By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
What's new? Put five circus midgets wearing swim fins on the floor and Your Denver Nuggets can find a way to lose to them. But if it's the high-flying, trash-talking, world-beating Seattle Supersonics out there, or Hakeem the Dream and the Houston Rockets, Dan Issel's problem children probably will kick ass and take names.
Translation: Unlike, say, the Colorado Rockies bullpen, the young Nuggets still are defining themselves. Still jumping back and forth between the honor roll and detention. Still yanking our chains.
At this writing, just eight games remain in the regular season, and the Nuggets' playoff picture (that has a nice, alien ring to it) is about as settled as politics in Rwanda. Take the past two weeks. The team hit the road March 26 with a cozy, 6 1/2-game lead over the moribund Los Angeles Lakers for the eighth and final playoff spot in the NBA's Western Conference. But consecutive losses in Seattle, Utah and Phoenix--playoff sites all--jacked up the stress level in the Nuggets' locker room. The games all were hard-fought, but the young club, rarely confident on the road, failed to finish and came up short each time. The strain was showing.
"Tight," one regular observer noted. "I mean tense. Sarajevo."
Meanwhile, new Lakers coach Magic Johnson had injected some life back into a sleepy club out in La-La Land. Lakers warhorse James Worthy started scoring again. Jack Nicholson and assorted stars, a notably fickle bunch, pointed their limos back toward the Forum. The Lakers went 4-1 under their new leader. So when Issel's bunch came home to Big Mac on April 5, their lead was down to 3 1/2 games.
Not to worry. They'd get well against that other L.A. outfit, the lowly Clippers, a 25-47 team that doesn't even interest Madonna. The Clips were on a five-game slide, and their star, Dominique Wilkins, was out with the flu. Mid-game, the exemplary Nuggets TV color man, Scott Hastings, bluntly announced: "This team sucks." No problem, right?
Wrong. L.A. 92, Denver 91.
After dreaming through the first half and most of the third quarter (in which they once trailed by twenty points) the Nuggs got up from their nap and put a furious rush on in the fourth period. Except for a missed Robert Pack chippie at the horn, they would have pulled the win out, too. Instead, that old bugaboo handed the youngsters their fourth straight loss: Playing down to the competition.
"With young people," general manager Bernie Bickerstaff explains, "you should deal with the immediate instead of looking down the road. That's a little dangerous. What we need to do is get busy and win some basketball games--one at a time."
Two nights later, Shawn Kemp and the mighty Sonics swaggered into town sporting a league-leading 55-17 record and their customary attitude: pissed-off Visigoths on speed. The game had a particular edge to it. Should the young Nuggets hang on and make the playoffs, they likely will face the top-seeded Sonics in the first round. So Seattle wanted to make their evil future intentions known. Backs against the wall, the Nuggets wanted to show they don't intend to be appetizers in a Sonics' postseason feast.
Yep. High drama at McNichols.
Issel got himself canned on a double technical in the first quarter, courtesy of Steve "Mr. T" Javie (the thin-skinned ref who threw the Washington Bullets' mascot out of a game this year). Assistant Gene Littles took the reins.
The Nuggets' best shooter, Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, had a sore hip, so he sat behind the bench, dressed in mustard blazer and blue jeans. A substantial-looking Denver cop sat right behind Mahmoud, dressed in blue serge. This was just hours after Bickerstaff told Denver Post columnist Mark Kiszla that Abdul-Rauf should be replaced in the starting lineup next year by a point guard who can direct the team as well as score. That turned some heads.
While Denver fell nine points back early and the furious Issel watched on TV in his office, the prospects for the Nuggets' first playoff appearance in four years were vanishing fast. So roll the credits, right?
Wrong again. Denver 104, Seattle 90.
In the midst of this huge turnaround win, Dikembe Mutombo, the Nuggets' mysterious seven-foot, two-inch center, put his second consecutive triple-double (13 points, 13 rebounds, 11 blocked shots) up in lights and, if he hadn't already done it, announced his arrival as an authentic defensive force in the league. Scoring, schmoring. You don't need ten slam-dunks a game if you play "D" like Dikembe: He's the African Blockade, and fans would do well to understand him for it.
After the Seattle game, smiles returned to a glum locker room. Reggie Williams, the team's slender, cool captain, quietly said: "Confident? We're very confident. We're still ahead. We're not behind. The Lakers have to catch us."
For the moment, at least, the ship was righted. The clammy hand, the dreaded choke, was on hold.
"We've lost so many games of late it's tough to step up and win," the evening's replacement coach, Littles, said afterward. "You start to see a game slide, you're playing the best team in the NBA and it's kind of tough...But our guys stepped up. This was a big game for us."