These Clippers Might Get Benefit of the Doubters

I’m standing here at an NBA media day, talking to a 21-year-old kid about how he and his buddies spent last month running around barefooted.

“Sand Dune Park in Manhattan Beach,” says Corey Maggette, grinning. “Up and down the hill, three or four times a day. Me and Elton and, well, almost all of us.”

I’m standing here thinking something I will never admit.

( Clippers season tickets?)

I’m in the middle of a crowded L.A. Southwest College gym, one day before the start of serious NBA practice, listening to a 21-year-old kid giggle about pickup games.

“It was awesome out here, every day in September, all the boys running,” Lamar Odom says. “It was Elton against Mike, me against Miles, everybody squaring off and getting down to it.”

I’m in the middle of a gym filled with thoughts I would never confess.

(A 10-game package maybe?)

I briefly walk outside, spot the red-white-and-blue uniforms that suddenly look so patriotic, hear the laughter of what sounds like fraternity brothers.

And I slap myself.

The Clippers won 31 games last year. Twenty-one teams won more. The Boston Celtics won more. The Detroit Pistons won more.

Are they talking like this in Boston or Detroit?

The Clippers are owned by a guy routinely judged the worst owner in sports, a guy who is rated even lower than football’s Bill Bidwill or baseball’s Vince Naimoli.

Have they ever talked like this in Arizona or Tampa Bay?

I ask myself, what has suddenly transformed years of blather into a buzz?

And I wonder, is it real?

Then I see Darius Miles.

Last time I saw him, he was dancing on a Staples Center press table after the Clippers won their final home game last season.

Seriously. Dancing and shouting and rejoicing in a 31-win season.

I ask him Monday, does he remember that?

“Sure do,” he says without a hint of regret. “That was cool. That was fun. We’re gonna do more of that.”

He has not yet turned 20. I’m scribbling like he’s a sage.

(Surely good seats left?)

The Clippers hate to be compared to the Lakers. But when evaluating the buzz, it is the only comparison that works.

With the reemergence of the Lake Show, pro basketball around here has become serious business.

More zen than zest. More diagraming than dancing.

Who likes whom? Who is in charge of what? Whose team is it, anyway?

The Clippers begin this season with a different sort of question.

Who cares?

They’re fun.

They’re reckless in a league that has become so careful. They’re that fresh bread you wedge above your stale.

They won 10 of their last 11 home games last season without a power forward, and now they have one of the best young ones around.

And like all wide-eyed young pros, they come with an expiration date.

So folks have decided to enjoy while they can.

Already 12,000 season tickets sold. Already more hype than at any time in the club’s 17-year Los Angeles history.

(Pull out credit card?)

True story: Alvin Gentry, the Clippers’ personable coach, was pulling into a car wash recently when an attendant recognized him.

The attendant claimed that Phil Jackson had driven through earlier that day.

“I didn’t give him a free wash,” the attendant reportedly said. “But I’m giving you one.”

Another true story: Ralph Lawler, the Clippers’ long-suffering broadcaster, showed up at Universal Citywalk at 5 p.m. recently for a 6 p.m. Fanfest.

The lines of autograph seekers were already blocks long, having formed four hours earlier.

“I just shook my head,” Lawler said. “I couldn’t believe it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

But then, he’s only been with the team since it arrived in San Diego 23 years ago.

“It’s like, right now in sports, we all could use some innocent fun,” Lawler said. “I think these guys are providing it.”

Fun, yes. Their media day was like an funky block party, with players referring to each other as brothers and waxing boldly about all the unselfishness and unity.

Where most NBA teams split up and leave their town during the summers, many of the Clippers stayed together.

They played at parks. They ran on beaches. They cheered for each other in the Long Beach Summer League.

By early September, the entire team, without coaches, was conducting virtual daily practices.

“Six years ago, I would have been very upset if anybody said I had to come to the Clippers,” said Elton Brand, the bruising draft-day acquisition who could push this team above .500 for only the second time in 22 years. “But with this atmosphere, I couldn’t wait to get here. I’m already having fun.”

The fun will last.

The innocence is, of course, in constant jeopardy.

Isn’t this the same organization that eventually wrecks everything with tension and tight-fistedness?

They had a bit of fun under Larry Brown, then Sterling spoiled it.

There was a bit of revelry with Bill Fitch, then Sterling pulled the shades and yanked out the plugs.

What is different about now? Sterling says he has changed, but why should we believe him?

When it’s time to give the youngsters new contracts to ensure that they will remain here and remain happy--beginning next season with Odom-will Sterling finally give us a reason to trust him?

Can you imagine reading about a news conference in which a Clipper has been given a long-term deal because he wants to remain a Clipper for life?

Has there ever even been such a thing?

(Maybe wait on tickets.)

Through Monday’s clamor, I listened for the calm voice of veteran Eric Piatkowski.

“I can’t believe I’ve been here seven years,” he said. “And I can’t believe this.”

He was talking about that noise.

“In past media days, there would be a couple of reporters and one TV camera and we would spend the entire time leaning against the wall asking if we could leave,” he said. “Now, all these cameras, all these people.”

All this ... hope?

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he said. “And yeah, sure, you wonder how long it will last.

“But then you think, if we can get above .500, do some things, everybody stays excited...”

Then maybe Sterling will act more like a real owner?

That is the question. That, and whether Michael Olowokandi can act like a real center.

Nothing new there.

The only difference this year is, for once, perhaps, those questions are worth answering.

And maybe those answers are worth watching.

But you didn’t hear that from me.

(Gimme two in the corner).

*

Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.