Mondays with Murray . . . on Tuesday

APRIL 27, 1969, SPORTS
Copyright 1969/THE TIMES MIRROR COMPANY
 
JIM MURRAY

It's a Bird! A Man! A Car! A Bullet! . . . It's . . .

The first time you see Jerry West, you're tempted to ask him how are things in Gloccamorra. The Lakers didn't draft him; they found him — under a rainbow. Either that, or they left a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest and then snapped the cage when he showed up.
   There are those who swear Jerry arrives for work every day by reindeer. He wears the perpetually startled expression of a guy who just heard a dog talk. He doesn't walk anywhere — he darts. He has the quickest hands and feet ever seen on a guy without a police record. If they put a cap on him sideways and turned him loose on the streets of London, there wouldn't be a wallet in town by nightfall.
   He can hang in the air like Mary Poppins. It would take a week to hang him. He could play Peter Pan without wires. Some night he's going to go up for a jump shot in the first period — and they're going to have to get the Fire Department to get him down.
   His nose has been broken so many times, he sneezes through his ears. Cigarette smoke would come out of his nostrils in corkscrew patterns. His septum is so deviated, he's breathing YESTERDAY'S air. He goes through life with such a s-w-o-o-s-s-h that there are only a few people certain what color he is.
   Inch for inch, he's the greatest basketball player in the world. There is no more exciting sight in the world of sports than Jerry West dervishing down court with a basketball, eyes and nose flaring, basketball thumping. His shots are a blur.
   He's such a bundle of exploding nervous energy that by the end of the season, they don't need a chest X-ray. They just hold him up to the light. If you put a picture on him, you could send him as a postcard. Jerry wasn't born, he was pressed. A steamroller would miss most of him.
   He can hit a golf ball 300 yards (with a 2-wood) and be there when it comes down. He would make one of pro football's great defensive backs. He could play the outfield like Willie Mays if they could get him to stand still in one place that long.
   He was born to play basketball. If, indeed, he was born. "Cabin Creek, West Virginia" sounds like such a suspicious natal place that some people check to see if there's a flying saucer depot nearby.
   He is a nine-year veteran in the league but he always looks like a kid getting his first sight of Disneyland. A guy asked to guard him sometimes feels as if he had spent the night in a revolving door in the dark, but Jerry has never even had a cross word with an opponent. If he has an enemy in this world, it's news to him — and the enemy.
  He has arms so long he could drive a car from the backseat. No one has ever caught him asleep. He's as democratic as a panhandler. He chats with anyone. He talks as fast as he runs. When he first came up, his mountain twang was such — spoken so rapidly, he began his sentences in the middle and worked his way to both ends simultaneously — that it was understandable only to hunting dogs, canaries and certain woods animals.
   He had a brother killed in Korea and has never been able to find a mere game worth complaining about since, not even in late season when he is so exhausted pigeons try to feed him. He even eats fast. He shops so fast he can get a complete wardrobe and take the same elevator back down. He's supposed to be injury-prone but he has NEVER missed a playoff game. He's so modest, game journalists avoid him after his good nights. "Talk to Jerry and you'll wind up KNOCKING him for an all-time scoring night," a regular once warned.
  His play in the opening playoff game against the Celts last week was, to understate it badly, historic. In the presence of a dozen of the games greatest scorers, one of every four points was thrown in by Jerry West. "It was such a good game I wish I could have seen it!" glowed Jerry afterward, ignoring the fact that he had left smoke coming out of both baskets.
   A lot of the Celts assigned to guard Jerry wish they could have seen it, too. Like a lot of people, they figure Jerry is a figment of someone's imagination, like the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, leprechauns and witches. And, as soon as they can find it, they're going to hide his broom.

Reprinted with permission by the Los Angeles Times.

Jim Murray Memorial Foundation | P.O. Box 995 | La Quinta | CA | 92247