From Earl the Twirl: My Life in Basketball © 2024 Earl Cureton and Jake Uitti by permission of McFarland.
Earl Cureton: “I don’t remember the exact time I made it into Houston, maybe around 3:30 or 4 in the afternoon Texas time. But I was ready. A team assistant coach, Larry Smith, picked me up. His nickname was “Mr. Mean,” but he was great to me. After we shook hands, I told him I had to go to baggage claim to get my stuff. He said, “Earl, there’s no time to wait for the bags. We have to go now.” All I had was my carry-on in my hand. He said, “We’ll get someone to get your stuff later. Let’s go!” So, I jumped in a car with him, and we went straight to the arena. By the time I made it to the locker room in Houston, the rest of the team was already on the court warming up. The team had my jersey all ready, name printed on the back and everything, hanging in a locker. I jumped into the uniform, number 35, warmups and all, and I got a quick physical examination from the doctors right there in the locker room.
I was cleared to play, so I made my way out to the court. I went directly to the bench, watching the players as the early minutes of the game ticked away. When the first time-out was called and the Houston players came toward the bench, I came out and high-fived them. They all looked at me like, “Who is the heck this guy?” I hadn’t even been introduced to anyone yet and I was already trying to bring the positive energy. The team brought me my contract while I was on the bench and I turned around and signed it as slyly as I could, trying to avoid any possible TV cameras. It was April 21, 1994, and I was officially back in the NBA.
The team’s coach Rudy Tomjanovich asked me if I could give them a few minutes that first night and I said, “Sure can!” After all that, I knew I could give them a few, even if it made me puke in the locker room later.
As it turned out, the Rockets didn’t need me in that game. The team flew out to Dallas for the next game that night after the one we played. But I still didn’t have any clothes! So, waking up the next morning and before the next game, I called a lady friend I knew out there in Dallas and asked for some help. She picked me up at 9 in the morning to go shopping so I could get something to wear.
When she picked me up, though, Rudy saw me get into her car and he shook his head as if I was on my way to a booty call or something. I told him, “Coach! I didn’t get my luggage! I don’t have any clothes, no underwear or anything!” I’d later tell him I was spoken for, with Judith at home.
Rudy had a good laugh about it all. He is from Michigan, used to play at St. Cecilia, so we had a bond even beyond the Rockets. With my lady friend I went and got what I needed from the store. And that night in the game, Coach T subbed me in and I got my first run with the Rockets. I played 11 minutes in that game against Dallas, grabbing three rebounds. And even though we lost, playing with the team felt right. In a strange way, it felt like I’d been playing with these guys my whole life. Like the Hornets a few years before, it felt like family.
I knew how to come off the bench, knew how to stick to my role. That’s a major way to succeed in the league, especially if you’re not a star, and I’d been doing it most of my career, especially in the more recent years. I knew how to box out, stick my elbows into guys, and create space. It was what the team needed when Dream [Hakeem Olajuwon] was on the bench. For the last game of the regular season, we played in Denver, and I got in the game to play 19 minutes.
I grabbed nine rebounds (four offensive) and scored four points, too. Not bad for a guy who was playing in the YMCA like a week before!
Then the playoffs began. In the first round, I didn’t play very much—heck, I was still learning the playbook. The team didn’t much need me, anyway. We were the West’s No. 2 seed, and we played Portland in the first round. We beat the Trailblazers 3–1. The West’s No. 1 seed, the Seattle SuperSonics, didn’t have it so good. They ended up losing in the first round, which took out one of our top competitors. Basketball fans will remember Denver’s Dikembe Mutombo holding the basketball under the basket at the end of that series, lying on his back, in a joyous, emotional celebration. Mutombo’s Denver squad was the first No. 8 seed to beat a No. 1 seed in NBA history. They did it in five games while, simultaneously, making our route to the Finals that much easier.
Denver later lost to Utah in the next round, their joy ultimately short-lived. In our next round series, we played Phoenix. In that one, my teammate Carl Herrera went down with an injury, dislocating his shoulder, which meant I had to step up and play much bigger minutes. Carl was a talented power forward. He was 6’9″ and while his numbers were never huge, he knew how to do a lot of things well that helped a team win. Strangely, we went down 0–2 to Charles Barkley and Phoenix, losing the second game in overtime. But we won the next three, to take a 3–2 series lead. We lost to them in game six and then we won in game 7. To be thrown into a playoff series with only two regular-season games to get my legs and learn the offense is quite a challenge. Thankfully, Dream did so much for us that most of the guys didn’t have to worry too much on the offensive end.
Our plays pretty much involved throwing the ball to Dream and letting him go to work. He was too good and would score nearly every time if the opposing team didn’t double-team him. And if they did, we had shooters like veteran Kenny Smith, rookie Sam Cassell, bench leader Mario Elie, NBA icon Robert “Big Shot Bob” Horry, the fiery Vernon Maxwell and more who could shoot the long ball with the best of ’em. We also had Otis Thorpe, the big fella, who would roll to the rim for an easy dunk if he had the space. Even our backup point guard Scott Brooks could put it in the basket if need be.
Sam Cassell in particular was crucial for us that series. He was a tough guy from Baltimore. I remember before one game in the playoffs that season, he came on the bus in just his sweats. No suit. He was a rookie, but a cocky one. He had a pillowcase with all his gear in it. When he got on the bus, he said to the whole team, all of us dressed in some of our finest threads, “I don’t know where the fuck y’all going, but I’m going to play. I ain’t going to party.”
Sure enough we won that game, Sam hitting huge shot after huge shot. But even with all his work, it was Hakeem who carried us for the lion’s share of the series.
