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While at Lechmere, my father often got tickets for Celtics games at the old Boston Garden, which for my money was the purest place to watch an NBA game. I probably went to three dozen games there, including the “Beat LA!” game that ended the 1982 Eastern Conference finals and Michael Jordan’s 63-point playoff game.
On Nov. 9, 1984, a buddy from Brooklyn came up to Boston for the weekend. We went to eat at Fanueil Hall and then made our way to the Garden, getting there before the doors opened to the public. I had the poster with me.
There could not have been more than a couple hundred people in the building when Doc came onto the floor about 75 minutes before tip-off to work on his jumper. I ran down the stairs to courtside, got as close as I could to him, unrolled the poster, took out a magic marker and asked him if he could sign it.
“After the game,” he said.
After the game, people were wondering if what they had just seen had actually happened. This was the night that the orb and scepter of NBA greatness was officially passed from Erving to Bird, who was rocking Doc’s jock for 42 points in a little more than a half.
Midway through the third quarter, Bird was called for an offensive foul and barked at the official all the way back on defense. Erving gave him a pat on the butt as if to say, “Hey, take it easy. You own this game right now.”
Clearly “in a zone” – as Woody Harrelson might say – Bird barked at Erving, who didn’t take too kindly to that and grabbed Bird’s throat with one hand the same way he held the ball. Punches were thrown, benches emptied and the Sixers-Celtics rivalry had another memorable chapter.
It was surreal. These were two of the biggest stars in the game. Both had endorsement contracts with Converse and Electronic Arts and had appeared in commercials together. In public, they had both shown profound respect for each other. And they were throwing haymakers at each other.
So much for after the game. Thanks, Larry.
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When you watch games on TV now, do you watch the pregame show?
Because the greatest pregame show in NBA history was the layup line at Philadelphia 76ers games in the late 1970s.
My father also would get tickets for games at Madison Square Garden, and my brother and I would occasionally invite one of our friends to come along. Most of the time, we would hop the F train and get there about 10 minutes before tipoff. But when the Sixers were in town, we informed our friends that we would be leaving much earlier.
Back then, dunking wasn’t anywhere near as big a part of the game as it is now. Only a small percentage of players did it on a regular basis, and only a few of those did it with any sort of gusto or flair.
And almost all of them seemed to play for the Sixers.
There was the power of forward George McGinnis. There was the sheer extension of center Caldwell Jones. There was the 40-inch vertical of undersized guard Lloyd Free, a Brooklyn native known as “The Prince of Mid-Air.” There was the brute force of Darryl Dawkins, who gave the sport collapsible rims by breaking two backboards in less than a month.
And of course, there was Doc, who understood better than anyone that the building was already full 30 minutes before tipoff because of him.
Frazier was a great player. But no one was there to watch Clyde shoot layups.
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In February 1987, I left Boston University during my senior year of college to take a job with the Associated Press in New York. About a month later, I returned to Boston to pack up my remaining stuff, tie up some loose ends and attend Doc’s last game in Boston Garden.
My roommate that year was a fellow named Guy Zucker, who went on to become an NBA player agent. At the time, he was covering the NBA for an Israeli radio station and had one of those every-arena passes the league issues to national and international media.
We were both going to the game – him on his pass, me with a ticket. I gave him the poster and told him, “Don’t come back without his signature.”
The Celtics planned a pregame ceremony for Erving. Upon introducing him, the sellout crowd at the Garden stood and cheered.
For four minutes.
There was a young yuppie couple in the seats to my right. About midway through the ovation, they sat down. I leaned over to the guy and gave him an order that must have made him feel like he was in boot camp.
“Get up!” I said. “That’s the Doc out there.”
He and his girlfriend sheepishly rose and politely applauded until Doc had waved to the crowd enough times to let all of us know it was all right to take our seats. What a f***ing waste of two tickets.
After the game, I headed back to our suite and finished packing up. Guy didn’t show up for another two hours. When he came through the door, I didn’t even greet him.
“Did he sign it?” I asked.
“Do you know what I had to go through for this?” he responded. “There was a crowd around him in the locker room an hour and a half after the game. I had to wait until he was finished talking to everyone. And then I had to ask him to do something players normally don’t do in the locker room.”
At that moment, the smallest violin in the world was playing for Guy. Erving already had said this would be his last season. this may have been my last chance to get get Doc to sign it.
“Did he sign it?” I asked again.
Guy unfurled the poster, which now had two signatures.
I know having the autographs of Doc and Bird on the same poster is worth a lot of money and will only increase in value. I could end up with a park bench for a bed and I still wouldn’t sell it.
I know items like jewelry and wedding dresses and other keepsakes become family heirlooms. I imagine that is what will become of the poster. Basketball is part of our family fabric. My wife played in high school. I cover the game and coach it. My son plays it and occasionally talks about ways to stay in it, through scouting or coaching or whatever.
But the best reason to keep the poster is as a constant reminder of what Doc really was.
Unforgettable.
Chris Bernucca is the deputy editor of SheridanHoops.com. His columns appear Monday during the season. You can follow him on Twitter.
What’s up, Chris? Like you, I also am old enough to have seen Julius play. As a freshman at then Hampton Institute, we used to check out Julius at the Hampton Coliseum. The Virginia Squires played there as well as the Norfolk Scope and the Richmond Coliseum. There was no one like the young Julius. Few people remember there was young star-to-be named George Gervin who played his rookie year with the Squires after he was allegedly kicked out of Eastern Michigan. Julius and the Iceman on the same squad.
But I must disagree with you on one point. I was a Clyde and Doc guy. One of my dogs was named Clyde and never did I wear any number other than 10 in deference to Walt Frazier. Oh yeah, we used to get into the Hampton Coliseum for a dollar and a bread wrapper to see Julius. Amazing. And I must give love to the late Super John Williamson, who played with the New York Nets title-winning squads. He was a go-to-guy even with Julius on his squads. I loved that Nets squad. Peace.
I’ve always LOVED basketball. When I was younger and didn’t know the game as well as I do now, I thought Doc was the best player in the world. When I was a little older I realized that Bird, Kareem, Moses, Magic, and at least 2-3 other guys were better in his era. I’m 44 today, grew up in Chicago watched Jordan’s reign, and have seen even more guys who were probably better than Doc over the years. However, the fact remains that my FAVORITE basketball player, and the guy who was most responsible for me loving the game is unquestionably Julius Eeerrrrving! Not Jordan or anyone else you can think of. Jordan had lots of things and is arguabley the greatest on court/off court combination ever, but no one had more “swag”, basketball talent, class, intelligence, and flair as the good Dr. He remains my favorite. I’m just jealous of Martin McNeal being able to see him and the Iceman in Hampton Coliseum while he was at HIU. I never got that chance when I attended Hampton from 86-90.