Full-Court Press
WE were flying out of West Texas down Interstate-10, still young enough to believe in the lure of professional sports. Spurs, Lakers and
‘Shining’ momentDaylight savings time in late May keeps the sun up 'til all hours. So despite a long journey 270 miles due east to San Antonio, it felt like high noon as we walked into the arena.
The fortunate ones among us have made similar trips to different destinations. We have piled in the back seats of cars and vans with family and friends, and traveled halfway to hell and back, all in the name of seeing a major sports event.
This trip, partly business, mostly pleasure, was to see the San Antonio Spurs meet the Los Angeles Lakers during the days when Showtime wasn't just a movie channel on cable TV.
Most of the way, my buddies ranted and raved about Magic and Kareem. They wondered if the Ice Man would bring his treys or drive to the glass and let his fingers roll. And if so, would George Gervin be enough to keep the Lakers from blowing across these vacant prairies as Santa Anna once did nearly 150 years before?
AS a sports reporter, I was there to write a story and a column on this Western Conference final. My managing editor had been skeptical of this trip. He knew he could get a story and a column off the wire that would be more insightful than what I might produce. But he let me go, a wistful look in his eyes as I raced out the door before he came to his senses.
"So, what are you going to write about?" my editor asked me yesterday afternoon, some 17 years to the day later. I thought about saying, "I've narrowed it down to world peace and the history of gypsies." But I thought better of it.
"I'm going to write something on the NBA."
What, I wasn't sure. But after watching the first two playoff games between the Lakers and the Spurs, I wanted to jump in my car, track down my cool buds and tell them to meet me in Los Angeles for games three and four.
I thought about asking my managing editor if he could scrape a few dollars together for the trip, but I was pretty sure there wouldn't be any wistful look in his eyes.
On the tail end of that trip back in 1982, my friends asked what it was like to walk around in the locker room, talking to Magic and Kareem about the thrilling 101-100 victory that featured current NBA coaches Kurt Rambis for the Lakers and Mike Dunleavy of the Spurs.
"Pretty cool." I had to admit.
AND it had been, except for one small encounter with a famous movie star. As we hit the outskirts of San Antonio, I told my friends Jack Nicholson was supposed to be there.
We all agreed that an autograph from the man of motion pictures was a must, and we all knew that chance encounter rested with me.
Nicholson not only had a courtside seat, he had a press pass allowing him to roam free among my fellow journalists. I spent most of the first half plotting a path that would cut across his on our way to the Lakers' locker room.
As soon as the halftime horn sounded, I backed my chair straight into the thigh of a man passing by. He looked back at me, shoved the chair into my knee and said, "Watch where you're going, buddy." I was too stunned to speak.
"Hey, I saw you talking to Nicholson at halftime," one of my friends said sleepily from the depths of the back seat. He never asked if I got that autograph and I never told him I didn't as we raced down I-10, heading due west from where we had come.
Paul Arnett has been covering sports
for the Star-Bulletin since 1990.