When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [151]
Yet Bird could not avert his eyes from two disturbing images on his high-definition screen: Wallace lingering on the court several minutes after order had seemingly been restored, and Artest reclining on top of the scorer's table with his hands behind his head.
"Ronny, get out of there," Bird shouted at the television set in his suburban Indianapolis home.
Artest lay serenely on his back, as if he were blissfully unaware of the turmoil he had helped generate.
"This is not good," Bird said to his son Conner, who sat beside him on the couch.
In twelve years, Larry's son had grown from a toddler tossing pool balls down the stairs in Barcelona to an active teenager who loved the NBA and his dad's team, the Pacers. Conner didn't completely grasp what was unfolding at the Palace of Auburn Hills that night, but he accurately read the level of concern on his father's face.
"Dad, what's wrong?" Conner asked.
Within seconds, everyone in America knew the answer. As both Birds looked on, a Pistons season ticket holder hurled a cup of beer at Artest's chest. The liquid splattered across his uniform, and Artest vaulted himself over the scorer's table, fracturing four vertebrae in the back of Pacers radio play-by-play man Mark Boyle as he flailed and clawed his way into the stands.
Stephen Jackson immediately bolted after him, and for a split-second Bird was hopeful that "Jack" would pull Artest away. Instead, Jackson joined Artest in the seats, throwing punches and escalating the confrontation into a full-scale brawl between NBA players and their paying public.
Jack's actions surprised Bird. He knew how important it was to Jackson to establish himself as a centerpiece of the Pacers. In 2003, the year before he actually joined the team, he was a free agent and told both Bird and Donnie Walsh that he would play for them at a reduced rate.
"I think you guys have a great team," Jackson said at the time. "I'd play for nothing just to be here."
"You don't hear that too often," Bird said after the meeting.
"You're not kidding," Walsh answered. "I wish we had the money for him."
Indiana didn't have the cap room to sign Jackson for 2003–2004, so Jackson signed a one year deal with Atlanta. But neither Bird nor Walsh forgot Jackson's passionate interest in their team. In July 2004, they acquired him from the Hawks for Al Harrington and brought him aboard believing he could be the final piece to a team that might vie for the Eastern Conference title, and maybe even the championship.
But now, four months later, Jackson was in the middle of an escalating skirmish in the stands, the last place any NBA player should ever be.
Conner gasped as the fists flew. His father groaned and put his head in his hands.
Earvin Johnson, watching from his study in Beverly Hills, was dumbfounded. He had made a special effort to watch the game, a rematch of the 2004 Eastern Conference Finals, because he knew Bird's team was playing. Magic's habit of keeping tabs on his old rival hadn't subsided even after they stopped competing.
"Cookie, come here, you won't believe this," Magic called to his wife. "These crazy fools are fighting with the fans!"
Detroit forward Rasheed Wallace, attempting to act as a peacemaker, ventured into the stands, but the Palace was in a state of panic, with players and fans exchanging blows. Pacers reserve Fred Jones, attempting to pull his teammates out of the fray, was sucker-punched from behind. A metal chair was tossed into the loge section, striking innocent bystanders.
Soon the melee spilled onto the floor. Pistons coach Larry Brown, his face drained of color, snatched the public-address microphone to appeal to the angry crowd to stop, but they could not hear him. Brown, dodging objects hurled onto the Palace court by his own fans, threw the microphone down in disgust.
As he watched the brawl unfold, Magic began calculating the damage it would inflict on the NBA. The league had