HEADLINER : Howard Levine Does It His Way as Grant Takes Its Act to the City Title Game

Mike Fried and a group of Grant High teammates were hanging out at their coach’s house after the completion of a successful summer league season when somebody happened upon a certain videotape. Within a matter of moments, Fried knew he was going to have serious trouble keeping a straight face.

There on the TV screen was Coach Howard Levine, dressed to the hilt and standing on a nightclub stage, doing his best Frank Sinatra/Dean Martin imitation.

The problem was, to Fried and friends, Levine looked more like Sonny Bono. Or Steve Martin.

“That tape was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” Fried said. “He did this little swivel move with his hips that had a bunch of us literally rolling on the floor.”

Levine, 33, fashions himself as a sort of crooner-become-coach. In fact, while in his mid-20s, Levine actually made money as a singer, appearing at a few Las Vegas nightspots and any other place that would have him.

Levine defends himself: “I was much better than that Bill Murray lounge act type of thing,” he said, laughing. “There was no crushed velour suit. Hey, I’m pretty good in the right situation.”

He has certainly found a niche at Grant, his alma mater. He may be a little shmaltzy on stage, but on the hardwood, his timbre changes. Last year, his first as the varsity coach, he took a team that was 5-11 the season before into the playoffs. To the surprise of many, the Lancers won their first-round game and finished the 1987 season a respectable 11-11.

This season, Levine has led a group of overachievers to a 20-3 record, a co-championship in the East Valley League, and into the City Section 3-A Division final tonight against Jordan.

Undersized and outmanned, Grant somehow defeated top-seeded University in overtime, 62-51, in the semifinal round last Friday to become the first Lancer basketball team to reach the City final in the school’s 29-year history.

“He told us before the game that if we won, he’d sing at the team banquet,” Fried said. “With a piano and everything.”

Despite the risk of future auditory annihilation, Grant beat University anyway. And tonight, Levine is playing the Big Room.

“We’re still sort of an opening act,” he said of the 3-A final that is scheduled before the 4-A game. “But that’s OK.”

Especially because nobody figured this team was marquee material.

Eyeball the unassuming Levine, for example. First, there is the hair, perpetually dented by a visor he wears during school hours. At a midseason game, the Grant rooter section had a visor night in Levine’s, well, honor.

“He never takes it off,” Fried said. “He has David Letterman hair. You know, Dave calls it the ‘no-control’ look.”

And there is the voice, which is part Gomer Pyle, part Jim Nabors. He sounds rather meek, until he sings or becomes angry with a player. On Levine’s phone recording machine, callers are greeted by a booming baritone that belts out old standards most of the year and chestnuts-roasting-on-an-open-fire tunes during holidays.

Then there are his clothes. A tan corduroy sport coat is an integral part of his game attire. It is often worn over a sweater or vest, which is worn over a shirt with--if ever there was a stiff breeze blowing--life-threatening collars.

“And I think the shoes he wears at games are the same ones he wore to his own bar mitzvah,” Fried said. “I swear, he’s had them since he was a kid. He usually wears all that stuff with blue socks.”

Levine, fortunately, has a self-effacing sense of humor and takes criticism of his attempts at sartorial splendor in stride. In many ways, the team mirrors its coach. Levine, who played at Grant and graduated from the school in 1972, was a player who hustled to make up for a lack of athletic talent. Likewise, his team--which uses on-court acumen rather than flash--rarely looks pretty.

“He’s scrappy and tough,” said senior forward Danny Enowitz, who has played for three seasons under Levine, “and we’re not that big, either, but we’re pretty tough.

“He really stresses fundamentals and obviously that has paid off. I mean, we have to box out to get rebounds because we can’t jump over anyone. Anyone. “

Nearly everyone contributes, and Fried is a case in point. A starter last season, he has no pretentions about being more than an average high school player, and hedoesn’t mind coming off the bench to collect a rebound or two.

“We have players that are better,” he said. “Let’s face it, I’m not going to be playing basketball after the season ends. I’m just in this for fun.”

Fried, a 6-2, 220-pound senior, willingly admits he isn’t very fast, can’t jump and that his shooting isn’t exactly deadly.

“But nobody on the team works harder in practice,” assistant Steve Mann said. “He gets it done on heart. So do a lot of the rest of them.”

What Grant lacks in terms of star quality is balanced by a deep, aggressive bench.

