Shaq Uncut: My Story
This book is dedicated to Philip Harrison and Lucille O’Neal, creators of my game and my character.
Shaq
To my late sister Karen, who loved life almost as much as Shaquille.
Jackie
To Taahirah, Amirah, Me’arah, Shaqir, Shareef, and Myles, you are the reason I get up every morning and start my day with a smile. Grandmother Odessa, Grandmother Irma, and Grandpa Harrison, may you read this in heaven as you continue to watch over me. To the entire O’Neal and Harrison family. To Dale Brown, Mike Parris, Jerome Crawford, Perry Rogers, Colin Smeeton, Cynthia Atterberry,
Joe Cavallero, Danny Garcia, Anthony Hall, Mark Stevens, Amy Martin, Derek Mallet, Will Harden, Tommy Johnson Jr., Evelyn “Poonie” Huval, Dane Huval, Caprice Huval, Ken Bailey, Alex Conant, Dewayne Davis, Michael Mallet, and Nicole Alexander, thanks for looking out for me. To Chief Ronald J. Boyd of the Los Angeles Port Police, to Chief Don DeLucca and Chief Carlos Noriega of the Miami Beach
Police, and Chief Tom Ryff of the Tempe, Arizona, Police, thanks for training me and trusting me to be part of your law enforcement units. Thanks, also, to Jackie MacMullan for doing a great job in helping me tell my story, and to Rick Wolff of Grand Central Publishing for turning out a cool book.
Shaq
Thanks to Rick Wolff of Grand Central Publishing for his superb guidance, and thanks to the
Grand Central team, most notably Linda
Duggins, Meredith Haggerty, David Palmer, Bob Castillo, Flamur Tonuzi, and their great sales team. Thanks to Jay Mandel for making this book happen. Many thanks to Joe Cavallero, Danny Garcia, Michael Parris, Jerome Crawford, Cynthia Atterberry, Colin Smeeton, Perry Rogers, Nicole Alexander, and Alex Conant for letting me in. Lucille O’Neal was gracious,
helpful, and passionate in discussing her oldest son. Thanks to the more than one hundred coaches, teammates, general managers, and team officials who provided valuable insight, especially Dale Brown, Phil Jackson, Brian Shaw, Gary Payton, Danny Ainge, Doc Rivers, Kevin Garnett, Jerry West, Stanley Roberts, Wayne Sims, Dennis Tracey, Herb More, Alonzo Mourning, Dennis Scott, Mike D’Antoni, James Posey,
Pat Williams, and Zydrunas Ilgauskas. Thanks to Ian Thomsen, who is both an amazing sounding board and a wonderful friend. Thanks to the Ya Ya’s—Janice McKeown, Jane Cavanaugh Smith, Elizabeth Derwin, Elaine Keefe, Val Russell, Arlene St. Onge, Gretch Hoffman, and Patty Filbin—who never cease to amaze me with their kindness and generosity. Thanks also to Eileen Barrett, Monet Ewing, Liz Douglas,
and Stephanie Baird for their support and encouragement. Many thanks to all the Boyles, far and near. I’m blessed with two great parents, Fred and Margarethe MacMullan, and my sister Sue Titone and her wonderful family—Vinny, Julia, and Christopher. Cheers to the Good Things basketball crew; may we always have each other’s back. Much love to my husband, Michael, and children, Alyson and Douglas,
who were so sweet and understanding whenever this book pulled Mom away. Finally, thanks to Shaquille O’Neal, the most generous athlete I’ve ever met and the most fascinating superstar of his time.
Jackie
When I was a little kid, I used to dribble my basketball around the Boys and Girls Club in Newark, New Jersey, dreaming about being Dr. J or Magic Johnson.
Then I went home and dreamed about being a famous DJ, spinning records and hanging out with the most successful rappers in the business.
At night, when I was watching television with my friends, I’d fantasize about being a movie
star or a famous actor, the one who always landed the most beautiful girl to set up the perfect fairy-tale ending.
How many people can say almost all of their dreams came true? I’m pretty sure I’m one of the lucky few. I got to be an NBA superstar, a rapper with platinum and gold records, an actor who starred in movies, got to be on
Saturday Night Live
, and had my own reality show.
When most
NBA players retire, the best part of their lives is over. I feel like mine is just beginning. Although I love the game of basketball, I’ve never wanted that to be the only thing that defines me.
