Chapter 643: Chapter 34: Stars
The 1987-1988 season saw us putting forth a tremendous effort to clinch a third consecutive championship.
It was a tough year, filled with injuries, arguments, and conflicts that pervaded the entire season, seeping from the locker room onto the basketball court.
Personally, I was at the pinnacle of my skills and condition, brimming with confidence in my ability to play a more significant role on the court.
However, the Portland Trail Blazers unquestionably remained Ah Gan’s team; there was no denying that, and even I had to concede to myself that I couldn’t compete with him.
It was clear that there was competition among teammates; everyone wanted to be the protagonist on the court.
Especially when you’re in your early twenties, full of youthful vigor, and during a rising phase of your career, able to spring three feet in the air to dunk the ball.
In the summer of 1987, the Trail Blazers held a high-rim dunk contest, which I won. I could dunk on a 3.6 meter hoop, probably the only area where I had an edge over Ah Gan.
During the season, Yin Man and Riley had contacted me privately, inquiring if I had any interest in leaving Portland to play elsewhere, as they were considering starting a new team in Florida.
At that time, my mind was focused on the three-peat, and I declined, not wanting to entertain the notion.
But Riley said something to me, "This is Ah Gan’s three-peat, not yours."
I admit I wavered for a moment, the fact is Riley’s words were absurd; a championship belongs to every contributor to the team (he told me this later, after I became his player).
But at that time, there was indeed a shift in my mindset; it’s hard for young people to refuse the glory of being the top contributor, and to stop dreaming about becoming the absolute leader of a team.
I am a laid-back person, but I’m also proud; I wanted to create my own legacy.
In 1988, we fought through immense hardship to reach the finals and then defeated the Washington Bullets to achieve the three-peat.
At that moment of triumph, I felt a complete release, body and soul—it was one of the greatest moments I had ever experienced. We deliberately dragged the series back to our home court, where many celebrities attended, and we stood at the center of the world.
However, Ah Gan took his place at the center of the center. I acknowledged his unparalleled ability; under his leadership, the Trail Blazers were invincible.
I realized my own insignificance; I thought I was Portland’s moon, capable of illuminating the dark earth with borrowed sunlight after the sun had set, and I believed this to be true in many games.
But at the moment of our three-peat, I understood that I was just one of Portland’s stars, invisible during the day, only eligible to twinkle faintly late into the night.
But you must understand that the stars in the sky are also suns, shining even more brilliantly than the sun within their own galaxies.
Thus, in the summer of 1988, I decided to take my talents to the South Coast and become a star in my own galaxy.
————"Clyde The Glide," an autobiography by Clyde Drexler, published in 2004, excerpt.
On December 4th in the morning, Drexler overslept and didn’t wake up until half past nine.
He hurriedly dressed, said goodbye to his wife and daughter, and drove his Mercedes to La Salle High School.
The Miami Heat rented the high school’s gym for their routine training, a nice place painted in greens and cream-white, located by the Gulf of Mexico.
Drexler drove at a leisurely pace; practice started at ten, and he should have woken up at nine to get ready and go to training.
But he had attended a local party in Miami the night before, a party he didn’t initiate, but his name was used by the organizers to attract attendees. He showed up and had a great time.
Considering his wife and daughter, he didn’t stay out overnight and returned home very late, opting to sleep alone in the guest room to avoid disturbing them.
Drexler married his girlfriend Gaynell in the summer of ’88; the wedding was in Houston, after which they moved to Miami.
This year, the legal issues with his ex-girlfriend were finally settled, and he signed a new, lucrative contract with the Heat, providing adequate compensation to bring his daughter to Miami to live with him.
Miami was a good place, not as cold and damp as Portland, nor did it have the racial issues of Houston. With a large population of immigrants of color, it was a true melting pot. As long as you had money, it was a joyful tropical paradise.
Parties like the one from last night could be attended every day. Any team coming to play against Miami would find it hard to stay put in their rooms watching TV—unlike in Portland, where a heavy snowfall might force you to stay indoors.
Everyone would go out to enjoy the warm, salty sea breeze and chance upon gorgeous, sexy bikini-clad women; they’d experience the hot atmosphere of the South Coast in music clubs, eat well at Mexican restaurants, and perhaps catch the third installment of "First Blood" at the movies.
No one had time to ponder basketball—what is basketball? It’s just a reason that brought you here, as well as a job, and nothing more.
