Chicago Tribune
Miller's time is almost up
Pacers great, retiring after stellar 18-year career, will likely play his last NBA game in Chicago on Saturday
BY SAM SMITH
Published March 26, 2005
Take a bow, Reggie.
Just not like you did that night here in 1994 when you actually took four, facing each direction of the old Chicago Stadium after what seemed like a game-winning shot.
Reggie Miller was a villain then, especially in Chicago and New York, the two places he most loved to play.
"[That's] because the focus is on you there," he once told me. "They pay big money, so why not give them some entertainment?"
That's what Miller did best.
"Who do they have over there other than Michael Jordan?" Miller once wondered about the champion Bulls. "Who the heck do they have? Nobody."
Ouch.
Chicago fans had the last laugh that night in 1994 when Toni Kukoc answered Miller with an improbable game-winner at the buzzer to beat the Indiana Pacers. Miller just walked away, beaten but not bowed.
Saturday night, in all likelihood, will be Reggie Miller's last NBA appearance in Chicago. His Pacers, without Jermaine O'Neal and Ron Artest for the rest of the season, and perhaps also without Jamaal Tinsley, may not make the playoffs. Even if they do, they aren't likely to get past the first round.
Then Miller will leave the NBA after a remarkable, if not ultimately successful, 18-year playing career. With his team decimated by injuries and suspensions, his scoring average is his highest in three years.
He had a 39-point game last week and a 36-point game last month.
Consider this: No one on the Bulls' roster has a career high of more than 34.
If you care about basketball played passionately and unselfishly. If you care about the underdog and making it the hard way, overcoming doubt and turning it into a weapon, then stand up and give Reggie Miller a cheer Saturday. Maybe even a slight bow of respect. It's what the greatest adversaries deserve.
"It's time," Miller simply said of his impending retirement.
He is a man of remarkably few words, off the court, at least.
On the court, his words have enraged John Starks into a head butt. Miller was so annoying he even got to Michael Jordan, once sending the Bulls great into a fury of scratching and clawing at Miller's face. That was the most unnerved Jordan became anytime in his great career.
Miller could be a pest, certainly. He was a landfill of trash talk, a bony overachiever who became one of the great clutch performers in NBA history. He made Larry Bird a believer when Bird became coach of the Pacers.
"He's better than I thought he was," Bird said. "I once [joked] about putting myself in at the end of games [with the Pacers]. I'd probably put myself in to pass him the ball."
Miller's shots and antics against the Knicks--the Hicks versus Knicks preliminaries to the Bulls' championships--were some of the highlights of the 1990s. Twenty-five points in the fourth quarter and then the choke sign to Spike Lee; eight points in 8.9 seconds a year later in the playoffs to end the game; almost enough to pull it out in 1998 against the Bulls with a Game 4 conference final winner in which Jordan claimed Miller pushed off.
Miller titled his autobiography "I Love Being the Enemy," but it all was an act. Show business. Hollywood, as Pacers fans taunted him when he was drafted instead of their favorite Steve Alford. He had faced disrespect before. Remember, UCLA gave him a scholarship when it couldn't get Antoine Joubert and Reggie Williams.
No big deal. Miller recounted in the book how once he came home from high school bragging about getting 39 points. He asked his sister, Cheryl, perhaps the greatest woman player ever, how she had done.
"Uh, 105," she apologized.
Miller's brother, Darrell, played baseball for the California Angels.
Reggie Miller was born with pronated hips and wore braces until he was almost 5. It was uncertain whether he ever would walk. Though he grew to 6 feet 7 inches, he only weighed 170 pounds, a weight he barely exceeded as a pro.
As a player, he didn't put the ball on the floor very well, didn't post up, wasn't particularly athletic, didn't beat his man off the dribble--and he scored more points in his career than Bird, Elgin Baylor, Charles Barkley, Patrick Ewing and Clyde Drexler.
He became the game's most prolific three-point shooter and one of the most accurate free-throw shooters. He's 13th on the all-time scoring list, just behind Jerry West and John Havlicek.
For most of his career he was a target, yet an iron man, playing in 97 percent of his team's games and missing three games or fewer in 14 of his first 17 seasons. His playoff scoring versus his regular-season scoring ranks among the best in NBA history, just behind Jordan.
It was almost as if, like a young Cassius Clay, the histrionics were to embolden himself. Miller was a fighter, and perhaps the boxing analogy applies. Like Sugar Ray Robinson, he may not have been the best ever, but pound for pound he had no equal.
No one, perhaps, has done more in pro sports with fewer gifts.
"I think he's the prototype of what a professional athlete should be," Pacers President Donnie Walsh said.
Ever hear Miller criticize management? Challenge a coach? Complain about a teammate?
He never has. Miller, from a military family, never spoke up against his coach.
"Any coach," Walsh said.
When the Pacers broke up their 2000 Finals team, Miller quietly began tutoring and working with the high school kids who filled the roster.
He has settled in Indianapolis, becoming a quiet benefactor in the community. Miller's unannounced visits to hospitals and schools are frequent. Arsonists destroyed his home--since rebuilt--and he created a foundation to help burn victims.
He talks about none of that, rarely talks about himself. Interviews with Miller, even with reporters he has known for years, are short and terse. He doesn't care to draw attention to himself, except on the basketball court.
There is to be no farewell tour with gifts and ovations. Miller, 39, refused to allow any. Shine the spotlight elsewhere, he said.
Miller could have a good chance for that missing championship next season with the expected return of Artest and O'Neal. After all, the Pacers would pay him more than $6 million from the contract that goes through next season. But he says this is it.
He has only a few games left. Excuse me Saturday if I stand and cheer.
