Farewells to Riley Premature

It must be established immediately that we are not suckered into bidding bon voyage to Pat Riley as a coach of professional basketball.

Riley merely has retired as coach of the Los Angeles Lakers. He has done so without making a farewell tour on which he has been favored with a Persian rug, a set of bongo drums, a saxophone and a Harley-Davidson.

If one is serious about retiring, one makes a farewell tour.

Riley will do a short stretch on television and, raising his arms in horror, flee back to the nest of basketball, where an owner will offer him a million dollars and unlimited access to his Rome tailor.

Pat’s wardrobe is so large that he works his suits on four weeks’ rest. It is the kind of rotation once employed by Leo Durocher, whose commitment to elegance was such that he wore two pairs of shorts a day--one to the ballpark, the other for activities that followed.

Unless the guy you are pushing for best-dressed wears two pairs of shorts a day, don’t look for a vote here.

When Bill Russell retired as coach of the Boston Celtics to pursue a career in acting, Red Auerbach asked him: “How many parts are there for a black guy 6 feet 10?”

Bill responded, “My agent tells me I have star potential,” an assessment quickly followed by Bill’s landing a role in the Chuck Connors TV series, “Cowboy in Africa.”

Russell played a Kikuyu mechanic who worked on Connors’ Kenya ranch, presumably grinding the valves on Chuck’s horse.

It wasn’t long afterward that Bill was back coaching, serving time at Seattle until beckoned by ABC to work as a commentator.

Very much like Riley today, Bill explained: “My interest in basketball has grown to zero. If ABC wants me to do sports, I would prefer football or baseball.”

Actually, he sought wider latitude for deployment of his intellect, asking to do features on the plight of the small farmer, the U.S. trade imbalance and life beneath Antarctica.

Bill vowed he would coach basketball again when Barbara Walters played forward for the Knicks.

Barbara never got that opportunity, but Bill was soon back coaching, this time at Sacramento. Television, he discovered, as Riley will, is the gymnasium where old jocks go to foul out.

One day we ask O.J. Simpson, scarred veteran of the television conflict, to explain the secret of keeping a TV job.

“The secret is to arrange for the guy who hires you not to get fired,” he responds.

One’s talents, in other words, aren’t normally as appreciated by a new boss as by the old. A genius at evaluation, the new guy brings in talent of his own.

Last year, for instance, a new executive producer rolls into NBC, demoting Merlin Olsen as chief football analyst and replacing him with Bill Walsh, retired coach of the 49ers.

Will Walsh stay retired as a coach? Maybe until the next executive producer rolls into NBC.

But Bill claims he left coaching not for new challenges, but for emotional reasons, which is to say, the coaching job had begun to suffocate him.

Dick Vermeil left the Eagles for the same reason, wandering into TV when football stress laid him low. He scarcely could sleep. He lost weight. Depression seized him. And he wept readily, a common curse of that type of affliction.

John Madden left coaching for television chiefly because he no longer could endure the tortures of flying. When the door on the plane was sealed, John’s nerves betrayed him. Perspiration poured from his face and body.

And, through most of the trip, he required a flight attendant to calm him with cold towels. His success in TV is astonishing--all because the guy couldn’t fly.

But Pat Riley can fly. And stress attacks have not fouled his existence.

And the scenario we picture calls for an owner down on his luck to feel the need for a fresh infusion. He waves bank notes like a crazy man, also promising Pat he will be chief honcho on the job, not subordinate to others as he was in Los Angeles.

And Pat will make his triumphal return.

By skipping the farewell tour, he is able to do this, relieved of guys demanding back their Persian rug and their bongo drums and their Harley-Davidson.

You make a farewell tour, collect the loot and then return to basketball, and you get a visit from the bunco squad.