Role Reversal

Once upon a time, it was the other way around.

It was age and guile vs. youth and ambition, except it was the Utah Jazz that had the kids--including the burgeoning superstar everyone once fouled on purpose--and the Lakers who had the veterans, who ruled by dint of experience and iron will as much as talent.

It was 10 years ago, the spring of 1988, when the Lakers were trying to fulfill Pat Riley’s guarantee of the first back-to-back titles in 19 years, when they ran into a buzz saw and made a new rival for life.

The Lakers won the Western Conference semifinals in seven games, but not before then-Jazz coach Frank Layden, a 340-pound lounge act, one-upped Dr. Sigmund Riley in psychological ploys and Layden’s team scared Riley’s half to death.

Layden says it was the first time people started thinking of him as a coach, not “just a fat clown.” The Jazz’s modern history, in which it went from out-of-the-way nobody to contender, dates from those two weeks.

“That series was a real step up for the Jazz, in terms of the franchise,” says Mark Eaton, the 7-foot-4, 300-pound ex-auto mechanic who couldn’t make the UCLA traveling team and suddenly made the lordly Kareem Abdul-Jabbar look like a small forward, trying to lob sky hooks over the big guys.

“We came this close to beating the eventual champions. That was a series people around here still talk about to this day. People will still comment, ‘Gee, I remember that series back in ’88 against the Lakers and that was unbelievable.’ ”

Ten years later, the old Salt Palace, where they met, has been demolished and the Lakers are set to abandon Jack Kent Cooke’s Fabulous (now Jerry Buss’ Great Western) Forum. Kareem wants to coach, Eaton is a color commentator on TV, Layden has lost 180 pounds, but someone forgot to tell Karl Malone and John Stockton, who are still out there.

Stockton is 36, Malone 34, but they’re making their third appearance in the West finals in a row and fourth in five seasons since Jeff Hornacek, 35, rolled in on his last legs.

The old Lakers have all been replaced by youths under the age of 30, making the franchise’s first trip to the Western finals since Magic Johnson’s last hurrah in 1991.

You can ask the Laker youths, it hasn’t been easy. They charge a lot for experience, and the kids have paid dearly for their snits and tiffs, before beginning to understand what it takes to unseat your elders.

Of course, you could ask the old-time Jazz players how much has really changed.

Malone, now the embodiment of professionalism and personification of the Jazz program, Mr. Mainstream himself, was once a young man with a temper whom Layden despaired of reaching, unless he yelled to make himself heard.

Youth was youth. Experience was experience. It took time for the former to acquire the latter. It was ever thus.

Salt Lake Spring

As usual, it came out of nowhere.

The Lakers were already walking legends, winners of four titles in the ‘80s. The Jazz, born in New Orleans where they actually had some jazz in the ‘70s, didn’t even make the playoffs until 1984.

The Lakers had won 62 games during the 1987-88 season, five more than anyone else, and ran off San Antonio in the first round. The Jazz had won 47--a franchise record--but was seeded sixth before upsetting the third-seeded Portland Trail Blazers.

“We went to L.A.,” says Layden, now the Jazz president. “We just had a tough series. Every series was tough for us, we weren’t that good.

“I told the team, I said, bear with me, I’ll win Game 2. They got much better players than us, but we got the edge in coaching. I said, ‘I got experience.’ ”

Layden had a plan too, to praise the Lakers until they lapped it up and dropped over. As strategy went, it wasn’t as good as giving the ball to Magic and letting him throw it into Kareem, but it was the best he could think of.

Sure enough, the worst happened in Game 1.

“We go down to the Lakers on Sunday and we just get waxed,” Eaton says. “We had no energy, we were dead. And I believe Frank closed the locker room to the press, walked out there, told the press, ‘Man, the Lakers are just the greatest team in the history of the game, you know, I can’t believe we’re even on the same floor with them, we have no business being here, these guys are great, they’re world champions.’ Da, da, da, da, da, da. . . .

“And then we came back Game 2 and beat the Lakers. And then came back here and beat ‘em to go up, 2-1.”

The second loss, especially, upset the Lakers. Even defending champions get careless, but they’re used to going right back into the upstarts’ building and letting them know who’s boss.

However, the Jazz posed a new problem, with its collapsing defense, anchored by the massive Eaton, who filled up most of the lane by himself and blocked 13 shots in Games 2 and 3. Riley complained about Utah’s “blatant” zone but, showing how alarmed he was, ripped his stars--Johnson, Abdul-Jabbar and James Worthy--for the first time.

