Lost In The Texas Triangle

The Nets know about the horrors that lurk in the Lone Star State. (We wouldn't ask them about it if we were you)

The swank lobby of the Four Seasons hotel in Houston is a who's who of Nets, from team president Rod Thorn to all-star point guard Jason Kidd. The expressions on their faces range from puzzled to worried as the question is asked: "have you seen L?"

L is coach Lawrence Frank, a stickler for punctuality. At the moment, though, nearly an hour late for a lunch appointment, he is nowhere to be found. Then again, who wouldn't want to disappear? The Nets, in the midst of a six-game trip, are currently attempting to navigate the Texas Triangle, only the second intrepid group to do so this season. With three straight games in Dallas, Houston and San Antonio, it is a stretch as treacherous as any haunted airspace. The Bulls made the journey in November; they went 0-for-Texas. As one of four teams fighting for the final two playoff spots in the East, the Nets can hardly afford the same result.

Frank was last seen walking back to the hotel as the rest of the team took the bus after a latemorning practice at the Toyota Center. This was not a particularly adventurous decision. The 30-story hotel is just over a half-mile away and clearly visible from the arena. But being late is totally out of character for Frank, as firm a believer in schedules as he is in expediency. "This has never happened in the three years I've been with him," Nets spokesman Gary Sussman says. "It's not like him at all."

Finally, Frank materializes. Apologizing profusely, he explains that he lost track of time chatting with Rockets assistant Tom Thibodeau, then "kind of got lost."

Totally understandable. These days, the Texas Triangle can be a disorienting place. It's a land where superstars are unselfish, the popular trend of trading baskets is taboo and defenses are designed to squeeze the sanity out of you.

The Nets can only hope to get out relatively unscathed. But their experience should be an Enter at Your Own Risk warning for any team passing through once the postseason begins.

TUES 3.6 DALLAS
The Triangle has beckoned since the Mavericks entered the league in 1980, but it has never been as imposing as it has since the games revved up again after this year's All-Star break. Because no one in the league is revving like these Lone Star State teams. The Mavericks haven't lost in six weeks. The Rockets are playing again with Yao after going 20—12 without him. The Spurs are working on a double-digit win streak of their own. In short, one state, three title contenders.

The Nets' history against the Triangle makes the current trip only more ominous. The Nets haven't won in Dallas in seven years, they have lost eight straight to San Antonio and were punked by 25 on their home floor by Houston in December. It may be piling it on, but astute historians will also note that the fall of the Alamo took place exactly 171 years ago this week.

These days, of course, it's the visitors who give up the fort. Credit some pretty effective laststand defenses: The Texas trio are ranked first (Spurs at 89.7), second (Rockets at 91.1) and third (Mavericks at 92.2) in the NBA in fewest points allowed. When Richard Jefferson is asked to ponder the last time the Nets faced three teams this stingy, he answers, "Detroit, Detroit, Detroit," before adding, "in the playoffs."

Frank takes a healthy bite of his pollo arrosto sandwich, sips his iced tea and smiles. "In a sick way, ," says. " you can hang on to the rope." Fact is, though, he'd be better off facing the Pistons, Pistons and Pistons. Here he needs three different game plans-easier said than done. Although everyone in the Triangle plays D, boasts nightmarish inside-outside threats and employs mastermotivator coaches, their methods and personnel are wildly dissimilar. Maybe you can run past Houston, but can you also grind it out against San Antonio? Sure, you can close out on Houston's long-range shooters, but can you stay in front of Dallas' slashers? So you can tame Dallas, which thrives on its emotional outbursts, but how far will that get you against San Antonio's stoicism? Or consider this: Dirk, Yao, Tim Duncan. That's three stars who require radically different types of defenders, an array that is virtually impossible for a single team to field. In other words, if one of 'em doesn't get you, the other two will.

So when you descend into the Triangle, all you can do is take your three best shots. In Dallas, that means not allowing them to steamroll you in the first half and thus render, with their lockdown D and full stockpile of weapons, the second half moot. Frank has a list of the ways he thinks he can do that: 1) Keep slasher Josh Howard from scoring more than one or two first-quarter baskets, because he, above anyone else, ignites the team. 2) Keep center Erick Dampier contained, because he goes as the crowd goes; early cheers and he's a monster all night. The last thing you need is his aggressive shotblocking backing that vacuum-sealed perimeter. 3) Limit Nowitzki by forcing him to rely on turnaround jumpers. Give up a few easy face-up J's early, and be ready to endure the gargoyle face he makes later after hitting the game-clinching shot.

