some_user86
12-22-2007, 01:41 AM
NBA: A half-dozen sides of Avery Johnson — what he was
Web Posted: 12/21/2007 11:17 PM CST
Buck Harvey
San Antonio Express-News
Avery Johnson will take the microphone tonight, and he will have a few things to say. Someone might want to record this.
His broad smile will fill the arena, and he will unleash the public persona that could have spawned a line of tickle-me-Avery dolls just in time for Christmas. At some point in the evening, when both sentiment and his No. 6 reach a similar height, everyone will forget AJ even has a job in Dallas.
Everyone will remember, too, what time and three more Spurs titles have diminished.
That's what these ceremonies are for (besides a clever way to sell tickets to a Clippers game). They remind. They remind, in this case, there was something going on in the Spurs' backcourt before Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili showed up.
AJ needs this. He coaches a Spurs rival, and the evil dancer, Mark Cuban, steps on everyone's toes as his employer. More than one fan wonders if the Spurs might as well be retiring No. 666.
But AJ hasn't changed. No. 6 still has a half-dozen sides to him. He's the same driven, animated, entertaining, calculating, smart, prideful package of energy he was in San Antonio.
Those who speak tonight will address some of this, and they won't tell all the stories. A tumultuous night in Cleveland in 2000 likely will be ignored.
Then, with Terry Porter taking his minutes and Gregg Popovich his power, AJ felt his kingdom dissolving in the spray of the shower in the visitor's locker room. AJ kept repeating loudly to no one in particular, "This is MY team!"
Eventually Steve Kerr turned to David Robinson and asked, "Would you do something?"
AJ and Malik Rose would tangle that night, slipping to the locker-room floor in a naked flurry of unintended comedy.
Popovich would explain to the media who entered later that he was the one who had thrown things around in a post-loss tantrum.
Had AJ gone over the edge? He certainly had driven himself to it. But his weakness was also his strength. He fought for his turf because he'd had to fight for everything, and from that came qualities this franchise needed at the time. This personality, more than his franchise-best assist total or even the culminating jumper against the Knicks, is why his jersey number deserves to hang with the others.
AJ is not the first honoree cut by the Spurs (Johnny Moore was), and he's not the first to play in San Antonio, leave and return (Sean Elliott did, too). But no one whose number hangs in the AT&T Center faced his depth of rejection.
AJ once stood 5-foot-3 in a New Orleans high school, and he later grabbed the only scholarship offer he got. He led the NCAA in assists his last two years at Southern University, but wasn't drafted. Other NBA teams cut him, with Denver doing it on Christmas Eve, and then he came to San Antonio.
He stuck for nearly a full calendar year. And after being in Robinson's wedding in 1991 — after attending the reception with friends and teammates — the Spurs released him to save $80,000.
Years later, when looking back, he said Christmas Eve in Denver was worse. "Because on David's day," he said, "I was just happy for him that he was getting married rather than worrying about myself."
That's AJ. He knew how to handle failure, both with his words and his reaction. He preaches the same now, and he did earlier this month as part of a commencement ceremony at Southern.
Then he put on a cap and gown and talked about how to help the "inner me" defeat the "enemy." That's life as he sees it, as a series of battles that require resolve. That's also the kind of outlook that can affect basketball millionaires, and that's what happened when he came back to the Spurs a second time. Then, after Jerry Tarkanian declared he couldn't win without a real point guard, AJ helped John Lucas turn around the Spurs.
Tark later wrote to AJ to admit he had been wrong, and the Spurs responded by writing AJ a pink slip. He went to Golden State, where Popovich was then an assistant, but only after a Warriors starter had been injured. Three days after entering that locker room, AJ was named a team captain.
Popovich has recently compared Jacque Vaughn to AJ, and there are similarities. The size, the professional approach, the always-in-progress jumpshot.
But Vaughn doesn't have this kind of spiritual muscle. AJ could kid and instruct and demand, and better players listened. That's why Popovich, upon becoming the Spurs general manager the next season, signed AJ even before he signed his coach, Bob Hill.
AJ would start for seven seasons, and his chirpy y'all-ready-for-this would start every game. He put on his happy face in the community, and he put on his uncompromising one in his locker room.
Elliott used to joke about the Little General by using another nickname. The Little Nazi.
AJ was unofficial management, and he critiqued players as well as Hill. He helped recruit Mario Elie, his buddy, and he could be harsh when talking about players who disappointed him. He was not above privately using a term such as "loser" to describe a teammate.
His partnership with Popovich made it all work — especially for Popovich. That was clear in 1999.