Miller's time is almost up
Pacers great, retiring after stellar 18-year career, will likely play his last NBA game in Chicago on Saturday
BY SAM SMITH
Published March 26, 2005
Take a bow, Reggie.
Just not like you did that night here in 1994 when you actually took four, facing each direction of the old Chicago Stadium after what seemed like a game-winning shot.
Reggie Miller was a villain then, especially in Chicago and New York, the two places he most loved to play.
"[That's] because the focus is on you there," he once told me. "They pay big money, so why not give them some entertainment?"
That's what Miller did best.
"Who do they have over there other than Michael Jordan?" Miller once wondered about the champion Bulls. "Who the heck do they have? Nobody."
Ouch.
Chicago fans had the last laugh that night in 1994 when Toni Kukoc answered Miller with an improbable game-winner at the buzzer to beat the Indiana Pacers. Miller just walked away, beaten but not bowed.
Saturday night, in all likelihood, will be Reggie Miller's last NBA appearance in Chicago. His Pacers, without Jermaine O'Neal and Ron Artest for the rest of the season, and perhaps also without Jamaal Tinsley, may not make the playoffs. Even if they do, they aren't likely to get past the first round.
Then Miller will leave the NBA after a remarkable, if not ultimately successful, 18-year playing career. With his team decimated by injuries and suspensions, his scoring average is his highest in three years.
He had a 39-point game last week and a 36-point game last month.
Consider this: No one on the Bulls' roster has a career high of more than 34.
If you care about basketball played passionately and unselfishly. If you care about the underdog and making it the hard way, overcoming doubt and turning it into a weapon, then stand up and give Reggie Miller a cheer Saturday. Maybe even a slight bow of respect. It's what the greatest adversaries deserve.
"It's time," Miller simply said of his impending retirement.
He is a man of remarkably few words, off the court, at least.
On the court, his words have enraged John Starks into a head butt. Miller was so annoying he even got to Michael Jordan, once sending the Bulls great into a fury of scratching and clawing at Miller's face. That was the most unnerved Jordan became anytime in his great career.
Miller could be a pest, certainly. He was a landfill of trash talk, a bony overachiever who became one of the great clutch performers in NBA history. He made Larry Bird a believer when Bird became coach of the Pacers.
"He's better than I thought he was," Bird said. "I once [joked] about putting myself in at the end of games [with the Pacers]. I'd probably put myself in to pass him the ball."
Miller's shots and antics against the Knicks--the Hicks versus Knicks preliminaries to the Bulls' championships--were some of the highlights of the 1990s. Twenty-five points in the fourth quarter and then the choke sign to Spike Lee; eight points in 8.9 seconds a year later in the playoffs to end the game; almost enough to pull it out in 1998 against the Bulls with a Game 4 conference final winner in which Jordan claimed Miller pushed off.
Miller titled his autobiography "I Love Being the Enemy," but it all was an act. Show business. Hollywood, as Pacers fans taunted him when he was drafted instead of their favorite Steve Alford. He had faced disrespect before. Remember, UCLA gave him a scholarship when it couldn't get Antoine Joubert and Reggie Williams.
No big deal. Miller recounted in the book how once he came home from high school bragging about getting 39 points. He asked his sister, Cheryl, perhaps the greatest woman player ever, how she had done.
"Uh, 105," she apologized.
Miller's brother, Darrell, played baseball for the California Angels.
Reggie Miller was born with pronated hips and wore braces until he was almost 5. It was uncertain whether he ever would walk. Though he grew to 6 feet 7 inches, he only weighed 170 pounds, a weight he barely exceeded as a pro.
As a player, he didn't put the ball on the floor very well, didn't post up, wasn't particularly athletic, didn't beat his man off the dribble--and he scored more points in his career than Bird, Elgin Baylor, Charles Barkley, Patrick Ewing and Clyde Drexler.
He became the game's most prolific three-point shooter and one of the most accurate free-throw shooters. He's 13th on the all-time scoring list, just behind Jerry West and John Havlicek.
For most of his career he was a target, yet an iron man, playing in 97 percent of his team's games and missing three games or fewer in 14 of his first 17 seasons. His playoff scoring versus his regular-season scoring ranks among the best in NBA history, just behind Jordan.
It was almost as if, like a young Cassius Clay, the histrionics were to embolden himself. Miller was a fighter, and perhaps the boxing analogy applies. Like Sugar Ray Robinson, he may not have been the best ever, but pound for pound he had no equal.
No one, perhaps, has done more in pro sports with fewer gifts.
"I think he's the prototype of what a professional athlete should be," Pacers President Donnie Walsh said.
Ever hear Miller criticize management? Challenge a coach? Complain about a teammate?
He never has. Miller, from a military family, never spoke up against his coach.
"Any coach," Walsh said.
When the Pacers broke up their 2000 Finals team, Miller quietly began tutoring and working with the high school kids who filled the roster.
He has settled in Indianapolis, becoming a quiet benefactor in the community. Miller's unannounced visits to hospitals and schools are frequent. Arsonists destroyed his home--since rebuilt--and he created a foundation to help burn victims.
He talks about none of that, rarely talks about himself. Interviews with Miller, even with reporters he has known for years, are short and terse. He doesn't care to draw attention to himself, except on the basketball court.
There is to be no farewell tour with gifts and ovations. Miller, 39, refused to allow any. Shine the spotlight elsewhere, he said.
Miller could have a good chance for that missing championship next season with the expected return of Artest and O'Neal. After all, the Pacers would pay him more than $6 million from the contract that goes through next season. But he says this is it.
He has only a few games left. Excuse me Saturday if I stand and cheer.
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