The whole idea, as Frank sees it, is to be within seven with six minutes left. The Mavericks demonstrated long before last June's Finals meltdown against Miami that if there's anything they don't do well, it's execute down the stretch in a tight game. "They're a first-half team in their own building, and Josh and Damp are a big part of making those early runs," says Frank. "Keep it close, and that puts the pressure back on them."

The Nets hold to the plan. Dallas has a meager 47-41 lead at halftime, because Howard was kept scoreless in the first quarter. Then again, Nowitzki has 12 and hasn't taken a turnaround yet, and Dampier already has eight boards, including two on offense.

That would be enough to get any crowd going, but no team is more dedicated to manipulating their fans' enthusiasm than the Mavericks, owners of the league's best home record. Tonight, when a Devin Harris dive for a loose ball fails to inspire the crowd, infamous PA announcer Humble Billy Hayes bellows like a revival preacher: "Can you respond with the heart to match Devin Harris' guts?" Maybe the members of the sellout crowd aren't as responsive as one might hope because they already have their sights set on June.

The second half emphatically shows why June is a very real possibility. The Mavericks are just too versatile. Put a scorer who can't play D on Dirk, Howard, Harris, Jerry Stackhouse or Jason Terry, and they'll expose him. Even though Howard never gets on track, he is one of seven Mavs to score in double figures. Put a stopper out there who can't shoot, and the Mavericks will force the ball to him. They shrink New Jersey's 47% shooting in the first three quarters to 33% in the fourth by simply shutting down the paint. The Nets are left to launch eight three-pointers, only two of which fall. The Mavericks, meanwhile, have dribble penetration galore, resulting in a parade to the free throw line and their biggest scoring quarter (30) of the night.

Dallas' preparation and discipline are best described in the stat line of Net Bostjan Nachbar. The forward had averaged nearly 17 points in his previous seven games. Tonight he gets five on six shots. "They never left me," he says.

After the 102-89 loss, Frank sums up the lesson his team has just been taught. "It's a cliché that winning is in the details," he says, "but it's true."

Coach Jeff Van Gundy-Van Grumpy to his Rockets-wears a wide grin and a College of Charleston sweatshirt as he acknowledges the conventional strategy for dealing with the Triangle. "We're the game they circle," he jokes. "'Dallas? That's going to be tough. San Antonio? I don't know. But this one, Houston? Oh, we can get this one!'"

Van Gundy is not about to make it easy for New Jersey, though. He kicks reserve swingman Kirk Snyder out of the team shootaround for "not working hard enough," an unusual expectation for a game day walk-through. Is it a message to his team to not take the Nets lightly? "No doubt," says point guard Rafer Alston. "We've already lost games we shouldn't have this year."

Frank has been watching tape of the Rockets since 5:30 a.m., searching for the answer to an impossible riddle: Whom do you double-team in the NBA's most lethal inside-outside combo, center Yao Ming or shooting guard Tracy McGrady?

When asked before the game if he's found a solution, Frank holds his hands in prayer around an ever-present Diet Coke can. Problem is, with this Rockets roster, you can't double-team either of them without leaving open a respectable rainbow of three-point snipers: Luther Head (43.0%), Shane Battier (42.6%) and Alston (36.8%). "It's a mistake when people don't see Houston as an offensive juggernaut," Frank says.

This is another team you don't want to trail. Let Houston build a double-digit lead, and Van Gundy expertly slows the pace and milks his half-court offense, making it tough for an opponent to get the possessions needed to overcome the deficit. When the Rockets score more than 100 points at home, they're 14—1. But this team isn't as complete as, say, Dallas. It does have weaknesses.

McGrady isn't fond of contact, Alston is too slight to finish around the rim in traffic and Yao is more finesse than brute. No wonder they average a league-low 22.5 free throw attempts per game.

The way to keep them off the line is to force McGrady to catch the ball as far above the arc as possible and to deny any pass to the corner, from where they can get it to Yao on the baseline. So Nets rookie Hassan Adams watches a DVD to see how Spurs guard Bruce Bowen defends McGrady. "In the high pick-and-roll, he likes to go away from the screen," Adams says. "My job is to force him back toward it. But I'm 6'4", and the dude is 6'8" and can shoot from anywhere. I just hope to disrupt him any way I can."

Frank's motto for this game is "patience and persistence." He knows that if a team works the ball and dribble-penetrates from either side of the floor, it can expose the Rockets' lack of lateral quickness. It's why Jefferson is goaded into returning from his 21-game absence after ankle surgery. Jump-shooting big men help too, so Nets forward Clifford Robinson suits up despite a strained knee ligament-even though he's the same size as rookie Josh Boone and 18 years older. Such are the choices the Rockets induce.

