These are ghost days for me, with April
memories of a softball-playing daughter and the playoff-bound Bulls appearing
as they will. I even have a memory of
Clare hitting a mammoth homerun—260-plus feet—in Appleton, Wisconsin, the same day
Derrick Rose suffered his first knee injury.
But most of all, I remember “my” Bulls, those toughs (although I’m sure
the opposition preferred “thugs” and other such names) coached by Dick Motta in
the first half of the 1970s.
There was Chet Walker and Bob Love
and Tom Boerwinkle and, oh yeah, Jerry Sloan and Norm Van Lier; more on those
last two shortly. How I would’ve loved
to see that team match up against the Houston Rockets led by James Harden, a guard
whose immense talent is lessened, at least for me, by his constant whining
about the refs. “I just want a fair
chance” Harden complained about calls and non-calls he thinks caused his team
to lose Sunday against the Warriors. Oh,
give me a break.
Harden is the only player I’ve
ever seen charge backwards into a defender to get a foul called; Bulls’ players
are forever falling off Harden’s back as the refs whistle them for a foul. A fair chance? Well, maybe what goes around comes
around. Harden should just be happy he’ll
never be double-teamed by the likes of Van Lier and Sloan. They would’ve constantly picked his pocket while
taking him to school over the course of 48 minutes.
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