A Lost Nickname. And a Forgotten Comeback...

Most times in sports, you have to earn a nickname. When you enter the league as a rookie, a clever moniker is not simply handed to you. If you are deemed worthy, after years of proving yourself on the court or field, one is finally bestowed upon you. It's an honor to have your own nickname. That's why legends like Ty Cobb and George Gervin had them; it's why lifelong scrubs like Doug Strange and Gerald Glass did not. Now maybe you didn't have to be the best player to get a nickname. But you had to do something that would make us want to differentiate you from everybody else by way of a creative alias. For instance, Kenny Walker was by no means a championship caliber small forward in the NBA. But you better believe that when All-Star Saturday Night came around, Kenny would be putting on a show in the Slam Dunk Contest. He took the crown in 1989 by completely obliterating Clyde Drexler in the finals (148 to 49), and is now forever known as Kenny "Sky" Walker. Which brings us to today's nickname bandit. A man that not only did not deserve a cool nickname, but probably didn't deserve any name on his birth certificate whatsoever. Yes, I'm talking about former Pistons center Don Reid. Or should I say, "The Chief."

After Don's solid but unspectacular four-year career at Georgetown, he was probably just hoping to get a look in the summer league with hopes of maybe catching an eye or two and getting an invite to an NBA training camp. The Pistons did him one better and actually drafted big Don with the very last pick in the '95 draft. Exceeding all expectations generally held for such a late pick, Reid somehow managed to make the squad and spend most of the next five years as a real life Detroit Piston. Keep in mind that Don had nary a skill to speak of. He couldn't score, he couldn't make free throws, and he really didn't block many shots. I guess you could call him a "banger," but usually that also coincides with the player being a strong rebounder, and Don was marginal at best in that category. He was about 6'8 and 250 pounds, not exactly prototypical size for an NBA pivot man. It always made you feel a little sad as a Pistons fan to see his name and picture in the middle of the screen when the starting lineups were being presented before the game. It's a good bet that if Don Reid is your team's starting center, no confetti will be needed on the season's final night.

The one thing Don did excel at throughout his time in Detroit was committing personal fouls. He was always at or near the very top of the list in fouls per 48 minutes, and you could tell it was something he took immense pride in. After all, if he would have kept his hands to himself and avoided these whistles, how else would he make his stat line in the box score look a little more crooked? He didn't want to turn into Scott Hastings, who gained a minor place in history by inventing the "Trillion" during his time in Detroit to define the numerous appearances he would make throughout the year without denting his stat line in the least (zeros all the way across, thus 'Trillion'). There are some teams, like the Orlando Magic with Dwight Howard and the Houston Rockets with Yao, where two early fouls on the big man spells disaster. As a Pistons fan back then, you eagerly anticipated those first two Don Reid hacks just so Eric Montross or Loy Vaught could enter the game. Don't worry...I just got the chills, too.

Now at some point during this time, and the actual date of origin is still a point of debate in NBA circles, Don Reid became affectionately known as "The Chief." Perhaps it was just a George Blaha creation, his way of making Don seem less atrocious and even a tad more appealing to the fans. Maybe it was the Pistons marketing and public relations crew, trying to stew up some excitement for one of their less flashy players. But why "The Chief"?? Did they not realize that Robert Parish, the original 'Chief,' was still playing when Don entered the league? How about a little respect, or God forbid, a little originality? If they absolutely had to give Mr. Reid an alternate title, why not something more fitting, like "Worthless?" Or step out of the box a little bit with something like, "Pulse Debatable?" That woulda worked, too.

After bouncing around for a couple of years in Washington and Orlando, Joe Dumars did his best Randy Smith impression and reacquired the Chief in an especially nasty trade that also involved Rodney White and a half dozen tanker trucks filled with rice pilaf. But in a pre-season affair with Miami just a week before the real games were set to begin, tragedy befell the great Don Reid. After coming down from a typically errant jump shot, it was snap, crackle, and pop for Chief Reid's Achilles tendon. The immediate diagnosis told the whole story in four words...Out for the Year. In a career marked by hard work, even if it was highly unproductive work at that, it would have been nice for the Chief to go out on his own terms: with a good hack to the wrist, or by sending a free throw careening hard off the glass in an important situation. But not like this, on the floor and wincing in pain in front of about 750 uninterested fans.

But just when you expect a story to have a sad, tearful ending, a little thing called perseverance steps to the forefront and lets its message be heard. With Don laid up and on crutches for the majority of the season, it was a mere formality that he would not suit up again that season, and for that matter, possibly his career. But Don decided that wasn't his style. That's not how a real "Chief" goes out. So he worked. And worked. With one simple goal in mind. April 16, 2003. Detroit at Boston...final game of the regular season. To most, it was an insignificant contest played mostly by reserves that would have no real bearing on the standings. To Don Reid, it was everything. For the first three quarters, it looked like his comeback would fall just short. He sat ready and waiting in his folding chair on the bench. Rick Carlisle never looked his way. But finally, with 10:02 to play, he got the call. "Go get Memo, Don...you're in." And what a picture-perfect ten minutes they would turn out to be. Sure, he was sharing the floor with the likes of Hubert Davis, Danny Manning, and Pepe Sanchez, but to the Chief, just being on the court meant everything. He didn't make a bucket, he didn't grab a board, and he didn't dish out a single assist. But like a weekend duffer playing nine holes at the local Par-3 course, Don wasn't leaving the arena without getting his hacks in. In his ten minutes of court time that night, he racked up four memorable personal fouls, which equated to an eye-popping 19.2 fouls/48 minutes.

And that was how it all ended for Don Reid. His farewell NBA season consisted of one ho-hum appearance in the most meaningless game of the year. But for a guy that entered the league as the last selection in the draft, as a complete afterthought, it was the perfectly crafted exit. No fanfare, no spotlight, no nothing. Just a man trying to get to his feet one final time before hanging up the old #52. So that's how I'll remember Don Reid; as a player that refused to let an injury ruin his swan song in the NBA, and in the process earned the respect of every Pistons fan from here to Hamtramck.

There was one other thing he earned that night. His nickname. Don Reid was definitely no Robert Parish, but the undying desire he displayed to end his career on the court made him a valid "Chief" in every sense of the word. I'd say "We'll never forget you, Don," but that would be a lie. But rest assured, Chief, your nickname...well, that stays with you forever.


Got a thought or memory from the Don Reid era?? Drop a comment here, or reach me by e-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com