Excerpt from a chapter on Doug Christie in the new book Hoops Heist: Seattle, the Sonics, and How a Stolen Team’s Legacy Gave Rise to the NBA’s Secret Empire (Published by Slow Grind Media, 2020)

You can buy this book on Amazon here.

“Some people think I was the first guy to make it out of Seattle to the NBA, but that was James Edwards,” Christie says.

Edwards won a high school state title with the Roosevelt Rough Riders in 1973, played at the University of Washington until 1977, and then was drafted by the Lakers as the 46th overall pick in the 1977 NBA Draft. He’s best known for his role on the 1988-89 Bad Boy Detroit Pistons, when he won two NBA Championships.

From ’73 to ’92 there was a Seattle drought. Then, by the late 90s, the proverbial floodgates were about to open.

“When I was growing up the college coaches really didn’t come to Washington to recruit,” Christie says. “They’d go to California or maybe Oregon. But we always had the talent around the Metro area. You’d go to Rainier Beach and the gym was full. Garfield, the gym was full. These were intense rivalries with good players. They just weren’t recruited deeply. And even when we had talented guys, they’d go to Cal or Stanford and not the University of Washington. We always knew if UW could keep players home, they’d be good. But we always had a great basketball community.”

As the first player in over a decade to break out of the city and make it to the pros, Christie took it upon himself to give back and look out for the next generation of guys behind him. He launched leagues, hosted open gyms, started teams…and he made sure all of it was free so any kid could come. Most importantly, he wanted to be a visible member of the community, just as the Sonics were for him throughout his childhood. It sounds corny, but the level to which normal kids had access to their local NBA idols in Seattle simply wasn’t found anywhere else. The Sonics players weren’t just holding down a basketball job in the city, punching a clock and closing their driveways until the next game. They were part of the city. They embraced it.

“The Sonics were huge for me as a kid from the inner city,” Christie says. “To have a professional team right here. I’d ride the seven Rainier downtown and get off at the arena, and we’d see Gus Williams driving in with a Rolls Royce with his NBA 1 license plate. I loved those teams in ’77 and ’78, and then against the Bullets in ’79. I remember when they didn’t want to pay Gus Williams and fans had a going away event for him at the Seattle Aquarium. Thousands of people went to say goodbye and I went. There was a picture in the local paper of me, maybe ten years old, trying to get his autograph. He wore those classic Nike Blazers, and normally it said Nike on the back, but on Gus’s it said Wizard and I just thought that was the coolest.”

During the late ’70s and early ’80s, the Seattle police department had a challenging relationship with the inner-city areas. There was a lot of unrest and mistrust. One of the ways the police department thought to try to improve community relations, especially for the younger inner-city kids, was to give the cops Sonics cards, and if you were a kid you’d get the card if you approached a policeman and engaged in conversation. It was the perfect olive branch. The one thing everyone agreed upon in Seattle was their love for the Sonics, but their adoration didn’t happen in a vacuum. The organization and the players took pride in getting involved. Even notoriously tough guys like Xavier McDaniel made sure to make time for the next generation of Sonics fans, including a scrappy kid who lived on Rainier Avenue.

“I was getting in a little trouble as a kid and my mom put me in this church group called Young Life. They had this thing where, if you were selected, Xavier McDaniel would come and pick up the kid and take him to the game, and that ended up being me. I’ll never forget, he pulled up in a Range Rover and he had his wife with him. My friend Carlos and I got in the back seat and we talked sports and basketball and he asked us about school. Then we went to the game with him and we got to go into the players’ entrance and do all the things you normally don’t get to do. We went behind all the gates you couldn’t get behind, and it was an incredible experience. Carlos and I kept elbowing each other, like, are you serious right now?”

For a kid who used to sneak into games, having a backstage basketball pass with his favorite team’s most popular player was hoop nirvana. And once he got to the league himself and played for several franchises, he realized how special his experience was. Very few NBA teams were as embedded in their community and with their fans as the Sonics were.

“The city of Seattle is just different,” Christie says. “It’s not Sacramento, but it’s not New York either. The fans understood the game of basketball in many ways. If you ever went to the coliseum or KeyArena, it was rocking.”

That intense passion is what led to the equally intense devastation when it looked like the team was on its way out of town. From Christie’s perspective, the entire situation was unfathomable. There just was no Seattle without the Sonics. How could there be?

