Spring Loaded

On the set of Wednesday night’s TNT postgame show, Charles Barkley ducked out of sight while a discussion of the just-completed L.A. Lakers-Houston Rockets playoff game was going on.

What are you looking for? asked co-host Ernie Johnson.

“Andrew Bynum,” replied Barkley.

Good luck.

Oh there’s no question where Bynum is. It’s not hard to find a 7-foot, 285-pounder. He’s sitting on the Laker bench, moving further and further down the pine. At this point, he’s about to slip past Kurt Rambis in the rotation. It’s been 14 years since Kurt last played, but he could at least still put his body between an opposing player and the basket without automatically triggering a referee’s whistle.

Bynum, it seems, cannot. In this postseason, he has become a foul machine, hacking and banging and stumbling his way through a thicket of Rocket and Utah Jazz players. In the Lakers’ first-round playoff series against the Jazz, Bynum had 16 fouls in 77 minutes. Against the Rockets, he had three in 15 minutes in Game 1 and picked up his pace with three more in only eight minutes in Game 2.

But it’s more than just fouls. It’s not Barkley in search of Bynum so much as it is Bynum in search of his game. He’s totally lost out there.

Bynum keeps fouling because he’s trying to make up for the fact that he’s slow to react on defense.

And he’s no better on offense. When the ball goes into Pau Gasol, the offense clicks, the cutting and rolling functioning as smoothly as Tex Winter designed it. When the ball goes into Bynum, forget it.

The worst part is Bynum’s attitude. When he’s called for a foul or otherwise screws up, he pouts, his shoulders drooping, his usefulness to the team lost.

I know, I know. He’s:

-- still young.

-- still inexperienced.

-- still rusty from missing 32 games because of a knee injury.

-- still not fully recovered from the injury.

-- still bothered by the knee brace he is forced to wear.

That may all be true, but it doesn’t answer the still lingering question of when -- and even if -- he will reach his potential. There’s no question the potential is there. He’s not Shaquille O’Neal, but he’s not Benoit Benjamin, either.

The one-word answer to all his problems is: Maturity.

Not only is this a 21-year-old who didn’t go to college, but he played sparingly in high school. When Kobe Bryant made the leap from preps to the pros, he was out of control. Jermaine O’Neal, who also skipped college, struggled with the culture shock as well. By his fourth season in the NBA, he was playing only around 12 minutes a game, averaging 3.9 points and 3.3 rebounds.

That’s what made LeBron James so unique. He hit the NBA hardwood out of high school running and has never looked back.

The level of Bynum’s maturity, or lack thereof, was clearly demonstrated one day in his rookie season when he disappeared -- there’s that word again -- from practice at the team’s El Segundo training facility.

No one could find him. Sound familiar?

Coach Phil Jackson dispatched Rambis to look for the wayward center.

Rambis indeed found Bynum, sitting in the trainer’s room, eating sugar-soaked cold cereal.

What are you doing, Rambis asked. You just can’t leave practice without telling anyone.

I don’t have any energy and I thought this might give me some, Bynum replied.

It turned out Bynum, on his own for the first time 3,000 miles from home, was living on fast food and depleting his body.

Although he’d never admit it, nobody on the Lakers could be more frustrated than Bynum’s mentor, Hall of Fame center Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He has constantly been by Bynum’s side, tutoring him in all aspects of the game.

Abdul-Jabbar himself knows about growing up fast. No pun intended. He was already in the national spotlight as a New York high school star named Lew Alcindor. By the time he was Bynum’s age, Abdul-Jabbar was leading UCLA to its third consecutive NCAA title.

Bynum says he has the ultimate respect for Abdul-Jabbar. How does he show it? When the NBA’s all-time leading scorer first started working with Bynum, Bynum stiffed him, showing up late for a practice session.

Nobody is suggesting Bynum doesn’t have a future with the Lakers. Look how long it has taken Lamar Odom to realize his potential. And there are still nights when he is lost out there.

Nobody is saying Bynum won’t be a productive center in the NBA.

The agonizing question is: When?

The Staples Center crowd at Monday night’s Laker-Jazz game stood and cheered, showering affection upon their subject.

And that subject wasn’t even wearing purple and gold.

Deron Williams? Carlos Boozer? Andrei Kirilenko?

None of the above. The darling of Monday’s crowd wasn’t even wearing a uniform, although, when he did, it had the Laker logo across the front.

It was Utah Jazz play-by-play broadcaster Hot Rod Hundley who was being saluted Monday night as called his last game, the team’s exit from the playoffs marking his own exit from behind the microphone. At 74, after broadcasting over 3,000 games across 35 seasons for the Jazz, Hundley is retiring.

No longer will Utah fans hear about players grabbing “the cowhide globe” for a “leapin' leaner” or a “yo-yo dribble.”

Hundley goes so far back, he was the voice of the team when it was the New Orleans Jazz, when the team name actually fit. Calling a Salt Lake City-based team the Jazz makes about as much sense as calling an L.A.-based team the Lakers.

Come to think of it, the Salt Lake City Lakers and Los Angeles Jazz would make a lot more sense.

But, I digress.

Monday night’s Staples Center crowd wasn’t just being kind to a visiting team’s announcer. Those with long enough memories were applauding a man who is very much a part of Laker lore, who was a member of the crew that first introduced pro basketball to L.A.

Before New Orleans, before Salt Lake City, before a stint as a Phoenix Suns broadcaster, even before he served as Laker announcer Chick Hearn’s sidekick, Hundley played the game. And played it reasonably well.

Not at the level of a Jerry West. Or an Elgin Baylor.

But coming out of West Virginia, Hundley was good enough to be the first pick in the NBA draft in 1957, long before the word lottery had ever been associated with a basketball.

He was selected by the then-Cincinnati Royals, who traded Hundley’s draft rights to the then-Minneapolis Lakers. It became a perfect fit a few years later when West, another West Virginia product, joined the team as did West Virginia’s coach, Fred Schaus.

All that and the bright lights of Hollywood as well. Hundley became as familiar a figure on the club scene as he was on the court.

A slick ballhandler and crowd-pleasing entertainer, Hundley often flashed the acerbic wit and attractive charm that would later serve him so well behind the microphone.

On the night at New York’s Madison Square Garden when Baylor scored a then-league record 71 points, Hundley added two more.

As the pair jumped into a taxi after the game, Hundley told the driver, “Be careful. You’ve got 73 points in this cab.”

After Frank Selvy missed a 15-foot jump shot in the closing seconds of regulation play in the seventh game of the 1962 NBA Finals between the Lakers and the Boston Celtics, the Lakers went on to lose in overtime.

“It could happen to anybody,” Hundley told Selvy afterward. “Don’t worry, baby. You only cost us about $30,000.”

About three million in today’s dollars.

For decades after that, Hundley would periodically call Selvy when he knew his former teammate wasn’t home, in order to leave a simple biting message on Selvy’s answering machine: “Nice shot.”

Hundley was the first former player to be inducted into the writer/broadcaster wing of basketball’s Hall of Fame.

He never had the ballhandling skills of a John Stockton or the size and strength of a Karl Malone. But for Jazz fans, Rod Hundley will be missed every bit as much.