Waynes Word on Hoop ~ March 2007

Waynesword on Hoop, March 2007

John DiBiase, Tim Kirsch, & Pistol Pete’s Resurgence…

I guess there is a deserving resurgence of interest in my main man and mentor from my youth, Pistol Pete Maravich, based on a new book out on him, and a series of online videos that exhibit some of his greatest moves, passes. and shots— serving the purpose of preserving his uniqueness and skill for the internet generation. For those of us who idolized him back in the day, he was like a liberating influence on the game that high school coaches had made so constrained and confined—he blew up what was permissible and possible with a basketball. Some people have pointed out that many of Pete’s same moves were performed by the Globetrotters back in the ‘20s and ‘30s—but Pete was doing his thing in real games, against nasty defenses rigged to stop him, both on the NCAA level and later in the NBA. The truth is, by loosening up the game as we knew it, Maravich set in motion a lot of rebellion among teen hoopers who happened to have Old School Coaches—guys who were players back in the decades of two-hand set shots and plodding post play. They didn’t really care to see behind-the-back passes—even if on the money—and they especially didn’t want to see between-the-legs dribbling or –passing on the fastbreak. Stuff that sets the crowd on fire these days and starts the hooting and high-fives in the stands—that stuff would get you benched in the early ‘70’s.

Which now I have to laugh at— these days the same skills that Pete invented or manifested are being taught as drills in basketball camps and CYO leagues. If a kid can’t avoid a defender by dribbling between his legs or pulling off a hesitation crossover, they probably aren’t playing point guard on any team in a decent league. And if any one player took shots as often as Pete did when playing for his father in college, they would be called things much worse than Gunner—which was a pejorative phrase for anyone other than Maravich himself.

Anyway— way before there were fresh ESPN SportsCenter Top 10 Highlight reels every morning for breakfast-- I was one of those young fans who religiously clipped out newspaper snippets about Pete’s LSU career in the ’68-’71 era… MARAVICH HITS 51 VS. KENTUCKY; PISTOL SHOOTS 68 AT ALABAMA… but it was the grainy black-&-white t.v. images of his ball-handling and passing that awed and inspired me more than anything—and now those are all available as free video clips on the ‘net. That’s the kind of progress I applaud—retrofitted archives that matter. I’m very glad that his memory has seen a new boost—I’ve been telling my older son about Pete for years but now there is some YouTube validation of the man to confirm how prolifically unique he was, which is the sort of proof the current generation needs to see in order to believe…

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When I see slick high school players in the local ranks – kids who are almost always totally in control of what they’re doing with the ball—kids who are mentally goofing on their opponents at almost all times, setting them up for their next move—I think back to the best guards I ever saw up close as opponents. In Junior High, there was a kid named Timmy Kirsch at CBA in Albany whose father was, I believe, a coach or an assistant at Siena College at the time, and Kirsch could put the ball through his legs and do switchback crossovers and exaggerated headfakes and double-pumps like I’d never seen before. Up till then, as one of several thousand kids nationally who were Pete Maravich-wannabees, I’d thought I was a good ballhandler, and a quick-handed on ball defender, but he showed me my shortcomings on both counts. Funny thing is, as arrogant and rightfully cocky as he was in 8th grade, I don’t remember him becoming a local high school legend—maybe he moved out of the area, I don’t recall hearing of his progress after that.

John DiBiase on the other hand—a lot of local people came to hear about him. He was a grown-up version of Kirsch, a high school legend at Watervliet High, Class of ’72. He wore high socks and wrist bands on both arms and shot almost as often as Pistol Pete. He double-pumped from any range, hit leaners and twisting lay-ups and contortionist shots like Fredette or Battle do these days, and he would fire from 28 feet from the hoop even though it wasn’t worth three points to do so in those days. I saw him go for 43 against our team R-C-S Central team one time and heard and read about him hitting 52 points against Draper High in Rotterdam at one point in his senior season—again, not counting 3’s. He would later go onto New Mexico State for his college ball but never attained Maravich-type status there. But high school memories still persist: I still see him winning Sectional games with last-second shots, and also remember him slumped and sobbing in the hall outside the gym at Troy High after our varsity had beaten Watervliet in the “B” Semis in ’71 when our team’s junior center Bobby Johnson (also a Bob-McNamara All-Star and great player in his own right…) received a frantic upcourt last second pass from our senior point guard Skippy Caark, and hit a Laettner-like turnaround J from the top of the key with the horn going off while the ball was in the air. I remember being part of the horde that rushed off the bench for that win, and watched the Watervliet guys wilt in defeat. But DiBiase had been amazing and to have beaten his team like that once upon a time shows that RCS did indeed have a heyday in hoop back then, from the mid-60’s to the late ‘70’s at least.