“When I first heard they were leaving, I always thought Howard Schultz should have just made a Starbucks Arena. That’s what really turned fans off, was the fact that the city didn’t want to build an arena,” he says. “I was sad as hell. It was heart wrenching. As a kid, the Sonics grounded me. They put roots in me. And I knew there were going to be a lot of kids who weren’t going to get that. Right now, Jamal Crawford could tweet out that he was going to have a summer league game at midnight, and three thousand people would show up. As big as hoops are in that area, to not have a pro team is a sin.”

Hoops Heist is the first publication from 2x NBA All-Star Isaiah Thomas’s Slow Grind Media, and is available wherever books are sold.

You can buy this book on Amazon here.

Jon Finkel is the award-winning author of The Life of Dad, Jocks In Chief, The Athlete, Heart Over Height, “Mean” Joe Greene, The ‘Greatest Stars of the NBA’ Series and other books about sports, fatherhood, fitness and more. His work has been endorsed by Spike Lee, Kevin Durant, Tony Dungy, Jerry Jones, Mark Cuban and Chef Robert Irvine.

Follow Jon on Twitter: @Jon_Finkel

Excerpted from Dave Bing: Attacking the Rim: My Journey from NBA Legend to Business Leader to Big-City Mayor to Mentor, published on November 17, 2020 by Triumph Books.

You can buy this book on Amazon here.

A Pistons franchise record of 52 wins against 30 losses: that’s what we accomplished in the ’73–74 season, Ray Scott’s first full year as a head coach. It was a personal triumph for Ray, who was the first Black coach to ever be named Coach of the Year in the NBA, or in any professional sport for that matter. Quite an honor, but our success was not, of course, an overnight thing.

Over the past year, Ray and the Pistons management had instigated a number of changes that helped make a difference. The first and most important came a year earlier, when the team traded a second-round draft pick to the Atlanta Hawks for a tough, versatile forward named Don Adams. Players called him “Smart,” not only because his namesake was a Hollywood actor who gained fame in the popular TV show Get Smart, but more so because he had been an excellent student at Northwestern University and enjoyed a reputation of being very basketball-savvy, rarely making a mistake on the court. He was one of the NBA’s top defensive players, a rugged rebounder, and could perform well at a number of different positions. For these reasons and more, Don had quickly become an important Piston and one of my best friends on the team.

Another addition making a difference was John Mengelt, a hardnosed, high-energy guard, whose dive-on-the-floor and fly-into-theseats style earned him the nickname “Crash” and made him popular with the Cobo crowd. And then there was George Trapp, a guy we called “Instant Heat,” who always hit the floor ready to singe the nets.

In our highly competitive Midwest Division, we spent the season chasing the conference-champion Milwaukee Bucks and the Chicago Bulls and, despite our franchise record 52 wins, ended up in third place. Making the playoffs for only the second time during my years with the Pistons, we took the Bulls to a deciding seventh game before ending the season on a sour note with a loss, 96–94, that was particularly hard to take.

Nonetheless, as we geared up for the 1974–75 season, I felt we were a team with a lot of upside and great chemistry. “It was really starting to come together,” my pal Lanier would say later. “We all got along and had each other’s backs. And then we win 52 games and we’re starting to get a little more national exposure. Things were looking up.”

Coach Ray Scott’s words were even stronger: “We were poised for greatness.”

And then in July of 1974 the Pistons founder and owner Fred Zollner sold the team. The buyer was a collection of a dozen businessmen, but the lead investor was a native Detroiter named William Davidson. The owner of Guardian Industries, one of the world’s largest glass suppliers, Davidson, like Zollner before him, was an auto supplier magnate. About owning a professional sports team he knew little or nothing, so he would have to learn on the job, and ultimately, from my perspective, that would end up hurting us.

The trouble started not long after the sale went through, when general manager Ed Coil, who stayed on to help ease the transition, informed me that the new owners would not honor that side deal I had made with Fred Zollner to renegotiate my contract and for the team to withhold a relatively small portion of my salary. I had decided this was a good time to go ahead and put in that pool for Aaris and the girls, but when I asked for the amount that had been withheld—about $30,000—I was told that Mr. Davidson felt no obligation under the law to provide me with the money. It was, after all, strictly a side deal, almost a gentlemen’s agreement, and not written into the team’s contract with me. And it was the same with my deal with Zollner to renegotiate our contract.