I’ve always had dreams. Big dreams. Yet there were days I thought they would never come true. Days when I was teased because of my height, because I stuttered, because I was clumsy. Days when I hung out
with the wrong crowd and made the wrong decisions. When I
got cut as a freshman from my high school team, I lay in my room, devastated, wondering if I’d ever get another chance to prove myself.
My life hasn’t been nearly as smooth as you might think. You see a seven-foot-one giant with an easy smile and figure, “He’s got it made.”
Well, sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn’t. I had my own doubts,
my own fears, my own disappointments. At times, the expectations of others nearly suffocated me. At times, the weight of my own expectations threatened to crush me.
For more than twenty-five years, people have been scrutinizing me. They have painted their own picture of who I am and what I stand for. Some of it has been positive, and some of it has been hurtful.
It’s time for you to hear from
me
what makes Shaquille O’Neal tick. I’m ready to let you inside so you can understand where my journey has taken me and how it has shaped me as a man, not just as a basketball player.
Hopefully some of it will make you laugh. Some of it might even make you cry.
People always say I’m bigger than life.
Let me tell my own story this time, so you can decide for yourself.
Shaquille O’Neal
Summer
2011
Los Angeles, California
Game 7, Western Conference Finals
T
he Portland Trail Blazers strode to their bench with a 71–58 lead over Los Angeles after three quarters of the winner-take-all Game 7 in the Western Conference Finals. The boasts of the Lakers, who vowed to steamroll the competition on their way to the NBA title, suddenly rang hollow.
Lakers coach Phil Jackson gathered his
assistants on the court for a conference while Shaquille O’Neal and his teammates plopped onto the bench and waited.
Jackson prepared his team long ago for this moment. His instructions were succinct: “When all hell is breaking loose, go to your ‘safe place,’ a personal image or memory that will exude serenity, happiness, and peace of mind.”
“Shaquille,” Jackson asked shortly after he accepted
the Lakers job. “Where is your safe place?”
“In my grandmother Odessa’s lap, while she’s sitting in her rocking chair,” the big man answered.
“And how did that come to be your safe place?”
“She would find me after I messed up when I was a kid,” Shaquille said. “After I did something really stupid and my father gave me a beating.
“When he was done hitting me, she’d sneak into my room and slip
me a piece of pound cake and rock me and tell me, ‘It’s okay, baby. Everything is gonna be fine.’ ”
As Shaq fidgeted in frustration on the bench on the night of June 4, absorbing the catcalls and boos from LA’s angry and shocked fans, his first thought was if the Lakers choked away this series, he knew who would get the blame.
It would be him, just as it had been in Orlando, when they failed
to win it all.
Not again. O’Neal closed his eyes. He conjured up an image of Grandmother Odessa, just as Phil Jackson had instructed him to do. He focused on her soft voice, her gentle smile, her soothing words.
The Lakers broke from their huddle, but not before veteran Rick Fox challenged his teammates, “Is this how we’re going out? Is this how it’s gonna end?”
No, the big man told them. Not
again.
Portland pushed the lead to 15 points with 10:28 left in the game. It was then that Shaquille O’Neal, double-and triple-teamed for most of the night, broke free and dunked on their heads. His basket ignited 15 consecutive Laker points, a stunning comeback punctuated by another O’Neal slam, this one expertly delivered by Kobe Bryant in the form of a slow-motion, looping lob.
Usually Shaq
cooly turned after such demonstrations of
dominance and jogged up the floor, expressionless, as if to say,
Been here. Done this
. Not this time. He exuberantly thrust his fingers aloft as he sprinted down the floor, his mouth agape and his wide eyes shining.
Grandmother Odessa was right. Everything was gonna be fine.
M
Y GRANDMOTHER CALLED ME SHAUN—NOT SHAQ, NOT
Diesel, The Big Aristotle, Shaqtus, or The Big Shamrock. Back then, I was just a little boy running around the projects in Newark, New Jersey, who needed someone to look out for me.
I may have looked big, but I was just a kid. I was surrounded mostly by women, and if my grandmother or my aunt Viv or my mother saw the drug dealers slinking around our apartment they came out and told them to keep moving along. They warned them they better not mess with their Shaun. Once, when one of those shady guys started talking to me, my aunt Viv came flying out the door and started throwing
punches.