Then the Spurs stood 6-8, and Popovich was a couple of losses from being fired. A few things — such as a new arena and Tim Duncan's future — were also in doubt then.
That was the strike-shortened season, and there were veterans new to the Spurs who wondered about Popovich. But AJ convinced them to hang in, and, when the Spurs won at Houston in their next game, Johnson dedicated the moment to Popovich.
Reporters went to Popovich afterward with AJ's words, and Popovich turned away with tears in his eyes.
That was the AJ the public knew. But he could also be political, and he could be angry, and he could be salty with his language. The reputation of the Ghetto Preacher grew that season, and he yelled Five-OH about a hundred times a night.
He also lived by house rules when the playoffs came. No reading newspapers, no listening to sports-talk radio or TV, no unnecessary fan interaction.
"He's worse than I am," Elie said during that run. "You can't talk to me before games, but you can't even breathe on Avery."
And when AJ clinched the title with the jumper he'd been working on for a decade? AJ proved the Spurs really were his team.
His heavy-handed leadership began to wear on some teammates, and his "inner me" didn't know what to do about it. The Spurs considered trading him shortly after the Cleveland incident, though fans never understood why. One sign at the Alamodome read then, "Trade Pop, Keep AJ."
But the Spurs were evolving as Duncan did. Within a year the Spurs would draft Tony Parker, and AJ would leave, and memories would fade. When introducing Ginobili at a press conference, the Spurs held up the jersey number he would wear. No. 6.
They would realize their mistake, switching Ginobili to No. 20, but AJ had gone on. He would go to Denver for the contract he always wanted, and he would end up in Dallas. There he has become to the Mavericks what he once was to the Spurs.
The Spurs sped on without him. Now the point guard in San Antonio isn't a role player; he's the reigning MVP of the Finals. And, as the years passed, so did the idea that AJ once meant a lot.
It's true. The Spurs could have won a title in 1999 with another point guard. But they didn't. They won with someone who fit, whose discipline matched his work ethic. The Spurs won with someone who modeled precisely what Popovich wanted, and they won with an attitude still in place now.
Tonight is for remembering that.
[email protected]
LINK: http://www.mysanantonio.com/sports/basketball/nba/spurs/stories/MYSA122207.01D.BKN_buck_harvey.en.279a6e8.html
Web Posted: 12/21/2007 11:17 PM CST
Buck Harvey
San Antonio Express-News
Avery Johnson will take the microphone tonight, and he will have a few things to say. Someone might want to record this.
His broad smile will fill the arena, and he will unleash the public persona that could have spawned a line of tickle-me-Avery dolls just in time for Christmas. At some point in the evening, when both sentiment and his No. 6 reach a similar height, everyone will forget AJ even has a job in Dallas.
Everyone will remember, too, what time and three more Spurs titles have diminished.
That's what these ceremonies are for (besides a clever way to sell tickets to a Clippers game). They remind. They remind, in this case, there was something going on in the Spurs' backcourt before Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili showed up.
AJ needs this. He coaches a Spurs rival, and the evil dancer, Mark Cuban, steps on everyone's toes as his employer. More than one fan wonders if the Spurs might as well be retiring No. 666.
But AJ hasn't changed. No. 6 still has a half-dozen sides to him. He's the same driven, animated, entertaining, calculating, smart, prideful package of energy he was in San Antonio.
Those who speak tonight will address some of this, and they won't tell all the stories. A tumultuous night in Cleveland in 2000 likely will be ignored.
Then, with Terry Porter taking his minutes and Gregg Popovich his power, AJ felt his kingdom dissolving in the spray of the shower in the visitor's locker room. AJ kept repeating loudly to no one in particular, "This is MY team!"
Eventually Steve Kerr turned to David Robinson and asked, "Would you do something?"
AJ and Malik Rose would tangle that night, slipping to the locker-room floor in a naked flurry of unintended comedy.
Popovich would explain to the media who entered later that he was the one who had thrown things around in a post-loss tantrum.
Had AJ gone over the edge? He certainly had driven himself to it. But his weakness was also his strength. He fought for his turf because he'd had to fight for everything, and from that came qualities this franchise needed at the time. This personality, more than his franchise-best assist total or even the culminating jumper against the Knicks, is why his jersey number deserves to hang with the others.
AJ is not the first honoree cut by the Spurs (Johnny Moore was), and he's not the first to play in San Antonio, leave and return (Sean Elliott did, too). But no one whose number hangs in the AT&T Center faced his depth of rejection.
