Pistol Pete Maravich was a paradox, an incredible basketball player blessed with a talent on the level of a Magic Johnson, Larry Bird and Michael Jordan, but cursed with a celebrity that ultimately made him the Elvis of basketball. During a remarkable brief period in the late 1960’s, Maravich, Rick Mount at Purdue and Calvin Murphy at Niagara put on a shooting and scoring competition in college basketball that had never been seen before and will likely never be seen again. Maravich was the best all-around player of the three, a veritable Jerry West clone with a touch of Bob Cousy, Steve Nash and Harlem Globetrotter thrown in for good measure. It is no stretch to say that Pistol Pete is responsible for introducing professional basketball to the entertaining way in which such top flight NBA teams as the Phoenix Suns and the Dallas Mavericks play the game today.
I didn’t have an opportunity to watch Maravich play in person while he was in college and basketball wasn’t on television anywhere near as much back then as it is now, so Maravich’s brilliance while playing at LSU wasn’t see much outside of Louisiana and the SEC college towns. But after moving to Houston in the early 1970’s, I saw Maravich play the Rockets many times and he was clearly way ahead of his time. This NY Times Sunday Book Review reviews a couple of new biographies of Maravich, inluding “Pistol” by former New York Daily News sports columnist Mark Kriegel. I picked up a copy of “Pistol” at the bookstore last week and it was like reading a Maravich-led fast break — you can breeze through it no time.
The book is as much about Pistol Pete’s father Press as it is about Pete. Press was an excellent basketball player in his day and went on to become a well-regarded high school and college coach. However, as Press became obsessed with making Pistol the best player ever, his coaching and fathering became compromised. Although that part of the story is sad in many respects, it’s still interesting to learn how Press trained young Pete to become a basketball phenom. In one drill, Press would make young Pete lie prone in the backseat of a moving car and dribble a basketball out the door while Press sped the car up or slowed it down, testing Pete’s reflexes and ability to control the ball. Press would proudly show his son off to other coaches and players, almost like a circus act.
Press’ obsession produced a remarkable basketball talent. Maravich averaged an NCAA record 44.2 points a game in his three seasons at LSU before basketball adopted the three-point line. Given Pistol’s shooting range, he certainly would have averaged over 50 points a game during his collegiate career had the three-point line been in effect. He was named the college basketball player of the year in 1970 and and was signed by the Atlanta Hawks after a bidding war between the Hawks and the Carolina franchise of the old ABA.
But there was also a huge toll to what Press had created. Pistol was already a heavy drinker and quite likely an alcoholic. Pistol needed the ball in hands most of the time to be effective, which some pro players resented. And Press wasn’t around in Atlanta as the coach to coddle his basketball creation (Press was LSU’s coach while Pistol played there).
So, after four mostly disappointing seasons in Atlanta, Maravich was traded to the expansion New Orleans Jazz, which was just the NBA’s ticket to fill the then new Superdome. Back home, Pistol won his first NBA scoring title in 1977, averaging 31.1 points a game. In one memorable game at the Superdome, Maravich torched the Knicks for 68 points in a game that many longtime NBA fans still consider the best individual performance in NBA history.
But Bourbon Street was not a good training table for Maravich, who also suffered a serious knee injury in New Orleans that undermined the quickness that had made his floor game so extraordinary. After kicking around the NBA for a few more seasons, the bright flame of Pistol Pete’s basketball genius flared out.
However, in a fascinating twist, Pistol Pete’s life became even more interesting after he quit playing basketball for a living. Pete watched Press raise a grandaughter the way he should have raised Pete and, spurred by an embrace of evangelical Christianity, Pistol cared for his ailing father lovingly during his dying days. Then, as quick as one of his no-look passes, Pete was gone, too, felled by a congenital heart defect at the age of 40 while playing a pick-up game in a church gym.
Sadly, much of the video of Maravich during his salad days at LSU was stolen years ago and has never been recovered. So, much of the legacy of this remarkable talent must be passed along by those of us who were blessed to see him play. Thus, as you watch Steve Nash put together a third straight MVP-caliber season this year for the Phoenix Suns, recognize that, in many respects, you are watching the modern version of Pistol Pete Maravich.

One of the true characters in the basketball culture of Texas — former Texas A&M coach Shelby Metcalf — died this past Thursday in College Station at the age of 76. Anyone who has lived in Texas and followed basketball knows about Metcalf, who coached at A&M when basketball was truly just a diversion between football and spring football. But Metcalf’s teams were always competitive against teams of superior personnel and the Texas A&M administration learned just how special a coach Metcalf was after they unceremoniously fired him in 1990 after 26 and a half seasons at the helm of Aggie basketball. The Aggie program promptly went into a tailspin for the next 15 years until current coach Billy Gillespie was hired three seasons ago and transformed the Aggie program into a national power.
But as good a coach as Metcalf was, he was an even better storyteller and comedian. Metcalf’s dry wit and calm demeanor are legendary in Texas coaching circles, where his observation that one of his players who had 4 F’s and a D was “concentrating too hard on one class” is probably his best-known crack. Metcalf was my one of my favorite coaches to listen to during an interview, so here are a some of my favorite Metcalf observations from over the years:

After a tough game in Lubbock, a reporter asked Metcalf in the post-game press conference about what he told his players after Tech fans resorted to throwing coins at the Aggies. Metcalf replied: “I told my players to show some class, and not pick up anything less than a quarter.”
In talking about how dramatically recruiting had changed during the course of his long career, Metcalf recalled how he had recruited a player in the mid-1960’s by taking him fishing and observed ruefully: “You just canít get real good players with catfish anymore.”
When a number of A&M players were having trouble academically, Metcalf arranged to have them enrolled in a basket weaving so that they could increase their grade point average. “Problem was,” Metcalf later admitted. “A couple of them were American-Indians, and they set such a high curve that they flunked the others out.”
Commenting on the notoriously fickle A&M fans, Metcalf observed: “The only happy Aggie is an unhappy Aggie.”
Metcalf loved nicknames. So, after recruiting a player out of Louisiana named Smart, Metcalf nicknamed him “Plenty.” After reviewing first semester grades, Metcalf changed Smart’s nickname to “Nottoo.”
After former Aggie football coach R.C. Slocum resigned under pressure during the A&M administration led by former CIA Chief and current Defense Secretary William Gates, Metcalf commented: “R.C.’s lucky. He could have just disappeared, you know.”
Metcalf always had the same pre-season observation about the keys to a successful season: “Stay happy, healthy and out of foul trouble.”
During a particularly turbulent airline flight, an A&M player was feeling quite nauseous.

ìSon, what’s wrong with you?î inquired Metcalf.
ìCoach,” replied the player. “I am dizzy, sweaty, and nauseous. I think I might throw up.”
“Well now,” Metcalf shot back. “Now you know how I feel every time I have to put you in a game!”

Update: Chronicle sports columnist John Lopez, an A&M grad who knew Metcalf for over 25 years, passes along this heartfelt tribute.