There were simply too many things to indulge in and enjoy here.
Drexler drove past the Beckley Center, a commercial complex erected by Miami’s municipal government in 1982 at a cost of $35 million US Dollars, aiming to evolve into Miami’s Times Square.
It officially opened in 1986, but from its inception, it was destined to fail.
Due to its location and the consumer culture in Miami, the locals were not interested in large commercial complexes.
This wasn’t Milwaukee, this wasn’t Portland; there, the cold weather made people prefer to stay in a giant building connected to various areas.
In Miami, such a massive complex was derided by locals as a "pink elephant." It may present itself as cute and affable, but it couldn’t escape its behemoth nature. Consumers didn’t enjoy shopping there, given Miami’s much more enticing beaches and palm trees.
By 1989, with Miami banning the construction of high-rise buildings, the Beckley Center’s office tower could no longer be erected, and the area became even more desolate, resembling a ghost town with its vast empty parking lot.
Clyde Drexler looked through the car window at the isolated tower of the Beckley Center, and for some reason, he found himself missing Portland, the grueling training sessions from sunrise to sunset, and the snow and frost of the area.
Those days had made him, imparted him with skills, made him famous, bestowed him honors, and given him his current status in Miami.
And they made him more real.
At 9:59 AM, Clyde Drexler arrived at La Salle High School’s basketball gym, got out of the car, grabbed his bag, and ran towards the gym.
He ran headlong into Pat Riley at the entrance, who was dressed in a white training T-shirt, his hair impeccably combed, arms crossed, glaring at Drexler.
"Good morning, Coach."
"Why are you late again, Clyde?"
"Late? No, there’s still a minute before ten."
"A minute’s about to pass."
"If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have made it to the locker room just in time."
"So, it’s my fault that you’re late?"
"I didn’t mean that... I mean, I’m not late yet."
Riley’s face looked displeased, but he still stepped aside to let Drexler pass and go change into his training clothes.
Technically, Drexler wasn’t late; practice started at 10 AM, but in Riley’s philosophy, if training is at 10, players should be there by 9 at the latest.
Especially if it’s the team’s leading star, they should be setting an example and arrive before 8.
When Drexler first came to Miami last season, he usually reached the gym by 8:30 AM.
He kept it up all season, making significant progress in his training and performance, and was becoming one of the league’s top stars.
But this season, Drexler started to slack off, arriving just in time for each training session.
Riley was very strict with his players and, having come to the Heat, he was eager to prove himself.
Last season was relatively successful, and this season he hoped the team could go further and make it to the playoffs in the Eastern Conference.
By November, the Heat’s record was 6 wins and 8 losses, and Riley was not pleased.
They had lost their last game to the Bulls, with Jordan scoring 36 points and Drexler only 22.
And with the team facing the Trail Blazers the next day, and Drexler still so lackadaisical as the team leader, Riley was even less satisfied.
When training time arrived, Riley began to push the team hard, demanding incessant, high-intensity running and combat drills.
Anyone who showed the slightest slack would face Riley’s scolding, with sharp whistles and curses echoing throughout the gym.
After the two-hour morning session, Riley told the team to have lunch and then continue training in the afternoon.
Drexler expressed his dissatisfaction, saying, "We have a game tomorrow; we need some time to rest and adjust."
"Didn’t you rest enough this morning?" Riley retorted.
"Game day is different; why exhaust ourselves in training? I know what I can do in a game. It’s just the Trail Blazers; I’m confident."
"Are you sure you’re confident enough to beat Ah Gan and end their winning streak?"
Riley’s question left Drexler at a loss for words. Did he really have that confidence?
Somehow, the image of Ah Gan surfaced in Drexler’s mind. What would that guy say in this situation?
After a moment of silence, Drexler called out to the departing Riley, "I am confident. Tomorrow night, I’ll score 50 points and win the game."
Drexler had never scored 50 points in his career.
Riley paused at Drexler’s words, gave him a deep look, and said, "Rest this afternoon."
He was determined to mold Drexler into Miami’s version of Magic, but in terms of ambition, he always seemed to fall a shade short of the very top superstars, always missing something.
Riley tried to ignite that spark in him, time and again, while Clyde was like the moon, waxing and waning.
Now he thought, maybe only the Trail Blazers and Ah Gan could kindle Clyde’s fighting spirit and desire to win.
Like the sun illuminating the moon.
