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March 2010

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Mar

2

My Norm Van Lier Story

Filed Under NBA, Chicago Bulls, Loose Balls

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Since his shocking death from natural causes last Thursday, Norm Van Lier has often been described as a complex, “larger-than-life character” who “worked hard and played hard” on the basketball court and in life.

Van Lier – who combined with Jerry Sloan in the seventies to give the Chicago Bulls arguably the best defensive backcourt in the history of the game – was more than just a former player who happened to analyze his former team.

He was that rare individual who was one with the fans, speaking for their frustrations for the team’s uninspired play the last couple of seasons but always holding the Bulls closest to his heart.

While he may have irked some people with his comments over the years, Van Lier told it like he saw it. And he was one of the most accessible former athletes to ever have played in Chicago, gracious and accommodating with fans to the end of his life.

With these things in mind, it’s no wonder that Van Lier’s death has resonated so sharply with Chicago fans, including the more than 1,000 people who attended his open memorial yesterday.

Norm Van Lier was a Chicagoan at heart, leaving many people with amazing stories, including your truly.

I met Norm Van Lier once in my life, at a place where I would have never expected to see him at that time, and I will never forget his words to me that day.

Back when I was a sixth-grade football player at St. Bart’s Grade School on the Northwest side of the city, I prepared for our last practice of the season at Chopin Park.

When my teammates, coaches and I gathered at mid-field for the start of practice, we were surprised to see some middle-aged guy kicking field goals down by the 20-yard line.

Our coaches let us know that it was none other than Norm Van Lier and that he used to play for the Bulls, a fact that impressed my teammates and me as this was just after the Bulls first three-peat.

Wow! A former Bull was sharing the same field with our terrible football team!

How cool was that.

Back then, Van Lier worked nearby at the SCORE’s old radio station on Belmont, and we figured he had come from there. He surely wasn’t there to watch our winless team practice.

But Van Lier did stick around and watch us practice after nailing field goals from about 20 to 35 yards for a good 30 minutes.

Whether it was because Van Lier was present or just a matter of sheer stupidity, our coaches decided to scrimmage my JV team with our Varsity team of seventh and eighth graders

This was a bad idea to pit skilled, strong young men from the Varsity squad against our undersized JV squad of little boys, many of whom had no idea what they were doing.

Naturally, on the first play from scrimmage, the Varsity coach decided to run a fullback sweep, leaving me matched up one-on-one at cornerback with barreling fullback Terry Gillespie, a family friend who was two years older than me and surely looking to leave an imprint of me on the ground.

Rather than being a deer in the headlights waiting to get hit by a guy who had a good 50 pounds on my lanky frame, I closed my eyes and went at the charging fullback, hitting him below the waist with my right shoulder and shockingly knocking him down to the ground (with an assist from my friend Jeff, who was 25 pounds lighter than me).

The impact from the hit left me feeling as if I broke my shoulder and quickly confirmed to me, along with a brutal season during which I was the team’s sacrificial lamb at quarterback, that my body wasn’t built for a football player.

Anyways, as I shook the cobwebs out of my head and got up in surprise that I had knocked down Terry, I heard someone hooting and hollering on the sideline.

It was Van Lier.

“Wow, did you see that number 12 take down that fullback,” Van Lier said with excitement and enthusiasm. “That’s what I like to see. He wasn’t afraid to make the hit. Nice play kid.”

As my teammates and coaches pounded my helmet in congratulation for the tackle, I looked over in awe to Van Lier, who caught my eye and smiled at me like a father proud of his son.

That was Norm Van Lier, a blue-collar guy with the extraordinary ability to make ordinary people of all ages feel special.

Van Lier would stick around for the rest of our scrimmage, which my team would survive without injury and I would leave with lasting memories.

A day later, my team would get pounded in the final game of the season, dropping us to 0-8 on the year.

Despite that loss, I would leave that season feeling tougher and better for the experience, thanks in large part to Van Lier and his words of encouragement.