AJ once stood 5-foot-3 in a New Orleans high school, and he later grabbed the only scholarship offer he got. He led the NCAA in assists his last two years at Southern University, but wasn't drafted. Other NBA teams cut him, with Denver doing it on Christmas Eve, and then he came to San Antonio.
He stuck for nearly a full calendar year. And after being in Robinson's wedding in 1991 — after attending the reception with friends and teammates — the Spurs released him to save $80,000.
Years later, when looking back, he said Christmas Eve in Denver was worse. "Because on David's day," he said, "I was just happy for him that he was getting married rather than worrying about myself."
That's AJ. He knew how to handle failure, both with his words and his reaction. He preaches the same now, and he did earlier this month as part of a commencement ceremony at Southern.
Then he put on a cap and gown and talked about how to help the "inner me" defeat the "enemy." That's life as he sees it, as a series of battles that require resolve. That's also the kind of outlook that can affect basketball millionaires, and that's what happened when he came back to the Spurs a second time. Then, after Jerry Tarkanian declared he couldn't win without a real point guard, AJ helped John Lucas turn around the Spurs.
Tark later wrote to AJ to admit he had been wrong, and the Spurs responded by writing AJ a pink slip. He went to Golden State, where Popovich was then an assistant, but only after a Warriors starter had been injured. Three days after entering that locker room, AJ was named a team captain.
Popovich has recently compared Jacque Vaughn to AJ, and there are similarities. The size, the professional approach, the always-in-progress jumpshot.
But Vaughn doesn't have this kind of spiritual muscle. AJ could kid and instruct and demand, and better players listened. That's why Popovich, upon becoming the Spurs general manager the next season, signed AJ even before he signed his coach, Bob Hill.
AJ would start for seven seasons, and his chirpy y'all-ready-for-this would start every game. He put on his happy face in the community, and he put on his uncompromising one in his locker room.
Elliott used to joke about the Little General by using another nickname. The Little Nazi.
AJ was unofficial management, and he critiqued players as well as Hill. He helped recruit Mario Elie, his buddy, and he could be harsh when talking about players who disappointed him. He was not above privately using a term such as "loser" to describe a teammate.
His partnership with Popovich made it all work — especially for Popovich. That was clear in 1999.
Then the Spurs stood 6-8, and Popovich was a couple of losses from being fired. A few things — such as a new arena and Tim Duncan's future — were also in doubt then.
That was the strike-shortened season, and there were veterans new to the Spurs who wondered about Popovich. But AJ convinced them to hang in, and, when the Spurs won at Houston in their next game, Johnson dedicated the moment to Popovich.
Reporters went to Popovich afterward with AJ's words, and Popovich turned away with tears in his eyes.
That was the AJ the public knew. But he could also be political, and he could be angry, and he could be salty with his language. The reputation of the Ghetto Preacher grew that season, and he yelled Five-OH about a hundred times a night.
He also lived by house rules when the playoffs came. No reading newspapers, no listening to sports-talk radio or TV, no unnecessary fan interaction.
"He's worse than I am," Elie said during that run. "You can't talk to me before games, but you can't even breathe on Avery."
And when AJ clinched the title with the jumper he'd been working on for a decade? AJ proved the Spurs really were his team.
His heavy-handed leadership began to wear on some teammates, and his "inner me" didn't know what to do about it. The Spurs considered trading him shortly after the Cleveland incident, though fans never understood why. One sign at the Alamodome read then, "Trade Pop, Keep AJ."
But the Spurs were evolving as Duncan did. Within a year the Spurs would draft Tony Parker, and AJ would leave, and memories would fade. When introducing Ginobili at a press conference, the Spurs held up the jersey number he would wear. No. 6.
They would realize their mistake, switching Ginobili to No. 20, but AJ had gone on. He would go to Denver for the contract he always wanted, and he would end up in Dallas. There he has become to the Mavericks what he once was to the Spurs.
The Spurs sped on without him. Now the point guard in San Antonio isn't a role player; he's the reigning MVP of the Finals. And, as the years passed, so did the idea that AJ once meant a lot.
It's true. The Spurs could have won a title in 1999 with another point guard. But they didn't. They won with someone who fit, whose discipline matched his work ethic. The Spurs won with someone who modeled precisely what Popovich wanted, and they won with an attitude still in place now.
Tonight is for remembering that.
[email protected]
LINK: http://www.mysanantonio.com/sports/basketball/nba/spurs/stories/MYSA122207.01D.BKN_buck_harvey.en.279a6e8.html