THE wrap around the right elbow was already in place, the ice fastened tight with an ace bandage, and now it was time for Roger Hinds, the Knicks` trainer, to work on Fred Jones` left shoulder. More ice. More bandages.
"Can I get a few more towels?" Hinds asked someone.
Soon a stack of towels appeared, and Hinds put one over Jones` back, and as he did that Jones couldn`t help himself any longer and started to chuckle.
"Only one game," he said, "and I need all this stuff on me."
It may well have been only one game, may well have been only 17 minutes and 45 seconds worth of playing time, but you could understand why Jones looked as if he`d just been worked over by the young George Foreman. After all, it isn`t easy trying to stand at the end of the abyss, on your tippy-toes, trying to keep an entire season from falling off the cliff by yourself.
Especially when you`re used to playing a few minutes here, a few minutes there. (...)
