Sez Me …
I am coming close to reaching the deepest recesses of my sadness.
Paul Silas has ed at 79.
And there was only one Paul Silas. Uno. He was patented. In over a half-century in this dodge, I can’t say I’ve met a more honest man.
Paul was a great basketball player, but through circumstances beyond his purview — funds and players — never had a real chance to excel as a head coach.
But no one in sports commanded more respect. No messing around with Paul.
In the fall of 1981, I was moved from the Evening Tribune’s Aztecs beat to the Clippers — just a few days prior to the NBA team’s training camp in Yuma. Donald T. Sterling had just purchased the club, and Paul was entering his second year after a three-championship NBA playing career.
I hadn’t met either.
So I drove publicist Dick “Christy” Christman, one of the all-time greats, to the Clips’ team “motel” in Yuma. I was in my “room” when Christy came by and asked if I wanted to meet Paul, who was lounging by the “pool.”
We were talking a few introductory minutes when Paul asked: “Have you met our owner?” I hadn’t, but I doubt if any sportswriter in history heard this about an owner from a coach he’d known for five minutes.
“(Expletive expletive), if you ask me,” he said.
That was Paul Silas, and I embarked on the most incredible year of my career. Some saints aren’t as honest.
The Clippers won 17 games that season, including one over the Lakers in L.A. It was that season’s opener here vs. Houston that was made famous by Sterling sprinting across the Sports Arena floor and leaping into Paul’s arms. Their relationship did not grow.
Silas, after all, did not suffer normal fools, let alone one of the greatest who ever lived.
What kind of guy was he?
Paul grew up in Oakland, living with his cousins, the Pointer Sisters and family, and attended McClymonds High, alma mater of Bill Russell, Frank Robinson, Vada Pinson, Curt Flood and Jim Hines.
The team was going to Oakland to play the Warriors, and I asked Paul if we could go back to his old neighborhood and McClymonds for a story. The morning we went, he drove, and when we got to the school it was pouring, with hail.
I wanted to take a few pictures of Paul, but the weather was awful. Paul? He got out of the car in the rainstorm and I took photos while he stood on the school steps. Then to the gym, where he was mobbed by the kids.
In the spring of 1982, my then-sports editor, Bud Poliquin, and I, met with Sterling in his office. He paced back and forth, and among other stupid things, said: “We must finish last so we can draft Ralph Sampson.”
That Thursday, Donald T. held a media luncheon in which he said everything he had rehearsed on us.
Silas came up and asked me: “Was any of that (expletive) off the record?” I told him it already was in our paper. “Oh, (expletive).” GM Ted Podleski, who hadn’t taken a drink in six months, downed a carafe of wine during the speech.
Donald T. was handed a substantial fine.
I sat next to Paul during games, and we frequently talked. One night in the spring, the Clips were getting their sails torn and, with a few minutes remaining, Paul called a timeout. Here came The Donald across the floor, sticking his head into the huddle — and abruptly leaving.
When Paul returned to his seat, I asked him what that was about. “He told me he loves me.” What’d you say? “I told him to get the (expletive) out of my huddle.”
That summer we got a hold of the official team budget for 1982-83. Signed by Sterling, it was an embarrassment. One dollar budgeted for training camp on North Island?
Paul, with that huge smile: “I guess they’ll have a few baskets there.”
Sterling also asked him if the team really needed a trainer, wondering if Paul and his assistants could tape ankles themselves. Seriously. Silas confirmed it,
Poliquin wanted additional confirmation of the budget. I met with Podleski, the GM. “You did good,” he said. I ran down the list of things with Paul until he stopped me. “Why are you going on? You know it’s all true.”
Paul’s deep voice was heavily sprinkled with salt. One night, when Jellybean Bryant (Kobe’s dad) was having difficult moments, Paul turned to me and asked. “Can you tell me what the (expletive) Jelly is doing out there?”
He pulled Bryant, who gave him the snake eye as he walked to the bench. Paul: “Don’t give me that (expletive), you (expletive).”
Those sitting behind the bench got quite the education in the art of profanity.
Me, I got educated on a whole lot of things. Especially honesty and trust.
We have lost a great man. …
LeBron: “You’re talking to the wrong guy about almost winning. We lost.” Bravo. The King isn’t The Court Jester. …
Navy has made a good football coach, Ken Niumatalolo, walk the plank. What do the Middies want? Nimitz, Spruance and Halsey aren’t coming around. Bad fire. …
Superagent Scott Boras has signed a portion of his baseball livestock to more than $1 billion in contracts this offseason. He gets 5 percent, so that’s like, you know, a lot. …
Hot Stove can be like hell freezing over during baseball’s offseason. Fernando Tatis being traded? I have a better chance of winning the Boston Marathon with gout. So, none. …
The Giants sign Sean Manaea, two years, $25 million. Padres playoff chances improve. …
Wonder why the shortstop-happy Pads allowed Carlos Correa to go to the Giants? A.J. Preller wanted him to catch. …
Mookie Wilson, when asked why he was married on a baseball field: “My wife wanted a big diamond.” …
For years I’ve read these scouting reports on incoming Aztecs who are supposed to be terrific shooters. They get to Viejas and it’s like Petco. Can’t hit. …
When Bill Belichick selected long snapper David Binn to the Pro Bowl, David was dating Pamela Anderson. When Bill saw him, he asked, “Where’s your girlfriend?” Binn: “She didn’t come.” Bill: “Then why did I invite you?” …
THIS, is the NBA: The Nets sit eight players — including Kevin Durant and Kyrie Irving — and beat Indiana, anyway. …
The NBA fined the Nets $25,000 for that. Good night, nurse! That’ll show ‘em. …
To the fans who skipped a mortgage payment to pay for this trash? Your fault. …
Arizona’s Sean Miller doesn’t even get a back rub for lack of institutional control. Just the head coach, is all. The buck stops over there. …
After reading Pontias Pilate’s Pandemic best-seller “How To Wash Your Hands,” Mass. Gov. Charlie Baker is the perfect choice as the NCAA’s new boss. …
Cold weather cities have indoor facilities. They don’t practice in blizzards. …
UCLA didn’t need its last resort — leaving the UC system — if it wasn’t allowed to the B1G. …
Congrats to USD’s marvelous women’s volleyball team. …
Patience. Canepa digital Lower Deck trading cards are coming soon. …
Ever notice that the older you get, the more things fall on the floor?
