Free Life on the Run by Bill Bradley

team. When two one-on-one stars play against each other, there is a lot of “get-backing” (when one scores, the other must reciprocate). Screens bother them, for screens crowd at least two more people (the screener and his defensive man) in upon them. One-on-one stars want the ball, an open court, and a single defensive man. Then they operate with imagination and uncanny skill. There are nights when one-on-one players can so easily beat any defense that they seem to be reaching heights of invincibility unknown to other mortals.
    “When I was younger coming up, everything was a constant one-on-one battle,” says Dick Barnett. “Even if you were in a game you were still playing against your man in a one-on-one situation. As you mature in the pros, you no longer feel like you have to go out and build a reputation. The game isn’t as personal. You have so many games that your approach is more workmanlike.” A more controlled one-on-one is practiced by Walker and by most veterans. They don’t shoot every time.
    Walker is an excellent basketball player standing 6′6″ and weighing 230 pounds. He is a handsome man with a close-cropped Afro. I first saw him play in college, and even then his body and mind seemed in balance. He does pretty much what he wants on a basketball court, getting a good shot at his whim. He will dribble to the middle of the court or to the baseline, and will go into his shooting motion as if he is going to jump and shoot. If the defender does not jump, Walker will “fake his shot” another time and perhaps even a third time. By the last fake, the defender will at least be off balance and will probably have jumped into the air to block the anticipated shot. Walker will then take his jump shot unmolested, or will be fouled as he shoots.
    If he chooses to fake his shot before he dribbles, he retains the option of driving to the basket when his defender jumps for the faked shot. In addition to Walker’s mastery of these basic moves, he is a very smart player. He senses when to make the explosive drive to the basket and when to play nonchalantly within the pattern of the team. He senses when he has the advantage and he knows that he has to be patient to use it most effectively. Above all, Walker is confident in the clutch—shooting during the last quarter—and, eight times out of ten, if there is a last-second shot, he is the one to take it.
    Holzman finishes his pregame talk. Everyone claps and we walk down a linoleumed hallway, up a set of steps, and into a still empty Chicago Stadium. The three tiers of seats are newly painted in red, white, and black. The steel beams cross the ceiling and disappear into the sides of the building’s old brick walls. Radio booths hang at the Bulls’ end with the station’s call letters, WGN and WMAQ, embroidered on the giant banners which cover the bottom half of the booths. Concession stands sit at the same spot on each tier, looking as if they were carefully stacked toy blocks. The old pipe organ with its red and white ornate wood decoration high above the visitors’ end soon will be raised into position and the organist will play the national anthem. We go through our warm-ups. People start to fill the midcourt area seats.
    DeBusschere looks distracted and tired. He takes a warm-up hook that misses the rim. Chicago for Dave is the best and worst of cities. He played baseball here with the White Sox. There isn’t too much left from those years but the friends. There’s one in particular, a Greek-American with whom he usually spends most of the night before the game, drinking in “just a few joints Nick and I found.” DeBusschere sometimes surprises me the next night by playing a great game, but often he is fatigued. He is 33 years old. Still, he prepares for the game and expects himself to perform as if he had rested for two weeks.
    DeBusschere is the best defensive forward in basketball. There is always physical contact between him and the man he is