Of course, I understood the legalities of it, even without counsel from my attorney Ed Bell, who had not really been involved in any of my previous contract negotiations. But the unfairness of the situation seemed crystal clear to me. First I was shocked by what I was hearing, and then I was angry.

The past season had been the best in Pistons history, and I had played well, with 18.8 points, 6.9 assists, and playing 39 minutes per game while missing only one contest all year. Surely I had earned the right to reopen the contract. As for the $30,000 withheld, that was my money, I told Coil, money that he knew very well I had already earned, money that was due to me under the explicit agreement I had come to with Mr. Zollner.

But that was just the point, said Coil, because William Davidson felt he was under no obligation to honor any arrangements or compensation agreed to by Zollner, who was now entirely out of the picture.

I didn’t blame Coil, with whom I had always had a good relationship. I knew he was only the messenger. But given my position as captain and team leader and my status in the league as a perennial All-Star, I couldn’t believe the new management would not see the fairness—and the obvious wisdom—of honoring the previous owner’s arrangements with me. Yes, we were not talking about a great deal of money, certainly compared to the millions the new owners had just anted up for the team, but to me that was all the more reason why I should be given my due.

Frankly, I felt incensed about the whole mess and devalued by my new bosses, and I made my feelings clear to Coil. I told him, “If this is how these people are going to treat me, then we’re going to have a problem.”

But what to do about it?

My answer was a holdout during training camp that might give me some leverage. I talked with my teammates, and all of them were supportive and understood that I would do nothing that would ultimately harm our team and its chances for a good season. And that was especially so with my roommate at the time, Don Adams. I had been rooming with Lanier for two years, but when we acquired Adams, I roomed with him as a way to help him feel comfortable and fit in. And not only did that happen, but the two of us had become fast friends.

Now as training camp approached, I knew that Don was still without a contract. He was disgruntled with the Pistons’ offer of $60,000 and was trying to get to $80,000. He felt that as a starter, a major role player, and a guy who was being touted for the league’s all-defensive team, he was definitely underpaid. And so when I told him about my situation and that I was not going to come to training camp on time, he said, “Well I’m probably going to do the same thing.” So now you’ve got two-fifths of the starting lineup that’s not going to be in training camp, which was definitely going to be a problem for our new owners.

Excerpted from Dave Bing: Attacking the Rim: My Journey from NBA Legend to Business Leader to Big-City Mayor to Mentor, published on November 17, 2020 by Triumph Books.

You can buy this book on Amazon here.

Excerpted from Tony Parker: Beyond All of My Dreams, published on November 17, 2020 by Triumph Books.

You can buy this book on Amazon here.

In the end, during that second Parisian year, we had a good season with a group of young players. We made it to the playoffs and were eliminated by ASVEL, who had a great team. I placed third in the MVP vote. I was 18 years old.

At the time, I thought it was a good idea to do a third year in Paris, try to win the MVP award, and then think about leaving. But my agent, Mark Fleisher, called me and said, “No, you’re going to put your name in the NBA draft right now. You’ll be a first-round pick.”

It was a strategic decision. I told myself that if I did indeed enter my name in the draft, I would be selected at the end of the first round. Meaning I’d be drafted to a good team, since the worst NBA teams from the previous season get the highest draft picks. At the time, those teams preferred to play it safe and choose players who had just graduated from American universities rather than pick a European point guard. But if I waited another year and was, for example, MVP of the French national championships, I could be drafted in the lottery and find myself on a bad team.

My father and I had studied all of that. So, I decided it was better to be drafted at the end of the first round.

Being drafted at the top really wasn’t one of my goals. Not at all. Look at Frank Ntilikina. He was drafted eighth. He was a top French player and look what team he plays for. I didn’t want that. Being drafted by a good team at the end of the first round gives you a couple of years to make your way, like I did in Paris after Sciarra. I know the NBA history really well. I know how it works if you’re chosen at the top. It can take four years before being traded to a good team. That wasn’t for me. I play basketball to win titles and didn’t want to lose four or five years of my career.

Before the draft itself, I had to complete a whole series of workouts for clubs that were potentially interested in picking me. First in Seattle with the SuperSonics, who were looking for a replacement for Gary Payton. Then in Boston with the Celtics, who really wanted me and made me do a workout the night before the draft. There was Orlando, where the coach, Doc Rivers, took a liking to me, and also in the Bay Area with Golden State. These training sessions lasted at least two hours. You did all sorts of shots, in motion or still, and then you followed that up with one-on-one or two-on-two games. The franchise staff was there, often in their entirety. They analyzed everything, even your defense. Finally, they had you do a lot of strength exercises.

