the truth is, we all knew Kevin wasn’t going to sit, because he knew we had a chance at a championship that season, and those chances don’t come too often. I’m sure McHale has some regrets. We lost to the Lakers in the Finals in 1987, and from what I understand, all these years later that foot still gives Kevin some trouble. You hate to hear that.
I think one of the problems with our league today is that guys will sit out more now if they’re injured because they don’t want to ruin their reputation of being a great player, and it’s hard to perform at your top level when you’re injured. The other thing is that guys whose contracts are up figure they stand to make a lot of money, so why push it if you don’t have to? Then there’s the agents. These young kids are letting other people make their decisions for them, and that’s too bad. A kid like Marcus Camby, he’s got all this talent, but he’s hurt so much it doesn’t matter. You feel like telling him that if he tries to play through some of the nagging injuries he might actually feel better. I played some of my best games when I had a muscle pull or I was sick. You come in that night figuring you can’t feel any worse, and when you finally get out there and run around a little bit, you tend to forget about what was bothering you.
One thing I’ve tried to understand as a coach, though, is that everyone handles pain differently. Some people know how to play through it. Others just can’t. You have to be realistic. I like to see guys play through twisted ankles, stuff like that. When it gets to more serious injuries, though, only you can decide how far you want to push yourself. My whole thing is, if you don’t think you can play, then don’t. And if you can, then go out there and do it, but don’t spend a whole lot of time talking about it. Nobody else knows your pain threshold but you. Sometimes I’d complain privately to Dan Dyrek and say, “Why isn’t this guy playing tonight? We could use him.” But Dan would always tell me, “Larry, you have an unbelievably high threshold of pain. You can’t expect other people to have that same threshold, because they don’t. It’s not fair to question how much people are willing or able to put themselves through. That’s just not fair.” I’ve tried to remember that in dealing with my own players.
So was all that suffering worth it? When you look around Boston Garden and see 15,000 people there, then it’s worth every minute. I loved looking around and seeing every seat filled. That’s a special feeling I’ll never forget.
There are some other things I would rather forget. A few years after I retired, I was in Boston with a friend of mine who was having back trouble, and I called up Dan Dyrek and asked him if he could take a look at him. Dan’s offices were in a new place, but even so, the minute I walked in there and started remembering all the pain I had gone through, I felt sick. Dan looked at me and said, “Larry, you look pale. Are you all right?” I took one look around and answered, “As long as I never have to come back here, I’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER 2
On the ’92 Olympics
I can’t think of a better way to end my career than to play for the United States in the 1992 Olympics. Ever since I was a little kid, I used to love it when the Olympics were on television. I really wish my father would have been around to see that gold medal put around my neck. I can remember way, way back, always watching the Olympics with my dad. They’d play that national anthem, and he’d perk right up. He fought in the Korean War, and he was really very proud of our country. He’d watch that flag go up, and he’d say, “God, that must be a great feeling.”
Then all those years later, there I am in Barcelona, getting my own gold medal. He would have loved to see that. So would Mom. She watched it all on television, but she didn’t come over to Barcelona with us.
It never occurred to me that I
I think one of the problems with our league today is that guys will sit out more now if they’re injured because they don’t want to ruin their reputation of being a great player, and it’s hard to perform at your top level when you’re injured. The other thing is that guys whose contracts are up figure they stand to make a lot of money, so why push it if you don’t have to? Then there’s the agents. These young kids are letting other people make their decisions for them, and that’s too bad. A kid like Marcus Camby, he’s got all this talent, but he’s hurt so much it doesn’t matter. You feel like telling him that if he tries to play through some of the nagging injuries he might actually feel better. I played some of my best games when I had a muscle pull or I was sick. You come in that night figuring you can’t feel any worse, and when you finally get out there and run around a little bit, you tend to forget about what was bothering you.
One thing I’ve tried to understand as a coach, though, is that everyone handles pain differently. Some people know how to play through it. Others just can’t. You have to be realistic. I like to see guys play through twisted ankles, stuff like that. When it gets to more serious injuries, though, only you can decide how far you want to push yourself. My whole thing is, if you don’t think you can play, then don’t. And if you can, then go out there and do it, but don’t spend a whole lot of time talking about it. Nobody else knows your pain threshold but you. Sometimes I’d complain privately to Dan Dyrek and say, “Why isn’t this guy playing tonight? We could use him.” But Dan would always tell me, “Larry, you have an unbelievably high threshold of pain. You can’t expect other people to have that same threshold, because they don’t. It’s not fair to question how much people are willing or able to put themselves through. That’s just not fair.” I’ve tried to remember that in dealing with my own players.
So was all that suffering worth it? When you look around Boston Garden and see 15,000 people there, then it’s worth every minute. I loved looking around and seeing every seat filled. That’s a special feeling I’ll never forget.
There are some other things I would rather forget. A few years after I retired, I was in Boston with a friend of mine who was having back trouble, and I called up Dan Dyrek and asked him if he could take a look at him. Dan’s offices were in a new place, but even so, the minute I walked in there and started remembering all the pain I had gone through, I felt sick. Dan looked at me and said, “Larry, you look pale. Are you all right?” I took one look around and answered, “As long as I never have to come back here, I’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER 2
On the ’92 Olympics
I can’t think of a better way to end my career than to play for the United States in the 1992 Olympics. Ever since I was a little kid, I used to love it when the Olympics were on television. I really wish my father would have been around to see that gold medal put around my neck. I can remember way, way back, always watching the Olympics with my dad. They’d play that national anthem, and he’d perk right up. He fought in the Korean War, and he was really very proud of our country. He’d watch that flag go up, and he’d say, “God, that must be a great feeling.”
Then all those years later, there I am in Barcelona, getting my own gold medal. He would have loved to see that. So would Mom. She watched it all on television, but she didn’t come over to Barcelona with us.
It never occurred to me that I
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