THE NBA CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES : LOS ANGELES LAKERS vs. DETROIT PISTONS : Lakers Come Back to Town With Their Crown Slightly Askew

All right. Let’s take this thing one player at a time. Let’s see if we can figure out why the Pistons are putting it to the Lakers, why Detroit is this close to making the kings of the rings abdicate, and why Chuck Daly’s Basketball Team From Hell had better not take anything for granted, because there may still be life for mad Magic beyond Silverdome.

Welcome to today’s Game 6 of the National Basketball Assn. Finals. Introducing, your world champion Los Angeles Lakers:

At guard, No. 32, from Michigan State--Earvin (Magic) Johnson.

Look through your binoculars. Look at your TV screen. What’s wrong with this picture? Magic Johnson is-- frowning. Grimacing. Menacing.

No smile. No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more Mr. Johnson’s Neighborhood. Watch closely when he kisses Isiah Thomas before the opening tipoff. Make sure he doesn’t bite.

Magic is hot. Beyond hot. Microwave hot. Hell hot. Purple with rage. Furious. Doing a burn. If you put sushi on his forehead, it would turn into Cajun shrimp. He can’t stand the fact that the Lakers are losing, 3 games to 2.

Magic likes losing the way Gloria Steinem likes Bob Knepper. Magic is determined to summon up all his mystical powers to make sure the Lakers win today’s game and force a Game 7. If you want alligator-wide grins this week, go see “Crocodile Dundee.” Don’t look at Magic for smiles. He’s fresh out.

At the other guard, No. 4, from Arizona State--Byron Scott.

Now you see him, now you don’t. First quarter? Basket, basket, basket. Second quarter? Third quarter? Claude Rains was more visible. Fourth quarter? Too late in Game 4. Too late in Game 5.

He was fine in Game 2 at the Forum, though. Knows every inch of the place. When he plays H-O-R-S-E or P-I-G with Magic and the others for $20 a pop, Scott sinks shots from behind the first row of chairs. Tell Magic to set a pick for him, somewhere between the three-point line and Michael Douglas.

At forward, No. 42, from North Carolina--James Worthy.

James, you played so rough and tough in Game 5, we almost called you Jim. You promised to get physical, and you did. You took whatever the Pistons dished out, and dished it back. You were James Mean. You were the ultimate Worthy opponent.

But we can’t have you riding the bench with foul trouble. We can’t have you hacking away out there and falling from the sky on top of people’s heads. The Lakers need more than 26 minutes out of you. So, chill out. You made your point. Now, make your points.

Be like the scientific wrestler who outfoxes the giant. We’re back on familiar ground now, so play your game, not theirs. Home, James.

At the other forward, No. 45, from Oregon State--A. C. Green.

OK, A. C., the Lakers make you be the tough guy. With you and Worthy, it’s like good cop-bad cop. You get stuck with the dirty work. You’re the enforcer.

Believe me, we understand that it’s not easy, especially being a budding minister and all. It’s hard to be a hard person when your off-season job is running a sports ministry called Champions for Christ. But, in the immortal words of Orel Hershiser, being a Christian doesn’t mean you have to be a wimp. So, keep pounding. Pound those boards and pound that Adrian Dantley.

You got 21 points in Game 3. You took three shots in Game 5. We know you’re a Christian, but that’s a little too charitable.

At center, No. 33, from Yoo See Ell Lay--Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

Well, old man, you aren’t ready for the geriatric ward just yet, are you? Maybe you look like a mannequin, but late at night, when nobody’s looking, you come to life.

Nobody was looking for you to do what you did in Game 5. Nobody expected you to take 21 of L.A.’s 78 shots. You looked young again. You could pass for 31. If you’d ordered a beer from the bench, the waiter might have asked for an ID. You were frisky. Busting your buns. You could have dragged Bill Lanier or Bob Laimbeer or whatever his name is behind you for 48 minutes, if absolutely necessary.

Suddenly you weren’t in the September of your years. You looked more like April. Know how with Worthy we nearly called him Jim? Hey, we nearly called you Lew.

Old sport, we need one more favor. Well, two, maybe.

One, we need another game from you just like the last one. Well, two, maybe.

And two--or is it three now? We forget--we could use an assist. In five games now, you have four assists. Not even one a night. We know you’re a postman, not a playmaker, but Kareem, you also happen to be a fine passer, who takes pride in ditching back-door assists to Johnson and Worthy and others who come around the side to the service entrance. Give us two give-and-go handoffs and two coast-to-coast outlet passes, and we’ll go away happy.

OK?

That it?

Anybody want to yell “Coooooooop!” while Michael Cooper peels off his sweat pants?

Anybody want to see any of our other Mychals or Michaels get off that bench--Thompson or Smrek?

Anybody representing the Kurt Rambis Youth fan club up there in the stands, squinting through their Buddy Holly eyeglasses, worried that their favorite free agent might be wondering what life would be like playing 25 minutes a night for the Charlotte Hornets? Will there be no sequel to today’s coming attraction, Rambis VI?

More important, is this the last time Chick Hearn ever gets to introduce a game on: “Your World Champion Los Angeles Laker Network?”

Unsteady sits the crown of the king.