Four years too late to see the great Maravich

I was a freshman at the University of Texas in the fall of 1971. Had I gotten to Austin four years earlier, I would have had the chance to see the most spectacular player in the history of college basketball—Pete Maravich. On December 4, 1967, he played the first game of his varsity career for LSU. Before 5,000 fans at Gregory Gymnasium that night, he put on a dazzling pregame show and then scored 42 points in an 87-74 Tigers victory. Perhaps I should say Maravich had “just” 42 because he averaged a staggering 44.2 over three seasons. This is nearly 10 points more than any other man who has played the game, and it predates the use of the three-point shot. People have gone back and reviewed his game films and stats, and concluded that with the three-ball he would have averaged 57 points per game.

All right. We see that Maravich was the most prolific scorer of all time in college hoops. He took no fewer than 3,166 shots and made 1,387 of them, which comes to a success rate of less than 44%. That seems rather pedestrian until we consider the circumstances. Maravich was not exactly surrounded by a bunch of superstars, opposing defenses focused largely on stopping him, and LSU was unlikely to win if he did not fill it up. With unshakeable confidence, he took many a shot from downtown. If not that, the lithe, 6’5″ Maravich rushed to the hoop and relied on instinct and cleverness to make something happen. His ability to dribble, pass and create shots was stunning to fans, sportswriters and even opponents. There had never been a player like him, nor has there been once since. I recently went to YouTube and watched some clips of his days at LSU. I must have exclaimed, “whoa!” two or three dozen times.

I later came to know a tall man named Lynn Howden. He had been on the LSU freshman team with Maravich, but he transferred to UT. I asked him—why? Howden was blunt in stating that he wanted no part in what Press Maravich and his boy were planning in Baton Rouge. That is, Pete would take an ungodly number of shots and his teammates would stand around watching him do so. Howden said, “no thanks” and joined the Longhorns. The guys who stuck around may have shared his feeling, but on the other hand for nearly 50 years now they have been able to say that they played basketball with Pete Maravich at LSU. I can think of few better conversation starters.

The Bayou Bengals of the Maravich era did not do especially well. In what may be called the 1968, 1969 and 1970 seasons, they went 14-12, 13-13 and 22-10. They never got into the NCAA tourney, although they won two games in the small-potatoes NIT during Maravich’s senior year. He was three times a first-team All-American and thrice Southeastern Conference player of the year. In 1972, LSU opened a new and much bigger basketball arena, named after Maravich upon his death in 1988.

It is now sadly necessary to bring up the subject of race. Maravich, the grandson of Serbian immigrants who settled in western Pennsylvania, was European-American. Most of the best basketball players are not. Rather, they are black. Integration had just begun in the colleges of the Deep South when Maravich played. There were no black players on the Texas team Maravich faced at Gregory Gym in 1967, and that applied to the large majority of LSU opponents during his career. The plain fact is that he competed with no black players and against very few. Had he done so, his numbers would have been less impressive—although it is certain that he still would have scored a lot of points.

Maravich’s background reveals some troubling things. His mother was an alcoholic who ended up committing suicide. His hoops-mad father put a ball in his hands almost as soon as he could walk, focusing on Pete as his meal ticket. He played from early morning to late at night, and more than that he worked obsessively on solitary drills to hone his shooting, ball-handling and passing. Such things would clearly be necessary to succeed in competition, but others were not. The time he spent learning how to spin the ball on his finger, bounce it off his noggin, hitting the backboard and falling into the basket—with his eyes closed—may have been better spent scrimmaging with some black guys in Aliquippa, PA, Central, SC, and Raleigh, NC.

The truth is that Maravich was not a well-rounded player. Oscar Robertson, whose collegiate scoring records he shattered, held him in low regard. The Big O was meticulous, basing his game on tempo, change of pace and economy of movement. Although capable of flamboyance, he generally chose to stay in control of himself, the ball and the game. Robertson knew it was a team sport, and he excelled at keeping the other four guys involved. While I do not mean to overstate the case, this fundamental aspect of basketball escaped Maravich—especially while he was at LSU where his dad just told him to run it, gun it and keep the fans entertained.

And then there was the matter of defense. Defense was what the opponent tried to play against Maravich when he had the ball. He tended to rest when the other team was in possession. By the time he got to the NBA, his lousy defense was an open secret. Maravich was easy pickings for opposing guards like Robertson, Walt Frazier, Earl Monroe, George Gervin and Nate “Tiny” Archibald. His pro career (with the Atlanta Hawks, New Orleans/Utah Jazz and Boston Celtics) was not always easy. He dealt with injuries, jealous teammates, fondness for the bottle and his own immaturity, but he persevered for 10 years. He scored nearly 16,000 points and was twice first-team All-NBA. By 1977, no longer so quick and explosive, he had become a more conventional player and a smarter player. In a home game against the New York Knicks, he scored 68 points and schooled Frazier, one of the top defensive guards in league history.

I will close with a reference to John Wooden, who coached UCLA to ten national titles between 1964 and 1975. He and Press Maravich were good friends although the former was measured and modest while the latter was loud and profane. The Tigers and Bruins met at Pauley Pavilion on December 23, 1969, and it was all UCLA in a 133-84 trouncing in which Maravich turned the ball over 18 times. Undeterred, Press stated that his son would be the first million-dollar player.

Wooden: “I agreed but insisted he would never win a championship. It turns out that we were both right.”