Old School : Lakers’ Jones Lets His Game Do His Talking

How to tell the modern NBA rookie:

Note the impressive biceps development, a result of picking up his heavy paycheck.

Note the equally impressive larynx, built up from years of screaming operettas after dunks.

Note the chip on the shoulder, a token of the necessary attitude. Note also the cellular phone, which may be used to summon one’s agent to deliver the latest ultimatum.

Now look at the Lakers’ Eddie Jones. How did he slip in?

Jones is, indeed, a rookie and a precocious one at that, but he seems to have come from some ‘50s time warp. Although he’s rich, brash and more famous all the time, he’s also shy, soft-spoken and, except for his growing highlight-reel collection of dunks, avoids the spotlight whenever possible.

It’s getting more difficult all the time. In Philadelphia, where he played college ball at Temple, he dunked two in Shawn Bradley’s face while teammates on the bench salaamed and the Spectrum crowd chanted “Ed-die! Ed-die!”

In danger of becoming a young legend, Jones trumped up a hip injury to let teammate Antonio Harvey take his place in the All-Star dunk contest. Jones is obliged to play in the rookie game but talks about it without enthusiasm. If he could give that to Harvey too, he might.

“They really are a contrast aren’t they, his overall demeanor and then his style of play?” Coach Del Harris says.

“He’s sort of a Clark Kent-Superman guy, gets in the phone booth here, rips off his clothes, puts on that gold uniform and really does some exciting things.”

Says teammate Sam Bowie: “He’s not your typical ‘90s rookie. He got big money. He got $13.5 million coming out of school . . . but Eddie’s from the old school.

“He’s not one to rub in his performance or showcase his performance. He just lets his game do the talking. As far as being in the locker room and socializing, he’s always one to take a back seat.

“He and Nick Van Exel are night and day, let’s put it that way.”

The Lakers don’t know whether to fall down and thank heaven for their good fortune or cross their fingers. Or both.

If not quite an unknown like Cedric Ceballos, Jones was a late bloomer. During high school in Pompano Beach, Fla., he was never invited to the big-time all-star camps. When he didn’t score 700 on the Scholastic Assessment Test, many of the schools recruiting him backed off. Temple’s John Chaney kept his offer on the table, however, and Jones went to Philadelphia to sit out his freshman year.

“I’d go to the games,” Jones says, “and everybody’d come up to you and say, ‘I thought you were a player.’ Like a dagger in the heart.”

Once on the floor, Jones started to happen. As a senior, he averaged 19 points for an Owl team that averaged in the 60s, and he was projected to go in the middle of the draft. There were questions about his shot, his scrawny build and his demeanor, which he answered in a hurry in an impressive series of workouts.

Laker assistant Michael Cooper, the old kamikaze, remembers Jones’ casual attitude in his Laker audition . . . until they tossed the ball up and played. “He was kind of loafing and shooting,” Cooper says. “You know, I’m thinking, ‘Wow, this guy is really lazy or whatever.’

“And then, as soon as we started getting into a little physical contact with other players, I mean, he just took it up another level.”

Jerry West was so impressed, he took Jones 10th in the first round, although he had two young players at the same position, Anthony Peeler and Doug Christie. “I’m sitting here in Inglewood,” said West wryly, “with 1,000 shooting guards.”

Then shy, inexperienced Eddie Jones took over the position.

“It’s hard to believe he’s this good this early,” Bowie says. “A lot of times when you’re a rookie, you’re kind of intimidated by the fact you’re playing on this level, but not Eddie. . . .

“When we got over to Hawaii, a couple of guys had gotten there a day or two early, and I asked them how the rookies looked. They said there’s this kid, Eddie Jones, and when you look at him, you don’t think he’ll be able to do what he can do. He’s real thin, looks like he won’t be able to get through a 10-game schedule in the NBA, much less an 82-game.

“But you can’t judge that book by its cover ‘cause there’s a lot of pages to it.”

Jones started by dunking on the Laker vets in Hawaii and moved smoothly into exhibitions. In one, he had a memorable jam over Denver’s Dikembe Mutombo.

By the season opener, Jones was starting. He was slowed by the flu, but, since Dec. 5, he has averaged 15 points while shooting 48%, 40% on three-point baskets.

His highlight reel is getting longer all the time. Of course, he says he doesn’t watch.

“Everybody else is talking about it,” he says, grinning. “I just don’t really care about it. But it’s fun to let my parents see me on ESPN and like that. They call up--’Oh, I saw you on TV last night!’

“I enjoy it (dunking), actually. But you never see me come down and celebrate when I dunk on somebody. I kinda just run back on the other end. I think that’s how the other team gets the advantage on you--you’re celebrating on one end and your man’s on the other end of the court laying the ball up.

“I wait ‘til after the game, or I go to the bench and say, ‘You see that guy I dunked on?’ ”

Maybe he’s from the 1850s. Who taught him that bit about his man laying it up while he’s celebrating? It certainly wasn’t stars of today, such as Seattle’s Gary Payton or Shawn Kemp. It makes the Lakers want to send scouts to Pompano Beach to see if there are any more like Jones, and cover his eyes whenever the SuperSonics are in town.

It’s not as if the Lakers are home free. To paraphrase Casey Stengel, all you know about a young player is, in a few years, he has a chance to be older.

As a rookie, Peeler was as good as the starter, Byron Scott, but has been looking for his game since. Christie, the Lakers’ little Scottie Pippen, was traded for a No. 2 pick.

On the other hand, it hasn’t been a bad beginning, has it? In Inglewood, there is but one shooting guard now and his name is Ed-die!