Saturday, January 29, 2005
S o, this is what the end of coach Maurice Cheeks looks like?
Ten Trail Blazers busting their humps? Theo Ratliff swatting seven shots?
Joel Przybilla with 14 rebounds? Ruben Patterson outsprinting everyone in his
43rd minute? The team winning? Music blaring? Confetti falling?
This is the end of Cheeks?
It was Blazers 90, Clippers 86 on Friday.
Where was the team dissension? Where was the contempt for the coach? Where
was the disrespect?
"I need to sit down," Cheeks said. "That win meant more than a normal game."
Of course it meant more. Why wouldn't it? Darius Miles blew up at Cheeks on
Thursday in a team film session. The player directed a racial epithet at
Cheeks more than 20 times. Then, Miles smiled and said, "I don't care if we
lose the next 20 games, I'm just waiting on (general manager John Nash) to
fire you."
So yeah, it meant more to Cheeks. Maybe more than any game played on any
night in his life. Or at least any night of his coaching life.
Because in one corner of the Blazers locker room, here was Sebastian Telfair,
who scored 11 points, declaring, "I played for Cheeks tonight." And in
another corner, here was Damon Stoudamire, who walked into Cheeks' office
before the game and said, "I want you to know that you have the support of a
lot of guys in that locker room." And down the way, there was Nick Van Exel,
who rushed home after that awful scene Thursday and returned with three books
to give to Cheeks.
One of them was a book of religious devotions.
Never mind that Blazers management suspended Miles for only two paltry games.
Never mind that it ducked out and decided not to support its coach by sending
a dangerous and weak message to players and fans about accountability.
Because fans and players sent a message back.
Someone might tell you today about the sign at the Rose Garden on Friday.
There was a 20-something kid in Row 50 who held it high when the Trail
Blazers were trailing early.
It read: "Free Darius."
But they should tell you about the 16,062 other fans who showed up without a
"Free Darius" sign. And also, they should tell you that the game ended with
that one fan sitting on his sign, cheering the players on the court while
Miles was at home with a bar of soap in his mouth.
Someone might also tell you about the players who said they'd welcome Miles
back when he returns. But also, someone should tell you about the way the
same players rallied around Cheeks by playing their guts out when they could
have sent Cheeks packing by simply rolling over when everyone was watching.
This wasn't an indictment of Miles. Rather, it was a vote of confidence for
Cheeks, who couldn't have possibly been certain which way this would go.
"It was the hardest 41 games of my life," Cheeks said.
So that's why No. 42 mattered more.
M anagement will tell you a two-game suspension was appropriate for
insubordination. But what they won't tell you is that Cheeks offered to quit
Friday. They didn't accept, but unethusiastically. And with their coach
desperately needing a vote of confidence, one high-ranking management person
was lobbying for no suspension for Miles.
No suspension?
Miles deserved to get 20 games because he said he didn't care about them. And
the hope here is that Cheeks will do what management didn't and slap Miles
with an unofficial suspension.
So what did the coach who has lost his team do on that awful Thursday night?
He got visits from his veterans. Then, Telfair picked him up, and they went
to a car show.
"Coach hasn't lost us," Przybilla said.
Doomsday can wait.
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