The NBA Takes No Prisoners : Three Washington Bullets Are Learning Some Hard Lessons About a Hard Life

Frank Johnson, Ennis Whatley and John Williams are all parts of the same intertwined NBA story these days. The three Washington Bullets seem different. The injured veteran, Johnson, is probably out for the season, maybe for a career. The journeyman Whatley is straining to fill his role. And rookie Williams has his hands so full keeping his head above water that the Bullets won’t speculate on their ultimate fantasy for him--to make him a 6-foot-8, 225-pound guard.

Under the surface, however, all three illustrate the same recurrent pro basketball drama: There’s no shock in American sports like NBA shock.

There’s no adjustment like the leap from the comfort of the best college league to the agony of the worst pro team. Once you get there, staying is just as tough. The NBA will try to break your body (Johnson), defeat your mind (Whatley) or snap your spirit (Williams). Even the strong often don’t survive.

Perhaps, somewhere, there is a more difficult physical task than playing 100 pro basketball games in 200 days against rivals who pack power, grace and the rawest survival instincts into 6-foot-7, 220-pound physiques. The odds finally caught up with the fleet little Johnson who now has broken the same bone in his foot four times in three years.

Perhaps, somewhere, there’s a more difficult mental job than summoning your self-confidence night after night to face the best athletes in the world in a complex sport that demands a grasp of tangible tactics, plus the intuition of a jazz man in a five-piece band. For Whatley, who has been traded once and waived or dropped by three other teams, all in the last 18 months, this is the task that vexes him.

And, perhaps, somewhere, there is a more difficult athletic test of will and maturity than arriving in the NBA as an instantly wealthy, pampered and ill-prepared rookie. You think you’re a hoop master and discover you’re a novice. For Williams, who came to the Bullets camp at 260 pounds, thought he was in ideal no-fat condition, and was told to lose 30 pounds in a big hurry, those lifelong dreams of stardom have already started being haunted by nightmares of failure.

“This league is for men,” says Bullet Coach Kevin Loughery.

The whole Bullets team is re-learning just how tough their world can be. Jay Vincent’s injury (out until January) crimped them, but the loss of Johnson has left them like a wounded animal in a forest of predators. “Two starters? That’s 25% of your whole team,” says General Manager Bob Ferry.

The man now in charge of bringing order to this disarray is Whatley. He’s nothing special. But he (or conceivably longshot 5-foot-9 Michael Adams) is all the Bullets have. Could he be enough? Is this the fellow--stepping into the back-court tradition of Monroe, Chenier, Shue, Loughery, Clark, Porter, Ohl and Malone--who’ll give direction to a squad with nine new faces?

“You can’t tell,” says Ferry. “The most depleted back court we ever had was the year we won the (NBA) title. Tom Henderson had average ability (like Whatley), but he had leadership and a sense of what the team needed. He was right in Dick Motta’s comfort zone.”

“Comfort zone” is a NBA euphemism. That means it’s not good if, every time the coach looks up, he has a violent urge to strangle the man with the ball.

Last Tuesday, it took Loughery 43 seconds of the first period to be on his feet, screaming, “Ennis,” as though his toes were being pulled off by dwarfs.

Early in Whatley’s career, Loughery thought he lacked only three things: Self-confidence, maturity and a jump shot. Now, he’s got the jumper. Loughery wants to know about the rest. So far, two strong games at home. Two ugly quick-exit outings on the road. “Ennis and (steady third guard) Darwin Cook have gotta take that same game on the road.”

Whatley wants the challenge. But he also has scars. “I’m happy I got a chance,” he says, but adds, “I’m just trying to hang as long as I can.” After leaving Alabama as a sophomore, he’s gotten both NBA barrels in the chest. “It’s a cold world out there,” he says of his Chicago, Cleveland, Washington, San Antonio, Washington itinerary.

The NBA tests and twists you in every possible way, searching, it seems, for the weak spot in bone or brain. Sometimes, if you’re a rookie, you barely know what hit you. In a way, Williams got a glimpse of himself this week when Walter Berry, last season’s college player of the year at St. John’s, came to town with Portland. The Truth, who has played only 17 minutes in 14 Trail Blazers games, was on the bench, learning the truth--if you’re not in Green Beret shape, if every little pull or twist sidelines you, the coach just forgets your name.

“Doesn’t seem like Portland’s very happy with Berry,” says Loughery, a St. John’s alum who recommended the Bullets take Williams as the 12th draft pick in the first round and bypass Berry (No. 14). “The rookies aren’t tough these days. They’ve been pampered by agents and catered to by college coaches who were afraid they’d transfer or go hardship. These kids can either face how much tougher the NBA is than they imagined, and maybe survive, or blame it on someone else and fail. You don’t get pampered here. Just a (pay)check. . . .

“Williams still doesn’t understand. He’s just 20 years old. Someday he’ll probably be a good NBA player--at 225 pounds. He may even be a (lead) guard, but that would be putting far too much on him right now.”

When he gets out of his cast, Frank Johnson will see if his body can take the hardwood pounding one more time. Meanwhile, Whatley will find out if he has the court savvy that came so easily to Johnson. And, slowly, Williams will discover whether he has the self-discipline to cut it in the most talent-saturated sport in America.

Loughery watches with the pride and sadness of 25 years in pro basketball.

“This league,” he said, “is a bitch.”