The Centers of Contention

By Tom Callahan

Pro basketball's endurance contest is down to two

The nature of basketball, some would say the flaw in basketball, is that the game is nearly always won or lost at the center position. Julius ("Dr. J") Erving of Philadelphia and Earvin ("Magic") Johnson of Los Angeles lead their teams artistically, but Erving is a forward and Johnson a guard. It is around the 76ers' Moses Malone and the Lakers' Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, the centers, that the current championship series, and the basketball universe itself, revolves.

For the purposes of easy identification, Abdul-Jabbar, 36,7 ft. 2 in., six times the National Basketball Association's Most Valuable Player, is being called the "center of the '70s." Malone, 28, 6 ft. 10 in., soon to be named M.V.P. of the league for a third time, is the "center of the '80s." They are so unalike they are fascinating. Abdul-Jabbar is complex, Malone uncomplicated. When Moses won his first M.V.P. distinction, largely on the strength of his relentless offensive rebounding, he thanked his teammates for missing so many shots. "Kareem is the best player of all time," says Moses flatly. But he also says, "If I can get close to the hole, I don't care who is in there. It's over." For him, basketball and life seem to be simple matters.

Abdul-Jabbar is more of an aesthete, a sky-hooker, not a slam-dunker, devastatingly shy. He has never been able to hide the shame of his height. Fourteen years ago, Abdul-Jabbar (ne Lew Alcindor, U.C.L.A. '69) told Teammate Jon McGlocklin that he intended to play no more than five seasons of pro ball. Recently he ran into McGlocklin, who reminded him of this. It started Kareem reflecting on this job that he has only lately considered a profession. "It's getting to be scary," he says, "all the teammates and opponents who have come and gone." Often it seems that the only constants are himself and the road. "Sometimes I think of the N.B.A. as an endurance contest. Five games in six nights. You want to give your best, but you haven't got it to give. You know, when I won my first N.B.A. championship in Milwaukee , the final game was on April 30. Now it is getting on to June."

Even to himself, Kareem has a hard time explaining why he is still here, aside from his $1.1 million salary. "It's talent in the beginning and good fortune throughout, but desire maybe most of all," he says, as if it surprises him to realize he loves the game that much. "I just hung in there until in the last few years I came to appreciate the game as a career."

Kareem's "angry period"--Lakers Coach Pat Riley's phrase--has passed. "He has been measured and judged on a different scale his whole life," says Riley. "He has always been expected to carry the team, carry the world. Basketball is a double-standard game. The referees will protect anyone else from the centers, but the centers have to protect themselves. They're penalized for how big or how strong or how good they are. Life must have always seemed unfair to Kareem, but I don't think he thinks of it that way so much any more."

Last January, when the Lakers were on the road, Kareem's Los Angeles home was destroyed by fire. No one in his family was injured, including Cheryl, the woman he lives with, and their son Amir, 2. But all of his treasures, from Oriental rugs to the watercooler that had presided at one end of the U.C.L.A. bench, were lost. Kareem especially mourned the obliteration of a 3,000-record jazz collection.

Then a funny thing happened. Strangers started walking up to him, handing him records and hurrying away. He began finding two or three records left for him at the front desk of every hotel. They have been arriving by mail ever since. "I never knew people could care about you other than who you were on the basketball court," he says. "It's touching."

On the basketball court, the Lakers are trying to become the first repeat N.B.A. champions in 14 years; the 76ers, second three times in the past five seasons, are desperate for an ultimate success. "There's an inkling of sadness in Dr. J's voice when he talks about it," Riley thinks. "He knows now that he couldn't quite do it for them, that they needed the big center." Moses signed on this season for $2.2 million, and Philadelphia won 65 of 82 games during the season. "My goal is to be the next world champion," says Malone, who came to the old American Basketball Association as a 19-year-old stringbean directly from Petersburg High School in Virginia. "My first year in the pros was the most fun I ever had." He smiles mischievously. "Nobody knew me."

So, even though raised in pro basketball, Malone has filled out in other ways than just by 40 lbs. Other players marvel not only at his skills and perseverance but also at how well adjusted he is. "As long as I had him," says Tom Nissalke, who coached Malone with the Houston Rockets, "he never busted a play. Dumb players bust them all the time because they can't remember where they're supposed to be. Moses never did."

Education and basketball were club house topics last week because of three events. Ralph Sampson, a 7-ft. 4-in. center once voted least likely to stay four years in college, graduated from the University of Virginia. "I'm glad for him," said Abdul-Jabbar. Meanwhile, Kevin Ross, a former Creighton University player whose basketball talent fell short of the professional level, graduated from a Chicago grammar school. He had returned there this year to learn how to read. The third occurrence was the formalization of Dr. J's doctorate by Temple University.

"When I left the U. of Mass, business school for the pros," said Erving, who departed after his junior year, "the educational process for me was accelerated tremendously. Whether it is academic smarts or street smarts, intelligence has to be brought to this business. Sooner or later, an athlete is going to have to compensate mentally anyway, when the physical skills start to go." Dr. J, who is 33 now, received Temple's honorary degree in an appropriate art: dance.

"It's a beautiful gift," Erving said. Someone asked Malone if he would like such a gift, and though Moses agreed that any present is nice, he had another one in mind. Moses was thinking of the championship. "I'm tired of buying my own rings," he said.

-- By Tom Callahan This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.