There's No Place Like Home Court

The play that may have broken Portland's back—and almost Walton's—occurred when Dawkins confronted the Blazer center high above the basket, blocked and then grabbed his shot in midair, landed and rumbled upcourt like a Concorde avenging its way over the backyards of Queens.

This impetuous explosion by Dawkins and the 76ers was almost spectacular enough to blot from memory the ugliness of what happened with 4:52 left in the game. By that time the frustrated Trail Blazers were behind by 20 points. Neal and McGinnis had nearly come to punches. Lucas and Erving were engaged in a wicked elbow-swinging duel. Then it happened.

As Dawkins and Gross came crashing down with a rebound, Dawkins dribbled Gross' arm and head on the floor. When the 6'11", 260-pound Dawkins ripped the ball away, Gross pointed at him and, according to Dawkins, shouted, "What the [obscenity] are you doing, you [obscenity]? I'll kick your [obscenity obscenity]."

Such a statement immediately qualified the 6'6", 200-pound Gross for a padded cell in an asylum for the hopelessly suicidal. "Here's your chance, suckah!" Dawkins screamed before charging and throwing a wild, looping left cross that connected just above the right eye—not of Gross but of Collins, who was holding Gross, trying to save his life.

As Dawkins backpedaled a bit, Lucas roared up from behind and punched him in the back of the neck. Dawkins lost his balance, but he was quickly up and squaring off with Lucas as both benches emptied and players and spectators flooded the court.

Before order was restored, Portland Coaches Ramsay and Jack McKinney had duked it up with some fans, Ramsay had yelled in Dawkins' face and been hurled away, and Lucas and Dawkins had been ejected (later to be fined $2,500 apiece by Commissioner Larry O'Brien).

When the 76ers arrived in their locker room, they found a toilet stall caved in. two floor-to-ceiling lockers turned over and a huge fan broken and smoking—"like a hurricane had hit a junkyard," said McGinnis—all courtesy of Dawkins. As the 20-year-old manchild—resplendent in a fedora and a Great Gats-by-era vanilla suit, with a red carnation in his lapel—stalked out, rudely shoving aside 76er GM Pat Williams, he said, "I'm mad at my teammates for letting a man jump me from behind."

Collins received four stitches. Gross said he wouldn't forget. Shue apologized to Gross and labeled Dawkins "just a kid." Ramsay said he wasn't afraid of anybody. And Lucas, dressed only in a towel, which he had wrapped about his head in a somehow terrifying turban, said, "I'm too professional to let this carry over. But this dude gets built up like a gorilla, then thinks he can gorilla everybody. I'll see Dawkins Sunday."

Retorted Dawkins, "I didn't know I hit Collins until he called me at 3 a.m. I don't remember what I did to the locker room. Lucas is a fighter but I can box. My uncle, Candy McDaniels, fought Joe Louis. He taught me. I usually stand 'em up with a left and take 'em out with a right."

But before Sunday's game. Lucas went directly to the Philadelphia bench to shake hands with Dawkins. ("I thought he was going to hit him again," said Twardzik.)