These Guys Are Double and Trouble

Years ago, one of the favorite shticks of a columnist on a rainy day was to resurrect that old bromide of how, if it hadn’t been for a clerical error or a sloppy scouting report, Willie Mays, Henry Aaron and Roberto Clemente might have wound up in the same outfield. I forget which one. The Giants’, maybe.

It was considered horror-story stuff because, had it happened, baseball, as we know it, might have disappeared.

Baseball almost did, anyway. Ruth and Gehrig turned up in the same lineup, and the cry, “Break up the Yankees!” resounded through the board rooms and the bleachers of the game.

The point was not lost on pro football and pro basketball planners, who were moved to concoct an ingenious draft system aimed at producing something called parity.

By and large, it has worked well. Which is to say that Wilt Chamberlain and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar never played in the same frontcourt, and Super Bowl teams never seemed to be able to perpetuate themselves.

But I bring this up now because basketball is in the perilous position of having one franchise swallow up the game.

Through adroit coin-tossing, the Houston Rockets have been able to sign what appears to be the two most awesome forces ever to get together in one front court--14 feet of the most damaging scoring muscle and rebounding punch ever seen in one lineup. Not since King Kong scaled the Empire State Building has one populace been so terrified.

The Twin Towers, the press calls Ralph Sampson and Akeem Olajuwon. The Creatures That Ate Basketball may be their next appellation.

When you consider that Houston narrowly missed hanging onto Moses Malone when he declared for free agency in 1982--Houston matched Philadelphia’s bid but Malone forced a trade and moved on anyway--you can see where the Houston Rockets would have made an Aaron-Mays-Clemente outfield look makeshift, and the 1927 Yankees and Lombardi Packers inconsistent.

Even without Malone, the new Houston front court of Akeem Olajuwon and Ralph Sampson looks like double jeopardy to most observers. If it was any other business, the government would break it up as unconstitutional. It’s like Babe Ruth being twins. Being hit with flood and blizzard at the same time. Death and taxes. Famine and Pestilence. The Two Horsemen. Murder two.

One is 22, the other is 24. This racks up another article of faith of games people play. Great presences, overpowering careers, are not supposed to overlap; they’re supposed to come in procession. Ruth should be going out as DiMaggio is coming in, DiMag leaving as Mickey Mantle is arriving. And even if you have Bill Walton and Abdul-Jabbar playing concurrently, you don’t give them the same uniform.

The hope of the league had to be that this would be too much ego for one hat, too much talent for one position, too much bottom for one chair. After all, these were both centers, both proud men. Ralph Sampson, for instance, had spent his life in the pivot and had been all-world at the position when Olajuwon was still a soccer player.

You can imagine the delicacy with which management had to ask Sampson if he’d mind, heh-heh, just moving over a step or two to make way for this, ah, er, well, less-experienced (“Flatter Ralph a little, eh, fellows?”) young Nigerian.

If they got along, there goes the league.

When the Rockets came into Los Angeles this week to take on the Lakers and Clippers on successive nights, the Sampson-Olajuwon act seemed to be getting along swimmingly, like Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald. A duet made in heaven.

A nosy reporter nevertheless approached the pair in the locker room after their narrow defeat by the Lakers in a game that had all the subtlety of mud wrestling.

The questions were artful. “Do you feel comfortable moving to a new position?” the writer asked Sampson. Translation: “How does it feel to have to move over for a rookie, dummy? Haven’t you got any pride?”

Sampson surveyed the interrogator with something less than warmth. “You’ve got to go play,” he said. “It doesn’t matter much where. The idea is to win.”

The reporter was persistent. “Don’t you have to make adjustments to play a new position?” Translation: “What are you, an apprentice? Why do you have to make changes? Who’s the star around here anyway?”

Sampson was annoyed. “Of course you have to make changes,” he said. “It’s a different position, calls for different techniques.”

“Is it working?” the interrogator wanted to know. Translation: “Is it too late to go back to your old position? Are you locked into being second banana? What are you gonna do, try guard next?”

Sampson just glared.

Across the room, Olajuwon was beaming as he answered questions.

Yes, he very much enjoyed matching up with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Yes, he enjoyed playing basketball. Sure, center was fun. The travel was fun. Life was fun.

“Are you glad you didn’t have to learn a new position?” the troublemaker interjected.

Olajuwon just grinned.

“Don’t you feel you two guys will dominate the boards in this game for years to come?” Translation: “Patrick Ewing, where are you? Hurry up and get in this league!”