COMMENTARY : Paul Westhead: He’s...

Paul Westhead, huh? Paul Westhead, who had his hair slicked back and his suits custom made (and coached the Lakers) before Pat Riley began inventing himself. Paul Westhead, who saw show time and raised it. Paul Westhead, who didn’t just see “Henry V,” he taught it.

That Paul Westhead?

The one who needs a four-digit scoreboard?

Some coaches like to think of basketball as a chess game. Westhead thinks of it as methedrine Nintendo.

We’re not just talking quick, we’re talking vapor.

George Mason’s hiring Paul Westhead this week was as inspired as the Denver Nuggets’ hiring him three years ago was boneheaded.

George Mason is where Westhead belongs. This is the match made in Planet Reebok.

We should think of hiring Westhead the way we think of buying real estate. And remember, the three most important considerations in acquiring real estate are:

1. location.

2. location.

3. location.

Westhead’s loony warp-speed system can’t work in the NBA. You can’t give up open shots in the pros simply to get the ball back so you can storm down court like a band of berserk gunslingers in a spaghetti western. NBA players are too good. It’s not that they won’t miss many shots--they won’t miss any shots.

But they’re not that good in the Colonial Athletic Assn. They’re not going to consistently hit open 20-footers in the CAA. If they could, they’d be in the ACC.

The CAA is where you conduct this kind of experiment. It’s the eastern version of the West Coast Conference, a minor Division I league with teams such as Gonzaga, San Diego, Portland and, of course, Loyola Marymount, Westhead’s original petri dish.

So Westhead, who is some kind of madman visionary--like Preston Tucker, the guy who challenged the big car companies and got crushed like a Sicilian grape--has landed at the right place at the right time. George Mason is ground zero. What better place to start the revolution than with a team that went 7-21 each of the past two seasons?

Westhead, the Shakespearean scholar, would appreciate these words from Hamlet: “Where th’ offense is, let the great axe fall.” The CAA is there to be plundered. Its best coach, Richmond’s Dick Tarrant, just retired. Who’s going to block Westhead’s way, Lefty? “We’re going to play about as fast as you’ve ever seen,” Westhead promised. So gentlemen, start your engines.

Westhead’s deal is that he wants to shoot a lot; he won’t wait more than 10 seconds. To do that, he has to have the ball. So his teams don’t play a lot of defense. They challenge the in-bounds pass and go for steals, then they pretty much wave at you like Queen Elizabeth.

They’ll seduce you into a quick, open shot, and if you miss, they’re down the court like Wile E. Coyote. The reason it didn’t work in the NBA is because--contrary to the perception--you have to play defense in the NBA, or else teams will get 194 points on you, like the Atlanta Hawks did in an exhibition game early in Westhead’s Denver tenure. The reason it will work at George Mason is because the Atlanta Hawks aren’t on the schedule.

If I’m John Thompson or Gary Williams or Mike Jarvis (who’s hardly had time to savor his great leap forward, and, ba-boom, another stud parachutes into the mix), I’m nervous. Because within three years Westhead is going to be getting my players. Just ask yourself this: Who doesn’t like to shoot?

You’re a recruit. You’re sitting with your parents. Westhead comes in, says, “We like to play up-tempo.”

You like up-tempo too. But you’re skeptical. “How far up tempo?”

He says: “Oh, like Megadeath.”

He can look your parents in the eye and say, “I’ll get your kid 20-22 shots a game. We’re going to score 100 points a game minimum, and the pros are going to scout us.” And then, to top it off, he can wave that NBA championship ring he got while coaching the Lakers. Who else in Washington can do that?

George Mason (who, I believe was the one original signer of the Declaration of Independence to insist on a receipt for the parking) isn’t supposed to land a coach who has won an NBA title--even if Magic Johnson soured on him, and got him cashiered early the next year. The George Mason job is supposed to go to a young head coach from a comparably minor Division I school, like Delaware or Colgate, or to a young, eager assistant from a major program, like Syracuse or Duke.

Westhead is a coup. I don’t care if he’s 54 years old. I don’t care if he’s nutty as a fruitcake with his Star Wars offense. I don’t even care that I once referred to Westhead as Paul “I May Not Know Any Defense, But I Can Quote King Lear” Westhead. You try thinking of the big-time coaches who are out there, unemployed, who might even care to discuss coaching at George Mason . . . and when you get one let me know.

Granted, Westhead was lunchmeat in the NBA; NBA players are making too much money to allow a coach to rack up mileage on them like that--all he’s doing is chopping down their careers. And granted, he’s an ideologue and a theoretical revolutionary, a dangerous combination in the conservative world of sports. In some ways, Westhead coming to George Mason reminds you of the discredited Gene Hackman winding up at that small Indiana high school in “Hoosiers.” But when Westhead was interested, George Mason had to hire him. Had to.

Here’s why Westhead will win:

You can’t prepare for him. You don’t have the time. He’s too different. You have 25 other games, and none of them look remotely like this one.

He’s in better condition than you. You may think you like to run. But he is committed to running. You may try to slow the game down. He won’t let you.

He won’t overcoach. He’s won an NBA title. He doesn’t have to stand on the sideline and hold up a stupid cardboard sign that says “No. 3.”

Fans will love him and root for him. He will lose, 115-105, and you’ll walk out of the gym saying, “Damn, that was exciting.” Isn’t this better than being in the Big East and losing, 48-44, and walking out feeling like you have been forced to watch “Howard’s End”?

Players will want to play for him. Have you seen that Nike commercial where the autocratic old coach says all that textbook stuff about fundamentals being all important, and meanwhile the kids in the schoolyard are jamming backward through metal nets, and hanging on the rim like Wolverines? You know who’s coaching that team?

Westhead.