Killer crossover, p.12
Killer Crossover, page 12
I felt good in warmups and, during the course of the game, I made plays. I was just barely missing shots. It all came to a head when I got a steal at midcourt. I remember dribbling to the hoop and saying to myself, “Oh shit, I’m going to miss this layup all by myself!” I hadn’t even gotten to the free-throw line and I was already psyching myself out.
The game went to overtime. Thankfully, we won. I only scored two points, but still dished out 13 assists. After the game, all the reporters sprinted to me. “What are y’all here for?” I asked. “I didn’t do nothing tonight!”
“Oh, yes you did!” they said. “You set the record!”
Man, I still have the record today. The worst single-game shooting performance in NBA history. Nellie didn’t care about it, especially since we won. I wasn’t worried either. And just so 112everyone knows, I had 30 points against the Lakers in LA the next night. We won that one, too!
A few weeks later, Mully and I were both named to the All-Star team, this time both as starters, and Don Nelson was named coach of the team. But I didn’t get a chance to start the contest because I gave my spot up to Magic Johnson. The guy who invented the term “killer crossover” had experienced one of the most shocking summers in the history of basketball. Ahead of the 1991–92 season, just months after playing in the NBA Finals against Michael Jordan and the Bulls, Magic had been diagnosed with HIV. After a few attempts to keep playing, he retired.
But the fans still loved Magic, and he was voted into the starting point guard spot. At first, there were questions about whether he would, could, or should play. People asked, “If Magic comes back, are you going to give him your spot?” My buddy tried to tell me I should keep it. But my thought was that if they said he could play, it was only the right thing to do to let him start the game. Especially if that’s what the fans wanted. Besides, I thought, if he was still in the league, he would have easily been named the starter anyway. So, I said, let him have my spot and go out with a bang. Little did I know he would take home the MVP Award!
The East was coached by Phil Jackson of the Bulls and their starters were Isiah Thomas, Michael Jordan, Larry Bird, Charles Barkley, and Patrick Ewing (though Bird sat out the game with an injury). The East had Mark Price, Dennis Rodman, Dominique Wilkins, and a bunch of other greats. The West featured Magic, Clyde Drexler, Mully, Karl Malone, and David Robinson in the starting five, along with myself, Dan Majerle, Hakeem Olajuwon, John Stockton, James Worthy, and a few others. While I scored 11314 points and had seven assists, and Jordan dropped 18 with five assists, the story of the game was Magic.
Because HIV was so new to mainstream culture, some had been worried about playing against him. People were scared because nobody really understood the disease. All we knew was that it was killing people left and right. But once the NBA doctors said we couldn’t catch it through sweat or by playing against him, we breathed a little easier. Of course, some still spoke out about it, including guys like Karl Malone. But the 1992 All-Star game in Orlando became the Magic Johnson show. Hanging out with him in the locker room before the game—it was his first NBA appearance in months—was great. It was a lot of fun to have his smiling face back in the locker room.
You could see Magic was taking it all in. Nobody knew if this would be his last time in an NBA locker room. If so, he was all smiles, joking with us. In the game, the East challenged him. Dennis Rodman, who said he didn’t care about his HIV diagnosis, took it as a personal challenge. Scottie Pippen, too. They wanted to see where he was at with his game, where his skills were. Could Magic still play? Would he be rusty or fatigued? But he wasn’t either. That day, Magic led everyone with 25 points, and he won the game’s MVP. Magic also took and made the final shot of the game, a long three-pointer over his longtime friend and former NBA Finals foe, Isiah Thomas.
While there was still 14-some seconds left, we knew that was the moment to end the game. Everyone ran up to Magic to congratulate him for putting on a spectacle and beating the odds and showing you could live your life even with that diagnosis. Not only that, but the West won in a blowout, 153–113. It was the largest spread in NBA All-Star Game history. And while I didn’t 114start, I was happy for my friend. The NBA, myself included, owes Magic a debt of gratitude. If it wasn’t for him and Bird in the 1980s, the league wouldn’t exist like it did in the 1990s and like it does today, generating billions.