With Dream that dominant, all we had to do was make good decisions with the ball and where we cut without it, and he’d do the rest. Dream was so good that he didn’t need another all-star on the team to succeed. That season, he won the regular season MVP, Defensive Player of the Year and, later, in the Finals, he would win the coveted Finals MVP. That’s an impossibly good season. Maybe the best for a player ever.
Thankfully, I was able to come in and fit in and help where I was needed. The team leaned on me especially when Carl went down. I played well against Phoenix, and, against Utah in the Western Conference Finals, I banged bodies with Karl Malone, making him work hard for his shots. We beat the Jazz 4–1. When Dream hit the clinching shot against Utah, I ran to him from the bench and embraced the man of the hour.
I’d played with Moses Malone and other greats. But, to me, in that moment, Dream was the best big man ever to do it. Sports Illustrated quoted me after the game when I said, “All Dream’s energy was gone, but he knew we needed him to take that shot. And when he made it, I came out to get him, because I knew it had come straight from his heart.”
When we got to the NBA Finals, Carl came back from his injury and I was more than happy, for the sake of team chemistry, to let him take back his role in the rotation. When he came back, he told me, “I’m worried about my job.” I said, “You don’t have to worry, Carl. I want to win this ring.” I didn’t play much in the Finals against our opponents, the New York Knicks, but I knew I helped the team get there in important ways. In fact, Dream said as much. In a press conference, he told reporters that the team benefited from my presence big time. He gave me a lot of props, which felt incredible to be seen in that way. I was proud, knowing I did all I could to help the Rockets, bringing championship experience and a willingness to contribute. Heck, going into the Finals, I was the only one on the team with a ring.
In the Finals, my old friend Doug Collins announced the series. It’s funny how life can come that way. Doug, who let me go in Chicago, was now out of a job, himself, and here he was talking about me in the Finals, talking about how I was one of the oldest players in the league, still doing it. I couldn’t help but smile at that one. But beyond anything with basketball that series, one of the biggest things people remember is the infamous white Ford Bronco.
During the fifth game in the Finals, on June 17, famed football star OJ Simpson fled down a southern California highway in that white Ford Bronco, making international news. As much as we didn’t want it to affect us for the rest of the series, it was a distraction. Nobody knew what was happening. We lost that game and in the locker-room, we tried to figure out what everyone was buzzing about in the stands. As it turned out, there’d been two murders and Simpson was a suspect. Today, everyone knows now how that all played out.
To that point, Hakeem had enjoyed a long career in the NBA, drafted in the same year as Michael Jordan. He was picked first overall in 1984. He finished his career a 12-time all-star, averaging well over 20 points in his first 13 seasons. But he’d never made it over the hump in the Finals.
After getting out of the Western Conference, we met the Knicks. They even went up 3–2 in the series against us. And all the while I was writing a column for the Houston newspaper called “Earl’s Pearls,” rattling off my thoughts. When the series started, we won the first game 85–78. New York won the second 91–83. We won the third 93–89. Then New York won the next two 91–82 and 91–84. But we won game six by two points, 86–84. In that one, New York’s John Starks, one of his team’s best players and a former grocery bagger, had one of his best games, scoring 27 points on 9 of 18 shooting.
Spike Lee, the Knicks’ legendary fan and movie director, yelled at us the entire series from the sidelines. I’d met Spike years before, introduced to him by the great Knick, Bernard King. We’d met at a restaurant in New York, Jazzabell’s Soul Food. At the time he was an up-and-comer. Now, in ’94, he was a film giant. But he couldn’t do much for the Knicks, except shout from the sidelines behind his big-rimmed glasses. Spike had recognized me during the series, yelling, “Earl the Twirl!” Dr. J was around those Finals too, doing some television. I made sure to say hello to him. It turned out, for one broadcast, he’d forgotten his dress shoes. Knowing we wore the same size, 15, he asked if I had an extra pair. I obliged.
Back to the Finals: in the series-deciding Game 7, everything was close, but then, just one game removed from his highlight game six heroics, Starks, the former CBA player, the star shooting guard for the team, had maybe his worst game ever, going just 2 for 18 and 0 for 11 from three-point range. He just kept shooting and missing. I felt bad for him, but his failure was, in the end, our triumph. We took the deciding game, 90–84, in Houston, in front of our 16,611 fans. When the final buzzer sounded, I looked for Judith.
Dream, who I’d backed up in the playoffs for about 10 minutes per game, had outdueled the Knicks’ star, center Patrick Ewing. Due to his play, we’d won. I’d won my second ring. The first ring came in a sweep, now the second had come in seven hard-fought games. Rollercoasters.
In our celebration, the champagne flowed like water. It was special for me because I knew I’d contributed to a Finals win at a time when I could have easily been out of the league. I hadn’t just sat my butt on the bench. I was helpful, especially against Phoenix and Utah, with Carl out.
You need players like me to win big. It may not have worked out with the Clippers, Bulls or Hornets, but all those teams weren’t ready to win, anyway.
With Philly, I was a necessary piece. In Detroit, I helped the team figure out their identity. Now, in Houston, I was the final piece to a championship-winning puzzle. I’d even gotten a call from Magic during the Finals to head out on his touring team but I’d had to decline. History awaited. And for Dream to later say he doesn’t know what the team would have done without me made it that much sweeter.
For all those who doubted me, how about that one? Now I had the distinction of being a two-time NBA champion, with rings earned nearly a dozen years apart. Now, I was 36 years old and feeling like a kid again.
When we got our rings, they read, “Clutch City.” That’s right.”
From Earl the Twirl: My Life in Basketball © 2024 Earl Cureton and Jake Uitti by permission of McFarland.