During 2001, I did 11 workouts for 10 different teams. That’s huge. At the time, Europeans weren’t popular, especially point guards. From June 10 until June 25, I travelled all around the States for practices. You’re in front of the coaches, the GMs, the owners. You do a little session in the morning, then you have a little bit of time to visit the city, and you get back on a plane at 5:00 pm to go to the next city for the next practice. You have to make yourself known.

In addition to the basketball work, the Spurs even had me take a psychological test. There were a ton of questions, and a lot of different situations were discussed. They wanted to know how I would react to various things. There were very few basketball questions. Instead, they were mainly about life in general, competition, jealousy, and so on. That gave them a personality profile, and they could see if I was in tune with them or not. I never asked for the results, but they must have been good, given that they selected me.

When I was chosen 28th by San Antonio, I was so happy. For one, I knew I was landing on a good team, and two, they didn’t have a point guard already. It was perfect for me. I also knew I’d only have one shot. It was make or break. Because that’s the thing; when you’re on a good team, you’re not given the time to grow or progress. With a bad team you’re given three or four years, because no matter how bad the team is, it’s in their best interest to play you. When you’re with a good team, if you don’t play well during the first few years, you could be traded. I knew the deal and was aware of that. I had to be good immediately.

Drafted!

However, the Spurs were mistrustful of me. The first time that “Pop” saw me was in June of 2001 in Chicago. I got off the plane and immediately went to do my workout at the gym. I was tired and a little worn out from the trip. It didn’t go very well. Popovich didn’t like what I showed him at all and didn’t even want to see me again. Luckily, RC Buford, the San Antonio Spurs general manager, insisted.

Before that second workout, it was make-or-break time. I was starting to get some buzz. Pop let himself be convinced and said okay to seeing me a second time. My second workout took place in San Antonio. At the end, Pop wasn’t singing the same tune: “We’ll never get him at 28. He’ll get drafted before that in the top 15.” San Antonio was in fifth place from the previous season and so their draft pick was at the end of the first round. He said to me, “If you’re still there in the 28th spot, we’re definitely grabbing you.”

It was clear in that moment that I wanted to go to San Antonio, but I was afraid that Boston would pick me at 21. I didn’t really want to go to Boston. Their team wasn’t the best.

I got in the car after that second workout and was going to visit the city a little before going back to the airport. I called my dad and said, “Dad, I really want to play for San Antonio. I don’t know why, but I love the atmosphere here. The city is nice. I spotted some apartment buildings. I think I could live here.” That was one week before the draft.

I truly thought, like Pop, that Boston would pick me. The Celtics even had me do a private workout, all alone, a few days before the draft and assured me they would take me at 21. However, there were no European point guards in the NBA back then, and I think the franchises weren’t willing to take a risk. I did in fact drop down to the 28th pick, and the Spurs took me.

That draft was a funny story. I was in the bleachers with my father and my agent on the night of the ceremony. Each choice is made within five minutes. When the five-minute clock started before the announcement of the 21st pick, Crissie, a woman who worked for the NBA, came to see me and was holding out a Celtics hat. She said, “Tony, Boston’s going to pick you, start coming down.” So I started making my way down to the stage with the Celtics hat in hand, and then with less than three minutes away from the announcement, she said, “Ah, Tony, I’m sorry. Boston changed their mind. You can go back up.” What I learned after is that Boston’s GM and coach wanted me, but the owner got scared: “No European point guards. It’s too risky!” Instead they took Joe Forte, who played for North Carolina in college, instead of me.

I sat back down, and the Spurs managed to get me at 28. They had been trying for an hour to set up a trade and move up in the draft to get me. Pop told me that they were so happy to have me that they had thrown a wild party. It was one of the biggest parties since the Tim Duncan pick in 1997. When I called Pop a few minutes after the pick, I simply told him, “We’re going to show all the others that they made a mistake by not taking me.”

September 11, 2001

Before leaving for the NBA, I had to deal with a not-so-nice incident in court. Louis Nicollin, the owner of the Montpellier soccer club and an important French entrepreneur in waste management, bought the club in Paris. He wanted a huge trade compensation for me leaving, despite having already secured a considerable sum. Gregg Popovich was there at the hearing of this little 19-year-old Frenchman he had just drafted and who hadn’t even played for him. A little while later, the verdict came in. I was allowed to leave without Paris getting more money.

