He’s as Flashy as a Rock, Which Is Fine for Clippers

There’s Dennis Rodman. And there’s Loy Vaught.

Let me tell you about Loy Vaught. He hasn’t caught much ink in his career.

First of all, Loy Vaught never:

--Dyed his hair purple.

--Dated Madonna.

--Staged a mock wedding in bridal veil and gown.

--Took off his shoes and lay down in front of the bench in the third quarter of a game in which he had been benched.

--Head-butted a referee.

--Conducted an interview replete with obscenities and four-letter words.

--Did a burger commercial in which he played a slob who dripped catsup and onions all over his shirt and the floor around him.

--Wrote a book in which he described in detail every sexual adventure he ever had with you-know-who.

Pretty dull, huh?

Well, let me tell you what Loy Vaught does do.

--He shows up for work every day and is ready, with his shoes on, for the full 48 minutes.

--He’s as dependable as sunrise, as conscientious as a monk and as undiscourageable as an insurance salesman.

--He leads his team annually in scoring and rebounding and plays both ends of the court.

--He averaged 37 minutes a game (about the same as Michael Jordan) last year and once played the entire 58 minutes of a double-overtime game against the Celtics.

Loy Vaught plays for the Lost Battalion of basketball, the Clippers, and he’s the last man left of the squad he broke in with in 1990. Gone from that team are Danny Manning, Ron Harper, Charles Smith, Benoit Benjamin, Olden Polynice. Gone from subsequent teams he played with are Dominique Wilkins, Doc Rivers, Mark Jackson. Most of them left running, trailing a half-packed suitcase and not looking back. Wilkins didn’t stop till he reached Greece.

Loy is a loyal worker who has stuck through hard times and good. Or, in the case of the Clippers, hard times and harder. Only he and Billy Crystal still cling to the franchise--like two guys singing hymns at the rail of the Titanic.

You wonder what would happen to the Clippers if Loy ever left. They’d probably disintegrate. “He’s my rock, “ says his coach, Bill Fitch. If the comparison isn’t sacrilegious to him, he’s their Stonewall Jackson.

We scriveners are partial to the ostentatious, the flamboyant, the flouters of authority, the outrageous, the mutinous. Of course, if the country were full of guys like that, the lights would go out from coast to coast, planes wouldn’t take off and water wouldn’t come out of the faucets. The taken-for-granted are the ones who make the system work.

Still, how do you avoid being discouraged when you put in a full day’s work, a full career’s dreams on futility? Everyone wants to taste the fruits of victory.

Of course, Vaught is in good company. Ernie Banks never made a World Series. Neither did Rod Carew. Gale Sayers never made a Super Bowl. Walter Johnson spent most of his career pitching for a team that would stake him to a 1-0 lead and expect him to hold it. Then, they’d finish in the cellar anyway.

Loy Vaught is a bit like them. He’s not a superstar. He’s not “Air” Vaught or the Big V. But if he were on the Chicago Bulls, Michael Jordan (and Phil Jackson) would be glad of it. The tabloids might be unhappy. But he can do everything (on the court) Rodman can do and score three times as many points. There’s no telling what he might do with Jordan and Scottie Pippen around him.

I asked him if he doesn’t sometimes get discouraged at his lot. Vaught smiles. “I consider myself fortunate, “ he says sincerely. “I like it here, I like what I do. Sure, the guys I broke in with are gone, but that’s the nature of this business. We’ll make out.”

The pay is good. The hours can’t be beat. Spoken like a man who goes down in the mines at dawn every day for a living or windshields Chryslers.

Of course, what Vaught has to do if he wants to become America’s Sweetheart is turn his hair pink, get tattoos over every inch of his body, fight with the coaches, drive around town in a fuchsia-and-gold Cadillac (he drives a Land Rover), drop a bundle at Las Vegas periodically and threaten to play in the altogether some night. Would he do that?

Loy shakes his head. “I don’t think so, “ he advises. “I don’t think I’d do that. Would you want me to?”

I don’t think so, Loy. I like you just the way you are. The hero of us 9-to-5 guys.