“I’ve always said I’ve come with these guys and I’ll go with them,” Riley said, “but I can’t let other guys on the team down by going with people who aren’t going to make an effort.”

Effort wasn’t the problem as much as a certain man mountain. Utah led in the third quarter of Game 4, 67-61, until Eaton had to leave with four fouls, whereupon the Lakers went on a 23-9 run, put the game away, went home and won the next one, 111-109, on a late jumper by Michael Cooper.

Serving notice they were not to be taken for granted any more, the Jazz walloped them by 28 back in Salt Lake City. Said Riley, running out of ways to insult his players: “I wish it was 50. I don’t want them to feel good about anything.”

Then Johnson had one of those Game 7s--23 points, 16 assists and nine rebounds--and that was that, 109-98. Malone, who averaged 29 points in the series and scored 31 in the last game, cried afterward. Magic said of Stockton, who’d gone for 29 points and 20 assists, “He has the heart of a champion, that’s where he’s different. He’s the difference between Utah past and Utah now.”

That was it in Lakerdom, anyway. In Salt Lake City, where they have heard that networks prefer big markets to advance, they’re still grumbling about early foul calls against Eaton in Game 7.

In the big markets, they might say, “Get over it,” but in this little market, it was still quite a moment.

“I tell you what,” Layden says, “and I really believe it, a lot of people in this country wanted us to win. Even last year we saw that with the Jazz against Chicago. I think NBC got a little bit of a lesson by it.

“At least, we have a feeling they don’t want us on because of the market and I understand that--but when they found out that people in Syracuse and Duluth and Quincy were rooting for the Jazz last year, the whole world was rooting for the Jazz! And I think that would happen again this year because they would see Chicago with all their problems, even with all the money and everything, as the villains. . . .

“We got a lot of support [in 1988]. As a matter of fact, I kidded at that time, I said, ‘We’re America’s team. America just didn’t know it.’ ”

Even Mailmen Get the Blues

“I took a week off after the finals and then I went down to Arkansas and I started working out with my brother. . . . We sat down and took a rest and he asked me, ‘Do you ever think you do too much?’

“I looked at him and said, ‘I’m afraid not to do this.’ ”

--Karl Malone

Now Malone is a lovable grizzly bear with a gruff exterior, a nice smile--except in games, in which it is all grunts, snarls, thrashes and complaints to the referees after every play--and a sly sense of humor.

Then, he was almost as big and much younger, with all that entailed.

The Jazz got him with the 13th pick in the 1985 draft--after teams took Benoit Benjamin, Jon Koncak, Joe Kleine, Ed Pinckney, Keith Lee and Kenny Green--thinking he might be a Charles Oakley or a Rick Mahorn. Teams above them thought he was a ‘tweener--smaller than a center, slower than a power forward--and, because he’d had a strained relationship with his Louisiana Tech coach, wondered about his attitude.

By the end of their first season together, Layden knew Malone had it all physically but still wasn’t sure about the attitude.

“At the end of the first year, we had it out,” Layden says. “I didn’t have too many conflicts. I did with Adrian Dantley but not with young players. I didn’t think he [Malone] was going to make it. I didn’t think he had the discipline.

“But the end of the season, he said, ‘What do I have to do to be a better player?’

“I said, ‘Karl, you’ve been gifted--speed, big muscles, you’re smart, you love to play. But you’re not going to make it until you learn to shoot. Right now people are fouling you on purpose, so that they can get the ball back. It’s like a turnover.’ ”

Dantley was the team’s leading scorer and a force unto himself. A great technician, he was good with younger players like Malone and, later in Detroit, the young Joe Dumars, who would nickname him “Teach.” It was Dantley who impressed on Malone the need to get into top shape, which Mailman turned into an obsession.

Dantley also had a history of fighting with management. His young agent, David Falk, wasn’t easy to please and they arrived at an impasse with Layden, who was also the general manager and no one to run from a good feud.

“A.D. [Dantley] was a rebel and Karl hung out with him a little bit, maybe too much at times,” Eaton says. “That did cause some problems. We had that incident down in Phoenix where Frank was yelling at Karl. He shot a really bad free throw or something. I think it was an airball. And Frank got on Karl and A.D. jumped in the middle of it. And after the game, Frank sent A.D. home, fined him 30 pieces of silver.

“There was an internal battle that was already in place before Karl came and Karl kind of latched onto that as a rookie, not really understanding the implications.