Forgive Us Our Pump-Fakes; As We Forgive Those Who Have Pump-Faked Against Us…

One thing the grainy internet video footage has brought back to mind about Maravich—the smoothness and savoir faire of his rolling, undulating pump-fakes, how often he could hit the shot off of those moves. And it wasn’t only his scoring, but the premeditated fluidity of his between-the-leg passes, behind the back bounce passes on the dead run, and the fake & flip no-look wrist passes as well. I practiced for untold hours on the steamy and often puddled hard-courts of my hometown’s only hoop pavement—trying to make my moves become convincing replicas of Pistol’s. I found I could pull them off effectively in Summer League games, where I once hit 55 in a long-forgotten contest, in one of those marathon games where you don’t keep score but first team to a hundred wins. I could throw behind the back passes with aplomb outdoors in summer, but not indoors in winter. Only once in a high school game did I get away with a behind-the-back that worked without betting benched. On a tip-away steal I went to recover a ball at half-court near the scorer’s table…I’d seen Rocky Rosato, a great opportunist as a scorer, streaking down the left side of the court, and I grabbed it in one motion and whipped it behind my back on a 40 foot line just ahead of him on his way to the hoop—he finished and scored and I just pushed myself off the table like it was nothing, when in fact I knew I’d had a small sample of a Pistol Pete moment, as the crowd went “Whoa…did he mean to do that?” Rocky Rosato liked it too—he was laughing his ass off on his way back up the court. The game turned into a rout in our favor from there.

But most Maravich moves I pulled never panned out under the strict grandfatherly gaze of Coach Howie Tucker in actual varsity games. He might’ve grunted in approval once or twice, but mostly he was quick with the hook and had me back on the bench in no time. He was a fundamentalist preacher of textbook hoop; not a big fan of creativity. I wonder if Tim Kirsch had later run into coaches like that, who put the kibosh on his flair for the dramatic? Like Pete, he might’ve had the advantage of playing for his own dad as a coach, so that flair was emphasized and not denied. DiBiase, on the other hand, didn’t have his father as a coach, but definitely seemed to have free rein to play at full throttle—he was good enough to get away with it, plus his team usually won, so who would complain?

Despite the restraints on my offensive game, I played the role of obedient point guard on varsity for a full season and a half (till I fell totally out of favor), calling the same two or three tedious plays as enthusiastically as I could in a half-court set, longing for the fast breaking and freedom of summer ball all along.

Saving Grace Was Defense…

One thing I was good at, which kept me on the floor more than anything, was Dee-Fense, particularly at the top of a 1-2-2 zone which Coach Tucker favored. I developed a way of sneaking up and closing out laterally on almost any wing jump shooter and blocking their shots from the blind side just as they released—peeling the ball off their shooting hand and trying to go the other way with it. I took pride in the fact that at 5’9” I almost always came up with 1-2-or-3 blocks a game in this manner, and had gotten virtually every good shooter in the Colonial Council this way at least once. Everyone, except John DiBiase.

I remember one home game in my junior year—he was already a well-known hotshot and one of Bob McNamara’s Top Ten Channel Ten All-stars. I wanted to block him so bad I could taste the leather. When the chance came, I pounced like a bobcat as I saw DiBiase receive the ball deep on his left wing and get that look in his eye toward the hoop. He squared up and inhaled like he always did, ready to exhale with the shot, blowing his cheeks out like Kobe does now… I went for the block as high as I could get, lunging out diagonally, thinking I had him…finally! Instead, he saw me coming and niftily ducked under my right arm and flew past me, nailing a long-distance bank shot I couldn’t believe went in…I had him! But no. The double-pump underneath my leap got past me. His peripheral vision was amazing—he always saw who was coming. I never did block him, though I tried many times. He did to me what Maravich must’ve done to thousands of defenders himself—just toyed with their futile attempts to stop him, and acted like it wasn’t even a great deal of effort to do so as he trotted back down the court.

Old School Coda…

Don’t know what ever happened to John DiBiase—what he did with his life or where he lives—same with Tim Kirsch. Neither one would remember me. But if anyone reading this comes across them, tell them I recall what they used to be able to do with a basketball back in the day, even if they can’t do it anymore, and I forgive them for goofin’ on me. I can only hope that I’ve taught my son to do unto today’s defenders the kind of stuff you two used to do unto me.

And to the immortal memory of Pistol Pete I extend my thanks for the inspirations and entertainment you provided, and now continue to provide—R.I.P. brother— Live forever as an icon in cyberspace and the legends told by those who saw you perform… You helped raise Hoop to a higher art form.

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