Ch. 14
February 17th, 1997
Phoenix, Arizona. If Ron wasn’t so used to the sand of South Beach, he’d consider this place a good landing spot for himself. But he already had a home … and he liked it there. Especially since he and the team were winning and winning well. They had just beat the Suns at home, 98-90, and the Phoenix crowd wasn’t pleased, but they couldn’t complain. The Suns were still 31-22, while the Heat had just moved to 41-15 — both teams were barely maintaining their spots in their respective conferences.
Throughout the game Ron caught himself remembering a much younger Charles Barkley running up and down the court, dunking on any fool who got in his way. Charles still that to a degree, but the years of wear and tear were beginning to show — if not in the stats, than definitely in the way the man carried himself. Charles just didn’t look like he was moving well out there, but he was still putting up All-Star numbers.
Eventually, that would stop at the rate he was going. The two had some friendly trash-talk before and after the game, but the Suns star didn’t have time to reminisce as Phoenix was heading out early in the morning for a three game road-trip. Life in the NBA rarely allowed for a moment to breath, but the break was coming soon.
And Ron was about to pull a trigger on a deal he’d been negotiating weeks for.
There was a knock at his door and Doc Kirby came in, eyes tired and his mustache a bit droopy. He wasn’t quite as lively as usual, but it had been a long day. “You need a housecall?”
“Just an ear, Doc.” Ron shut the hotel door and pulled a bottle of cold-brew coffee from the fridge. “I could use something of a pick-me-up.”
“Coffee? At this time of night?”
“The bus is where I get most of my sleep anyway,” Ron said as he poured himself a decently sized cup. “Besides, I want to run a few things by you.”
“You want to get my advice or have someone agree with a decision you already made?” Doc asked pointedly.
Ron let out a low whistle. “You are cranky.”
Doc grumbled a sigh, then pointed at the coffee. “I need a glass and five minutes.”
Ron gave Doc ten minutes — mostly because he had to use the bathroom and regret his decisions from lunch — but when he got back, Doc didn’t look quite as tired. “Better?”
“Marginally, but enough.” Doc scratched at his neck, his mustache twitching. “You wouldn’t have called me in here to tell me about something I won’t like, would you?.”
Ron shook his head. “In fact, just the opposite — you’ve been pushing for Rex to get more minutes. I agree, he’s better with starter-level minutes … so I found a place for him.”
“Just not in your lineup,” Doc concluded, amused. “Amazing how you frame this as good news — you may have missed your calling as a spin man.”
“The Pistons wanted to unload Otis Thorpe — they’re ready to promote Jermaine O’Neal to starter, especially now that Hill is out,” Ron continued. “They want their youth to get some experience, but they don’t want to punt on the season — so, I’m sending them Rex and Billy.”
“You’re sending them Billy? I’m sure his agent will be pleased.” Doc shook his head. “Billy deserves some minutes, he’s worked hard.”
“I don’t go that deep into my rotation unless I have to.” Ron sipped at his coffee. “I feel bad, don’t get me wrong, but Billy was there in case of emergencies. Well, the Pistons have an emergency — he’ll be the starter the rest of the year and get a chance to secure a spot on that roster long-term if he does well.”
“And Rex will get his starter minutes, since he’s a far superior player to anyone they have at the two.” Doc held out his hand. “And what, pray tell, do we get?”
“Not Thorpe — as much as I thought about it, he wouldn’t have worked here. He wants to be a starter and we have that locked down … so, I called Colangelo.”
“You got Charles some help, didn’t you?” It wasn’t such much a question as it was a semi-serious accusation. “Ron, you didn’t have to. You probably shouldn’t have.”
Ron stared into his cup, shaking his head. “Look … he’s the only one of us to stick to the NBA all these years. You took a break, I was overseas, but he was here, fighting for the championship we could never get at Auburn. He’s 33-years-old now, he’s not getting any younger.”
“You’re the coach of this team, not his,” Doc countered with a sigh. “I understand your position, however.”
“I didn’t gift them anything — legitimately, I believe Thorpe is better off as a starter somewhere else. So, I took both the Williams’ from Phoenix and a 1999 first rounder. I sent them our first for this year to grease the wheels, something Colangelo can use to save face if he needs it.”
“He’ll frame it as a win-now move with the core they have, but one that gives them hope in the future.” Doc nodded. “I can see where that might be useful.”
“Detroit sent us David Wingate, too … they’ll meet us in Dallas tomorrow. I’m using them straight away.”
Doc stood from his chair. “I’ll get in contact with the teams trainers, get their records sent over. Both the Williams’ are beat up, but I think I can keep them walking.”
“We’ll need them in the playoffs, Doc. From now until the playoffs start, it’s just practice … we’re guaranteed a spot at this point.” Ron leaned forward, hands clasped together. “I just hope I made the right call.”
“For us or for Charles?”
Ron let out a deep sigh. “For everyone.”