Clyde & Sammy Sideburns

Nicknames from youth may or may not stick with a person as years stack.  I was “Sammy Sideburns” in high school, but even my closest present-day friends may not know the origin of the nickname that blissfully did not stick.

My sideburns made me a marked man by the assistant principal, who sometimes measured their length and breadth with the same ruler he used to check how far a girl's skirt hem was from her knees.  I often told people I grew my sideburns to look older to buy beer, but that wasn’t the real reason.  My gang already had an inside contact at Barcia’s Market for backdoor delivery. 

Exhibit A

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then I was as sincere as Linus’ Halloween pumpkin patch in emulating the style of one of my favorite athletes, Walt (Clyde) Frazier of the New York Knicks.

My sideburns were a tribute to what I perceived as the ultimate cool of the best point guard in the NBA. I followed Walt’s sartorial lead as far as my mother would allow.   At a time when many peers were growing their hair, I was nursing my whiskers, shaping carefully until I had mutton chops worthy of any Civil War general.

I also bought a double-breasted, blue pin-striped Edwardian blazer with money made selling shoes after school. This was similar to one I saw another Clyde wearing in a photo.  I wore that blazer on a first date to the Snow Dance with the girl who would become my high and college girlfriend.  My mother vetoed the wide-brimmed gangster hat as “too much for a first date.”  Mothers do probably know best.

Exhibit B

Of course, Clyde Frazier’s own look and nickname were derivative, borrowed from Warren Beatty in the movie “Bonnie and Clyde”.   I didn’t see the movie but saw every game possible of Walt Frazier’s from his rookie season when he rescued the Knicks from their first purgatory.

I was 16 and playing basketball badly myself when he led the Knicks to their first World Championship against the LA Lakers in 1969.  This was the series where in Game 7 injured Knicks center Willis Reed started with a torn thigh muscle against the colossus that was Wilt Chamberlain.  Things looked bleak, but Reed hit the first two jump shots of the game and turned things over to Frazier in the second half.  Clyde scored 36 and the Knicks became champions going away.

I was reminded of Walt Frazier when an announcer during a baseball game noted March 29th was his 80th birthday.   I guess Clyde being 80 makes as much sense as his teen hero worshipper being 72.  I thought about the Puma Clyde sneakers I wore until my late 20s when they disappeared from the shelves. My feet sort of itched for some reason.

Then last week, the Knicks beat the Celtics to put themselves in the Eastern Conference finals for the first time in 25 years.  Twenty-five years?  Exactly the amount of time since I last paid attention to NBA basketball.  I tried watching a playoff game a couple years ago but both teams took about 30 three pointers and nobody played any defense.  In defense of their lack of defense, I guess it is hard to pick somebody up at half court.

I should have watched Knicks-Celtics to honor the late Jim Gorsuch, a Saddle Tramp brother from Texas Tech who had only two flaws – he loved the Boston Celtics and became a lawyer.  I remember watching Knicks-Celtics with Gorsuch in the TV room of our dorm with a raging snowstorm outside.  Each of us marveling how John (Hondo) Havlicek and Dollar Bill Bradley ran miles chasing each other around the court.  Meanwhile Frazier dueled with Jo Jo White in the back court and Reed and Dave Cowens pummeled one another in the post.  Gorsuch had that oratorical courtroom voice even as an undergrad, loudly objecting to every call against the Celtics no matter the validity. I ruled him out of order on most of them.

The King of Kool

The Knicks won their last world championship during that snowstorm year of 1973, despite every objection Jim Gorsuch could muster.  That team could have played with today’s “Trey Bien” masters of the bomb.  Dave DeBusschere was a forward who hit from downtown, and the other forward/center was Jerry Lucas, who perfected the “Lucas Layup”. A “Lucas Layup” was a shot from above the key where no big man roamed but was worth only the same two points as any layup.  Lucas was robbed a point on every bucket by today's scoring. Of course, Clyde and Earl (the Pearl) Monroe could hit from long range but also only got two for their efforts.