“I guess the thing that stands out is that they’re all acutely aware of their individual roles,” said Bill McKee, who coached the varsity since Grant opened its doors in 1959 until Levine took over.

Fred Levine, who occasionally scouts opponents for his brother, said others were struck by the same thought after watching the Grant junior varsity win the league championship.

“Somebody behind me said, ‘You know, the JVs did real well for a team that doesn’t have much potential varsity talent.’ And then somebody else said, ‘Come to think of it, the varsity doesn’t have much varsity talent.’ ”

McKee said Levine was an overachiever as a player. He described Levine’s shooting as “a kind of combination two-handed, jumping set-shot.” Yet Levine was the No. 3 guard as a junior, a starter as a senior and “as heady as any player I’ve had,” McKee said.

Levine is much the same as a coach. At Wednesday’s practice, conducted at Valley College to acclimate the team to playing on a large court, Levine alternately cheered and chided. At 5-9 1/2 and 140 pounds, he isn’t afraid to throw what there is of his weight around.

“For someone that small, he’s the most intimidating person I’ve ever met,” Enowitz said. “I remember I came in to practice once with strep throat--I was really sick--and he threw a broom at me . . . He’s a great motivator.”

Fear of becoming a human shishkebab does wonders for one’s enthusiasm. Fried, who is strong enough to slam dunk Levine if he could jump that high, agreed.

“You don’t want to get him mad at you,” he said. “It’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had, you just hang your head. He gets mad and the spit starts flying.

“But he gets the most out of us. I don’t know how, but he does.”

Perhaps this season is recompense for Levine’s early coaching career, when his health was nearly ruined by the game. In December, 1979, as a 23-year-old varsity coach at Verdugo Hills, he seriously injured his back while scrimmaging with the team.

The accident left Levine unable to coach in the hands-on manner in which he was accustomed. By season’s end, disenchanted, he left Verdugo Hills. He decided to concentrate on singing, and supplemented his income by substitute teaching. His back, however, got progressively worse. He became acutely aware that he needed surgical help after being taunted by a 14-year-old kid during a neighborhood pickup game.

“He’d thrown me the ball and I’d dropped it because I couldn’t even reach for it,” Levine said. “I was 30% of what I used to be. It was embarrassing.”

In 1985, Levine had a laminectomy--removal of a disk from his lower back. While recovering, he realized coaching was what he wanted after all.

“That operation was the biggest break in my life,” he said. “After three years of singing, three years of subbing, I was lying in a hospital and I had to come to grips with reality.

“Singing is a dream world.”

Levine took a position at Winward High, a private school in Mar Vista. Slowly, he began to rebuild his confidence and strength. He knew he had recovered 10 months after surgery while playing in a faculty game.

“It wasn’t much of a game, really,” he said. “But I knew I was doing some things I hadn’t done in years. I was jumping, passing, running. It was just the thrill of being able to do the things I knew I was capable of doing. That was the biggest moment of my life on the basketball court. I knew I could play, and coach, again.”

Levine received a call from Grant shortly thereafter and accepted a job as coach of the junior varsity. That was four years ago.

“It just happened that I was in the right place at the right time, and McKee just happened to retire as a coach,” he said. “Everything started clicking into place.”

Basketball is not Levine’s only interest. He is also a 10-handicap golfer and his other interests are as eclectic as he is eccentric.

During the summer, as he has since he was a senior in high school, Levine works as an usher at Dodger Stadium: “Maury Wills had a great season my senior year, and I thought, ‘This beats flipping hamburgers at McDonalds,’ so I kept at it. It’s been a great experience--it’s helped me learn about people.”

And, of course, he gets all those free usher hats. It also gave him the opportunity to meet his No. 1 man, who attends several Dodger games each year. Levine estimates he has seen Sinatra in concert 30 to 35 times.

“His house has got Sinatra all over the place,” Fried said. “A framed picture and everything. He’s like some people are with Elvis.”

His adulation is not blind, however. Levine knows Sinatra has his faults. “I don’t agree with everything he’s done,” he said. “But I admire the man for his convictions, his loyalties.”

Sinatra, in Levine’s eyes, has done it his way. And Levine, the paradox in blue socks, is certainly following suit.

“This team is like a bunch of guys who are on a gambling trip to Vegas,” he said. “We can’t just leave when we’re up by 60 bucks. We want to leave with a total change of life style.”