* * *
After the All-Star Game, we went on an eight-game win streak and were the best team in the West. Even so, I refused to get complacent, improving every day. With each game, I was getting better at just controlling the tempo and understanding the ins and outs of my teammates. As a point guard, your job is to get your team in a position to win. It’s about making plays—but even more than that, it’s about being a floor leader. When it comes to basketball, leadership means talking to guys. Helping them out if they don’t understand what the coach is trying to say or do. A leader makes people better any way they can. A leader is supposed to give you confidence that you can go out there and beat anybody on any day, on their court or yours. A leader has charisma, a twinkle in their eye that makes the team want to follow you. When they see you’re all business, they will follow you into battle.
Completing my third season, I averaged 23.4 points, 10 assists, 3.8 rebounds, and two steals per game. Along with being an All-Star, I was named to the All-NBA second team the league’s second-best point guard. That was a great honor. And while single-season stats are of course important, knowing that I had accomplished something not many had in the game’s history was something almost impossible to comprehend. With my stats, I became only the seventh player in NBA history to average 20 points and 10 assists per game for a season.
115 In the end, we finished the year 55–27, which was good for third in the West, despite missing Mitch, who’d averaged 22.5 points per game in Sacramento. Mully averaged 25.6 per game for us, as we were the only two with averages above 20.
As the third seed, we faced off against the SuperSonics in the first round of the playoffs. Seattle boasted a great one-two punch with Gary Payton and Shawn Kemp, and were only getting better—they were a little too good, actually. I’m not sure if we thought it’d be an easy series based on how we’d played on the season, but we lost Game One, at home, 117–109. Kemp and Ricky Pierce each scored 28 for Seattle, while Billy Owens had 25 points and 11 boards. I added 22 with six assists. But it wasn’t enough.
Two days later, we battled back from a six-point deficit at the half to win the game, 115–101, tying the series at one game apiece. Mully had 20 and I had 23, with Billy getting 16 with 12 boards.
But it was all downhill from there. Seattle won the next two at home—the first game by a single point (I had eight costly turnovers in that one) and the next by three.
And, just like that, our season was over.
Afterward, the trash-talking Payton told it like it was. He said they weren’t afraid of us. If we’d had Run-TMC, he said, it would’ve been different. They wouldn’t have been able to stop all three of us. But two? That was doable. All Mully and I could do was shake our heads. Kemp killed us on the glass. We didn’t have the juice. Our mystique was gone. What made the experience worse was that Kemp turned the series into a photoshoot. He had two of his most memorable dunks against us, which is really saying something. In one of the games in Seattle, he came down the line, cradled the ball like a running back, and then uncorked 116a giant slam over our center Alton Lister. His head was at the rim like he was really flying. As Lister fell to the ground, he pointed at him like he was shooting lasers from his fingers. Another time, Kemp got the ball after our big man Chris Gatling blocked a shot. And in one powerful move, Kemp rose up and slammed it one-handed over Chris.
Incredibly, though, and this made me mad, Chris dapped him up after that! They slapped five like they were meeting up for dinner. I told Gatling after the game that if he ever did that again, if he ever gave a motherfucker five after someone dunked in his face on TV like that, I would kick his ass. You don’t do that there. If anything, you wait until after the game when you meet the guy in the hallway. You say good game then. Not when millions are watching. That just made him and us look so weak. It showed Seattle they could do whatever they wanted, and we’d take it. “Yeah, you’re right, Tim,” Chris said to me. But man, that pissed me off.
* * *
Later that summer, Mully got some good news: he was named to the 1992 Olympic “Dream Team.” It was to be the first time that a US Olympic men’s basketball team would include active NBA players. And eleven of them had been All-Stars in the 1992 game in which Magic got the MVP. I was so happy for Chris. It was well deserved. He was a hard worker and exactly the type of shooter the team needed. He was someone who motivated me as a player. Mully was a real leader thanks to the example he set in practice. I knew he would be a big help to the team in Barcelona, Spain, that summer.