Houston has liftoff from the tip (Snyder is deactivated for the game), holding New Jersey scoreless for nearly four minutes as it builds a 31-18 first-quarter lead. They don't have lockdown defenders, but they compensate with airtight execution and adjustments to their schemes depending on who is on the floor. They see nonshooter Adams on the floor and funnel the ball to him. He goes 0-for-3, and Frank plays him only 10 minutes. When Kidd mans up on McGrady, he defends him perfectly, shepherding him to his weaker left hand, staying close enough so that he can't raise up for his jumper. But McGrady reverse pivots and, on a deep fade, buries an 18-footer. Houston rolls to a 112-91 win.

Afterward, Frank counts 29 game-plan errors. The Rockets attempt a staggering 41 free throws. Among the miscuses, 10 passes reach the corner, five times a big man fails to close on McGrady in pick-and-rolls and five times the Nets foul a jump shooter.

Make that 30 game-plan errors. On a grease board before each game, Frank breaks the season into five-game blocks. Then he writes the record for the current block, the number of the game and E.Y.W.E., which stands for Earn Your Way Every Day. Only tonight he has written E.W.Y.E. It's a small thing, but winning is in the details.

SAT 3.10
SAN ANTONIO
The chink in the Spurs' armor is an offense that can sputter, particularly when they're missing free throws. In fact, they average only one more point per game than the Nets, and when they score fewer than 90, they're 1—9. Limit them to 22 in each quarter, Frank figures, and his team has a chance.

If he can find 90 points for the Nets, that is. His counterpart on the other sideline, Gregg Popovich, has always won with D. He puts the burden on his guards to fight over screens, a philosophy all teams would employ if they had relentless, hard-nosed swingmen like Bowen and Manu Ginobili to implement it. With the other Spurs instructed not to sag off their perimeter assignments, a guard has to hope he can get a step on the speedy Tony Parker (fat chance), then get a shot over San Antonio's multitude of longarmed big men-Duncan, Francisco Elson, Robert Horry and Fabricio Oberto. It's not easy.

San Antonio uses a late-second-quarter burst that includes a three from Ginobili-"Quietly one of the best wing players in the league," Frank says-to take a 42-33 halftime lead. But Popovich doesn't gauge his team's performance by the score board or stat sheet. He looks for effort, and he isn't seeing enough of it. Which is why, despite limiting the Nets to 37.5% from the floor, he starts the third quarter with a sour look-and full-court pressure.

Playing harder, however, can't erase the Spurs clanking eight of 14 free throws. The Nets sense an opportunity; all they need is one momentumturning play. Kidd, who canceled a golf date in Houston because he knew he'd need his legs against the younger Parker, reaches the rim for the second time in two minutes. The first time, Duncan clipped his righthanded layup and knocked him out of bounds, setting up a fast-break basket at the other end. This time, Kidd has the ball in his left hand. A layup, and the Spurs' lead is down to six. A threepoint play, maybe TD on the bench in foul trouble … well, that's just the kind of pressure that's led to eight home losses already. It's as promising a moment as the Nets have had since landing in Texas.

Only Duncan again gets some ball and some Kidd. Frank catapults off the bench. "What the f-!" he screams, loud enough for referee Tony Brothers to hear at the other end. He gets a T.

Kidd soon picks up one as well, for tweaking Brothers about missing a traveling call on Parker. "Best call you've made all night," Kidd says after getting whistled, adding as he walks away, "You suck." That results in the second ejection of Kidd's six-year stay with the Nets. Possibility no longer blooms in anyone's head, as Brothers quickly T's up Mikki Moore for asking Popovich, "How much did you pay them tonight?"

Down by 14 going into the fourth quarter, Frank says to crew chief Ken Mauer, "You should be embarrassed by how embarrassing this is." And he is ejected, for the first time in his career. The Nets lose by 16.

One interesting point: Throughout the teamwide implosion, no one on the Nets takes out his frustration on any of the Spurs. It's the genius of this team, really: With no postdunk primal screams or popped jerseys, opponents are always more likely to lash out at each other, or the refs. Duncan actually had Moore giving him dap after commiserating about how many close games New Jersey had lost down the stretch.

What's tonight's lesson? "That's all it takes with these teams," Frank says. "A little letdown, and they pounce."

A FEW hours later, the Nets are headed for Memphis (able to breathe freely again, they will explode for 113 points against the Grizzlies on Monday, then 112 a night later in Oklahoma City against the Hornets). "Thank god we're out of Texas!" someone says as the team plane reaches altitude. More than a few heads nod.

"I don't know who that was," Kidd says, "but I know we were all thinking it."

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