“So Frank did have some challenges. Karl still gets that way once in a while. He can get feisty from time to time. You or I might handle things differently, but every day there’s phone calls, there’s people that want him to do things, there’s endorsement opportunities.

“After a while, you really get on overload and snap back. And maybe that might be in front of a camera, which isn’t the best place. But it happens. I love the guy, but sometimes he gets out there a little bit.”

Look out, here comes one now.

“Not with the program?” Malone asks, hurt, perplexed or disbelieving. “Well, I don’t know what you mean when you say ‘with the program. . . .’ ”

The reporter says Layden alluded to some trouble early in their days together.

“What do you mean, trouble?” Malone says. “My mom had trouble with me too, so--I don’t think I turned out to be that bad of a person.

“I guess you need to pinpoint what he [Layden] is talking about, I’ve always thought I was pretty coachable. I’ve always wanted to play. I think my commitment to winning is a lot better now, but I don’t think ‘trouble’ is the right word because I was a troubled kid, to some degree, with my mom. But I think ever since I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to do the right thing. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself, but that’s just basically how I see it.

“That’s kind of odd that Frank would say that, but a lot of people say what they say, who gives a . . . ?”

Of course, it was only a little bit of “trouble” a long time ago, after which Malone has turned into the best power forward who ever lived. But then the greats seem to treasure slights, keeping them like burrs under the saddle of their egos, driving them on when everyone else has been sated or stopped caring.

Dantley was traded to Detroit. Malone inherited his role and adopted his work ethic. As Malone, at 6-9, 260, had more to work with than the 6-4 Dantley, he took it to another level.

His free-throw shooting, 48% as a rookie, was up to 70% within two seasons. These days, he’s at 77%.

Malone’s original Dream Team teammates are mostly gone (Johnson, Larry Bird, Clyde Drexler) or going (Charles Barkley, Patrick Ewing, Chris Mullin), but he trucks on, like Michael Jordan, himself, better than ever at age 34.

That “step” that everyone is always talking about? Malone and Jordan lost it long ago but have acquired so many skills, who notices?

A year ago, Malone won his first MVP award as a sentimental choice. This season, he was even better--and Jordan was worse--leading the Jazz to the best record, with Stockton out until mid-December, with a cast protecting the second fingertip of his shooting hand that will require off-season surgery.

Anyone who saw the pivotal Game 4 against the Spurs knows how much Malone is letting his fingertip bother him. He scored 34 points--to David Robinson’s 15--making 17 of 28 shots. Of the makes, 14 came from 15 feet or farther.

In the early ‘90s, opponents happily let Malone shoot from there. He was better in the low post, but he was easy to double-team there and the Jazz tended toward early playoff exits. Now he drifts outside or passes to cutting teammates--he averaged 3.9 assists this season, fifth among NBA forwards--and the Jazz is another matter, altogether.

Not that he’s going for any of this congratulations stuff, either.

“I’m the kind of guy, I like to put those kind of games behind me,” he said of his big game against the Spurs, after the series.

“I know everything that happened in the game. I know how I played. I know all that. But you can’t live on that game. This game here was bigger than that game. . . . It’s kind of amazing. From Larry [Miller, Jazz owner] to the ushers and all that, they were telling me how great that game was. And here I am, an hour away from playing a bigger game.

“That’s the way this business is, you’re only as good as your last game. And when that horn blows, you gotta do it again. And you gotta do it again.

“As long as Karl Malone wears 32, I will have to do it and do it like this for the rest of my career. If I don’t, then I’ve ‘lost a step.’

“What keeps me motivated? I think what keeps me motivated is competing--and all you guys [reporters] ready to write that one article, that Karl Malone’s lost a step.”

Forget the steps already. This is as much a mind game, and being the Mailman means never letting up, not for an instant.

He won’t say nice things about opponents (“I just don’t. Never have, never will. I just don’t never give a guy the upper hand. Never let him know what you’re thinking. I could be thinking the world of you, you won’t know it till I’m finished playing. That’s why.”)

Nor is he excited about being back in the Western Conference finals (“Excuse me for not being excited about it right now. ‘Cause it’s kinda, been there, done that.”)

For better or worse, this is a real person. In the era of fake smiles for the TV cameras and players hiring publicists to pursue awards, he goes about his good-old-boy-from-Looseyana routine, hunts, fishes, rides his motorcycle, doesn’t party with guys on other teams, doesn’t worry about what they think of him.

For the Lakers, it’s worse. (Gosh, you don’t think he’ll be upset by Del Harris saying all those things about him, do you?) He’s in their way, he’s all grown up and he isn’t much on backing up.