one of its greatest fans. I met Marty Malin at the Legends of Golf in 1985. We were both trailing "Spanky" of Little Rascals fame in the Pro-Am.
For 40 years Marty was editor of the "award-winning" Wildlife Report, an outdoors magazine on casette tape. He was the best interviewer I ever heard--bar none. His one-on-ones with golfer Sam Snead and Alaskan bush pilot Ced Mah were unequaled. He was a charter member at Onion Creek and knew everybody at Onion and Briarcliff where he lived near the banks of the Pedernales, with his two Labs Bitter (for Bitterroot Mountains) and Herpes ("wouldn't heel"). Soon after we met he invited me out to Briarcliff to see the 3 story house he built with his wife, his two sons and their own hands. And to play in the Tuesday 12-man scramble with his neighbor across the third fairway--Willie Nelson.
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For many years he and his business partners at Capital Containers in Austin had season tickets to San Antonio Spurs games at old Hemisfair Arena. Marty's seats were on row 1, directly beneath the backboard. As a needler he had no peers. Years later a Spurs executive told me they estimated Marty was worth--conservatively--at least 2-3 victories a year. Nobody zinged officials and "visitors" like Marty. Marty would zing any opponent (or official) without hesitation, but his primary targets were the biggies--centers--especially Danny Schayes (Denver Nuggets) and Darryl Dawkins (76ers). Marty was no small man. He grew up in Grundy County Iowa and learned a mean game of street ball when he lived in Houston. He had varicose veins in his 30s but still ran marathons that he called "jogs."His war with Dawkins turned ugly, emanating mostly from Dawkins' somewhat inconsistent foul shooting. Marty knew exactly what to say when he was at the line and it would always be funny and loud enough in his deep baritone to crack everyone up--including the officials. But opponents didn't care for it much and Dawkins hated it. At some point their feud became personal.
One night Dawkins got even. Crashing beneath the board on a full speed follow through Dawkins momentum ploughed him through where Malin was sititing, planted an elbow in Marty's ear, knocked him out of his chair and the beer flew back 3 rows. Next time Dawkins came to San Antonio Marty went to his seat with a stalk of bananas. That got him ejected for 3 games--Marty, not Dawkins.
..The first game I saw with him Spurs were playing the Nuggets and it was my first time to see an NBA game live. On the drive from Briarcliff he had been telling me all about Schayes (son of Dolph, HOFer)both of whom he actually admired. As usual I'm asking a bunch of stupid questions like, "so what's his number?" Marty just shakes his head: "He'll be the only 7-foot Romanian on the court."
At halftime several fans stopped at our seats to say hello to Marty. For years he never missed a Spurs game but the Nuggets game I saw with him was the first he had seen in a while. About five minutes before start of second half, the court was clear, I look up and see a basketball--turns out it was the official game ball--rolling on the court from the opposite baseline 90 feet away. It looked like a bowling ball and I stg it came to a stop right between my ankles. Trailing close behind--NBA ref Hugh Hollins (also a Hall of Famer)--who came running up to Marty to give him a hug. And pick up the ball for the tip.
RIP Old Field and Streamer. You were truly one of a kind, an honor to ride the trail with. (Re-reading "Sam Magee." Promise to "Close the door"!!!)
For 40 years Marty was editor of the "award-winning" Wildlife Report, an outdoors magazine on casette tape. He was the best interviewer I ever heard--bar none. His one-on-ones with golfer Sam Snead and Alaskan bush pilot Ced Mah were unequaled. He was a charter member at Onion Creek and knew everybody at Onion and Briarcliff where he lived near the banks of the Pedernales, with his two Labs Bitter (for Bitterroot Mountains) and Herpes ("wouldn't heel"). Soon after we met he invited me out to Briarcliff to see the 3 story house he built with his wife, his two sons and their own hands. And to play in the Tuesday 12-man scramble with his neighbor across the third fairway--Willie Nelson.
.
For many years he and his business partners at Capital Containers in Austin had season tickets to San Antonio Spurs games at old Hemisfair Arena. Marty's seats were on row 1, directly beneath the backboard. As a needler he had no peers. Years later a Spurs executive told me they estimated Marty was worth--conservatively--at least 2-3 victories a year. Nobody zinged officials and "visitors" like Marty. Marty would zing any opponent (or official) without hesitation, but his primary targets were the biggies--centers--especially Danny Schayes (Denver Nuggets) and Darryl Dawkins (76ers). Marty was no small man. He grew up in Grundy County Iowa and learned a mean game of street ball when he lived in Houston. He had varicose veins in his 30s but still ran marathons that he called "jogs."His war with Dawkins turned ugly, emanating mostly from Dawkins' somewhat inconsistent foul shooting. Marty knew exactly what to say when he was at the line and it would always be funny and loud enough in his deep baritone to crack everyone up--including the officials. But opponents didn't care for it much and Dawkins hated it. At some point their feud became personal.
One night Dawkins got even. Crashing beneath the board on a full speed follow through Dawkins momentum ploughed him through where Malin was sititing, planted an elbow in Marty's ear, knocked him out of his chair and the beer flew back 3 rows. Next time Dawkins came to San Antonio Marty went to his seat with a stalk of bananas. That got him ejected for 3 games--Marty, not Dawkins.
..The first game I saw with him Spurs were playing the Nuggets and it was my first time to see an NBA game live. On the drive from Briarcliff he had been telling me all about Schayes (son of Dolph, HOFer)both of whom he actually admired. As usual I'm asking a bunch of stupid questions like, "so what's his number?" Marty just shakes his head: "He'll be the only 7-foot Romanian on the court."
At halftime several fans stopped at our seats to say hello to Marty. For years he never missed a Spurs game but the Nuggets game I saw with him was the first he had seen in a while. About five minutes before start of second half, the court was clear, I look up and see a basketball--turns out it was the official game ball--rolling on the court from the opposite baseline 90 feet away. It looked like a bowling ball and I stg it came to a stop right between my ankles. Trailing close behind--NBA ref Hugh Hollins (also a Hall of Famer)--who came running up to Marty to give him a hug. And pick up the ball for the tip.
RIP Old Field and Streamer. You were truly one of a kind, an honor to ride the trail with. (Re-reading "Sam Magee." Promise to "Close the door"!!!)
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