The Pistol

Last weekend, while I was driving to do the wedding for a relative in Illinois, I read Pistol, The Life of Pete Maravich, by Mark Kriegel. I simply pressed the "cruise control" button on the van, climbed into the back seat, and read. It was fun watching the cars flash by and hear them honking. I'm amazed the van stayed on the road. Great feature, that cruise control. Anyway, I wanted to read about "Pistol" Pete because he was, without doubt, the greatest basketball icon during my childhood and teenage years. The Pistol has NCAA basketball records that will never be broken (44+ points per game average over his college career . . . give me a break, no one will ever equal that). The Pistol also has some of the highest-scoring and highest-assist collegiate games on record and he is regarded as the greatest ball handler and passer ever to play the game (especially among other great ball handlers like the Globetrotters and modern-day NBA players who have watched film footage of his greatest feats on the court). Pete learned to handle the ball so well at age six, when his father made him practice bouncing the ball up and down the basement stairs while wearing thick work gloves. His father (Press, head coach as LSU) also made Pete recline across the back seat of the car and practice dribbling as his father drove around town at various speeds. Pete would often dribble for miles--over chuck holes, gravel roads, etc.--and never lose control of the ball. He would often dribble and pass until his hands bled.







Reading about the Pistol, his exploits and the faith in God that he possessed near the end of his life, was thrilling. He died at age 40 after a pick up game in a church gym. What a way to go! Me, I'll probably pass away at a Krispy Kreme counter or "mid-dunk" at Starbucks as a Lemon-filled scone slips out of my hand and my wife yells, "There he goes! Going . . . going . . . gone!!!" She can bury me in a Dunkin Donut crate in the back yard under a placard that reads: "Here Lies One Sorry SOB, Still 'Dunkin' In That Great Golden Sugar Vat in the Sky. May He Rest in Grease!"