When the Game Was Ours - Larry Bird [95]
"The veterans never went to rookie camp," said Maxwell. "Why all of a sudden was it so important that I be there?"
Boston had previously been engaged in on-again, off-again talks with the Los Angeles Clippers about center Bill Walton, who was on the back side of his career and looking for a change of scenery. Walton contacted the Lakers first, but West was wary of his medical issues, so Walton placed a call to Red Auerbach, who ran it by Bird.
"Hey, if the guy's healthy, he'll help us," Bird said. "Let's go for it."
After Maxwell's refusal to attend rookie camp, Auerbach decided the former 1981 Finals MVP would be the bait to pry Walton away from the Clippers. When the deal was announced, Maxwell bitterly departed Boston believing Bird had angled to have him shipped out of town.
In later years, Bird would continue to laud Max as "one of the greatest teammates I've ever had," but their relationship had suffered irreparable harm. Bird thought Max quit on him, and in the end Max thought Bird did the same to him.
Walton's arrival connected Bird with a teammate who loved and respected the game as much as he did. The two became instant friends and verbal sparring partners. They played 1-on-1 for hours before and after practice, trash-talking to one another throughout. Their chemistry was electric, their camaraderie genuine. Walton, who had seriously considered quitting, was reborn.
"Larry didn't just give me my career back, he gave me my life back," said Walton.
The liberal mountain man, a disciple of the Grateful Dead and a passionate political pundit, provided his teammates with a plethora of material to use at his expense. After practice, Walton, McHale, and retired Celtic John Havlicek would adjourn to Bird's house for lunch so McHale could begin his interrogation in earnest.
"So, Bill," McHale would say, "what do mushrooms really taste like? And was that really Patty Hearst tied up in your basement?"
After McHale had worked Walton into a proper lather, he'd sit back and announce, "Richard Nixon was the best president we ever had, don't you agree, Bill?"
The big redhead, whose one regret was that he never made Nixon's infamous "enemies list," would screech in protest as his new teammates howled with laughter.
Walton was a student of basketball history who tried to emulate Bill Russell as a young player. He was so taken with Bird's game that he made a trip to his friend's Indiana home and bottled up some of the French Lick dirt as a souvenir.
Walton, Jerry Sichting, and Scott Wedman became Boston's primary weapons off the bench and dubbed themselves the Green Team. They prided themselves on pushing their more celebrated teammates to the limit. The starters, nicknamed the Stat Team, often logged 40-plus minutes a night, so it wasn't uncommon for the reserves, fresh from 10 minutes or less of playing time, to beat them in practice the day after a game. Regardless of the score, assistant coaches Jimmy Rodgers and Chris Ford rigged the results in the Stat Team's favor. One day Walton had seen enough.
"K.C.," Walton said, "how can you let this travesty of injustice unfold before your eyes?"
"Bill," Jones answered, "you know we can't let practice end until Larry's team wins."
Although injuries had taken their toll on his body, Walton was still a superb rebounder and a defensive presence. He was also a gifted passer, and there were nights when he and Bird deftly performed basketball poetry together. The former UCLA star with the West Coast roots became an instant folk hero, embraced by the normally discerning Boston fans as one of their own.
His arrival pushed Parish, the silent center nicknamed "Chief"—after the character in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest—further to the back of the public's consciousness. Walton was keenly aware of Parish's value to the team as well as the public's habit of overlooking him. The afternoon he arrived in Boston