Free Life on the Run by Bill Bradley Page A

guarding. Resting his forearm on his opponent’s chest or waist, he rarely gets screened; sometimes pushing his man in order to get past the screen and not to switch. He places his body chest to chest with his opponent’s, somehow avoiding a foul and still preventing his man from beating him on a drive. DeBusschere plays the percentages. He knows he can’t block the shot of a good jump shooter, so he tries to force his man to shoot while off balance. There are areas of the court in which he allows his man to maneuver uncontested and other areas in which he fights his man for every inch. He channels a player toward areas of the floor that are out of that man’s optimum shooting range. Given the choice of battling Dave for 48 minutes to get good shots or of taking more difficult shots farther from the basket, many players resign themselves to the bad shots. When DeBusschere guards a taller player or a great one-on-one player, he tries to deny him the ball by “overplaying” (placing his arms or body between the offensive man and the passer rather than between his man and the basket). If the ball moves quickly to the opposite side of the court, DeBusschere beats his man to the spot on that side of the court at which the player is most likely to receive a pass. Like all great defensive players, he enjoys playing defense. “You are always in a game when you play good defense,” he says. “I like to hound my man constantly—make him feel like I’m never going to let him breathe. I don’t want him to feel I am ever an inch away from him. Wherever he goes, whatever he does, I anticipate first. I start in the afternoon before the game, thinking about how I can upset the man I guard. It is hard work, but you can make it fun.”
    Tonight, as usual, DeBusschere will guard Chet Walker. Theirs is a rivalry which dates back to high school. DeBusschere was from a Catholic, all-boys high school in Detroit. Walker grew up in Benton Harbor in southwestern Michigan and went to the public high school there. DeBusschere shot well from the outside and played with good fundamentals. Walker was the first player in his high school’s history to dunk the ball. They met in the Michigan State High School Finals at East Lansing before a crowd of 15,000. Both played well. DeBusschere, who had a stronger supporting cast than Walker, fouled out with five minutes left in the game, but his team pulled it out for the 1958 state title.
    In professional basketball two athletes’ careers often become intertwined. They may be friends and may even have come from the same city or neighborhood, but only when they are on the court do they feel the intense rivalry that exists between them. The more times one player meets another, the better he gets to know not only the other’s abilities, but also his personality. Subtle weaknesses become glaring shortcomings to one who knows how to exploit them: a tendency to lose your temper, a hesitation to take a pressure shot, a preference for the flashy low-percentage move, a fear of losing, an inability to cope with changing tactics. Mutual respect develops between many pairs of players. Mutual enmity festers between others.
    The buzzer sounds to start the game, and DeBusschere, unstrung by the warm-up, is already on the bench drinking water. I ask him how he feels. He says he’s ready. I’m not convinced. Holzman and Barnett suggest an opening play. The game begins.
    The Bulls are at their best, and soon they lead us by ten points. Walker takes DeBusschere to the baseline twice, fakes, and scores easily. Dave does not discourage him with aggressiveness. He is a step behind as Walker flashes across the lane and takes a pass for an easy lay-up. He can’t seem to keep him away from the ball. The Knick guards do not move the ball to the open man, or go into quick one-on-one moves. Instead, they dribble without penetrating to the basket until the twenty-four second clock is about to run out. Then they force shots. I