He Will Always Be a Laker

On the dreaded but inevitable day that Byron Scott officially became an ex-Laker, the report in the next morning’s newspaper bumped directly against an advertisement for Byron’s summer basketball camps for kids. The ad promised a once-in-a-lifetime experience and included, as one extra enticement: “Ride Share Available.”

Let me tell you something.

Byron Scott can car-pool with me any time.

He was our Los Angeles Laker. Jerry West came from West Virginia. Elgin Baylor was born in Washington, D.C. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar grew up in New York. Magic Johnson’s home was Michigan. James Worthy flew in from North Carolina. But it was Byron Scott whose boyhood bedroom was 14 blocks from the Forum, who sneaked into the arena to watch the games, who broke the scoring record at Inglewood’s Morningside High, who decorated his sneakers with Bob McAdoo’s uniform number.

Byron was a literal chip off the old block.

That is why, when the time came for him to part company with the Lakers after spending nearly one-third of his life as one of them, Byron said see ya instead of farewell. That’s why the player known to teammates simply as “B” said to his peers and to their fans, “I will see you in the Forum next season, not as a member of an opposing team, but simply as a longtime friend who now simply works out of town.”

I hate the thought of Byron Scott’s shots being counted on the side of the scoreboard reserved for VISITORS.

It won’t be the same without 4 on the floor.

But he needn’t worry.

Byron will always be one of us, never one of them.

May he score more and more--for the Clippers, for an East Coast team, even for (gulp) the Celtics. And then, when he has finally had enough, may he return to the neighborhood for a Byron Scott Night, where no doubt Cap and Coop and Buck and Chick and James and Jack and the two Jerrys and everyone else will be laughing and weeping and ushering Byron into retirement with an antique rocking chair and a purple-and-gold-watch engraved “4 Ever.”

Bye, B.

Laker basketball meant a lot to Scott as a kid, which undoubtedly explains why he gave back so much as an adult. For several years, Byron has sponsored a “Challenge for Children” all-star game that benefits Orange County children’s charities. When he recorded a song called “Give It Up for the Children” with Melvin Franklin of the Temptations and saxophonist Kenny G, all the proceeds went to Camp Ronald McDonald for kids fighting cancer.

When I went to his house, the first thing Byron did was introduce me to his young sons. There was a miniature basketball hoop in the driveway, and I could picture them out there, even on days when Dad was exhausted from a long game and a longer trip home.

I have other pictures of Byron Scott in my mind.

I picture him reporting to the Lakers after an October 10, 1983, trade with the Clippers that cost the team the popular Norm Nixon, whereupon some of the more selfish Lakers did their utmost not to make Byron feel at home. He was frozen out and shunned for a while, forced to fight for respect from teammates and fans.

I picture him one season later, popping Scott shot after Scott shot, leading the league in three-point percentage, helping the Lakers win the division title by a league-record 20 games, getting champagne shampoos from teammates after beating Boston for the NBA championship.

I picture him two seasons later, playing Boston again for the title, playing poorly and sitting up all night with his wife, Anita, and Michael and Wanda Cooper, feeling as though he was being blamed for Laker losses and being summoned for a pep talk by Pat Riley, who later described Byron’s expression as being “like a face carved inside an Egyptian tomb.”

I picture the anguish on Byron’s face from a hamstring rip that kept him out of the 1989 finals.

I picture the satisfaction on that face after accounting for 31 points against Orlando on Jan. 12, 1992, or when he scored the 11,000th point of his career three weeks later against Golden State.

I picture the concern on his face after the rioting that engulfed Los Angeles, and the painstaking effort he made to clarify what he meant when he said that he understood why it had happened.

I picture the joy in his eyes after the Lakers took two from Phoenix in the 1993 playoffs, and the exasperation he struggled to contain after missing the biggest shot of the season.

I picture everything Byron Scott did for the Lakers--his team, child and man.

Showtime’s over, Byron, but we won’t forget.

See ya.

* TAKING A BEATING: If people were only saying good things about the Clippers, it would be very quiet. A look at the Clippers’ image. Commentary, C3