NBA FINALS : Sure, It’s a Tough Job, but It Fits Rudy to a T : Rocket Coach Likes ‘Winning More Than Anything,’ Even Though It Makes Him (Reluctantly) a Celebrity

The people waiting outside the gym door want a glimpse of the Houston Rockets, if not more. One kid sprints to the parking lot about 30 yards away, then darts among moving cars like a heat-seeking missile to reach Clyde Drexler at his white Mercedes for an autograph. Others hover for snapshots.

David Nordstrom got cheered by the dozen early arrivals when he walked in about 90 minutes before practice. Nordstrom is the equipment manager.

So naturally Coach Rudy Tomjanovich is unable to sneak in undetected as the Rockets hold a mini-camp 50 miles from home in preparation for the NBA finals against the Orlando Magic. That makes this one of the few problems he has been incapable of solving the last two seasons: how to become anonymous.

“He doesn’t need the attention,” says Carroll Dawson, Tomjanovich’s No. 1 assistant and longtime friend. “In fact, he doesn’t even like it. It’s hard for him to be a so-called celebrity.”

And getting harder all the time. One championship to his credit a year ago, followed in the off-season by standing ovations as he entered restaurants. They cheered, he cringed.

Imagine if the Rockets win another title.

Better yet, imagine if he’d never gotten the job in the first place.

That’s easy to do, considering he didn’t want it. That was February 1992. Now, in June ‘95, he has a .638 winning record in 3 1/2 seasons and the eighth-best percentage in NBA playoff history, all while wanting to do it like the great Oz, standing behind a curtain, pulling the levers out of sight.

“I didn’t get into this whole business for the glory and all that,” Tomjanovich says. “It’s a tough job. A very tough job. I try to do the best I can. I respect it greatly. I wish we could just do it in a gym. I wouldn’t have to answer any of these damn questions.”

He laughs. But he’s serious.

“I’m telling you,” Rudy T. says. “It’s tough. It isn’t as smooth as everyone thinks it is.”

“Why do you enjoy it?” someone asks.

“Who said I enjoy it?”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“It’s a tough job. It’s my job. I enjoy winning more than anything.”

He was the No. 2 pick in the 1970 draft by the Rockets, then in San Diego, and went on to play all 11 of his seasons with the same organization, a 6-foot-8 forward with great shooting range. Five of those seasons, he was an all-star, although recollections of his career are dominated by the memory of the devastating punch thrown by Laker Kermit Washington on Dec. 9, 1977.

That landed Tomjanovich in intensive care with broken bones in his face and skull, and a concussion. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar later said the impact sounded like a watermelon being dropped on a concrete floor.

Tomjanovich eventually recovered and played until the fall of ‘81, after which his uniform number, 45, was retired.

Dawson, swamped while serving as Del Harris’ lone assistant, got Tomjanovich to take on some of the scouting responsibilities, and Rudy T. was soon dissecting opponents’ offenses. He got particularly excited watching the Lakers, learning how Pat Riley designed and ran successful plays for Abdul-Jabbar, even though everyone knew the ball was going inside. Those lessons have served him well with Hakeem Olajuwon.

After two seasons, Tomjanovich became an assistant coach. Midway through 1991-92, Don Chaney was fired, and Steve Patterson, then the general manager, called Dawson and Rudy T. in for a meeting. Someone was going to walk out of that room as head coach.

Not Patterson, who didn’t want to leave the front office.

Not Dawson, a lifer in the business who had spent decades preparing for such a moment. But he had to let it pass because of eye problems that still restrict his vision, and high blood pressure.

They turned and looked at Tomjanovich. He asked for more options.

“I loved basketball and I really enjoyed my job as an assistant,” he says. “You get your fill of basketball and helping people and all that. It’s a tough job. I respect it. But it’s like someone asking you, ‘We’ve got a mission here. Do you want to go on this mission?’ And then you ask, ‘Well, how many guys have come back?’ And they say, ‘Let me think now.’

“I’ve had a very stable career in basketball as a player and a coach. Now you take that final step and there’s a chance that it could come to a climax. That’s what I was thinking about at the time. Plus, I had a family and I didn’t know if they could deal with all the things that happen to coaches, in the stands and all that.”

He relented in the name of loyalty and took over for the last 30 games. He started 11-4 but lost Olajuwon to injury, then lost the next six games. He finished 16-14, but more importantly, got thumbs up from the family. Suddenly, he wanted the job.

He got it, and the Rockets went 55-27 his first full season, beat the Clippers in the first round of the playoffs, then lost Game 7 in overtime at Seattle in the conference semifinals. Ever since, they are 8-0 when facing elimination. They came back from an 0-2 deficit against Phoenix last year in the Western finals and then 2-3 against the Knicks for the title.

Riley called him a student of the game, saying: “I can see it when I’m preparing for him.” And Rocket players loved to call him their own. What he was not, however, was the same Rudy T.

“When I coached Rudy, he just played hard,” Dawson says. “If he had any leadership, he didn’t show it. When he became a head coach in this league, he showed such leadership. I almost wanted to go over and kick him for not showing some as a player. It’s a 180.”

Even more remarkable, this change has come to define his tenure. The coach who didn’t want to be one has become the great leader, with astounding results.

It certainly helps to have a big man who dominates at both ends. But Olajuwon didn’t become the complete package he is today until Tomjanovich took over and convinced him that they wouldn’t win as a one-man gang. So Olajuwon concentrated on improving his passing to beat the double team. The Rockets surrounded him with people to spot up around the three-point line, then took off to consecutive Western Conference titles.

They listen to Tomjanovich. And he, in turn, listens to them, and not just for the window dressing of coming across as a players’ coach. Rudy T. regularly asks for input on plays, even in crucial situations, feedback that carries more than a little weight in the decision. He has become such a good leader, he knows when to step aside.

“We look at Rudy as a player who just ran out of years to play,” forward Robert Horry says. “That’s how it is. I don’t even think anybody looks at him as a coach. We look at him as a player-coach, but he just can’t play anymore. You have great respect for him because his number is up in the rafters in the Summit and you know he’s played the game and has been through all these situations. You feel it in your heart and in your mind that he knows what he’s talking about. You go out and believe him.”

But for how much longer? Tomjanovich, 46, says he’s not a lifer in the business, not with the time commitment and strain coaching brings. Not with his aversion to publicity.

He is a pizza-and-beer guy who walked into someone else’s life. Now, if he can only figure a way to sneak out undetected.