While we were in the courtroom, the hearing was interrupted by an announcement of what had just happened in New York. It was September 11—9/11. Then, on live TV, we saw the second plane crash into the World Trade Center tower. I still managed to get the last plane back to Paris before they closed the airports. Pop was stuck in London for a week.

Summer League

When the Spurs chose me, I kind of had the impression we already knew each other. I had done two workouts with them, followed by a short lunch together, and we had discussed quite a bit. After the draft, I participated in the Summer League in Salt Lake City. Only Mike Brown, the assistant coach, was there. Pop hadn’t come. It was my first game. We arrived. We warmed up, and then—I’ll remember this forever—I went to see Mike Brown.

“Mike, why isn’t Pop in the bleachers?”

“He’s busy.”

I have to admit that I was hurt. I was his team’s future point guard, and the coach didn’t even bother to see me play in my first Summer League game. I told myself I was going to nail it for that first game.

I scored 29 points and had eight assists. Later on, Mike Brown would tell me that after the game, he called Pop and said, “We have found our point guard for the next 15 years. You absolutely have to come see him play in Salt Lake.”

The day of the next game, while I was warming up, who did I see in the bleachers? Pop! I looked at Mike Brown, satisfied, kind of smiling. “Oh, he decided to come after all.” After Mike’s phone call, Pop came right away and understood that he would have me play immediately, without waiting one or two seasons for me to be ready. He had to come and see me play for himself.

Everything went well that entire week in Salt Lake. I was the best point guard in the Summer League. After that, I went to the team’s regular camp. That was another world. It was the start of training for the season. I met all of the older players. It was there that I saw Tim Duncan for the first time. It was impressive. I was keeping to myself in the locker room, and I saw them all arrive. I said to myself, “Wow! No kidding! There are Tim Duncan and David Robinson. I have to be ready. It’s not the same. This is no longer Paris Saint-Germain. You’re in the NBA now.”

Obviously, I acted like it was nothing, but I was really impressed. David Robinson was my little brother’s favorite player. I could still see him lifting my little brother up in the air when he came to France a few years earlier with the Nike Air Force Tour. We had wormed our way through the crowd to get autographs. Charles Barkley and Scottie Pippen were there too. We were there, wide-eyed, and we watched them play. Now I found myself sitting in the locker room with David Robinson, in the flesh, in front of me. They spoke amongst themselves in the locker room. I didn’t say anything. I watched, listened, and learned. It was the beginning of my first year.

As soon as we hit the court and the ball was bouncing, it was game on. My competitive spirit quickly took over, and I didn’t care who they were in the end. In that moment, I just wanted to show that I could play in the NBA.

The most important thing for me was showing Pop and Duncan that I deserved to be there. I was aware of Duncan’s doubts. When the Spurs drafted me, he said, “But why are we drafting a European point guard? We’ll never win a title with a European point guard.”

At the beginning of the 2000s, when you had your eye on winning titles, taking a non-American on for that position was risky. When you’re the team’s superstar, like Duncan was, and you draft a European point guard, it’s actually super risky. Technically, I was their first real project. For example, when Manu Ginobili arrived at the age of 25, he had already won the EuroLeague and was an accomplished player. With me, everything remained to be seen.

I got there with my thick French accent, though thankfully I spoke English fluently and understood everything. That was a huge advantage. As a point guard, being able to easily communicate with the staff and your teammates sped up the assimilation process. At that particular time, I didn’t understand all of that. I didn’t understand that the Spurs had taken a huge chance with me. I told myself that they took me because they had seen that I had talent and that they were going to try to shape me to fit their needs.

Throughout my entire career, Pop would talk to me about the difference between myself and John Stockton. John, the cerebral point guard, was at one end of the spectrum, and I, the aggressive point guard, was at the other. Pop’s goal was to get me closer to the middle of the spectrum. From the first day of practice, he’d say, “I know I’ll never make a John Stockton out of you, but you have to become a well-rounded point guard and get closer to the middle of the spectrum.” I was aware that I needed to become a real point guard and a real leader. Basketball wasn’t just showdowns and beating your opponent.

Excerpted from Tony Parker: Beyond All of My Dreams, published on November 17, 2020 by Triumph Books.

You can buy this book on Amazon here.