It was a frugal time where buckets had a paltry payoff.

What those Knick teams did to win was not shooting from long range but rather play stifling defense.  Frazier was the ringleader, the steals maestro who Debusschere credited with “hands that could strip a car as it rolled by”.

I continued to follow the Knicks into the 1990s when Patrick Ewing was the star.  The Knicks played defense like those teams of old, but didn’t really have any pure shooters to take advantage of the three-point rule.  Ewing was a great center, but he didn’t have a “Lucas Layup” in his repertoire. This was the era of Michael Jordan and the Knicks couldn’t get over the hump despite some titanic battles with the Chicago Bulls.

The Ewing era was best remembered for movie producer and Knick Fan Spike Lee inciting Indiana Pacers’ Reggie Miller with comments from a courtside seat. Miller scored 25 points in the fourth quarter and ended with the famous “choke” sign for Spike and the Knicks.  As a historical footnote, the Knicks did come back and win that series.

Ewing retired and the Knicks went under the bad leadership of James Dolan.  Carmelo Anthony was the face of the franchise, who I judged as a selfish player. I became apathetic and drifted away for 25 years.

Until Wednesday night.

I had already started this remembrance, determining maybe I should watch the Knicks against the Pacers as research. I knew from newspaper accounts the Knicks had a guard named Jalen Brunson, but the rest of the team would be a surprise. I tuned in, not knowing if I could stand a full four quarters of shooting from the concession stand.

The game turned out to be pretty good, nip and tuck and some defense was being played, along with some mugging worthy of the back alleys of Manhattan.  In the fourth quarter, the Knicks put on a spurt keyed by defense to be up 14 points with just 2:51 remaining.

Then the popcorn vendors got involved.

The Pacers started raining made threes and fouling the Knicks to send them to the line to preserve precious seconds. The clock seemed to have been replaced by an hourglass.  The Knicks could have saved themselves by not missing two free throws down the stretch, but Indianapolis could have played fair and missed a shot or two themselves.   

The Pacers Aaron Nesmith did what nobody had ever done, drill six threes in the final quarter of a playoff game, three in the last minute.  The Knicks still led by two when Tyrese Haliburton stepped back as the clock read almost zero and launched what looked like a prayer.  The ball hit the back iron and bounded straight up above the backboard, then dropped like a doomsday bomb through the net. 

Pacers shot bullets faster than the original Clyde

It looked like a game winning three and Haliburton trotted out the old Reggie Miller “Choke” sign from almost 30 years before! The refs ruled his toe was on the three-point line, so his choke sign was premature. The game went to overtime.

His choke gesture may have been premature, but proved to be prophetic as in overtime the Pacers made the noose fit.  The Knicks continued the ragged defense of the trey that had gotten them to the extra stanza and the Pacers outlasted them by … three, 138-135.

Clyde Frazier was on hand for the whole debacle as he is still a color analyst for the Knicks. He looked fit and dapper in a multi-color suit and tie.  As the horror show played out, I kept thinking even at 80, Clyde could have slowed down Nesmith on at least one three-point attempt.

As for me?  I don’t have sideburns anymore.  I do have a goatee I considered pulling out by the roots during the rainstorm of the threes.   Knicks-Pacers play again tonight, but I have an opportunity to see a friend pick guitar and sing in a bar in Nashville.  Sounds a lot less stressful and more rewarding.

I have had a sobering thought. If I forsake the Knicks for another 25 years, I’ll be 97 the next time I tune in.  I discovered in those last historic minutes I still seem to care about the Knicks. Maybe I’ll keep up with the score on my phone, buoyed by the fact the last Pacer “choke sign” was overcome by a Knick comeback to take the series. Or maybe I'll get home in time to see the last three minutes of the game. That's about the time it starts to rain ... threes!

Suede Puma Clydes