Your position, someone says to Horace Grant. What do you call it?
Horace Grant smiles, then thinks for a blink, and finally he says:
”Power small forward.”
He is, of course, officially listed as the Bulls` power forward, but that is too narrow a label, too confining a box for his hybrid talents. He is, instead, a product of cross-pollination, a brightly blooming flower who is part strength and part speed, part force and part finesse.
As insistent as a marauder one moment, he may the next moment flit as softly as a butterfly rising from a rose petal. As assertive as a drunken sailor down on the blocks, he may-in the open court-move as swiftly and subtly as a skier competing in the slalom.
This adaptability makes him a rarity, as rare as a black orchid, yet the demands of his job insist he must possess all of these virtues. For one night he may face, as he did in the New York series, a behemoth such as Charles Oakley, a one-trick pony whose game is built upon brutality. Then the next night he may face, as he did in the Cleveland series, a wraith such as Larry Nance, a multi-faceted veteran whose game features a 20-foot jump shot. And finally he may face, as he will in the Portland series, a master virtuoso such as Buck Williams, an indefatigable force whose game also includes the guile that comes with experience.
”It`s a very difficult job he has (in the playoffs). They`re the best in the business, and all different,” says Bulls assistant coach John Bach. ”One is an intimidator. The other is very skillful. The last is a veteran who will be waiting for him.”
How do you manage to go back and forth, Grant is asked.
”Good question,” he says, and then he laughs. ”Look at Oakley. Even though you have to give up so much (in bulk), my purpose is to keep him off the boards. Against Nance, I have to utilize everything I`ve learned from Day 1 in basketball. And then against Buck I have to keep him off the boards, and not give him anything easy.”
Sounds like you`re that mint that`s two mints in one.
”In my position, you have to be,” Grant says, laughing again. ”It`s changed over my five years (with the Bulls). Before, people were looking for a power forward. Now they`re looking for a power forward who also has speed and quickness. That leaves me in the middle of power and quickness. That leaves me standing there somewhere in the middle.”
Grant arrived from Clemson in 1987, the Bulls` second first-round pick in the draft that also delivered Scottie Pippen (obtained from Seattle for Virginia`s Olden Polynice, the team`s first first-round pick). He back then had little sense of where his job would put him, little feeling for the future, and like so many who had been stars in college, he anticipated making his name in one way only. He would make it scoring points.
He had averaged 21 points as a college senior, and when he traveled to his first pro camp, his head was still filled with those hosannas telling him he was the linchpin of his team. ”Whenever you come out of college and you`ve been `The Man,` ” is how he remembers it, ”you`re walking around with your chest puffed out.
”But then you come here (to the NBA) and learn you have to take a back seat. All the way in the back, really. You have to take your bumps and bruises. You have to accept your role. But as a rookie you`re going to be arrogant until someone puts you in your place.”
Who put you in your place?
”Charles Oakley. Every day in practice he gave me a little bump here, a little bruise there. The thing was, I never gave up.”
Oakley was 6 feet 9 inches and 245 pounds, and each day he was rudely educating a raw 6-10 rookie still many pounds away from his current 220. Yet on each of those days Grant accepted Oakley`s blows, absorbed Oakley`s lessons, and during that year showed promise enough to average better than 22 minutes a game.
He, more significantly, showed promise enough that the Bulls traded Oakley after that season for Bill Cartwright and handed Grant the job he still holds. He responded immediately, averaging a dozen points and 8.6 rebounds a game, but even more importantly he experienced an epiphany that year as well. For by the end of that year, he remembers, he had rid himself of all the baggage he had carried with him from Clemson, and clearly recognized the role he would play for the Bulls. It was a dirty role, a thankless role, a role that would rarely earn him headlines, yet Grant accepted it and attacked it with vigor.
By the final game of his third season, the infamous seventh-game loss to the Pistons in the Eastern Conference final, he was fully transformed, and that afternoon he put his new self on display for all to see. While Pippen sat with the migraine that haunts him still, while Detroit upheld its roughneck reputation on the way to its second consecutive title, Grant battled on tirelessly, and when his long day ended, he had logged 45 minutes, pulled in 14 rebounds, survived in one piece, and proven to all the fearlessness of his innards.
He reprised that performance often both last season and this, did it again just last Friday in the series-clincher against the Cavs, and now he is one of those rarities in a business filled with so many seeking the spotlight. More than a power forward, more than a power small forward, he is now simply A Player, an honest laborer who works diligently, toils endlessly and is willing to accept any task assigned.
”My job?” he says, repeating a question. ”Digging. Scratching. Clawing. You can`t have an ego in my job. You just put your hard hat on, and carry your lunch bucket. You`re not worried about fame, only fortune.”
Do you, he is finally asked, ever look at other power forwards and wish you had their opportunites?
”There used to be a lot of envy,” Grant readily admits. ”You look at guys like (Utah`s Karl) Malone, (Philadelphia`s Charles) Barkley, guys who have a lot of plays run for them. I used to get frustrated.
”But if you really look at those types of teams, they haven`t won a championship, or they haven`t made the playoffs, or they got knocked out in the first round. Then you look at the successful teams, and they have guys like Buck Williams, guys like Horace Grant.
”Guys who don`t get the recognition, but do the job.”
Guys, that is, who don`t get the recognition, but richly deserve it.
