Sports

Yashinsky: Everybody Loved 'Mr. Big Shot', Chauncey Billups

September 11, 2014, 12:32 PM by  Joey Yashinsky

The sports world, much like the rest of society, has become quite fickle over the years.

We uncover faults and poke at the inconsistencies in even the strongest of athletes.

More often that not, players nowadays are referred to as “polarizing.”  You either love ‘em or hate ‘em. 

Matthew Stafford is an example.  Some fans are certain he is precisely the quarterback to take the Lions to the promised land.  Others consider him to be a middle-of-the-road player, a rocket-armed gunslinger that’s never really proven anything at the game’s highest level.

Justin Verlander is in the same boat.  There’s a group of fans that adore JV, in awe of his longtime excellence, sure that his drop in performance of late is merely a blip in an eventual hall of fame career.  But then there is the faction that consider Verlander to be washed up, a onetime great now far more concerned with booty than baseball. 

It’s not an indictment on these players that they have their fair share of detractors.  It’s just the way it is.  Increased exposure has led to greater scrutiny and higher expectations than ever before.

Which makes the Pistons career of Chauncey Billups so unique. 

He arrived in 2002 and stayed until 2008, and had a 100% approval rating throughout his term. 

If you were a Pistons fan, you were also a Chauncey Billups fan.  Simple as that.

Couldn't Help Rooting For

There was just nothing to dislike. 

Was he a perfect player?  No, of course not.  But he was a guy you couldn’t help but root for.

He was Mr. Big Shot, a nickname that got its roots during a series of buzzer-beaters toward the end of his first year in Detroit.

He drained a triple over Chris Mills to take out Golden State, then did it again in the face of Jason Terry and the Hawks a few weeks later.  Quickly, the Big Shot legend was born.

And sure, as time went on, the nickname might have lost a bit of its luster.  In his latter years as a Piston, he’d often just try veering into defenders in the closing seconds instead of actually firing off a legitimate three-point try.

But any frustration with #1 would wear off quickly.  Because he’d be right back two or three nights later knocking down a slew of clutch free throws to secure a win.

Great at Free Throws

At the line, Chauncey was automatic.  There was never a question.  Put him on the line with a two point lead -- you might as well just make it four.  He was the rare 90% free throw shooter that put almost no arc on the ball.  Just a line drive right over the front of the rim, time after time after time.

And while his star shined brightest in the 2004 Finals, when he took home series MVP honors, his defining moments as a Piston were many.

Trailing Orlando 3-2 in the opening round in 2003, Big Shot invaded Disney World intent on warding off Tracy McGrady’s upset-minded Magic.  T-Mac went off for 37; wasn’t good enough.  Billups popped for 40 and the Pistons won going away.  Game 7 was two days later.  Chauncey ripped off 37 in a series-clinching blowout. 

The very next round against Philadelphia, the Pistons were engaged in a Game 6 dogfight.  The contest went to overtime.  Chauncey calmly relayed to his troops before the extra session that he was “about to take this game over.”  True to form, he buried three triples in OT, including the final dagger with just 15 seconds left.

A year later, during the title run, he famously banked in a long, running trey to tie things up in Game 5 against Jersey.  No matter that Brian Scalabrine refused to let his Nets lose that night -- it was Chauncey’s glasser we’ll always remember about that game. 

And he was always so cool about it.

He wasn’t Nick Van Exel throwing hooks and upper cuts back down the court after a big play.  He wasn’t Sam Cassell or Antoine Walker, fellow stars incapable of hitting a crucial shot without breaking into some type of choreographed dance as soon as the ball flicked through the net.

He was, as his high school nickname suggested, simply “Smooth.”

I’ll always wonder how the 2005 Finals against San Antonio might have turned out differently if Chauncey was given a chance to operate in the closing seconds of Game 5.  After Robert Horry hit his 3 that we need not talk further about, the Stones were left with about five seconds, down by just a point. 

But the ball was inbounded to Rip Hamilton, who got off a weak attempt from the elbow that went begging.  Don’t forget, Chauncey was the team’s main scoring threat that night, tossing in 34 points while no other Piston eclipsed 15.

Much like that close-but-no-cigar 2005 Finals result, you always felt like that core of Pistons could have accomplished more.  As is, their run was still quite amazing: six consecutive trips to the Eastern Finals, two NBA Finals appearances, and a championship in ’04.  But to be so good for so long, multiple titles were almost expected. 

But for the most part, it’s a group we look back on fondly.  Another trophy or two would have been nice, but after the last half-dozen years of putrid Pistons ball, you realize complaining about that period of dominance now seems silly and undeserved.

And it’s been in Chauncey’s absence that we’ve come to fully appreciate how meaningful and necessary his presence was.  His value as an actual Piston was immense, but it was only when he was so unceremoniously dealt away that we realized just how lucky we were.

The franchise fell to the ground hard that first year without Billups.  It’s been six full years since, and they’re yet to even begin getting up off the mat.

Allen Iverson’s time as a Piston was a joke.  Rodney Stuckey was always a two-guard masquerading as a point.  Brandon Knight was erratic and inconsistent, and somehow Brandon Jennings is even worse.

It’s a lot like when Isiah retired. 

The team went a number of years trying to fill that lead guard spot.  There was Johnny Dawkins, Lindsey Hunter, Litterial Green, John Crotty, Marc Macon, Chucky Atkins.  It was a murderer’s row of journeyman point guards. 

Then Chauncey arrived and calmed the ship for good.  His six years at the helm were among the greatest in franchise history.

He may or not have been a hall of fame player.  The beginning and end of his career might have played a little too unevenly to merit such an honor.

But it doesn’t matter. 

His jersey will go up in the Palace rafters one day.

And there won’t be a single soul that questions it.



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