117 And while the fellas were ripping off win after win in Spain, going undefeated and winning gold, I was working to keep things going at home. My dad, who had quit basketball by now after tearing his meniscus, had begun drinking again. It had started up during my first few years in the pros. My brother and I could tell he was falling off the wagon. I approached him. “What’s going on, man?” I asked. “Donald and I can’t be around you if you’re going to be like this again.” He said, “Yeah, I know, I know.” He felt low about it. So my brother and I said he had to take a step away. We had to show him we were serious about boundaries. It hurt, but it was necessary.
I told him, “Let us know when you get it under control.” To his credit, after several months, he started to get sober again. It’s hard for an addict. Sobriety isn’t linear. But you have to make sure you take care of your own self as they’re dealing with their issues. In his early forties, he got himself under control again. He didn’t want to be without his sons. It took him six months, but he managed to finally beat it. For as much as I love my father, he can often set the example for me of what not to do as a man. But even with him sober, I had a lot on my plate during the summer between the Warriors falling apart and me and Yolanda becoming first-time parents.
118
7 Change, Family, and My ACL
The chickens came home to roost for us during the 1992–93 season. It was strange. On the one hand, I was becoming one of the biggest stars in the NBA thanks to my style of play, charisma, and killer crossover. But on the other, my team was crumbling in front of my eyes. It seemed like the 1992–93 year took place in a hospital ward—so many of us were hurt. Mully, who’d just won gold in the Olympics, missed half the year with a thumb injury. Šarūnas broke his leg and dislocated his ankle, and later blew out his Achilles. Billy Owens had knee issues. Even I missed 16 games due to a bruised right knee.
The only bright spot for the franchise was that it drafted Latrell Sprewell from the University of Alabama with the 24th pick that summer. Things were going okay for us through the beginning of January, as we were treading water at 18–14. But then the spiral began, as we lost our next five games and 15 of 17. We entered the All-Star break at 23–30, and finished the season with a dismal 34–48 record. Just one season removed from our 55-win campaign, it was a hard fall.
119 A lot of things just weren’t working in our favor. Nellie was frustrated, too. By now, he thought we should be title contenders, but we’d gone south. Losing Mitch killed us and the injuries buried us (back then, if you were on the injured reserve, you had to miss five games—you couldn’t just miss one like today’s players do when they sit out for “rest”). Coach also thought some of our young guys would be further along, but they weren’t.
Billy wasn’t moving the needle, and while Latrell was good, he was still too young to help lead the team. As a rookie, he was a reserved guy. He was very, very quiet at the beginning. To his credit, though, he came in wanting to learn. Latrell was already a good defender. He had long arms and good instincts. But his shot and his handle weren’t quite where they needed to be. With each game, though, you could see him getting more confident. He was a fast learner and, for the year, he started in 69 of the 77 games. He shot 37 percent from three and got 15.4 points with 3.8 assists, 3.5 rebounds, and 1.6 steals per game. He was a rising star.
Another rising star in the franchise was our assistant coach, Greg Popovich. Pop had been an assistant with the San Antonio Spurs from 1988–92, and then came over to Oakland to work with Nellie for two years, beginning in 1992–93. Later, as many NBA fans know, he’d become a five-time championship coach with the Spurs. But when he was with us, you could tell he was an energetic, innovative guy. He was young and always thinking outside the box. He was excellent with defensive strategies and wasn’t afraid to go against the grain. He and Nellie were a perfect fit, one a defensive genius and the other an offensive one.
When you hire an assistant coach, you have to trust them. You have to feel comfortable with them on the bench and believe 120that they won’t backstab you. Pop was that for Nellie. He just wanted to soak up his ideas. Perhaps he knew he’d go back to San Antonio and take over there one day, and so working with Nellie was like his offensive PhD program. Either way, despite the fact we lost more games than we won, it was good to have Pop around. A former military man, he would deliver a message with a certain authority that made you perk up. He was the type of person you wanted to hear from. Later, with the Spurs, he ran a well-oiled machine.
