Matt Steinmetz

Heard a story about Phil Jackson and the Bulls from decades back, and I’ve always been fascinated by it. How much is true, how much is myth, I’m not sure. But here’s how it goes …

So, it’s late in the 1992-93 season during Chicago’s first run, but we’re talking about Year 3 of the same team being together, trying to three-peat. Cracks were starting to show. Jackson gathered his team together for an unusual exercise. On a white board, Jackson drew a target, with a bull’s eye in the middle.

Jackson had a Sharpie in his hand, and he instructed the team that he wanted each player to draw a dot somewhere on the target to indicate how connected that individual player felt with the team. If you felt like you were connected, committed and included, draw the dot in the center, Jackson said. If not, put the dot further away.

Jackson asked the team to do this in silence, and then he walked out of the room. His job was done there, and what happened afterward was for the players … not him. One by one, Bulls players approached the white board, picked up the Sharpie and drew a dot somewhere. Some players dotted the target near the bulls-eye, some further away.

Scottie Pippen was the last player to grab the Sharpie. He stood in front of the white board, with a target drawn on it, and removed the pen’s cap. Pippen looked at the target, looked at the entire white board, and then walked toward the wall behind the white board. He went to the corner of the room, stretched out his 6-foot-8 frame and reached as high as he could with his right hand.

Pippen drew his dot on the wall, near the ceiling, far away from the white board itself. Pippen put the Sharpie down and walked out of the room. Then the players left the room … without a word.

That’s it. That’s the end of the story. When the Bulls walked out of that room, they all knew that Pippen wasn’t feeling it, wasn’t feeling connected. It was up to the players, and the players only, to get Pippen back into the fold.

A few months later, in June of 1993, the Bulls won their third straight title.

There’s nothing like a great basketball venue. Does anything beat a great game, with a sellout crowd, at a special gym or arena? No, sir. Here are my personal favorites … my Basketball Mount Venue-More, if you will:

Hersheypark Arena (Hershey, PA): OK, so I have this phrase that is a verbal crutch, if you will. When starting to explain a point, I’ll start: “You don’t get it …” And then I continue my point. It’s a bad habit except when I talk about Hersheypark Arena.

So many people “just don’t get it.” Hersheypark Arena had history (see Wilt Chamberlain’s 100-point game), mystique and character. Hersheypark Arena would host high school double-headers in the 1970s that would draw more than 8,000. It was the mecca of Pennsylvania high school basketball. There was nothing like Reading High closing out a big game there with thousands of fans chanting/singing: “Right on RHS!”

Still will never forget seeing legendary Kentucky coach Joe B. Hall, sitting courtside at Hershey, watching Sam Bowie, who was at Lebanon.

Martz Hall (Pottsville, PA): Martz Hall is, by far, the nicest high school gym I’ve ever stepped foot in. You could fit more than 4,000 in there when it was “Standing Room Only,” which was most of the time when I saw games there.

It was a gym where … when you entered, you found yourself atop the bleachers and seats. You walked in, then you walked down. When I went to games there, it was almost brand new (built in 1970); now it is iconic. The two best things to come out of Pottsville, PA: Yuengling beer and Martz Hall.

It was the site of the greatest shot in Reading High history — Cliff Durham’s half-court buzzer-beater in the Eastern (PA) quarterfinal to beat Upper Merion 34-33 in 1973. It was also the site where Sam Bowie scored 48 points and had 12 slam dunks against Williamsport in an inter-district game. At least, that’s what I remember, and if I’m wrong on a detail or two, I’ll gladly take a correction.

Oracle Arena (Oakland, CA): I’ve never witnessed a more intense, more passionate, more magical arena in the NBA than Oracle Arena — during the Warriors’ 2006-07 “We Believe” year. The Warriors had been terrible, as usual, the first half of the season. But they caught lightning in a bottle, won 16 of their last 21 regular-season games, including nine of their last 10, then knocked off the 67-win Dallas Mavericks in the first-round of the NBA playoffs.

The Warriors had missed the playoffs in their previous 12 seasons. But as they started to get warm late in the year, the passion of a loyal fan-base grew with each win, and it evolved into something almost indescribable. The atmosphere at Oracle Arena — during the spring of 1997 — was one of the singular greatest basketball environments I’ve ever been amid.

Geigle Complex (Reading, PA): If Martz Hall is the best high school gym I’ve ever been in, Geigle Complex is No. 2. But Geigle holds a special place in my heart because I played there. You know who else did? Kobe Bryant, Rasheed Wallace, Lonnie Walker IV, Bobby Sura, Donyell Marshall, Michael Brooks, Billy Owens, my guy Steve Rossignoli, and a host of other great players.

The legendary Princeton coach Pete Carril used to hold basketball camps there. It was opened in the early 1970s, and there wasn’t anything like it — with the possible exception of Martz Hall. Geigle Complex: Where basketball was beautiful.

Martz Hall

Geigle Complex

Rockne Hall

Kezar Pavilion

Mayser Center

The Palestra: streamers

(Updated from 2021)

Tony Bonanno, was, essentially, an idol to me. If you grew up in the 1970s in Berks County and you loved basketball, you followed Reading High School. Period. End of story. And if you followed Reading High back then, you knew who Tony Bonanno was.

He was sometimes the smallest player on the court, but he was always the smartest. He was never much of a scorer, but there was never a player on the court who was more important. Bonanno had a great handle and played with flair, but he was also one of the most solid and sound point guards I’ve ever seen.

I was 11-years old when Tony graduated from Reading High, but by the time he played his final game there, he had shown me how it was done. He showed me what I had to do, how I had to play … to even sniff the level he was at.

Tony didn’t control games, he orchestrated them. He didn’t need to score, though, if need be, he could. He was a perfect mix of flashy and fundamental, though he never would have played at Reading High if he were more the former than the latter. Dude had pizazz and charisma!

To me, Tony was the original “pass first” point guard, and because I loved his game, that’s what I tried to become, too. Of course, there’s a joke in there about how I failed to properly emulate Tony in the passing department, but believe me, I tried.

I loved everything about Tony Bonanno, and without him, I wouldn’t love the game of basketball as much as I do now. Hell, I’m still living and loving basketball and Tony started me down that path. RIP Tony Bonanno. You had no idea of how often I thought about you. And still do.