Mr. Clutch Doesn’t Handle Playoffs or Papers Very Well

Jerry West should have known better than to read the newspapers Wednesday morning. He should have known the headlines alone would twist his stomach knots into even tighter knots.

In case you missed the action Tuesday night, the thrilling, tightly contested superstar showdown everyone was anticipating--the mano a mano East vs. West glamour duel we were all breathlessly hoping for-- did take place at the Forum, and it was a dandy.

Don (Miami Vice) Johnson and Bruce (Moonlighting) Willis both showed up in the Forum press lounge, at the same time. Dueling smiles at 10 paces.

It was a stunning confrontation. Several women were treated for shock and whiplash.

The basketball game down on the Forum floor, well, that confrontation left a little to be desired--like an opponent for the Lakers.

Southland newspapers unanimously buried the Celtics.

It made West sick to his stomach. The Lakers’ general manager and chief basket case is already taking two kinds of medicine for his stomach, which has been doing funny things since the start of the playoffs.

“It’s one damn game!” West said in disgust. “It’s hard to imagine after one game you can tell anything. I honestly think the newspapers are doing us and the Celtics a terrible disservice. (Boston) is a tremendous ballclub. I honestly think people who write and cover sports should know better. Are they trying to inflame the Celtics by making fun of them?”

Out of respect to West’s stomach, I didn’t remind him that I had suggested in print that morning that the world could “kiss the Celtics goodby.” West shook his head. He worries that the Lakers’ lopsided win will give the Celtics a lift. Honest.

“When you get beat badly, it’s easier to come back,” West said. “No question, the next game will be easier for them.”

The Lakers won Game 1 by 13 points. Imagine how miserable he would be if the Lakers had won by 30.

Under normal conditions, West is as relaxed as a rattlesnake. During the playoffs, he gets keyed up.

At Tuesday night’s game, he never sat down, not once. He watched the entire game standing in a tunnel. Most nights he can force himself to sit for maybe half the game, but Tuesday he did everything but climb into the rafters and pace the catwalks.

As a player, West was a walking contradiction. Then, as now, he was extremely nervous and high-strung. Teammates called him Tweety Bird. He hated to talk to anyone before a game, especially about basketball. He couldn’t eat before or after a game. A guy with this temperament you might figure to be Mr. Airball.

Then the game would start and the tension would be transformed into incredible energy, calm and cold intensity. West lived for close games, pressure situations. He begged for the ball. His drug was adrenaline.

One night in San Francisco, the Lakers were trailing the Warriors by a point with about 20 seconds to play. West was having a very poor shooting night. In the timeout huddle, Laker Coach Fred Schaus started to diagram a play.

“Look, do me a favor,” snapped West. “Throw me the damn ball and get away from me.”

West swished a 15-footer from the base line, and the Lakers won by one.

Now he can’t get the ball. Mr. Clutch is lucky if he can choke down a sandwich the afternoon of a night game. Dinner is out of the question. At games, he paces and watches. If you ask him a question, his distracted reply might have nothing whatever to do with the question.

He will not travel to Boston for Games 3, 4 and 5 because he is sure that would jinx the Lakers. He went with the team to Philadelphia for the first two games in the 1983 finals; the Lakers lost both, and West vowed never again to travel in the playoffs.

“I am superstitious,” he said. “I guess it’s terrible for an adult to be, but I am. I’ve been driving to the Forum the same way for so many years, and I never deviate, no matter how the traffic is. There’s one place where I usually have to wait for a long (stop) light. I could take a detour and save time, but I always wait.”

Tonight, as always on game nights, he’ll arrive at the Forum, go directly to his office, sit down in his chair for approximately one minute, then get up and leave his office. He’ll try to avoid talking to anyone, because he hates to talk basketball before a game.

“If you don’t know me, you probably think I’m aloof, but I don’t think I am,” he said.

After the game, West always slips into the locker room, goes to the trainer’s room and picks up two sticks of gum.

“I’m not even sure Jerry knows he does it, but he does it every game,” said Lon Rosen, director of promotions for the Lakers. “Two sticks.”

West stays in the background. He doesn’t seek credit, although he is the person most responsible for bringing together the raw material for the sports dynasty of the decade, this year’s version of which is beginning to look like one of the great basketball teams of all time. It was West who held fast against trading James Worthy, who held fast against acquiring Micheal Ray Richardson.

When it all comes together, nobody enjoys the show more than West. He enjoyed it Tuesday night, sort of. If only he hadn’t seen the newspapers the next morning.

West sat in his office and cursed the morning papers. He sighed.

“Sometimes I wish I could go away somewhere, come back in a couple weeks and have someone tell me, ‘Yeah, the Lakers won the championship.’ ”

But West knows that wouldn’t do any good. He would flee to an island with no TV or newspapers. He would find two palm trees and string up a hammock. Then he would spend two weeks pacing around the hammock.