The disciples are doing fine.
Jim Boyle and St. Joseph`s are roaring into the NCAA tournament. Paul Westhead, having bounced off the cushions and landed in a comfortable pocket called Loyola-Marymount, probably is, too. At Siena, John Griffin is 17-6. If he wins something called the North Atlantic Conference tournament, he goes to the show.
And Matt Guokas and Jim Lynam, coaching a cast of Philadelphia 76ers that changes as often as a dinner theatre production of ”A Chorus Line,” are surviving.
”Matty`s doing a terrific job,” Dr. Jack Ramsay said Wednesday night after his Portland Trail Blazers had lost 153-133 at the Spectrum. ”He still doesn`t have all the pieces together, but they`re going to be fine. And Jimmy (Boyle)?” Ramsay, as most of Boyle`s friends do, smiled at the thought.
”He`s his own man. He came to our practice here. He`s got them playing well.”
All of them learned their basketball–the first X to the last O–from Ramsay. At times it seems that all of Philadelphia did.
Here, coaches are expected to be scrupulous, literate, glazed-eyed in their competitiveness, strategically pristine. Here, as opposed to more cynical places, there is nothing really secular about the coach. He is expected to make a difference. Why? Because Ramsay did.
Guokas played at St. Joe`s two decades ago. ”I got mad one day in practice my first year and kicked the ball over there, above where the scoreboard used to be,” Guokas said. ”Coach didn`t raise his voice. He just said, `What did that prove? What did that accomplish? You don`t play here unless you keep your poise.` ”
The anecdote is only remarkable in that Guokas still remembers it. Endless dignity, refusal to compromise. That is the legacy.
Now, there is some talk that Ramsay is finally approaching the common denominator of the coaching profession, that he will be fired. When the Blazers arrived at their Philadelphia hotel, everyone`s key was available except Ramsay`s. He grinned. ”Is this how it happens?” he asked. ”Is this how I find out?”
Gene Shue, Cotton Fitzsimmons and John McLeod rank 3d, 9th and 10th on the all-time wins list. None has won an NBA title. Ramsay, second only to Red Auerbach, did, in 1977, with Bill Walton throwing joyful outlet passes to young, rejected sprinters. In terms of charisma-per-minute, no team in any sport has ever matched those Blazers. Jack Scott and Larry Colton wrote books about them, with David Halberstam to follow. On the vague promise of resurrected memories, a full house of 12,666 still watches the Blazers at home. Every game.
Portland was flying at 50-10 the next year when bones in Walton`s foot began a long war against each other. The Blazers yielded their championship, Walton and Maurice Lucas and Lionel Hollins and Johnny Davis gradually left
(Walton, Lucas and Davis are still in the league), and the torrent of medical bills never subsided.
In the spring of `84, through some slick trading, Portland went to a coin-flip with Houston for the rights to Akeem Olajuwon. The Blazers, realizing very little had gone right-side-up for them, called tails. It came up heads. ”Oh, we ended up with Sam Bowie, and we`re very pleased with him,” Ramsay said. ”But, yes, Akeem might have made a difference.”
There are no repeat champions in the NBA anymore, but there is one pattern. No coach in the last four years who wasn`t an NBA player has won it all. The definition has changed. K.C. Jones and Pat Riley write few instructional guides but they ”relate,” ”communicate.” They remember what it`s like. They also have Bird and Magic and Kareem and McHale, and they are the first to acknowledge the importance of that. Instead of molding a team, they avoid dismantling it.
Is that all there is?
Yes and no. Clyde Drexler played his college basketball in the clouds. The ultimate stylist. Wouldn`t his world collide with Ramsay`s? Hardly–the Glide has become as fancy and uninhibited a fastbreaking guard as he would have anywhere else. Under Ramsay, he`s an All-Star.
”But he was injured for a while, and so was Jim Paxson, and so was Kiki Vandeweghe, and we just got Kenny Carr back the other day,” Ramsay observed. ”We`ve been struggling. We haven`t been able to get a rotation all year. And just as everybody else comes back, Sam gets hurt.”
So Ramsay abides his routine. He continues his famous personal workout schedule, commanding the body, clearing out the mind. He takes a towel to the hash mark and leans his knee against it, and he watches every Portland possession as intently as if it was his first–or last.
