From there to here. Or: Moving from undergrad to graduate school and learning that even though the ball still may be round, the game is hardly the same . . .
– Here is one difference between that bit of hysteria known as the NCAA tourney and that forced march called the NBA Playoffs. Back in Minneapolis`
Metrodome, where the colleges this year crowned their champion, banners were banned, and any billboard that carried the name of a corporation was covered pristinely in drapery. Something about protecting the purity of the moment.
But at the Stadium, of course, not a moment passes without some item being hawked, and timeouts are filled with more hysteria than is found on
”The Price Is Right.” Candies race around the scoreboard, a telephone company sponsors a long-distance shootout, and what were once known as breaks- in-the-action now are filled with action enough to satisfy an emcee like Bob Barker. Something about milking the most from a moment.
Say this about the pros, though. At least they are honest about their comradeship with cash, a companion colleges also covet but only covertly acknowledge. Yet-in case you missed this-it was the NCAA that recently announced it was this year distributing $110.56 million to its schools, dollars reaped from its basketball contract with CBS.
– Another difference is the quality of play is higher in the pros. But, concurrently, it is also obvious where the quality players reside, and that infuses their whole playoff presentation with the pungent odor of
predictability.
Just think of Wednesday night, and the Miami Heat sitting there with an 18-point, first-quarter lead over the Bulls. Really? There is more substance in Tinkerbell`s tiny body than there was in that lead, and its eventual disappearance was about as surprising as finding a politician in a lie.
Now tensions may-note, may-rise when the Bulls reach, oh, The Finals, yet the atmosphere here recalls not competition, but a coronation. They are clearly the best of their class, and while that was true too of Duke, at least some suspense suffused the Blue Devils` march to their crown.
Would they buckle under their season-long role as everyone`s favorite target? Would they get too full of themselves? Would Bobby Hurley lose control of his considerable emotions? Would Christian Laettner just lose control?
Would Mike Krzyzewski get upset by his old mentor, Bob Knight? Would they all get upset by Michigan`s precocious frosh?
Many actually thought that last event would occur, but the Heat-the playoffs` version of the Fab Five-had less chance against the Bulls than a local Republican would have in a mayoral race. And Scottie Pippen regressing to his days with the headache? Or Michael Jordan losing any kind of control?
Please.
– Duke and Knight reasserting their eminence placed the college tourney into a bit of a time warp, but these pro playoffs are like watching the sequel to a movie that has altered its plot only minimally. They are, what, just eight days old now, but already they have produced this.
Indiana playing below its talent, and flaming out in the first round. Jordan rescuing the Bulls. The Celtics battered and bruised, but advancing on guile and wile. Patrick Ewing carrying the Knicks. Golden State`s small Warriors under siege, their funky style severely challenged by a bigger opponent. San Antonio bowing out in the first round. The Pistons strutting, yapping, posturing, and-oh, yeah-pushing and shoving and fighting and proclaiming their innocence.
Oh. `Scuse me. You say you read all that a year ago?
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– The pros don`t consort with miracles, that is another obvious difference. Their playoff format prohibits such fraternization, and even if one of those games does end with a dazzling bit of histrionics, it is nothing more than a small part of a series and soon overshadowed by reality.
Think. Laettner rains in a magical jumper as time runs out in overtime, and Kentucky is on the way home, Duke is on the way to the Final Four, and the moment is on the way to every fan`s memory bank. But the Lakers` Sam Perkins rains in a magical three with but 14 seconds remaining in the opener of last year`s Finals, and all it means is that exercise will last five games instead of four.
– There is also this about that format. It breeds familiarity. With that, tendencies are learned, defenses are devised, and games are often transformed into ugly affairs filled with no flow, few points, and a cornucopia of collisions. That familiarity also can lead to animosity, especially if the series involves the Pistons.
That is another difference, of course. In college you don`t have to take the chance of consorting with Pistons.
– On the other hand, pro players don`t have to consort with control freaks disguised as coaches. They own their game, it`s not choreographed for them by preening peacocks pulling strings, and this leaves their imaginations free to fill their 48 minutes on stage with awe-inspiring creations.
That, finally, is their saving grace, this ability to stagger with the spectacular. But that, too, is what most-clearly defines them, and right there is the biggest difference between undergrad and graduate school.
The pros, they present scenes. But the colleges, they present plays with unpredictable climaxes.