He Might Also Be a Legend as Coach

No one ever played the game of basketball any better than Larry Bird; not Michael Jordan, Oscar Robertson, Magic Johnson, Jerry West. Nobody.

The thing was, he was like DiMaggio in baseball. When the ball came down, Joe was under it. So was Bird. He was always in the right place at the right time. Never out of position. And when he had the ball, you had two--or three--points. When he was at the line, forget it. He made 319 of 343 free throws one season. In the playoffs one year, he made 101 of 109. Don’t foul him. You might as well let him shoot. It’s at least two any way you look at it.

He couldn’t jump much. He didn’t have to. He wasn’t fast, but he was as quick as a Times Square pickpocket. He stole 1,556 balls in his career, all-time tops for a Boston Celtic.

So, you would know from all the foregoing that he couldn’t possibly be a good coach. You know how that works. Great players have no patience to become great mentors. They can’t deal with mediocrity.

Great managers and coaches know they have to. They come from the ranks of the less skilled themselves. They know what it takes to succeed when you don’t have all that God-given talent. They’re understanding, patient, sympathetic. Great generals know they don’t have an army of superheroes.

A Babe Ruth could never be a manager, for instance. Because he’d be apt to say to a player, “Why don’t you just go up there and hit a home run? That’s what I’d do here.”

Ted Williams tried managing but probably could never understand why his hitters swung at so many pitches that weren’t strikes.

A Ben Hogan might say to a protege, “Why don’t you hit your drive over there on the right 11 feet from that oleander. That’s the short way to hole.”

Great fighters never make great managers. The Four Horsemen tried coaching with only mediocre results.

So, when the Indiana Pacers hired Larry Bird before this season, it was assumed it was for his marquee value. Like a lightning rod, he would draw attention away from his underachieving squad, fill some seats from a sentimental point of view. He probably would run screaming for the exits before the year was out with this talent. Larry Bird wasn’t coaching Larry Birds.

But this Bird is an eagle.

You see, Bird was used to being underrated. When he first came into the league, he was kind of this “Hick from French Lick.” He was a guy who had tried going to Indiana University but couldn’t stand crowds, so he enrolled at smaller, more bucolic Indiana State. He led the Sycamores to an undefeated regular season and a berth in the NCAA championship game.

The Celtics’ general manager at eh time, Red Auerbach, as good a judge of basketball talent as ever lived, drafted Bird a year early, then waited patiently till he played his final season at Indiana State.

Bird, at 6 feet 9, is what they call a small forward today, but he averaged 28 and 29 points a game his vintage years and he was devastating on the boards, pulling down more than 800 rebounds a season six times and 895 one season (up to 300 per annum more than Jordan.)

But superstardom seemed to embarrass him. In interviews after games, he looked more like a murder suspect undergoing the third degree than the player of the game. He would hang his head, look around for an escape hatch.

Other players embellished their legends with postgame interviews. Bird just dressed quickly.

All of which seemed to add up to, no coach, he. The consensus was Larry Bird didn’t have the background for the job. “Aw, shucks” would not make a postgame headline. And how do you teach people to do something you did instinctively?

The year before this Bird flew into the Celtics’ nest, they were 29-53.

When Bird landed they were 61-21. He led them in points, rebounds, steals and scoring average.

But that was a Bird with the ball in the hand. What about the sideline Bird?

Well, if you looked in your paper this morning, perhaps you noticed the Indiana Pacers are in front of the Central Division with a 33-13 record. And guess who’s coaching the East in today’s All-Star game?

The Bird named Larry. It seems he’s still finding a way to get open.

I went down to the locker room the other night after the Clippers’ game to check on him.

Looked like the same old Larry Bird to me. As unpretentious as the Wabash but still in charge. Hogan hitting the ball where he wanted to. Williams picking out strikes.

How, he was asked, did he find coaching? Interesting. conceded Bird grinning.

Is it fun? he was pressed. Bird grinned again. “I didn’t say that. I said it was interesting.”

Oh! Did he find it hard when some players did not play up to his level? He laughed. “Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of guys who didn’t even play up to their own level.”

Well, why did he get into coaching, asked his interrogator, thinking, perhaps, of the reported $4-million salary and a promise of ownership. Bird smiled. “I got bored. Boredom is the worst thing there is. Even getting beat is better than getting bored. I couldn’t stand going around doing nothing.”

Did he ever find himself wanting to dive on a loose ball out there or pull down a defensive rebound? Bird grinned. “Nope. I just hope my players will.”

Well, did he expect to defy the odds and succeed? “I always expect to succeed,” Bird said. “If you don’t expect to succeed, you won’t.

If I were the league, I’d circle the wagons, look the shutters. This is a Bird of prey.