like two brothers battling it out in the backyard. Everything clicked for them, and we went cold. But, in the end, no explanation matters. We just didn’t win and that’s what I think about today. We could have beaten San Antonio with Zo and P. J. in the paint, but we never got a chance to find out. Still, you can’t take anything away from New York.