* * *
Despite our losing ways, I made my third All-Star team in a row. The game was held in Salt Lake City, so of course John Stockton and Karl Malone were in the West’s starting five. So was Clyde Drexler, David Robinson, and Charles Barkley. I came off the bench with Sean Elliott, Shawn Kemp, Dan Majerle, Hakeem Olajuwon, Mitch Richmond, Mully, and a few others. Run-TMC was reunited again (though Chris and Mitch didn’t play due to injury). For the East it was Isiah Thomas, Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Larry Johnson, and Shaquille O’Neal. The bench included Mark Price, Detlef Schrempf, Dominique Wilkins, and a couple more.
Our side won a close one in overtime, 135–132, and Stockton and Malone took home co-MVPs. It felt good to make the squad again. At the end of the year, I was named to the All-NBA team for the second time in a row, too. For the season, I averaged 21.5 points, 10.6 assists, and 1.8 steals per game. I was second in the NBA in assists (behind Stockton). Also on the year, Mully averaged 25.9 per game and Sprewell scored 15.4. While we 121didn’t make the playoffs, finishing 34–48, after the season, the Warriors finally got a bit of good luck. The NBA Draft Lottery ping-pong balls bounced so that we got the No. 3 pick. That gave us hope and made Nellie grin.
During the summer, he approached me and asked what I thought we should do with the pick. There were a lot of talented college players coming out, including University of Michigan star Chris Webber, along with big Memphis guard Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway and Kentucky scoring forward Jamal Mashburn. “Which one do you want?” Coach asked me. “Can you play alongside Penny?” I said, “Hell yeah! I can play alongside anybody!” In the end, Golden State made a big trade with Orlando. The Magic already had Shaq and he didn’t want them to take another big in Webber, the projected top pick. Shaq had also filmed a movie with Penny and they got along well.
So the Magic and Warriors made a trade. They picked Webber and dealt him to us for Penny and more future draft capital. Now we had the star power forward to go along with me, Chris, Latrell, and Šarūnas, assuming all of us would be healthy for the upcoming 1993–94 year. With the “Year From Hell” behind us, I was able to take the summer to focus on family. Yolanda and I had welcomed our first child into the world, Tim Hardaway Jr., on March 16, 1992. Then, on May 15, 1993, Yolanda and I tied the knot. At the time, she was also pregnant with our second child, Nia, who was born that winter, on December 1, 1993. It was a special time for us.
I was experiencing success with the Warriors and our family was expanding. Baby Tim was a funny little guy. He was a skinny kid with a big head. And by the time he was six months old, I was taking him to Warriors practices in his stroller. He 122watched us play. Little Tim, who would grow up to play in the NBA as an adult, was crying when he got to our practice, but as soon as he started to hear the basketballs dribbling against the hardwood of the court, he would get quiet. He’d peek out of his crib, like, What’s going on? I would prop him up and he’d watch, not making a sound. Then when we stopped, he’d start to cry again.
It was so fun having a baby. I loved it. It was also a trip watching Yolanda go through all the things she had to go through while pregnant and then giving birth. We don’t give our women enough credit for what they have to do to bring life into this world. It’s an amazing thing and takes great sacrifice. As a parent, your life changes dramatically. It’s no longer about you. It’s about the family and what you can do for the baby. I had to learn all of that quick, but I took to it—I appreciated every minute. I also couldn’t help but compare myself to my own dad. You always want to be better than your father and provide an even better life for your kids.
* * *
Remember when I talked about all the promises the new season had, assuming we’d all be healthy? Well, what’s that expression? Man plans, God laughs? He sure must have been yukking it up with us because we had a ton of bad luck in 1993–94. Ahead of the season, I inked a big new deal for three years and $10.5 million. That was a ton back then, and I was glad to sign. But I didn’t have a whole lot of time to savor it because, during our first practice—which was the same day we signed Chris Webber—I went in for a routine layup and hurt myself. At the time, I was 123going hard but it was all routine stuff. The next thing I knew, I saw the bottom of my left knee move in the wrong direction.
