Shaq Uncut: My Story (14 page)

Then there was a group led by Scott Skiles that included Jeff Turner, Greg Kite, and Larry Krystkowiak. Now I’m not big into the racial thing, but it was true my group was all black guys and Scott’s was all white. There weren’t any bad feelings between the groups, but we had absolutely nothing in common.
Can you see Greg Kite coming to the clubs and rapping with me? I don’t think so.

It kind of came to a head eventually. I was having a blast living large in the NBA, and we went on a West Coast trip that started in Seattle. We flew from Seattle to Los Angeles after the game, and me and my guys went out and partied our asses off. For me that meant staying out late, mixing some rap music, having
some fun. I didn’t drink, but other guys did. So we’re playing the Clippers and we lost.

Brian Hill was the coach and he was ticked off. He had a right to be. Skiles was our team leader, a guy who was a little older and on his way out, and I was the young leader coming in.

We were still in LA the next day practicing and BHill was making us run. Everyone was a little slow except Skiles. He was
running us ragged, swearing at us, telling us, “All you damn guys do is party.”

He was right. He was telling the truth, but he was puffing his chest out a little too much for my taste. It was a little too phony as far as I was concerned. If you’re a leader, then be one. Don’t try to show off and embarrass the rest of the guys. Skiles kept yapping and yapping and I finally told him, “Shut the
hell up. We’ve heard enough of you.”

All of a sudden the son of a bitch came right for me. Now Scott Skiles is a foot shorter than me. He looks like a little old man at this point. He’s going bald, for crying out loud. But he’s charging me so I’ve got no choice—I gotta slug him with an uppercut to the jaw. You know my rule: Don’t wait for someone to hit you.

Next thing I do is put him in a headlock,
because if I have to hit him again I might hurt him, and that wasn’t what I planned on
doing when I showed up to practice that day. At that point Krystkowiak tries to jump me, but DScott elbowed him in the back of the head and now we’ve got this mini brawl going on. If anyone had seen it they would have sworn it was a black-white thing.

It wasn’t, really. Anyhow, the coaching staff broke us up
and Brian Hill said, “Practice is over,” and that was it. You’d think something like that would carry over, but it really didn’t.

Actually, I wish I would have gotten Skiles a little earlier in his career. He was a tough guy and a great passer. He had some range, too. I really did have a lot of respect for his game.

The summer after my first NBA season Reebok asked me to do a clinic in Brazil,
so I went along with Brian Hill. I remember seeing Phil Jackson there, but I didn’t really say much to him other than hello.

Dennis Tracey is my manager, and he’s supposed to be organizing this trip for me, but he forget to take into account it was on the other side of the globe and it was winter there, so we had all the wrong clothes. I’m thinking I’m going to this warm South American city and
instead I was freezing my ass off.

I had to get Dennis back for that, so we’re driving down the street in Sao Paulo and we’re at a red light and I say to Dennis, “Hey, dare you to jump out and run to the light and back with no clothes on.” It was probably about fifty yards away, tops. Dennis says, “What’s it worth to you?” I told him, “I’ll give you five thousand dollars.” So Dennis whips off
his clothes and jumps out of the car, and of course the light changes and we lock the doors and take off. So Dennis is running after us for about a mile and a half and he’s naked. We finally let him back in—but only if he agrees to forfeit his five grand.

I did a couple of overseas trips that summer, including one to Tokyo. I did one appearance where there were about fifteen thousand fans, and
they kept pushing closer and closer, and when they announced I’d be signing autographs it was like a dam broke loose and these people were all coming straight for me. They had to bring out the riot police so the fans wouldn’t rip me to pieces.

My favorite part of that trip was when I got to meet a genuine sumo wrestler. He gave me a samurai sword as a gift, but they wouldn’t let me take it on
the plane.

My early years in Orlando were a great time in my life. Our team was getting better, but we were still young and foolish and having fun. I was a real practical joker. Guys would come out of the shower and I’d completely ambush them, tackle them, take them to the ground.

Butt naked, of course.

Guys started to realize they better stay sharp on the plane, otherwise they might wake up
with pink-painted fingernails.

I was in demand all the time. I did a lot of endorsements, but I also made sure I made time for the community. That was very important to me. Whenever there was a sick kid or a terminally ill person who wanted to meet a Magic player, I was their guy. I had a soft spot for the kids in particular.

I started a Shaqsgiving Dinner for homeless people in the area. One
of the most vivid memories of my childhood is when I was with my dad. We never had any money, but he was going to take me out for a burger. We’re heading there and we see this homeless guy on the street, and my dad calls him over and he gives him our money for the burgers. “You always help those less fortunate than you,” said Sarge.

I know, but geez, I really wanted that burger.

Because I was
so visible in Orlando, I started becoming really popular in the community. Leonard described me as “a cross between the Terminator and Bambi.” Pat Williams told
Sports Illustrated
I was “sucking the marrow out of the bones of life.”

Most of the time, everyone was good with it. Once in a while, though, they didn’t dig Shaq being Shaq.

Somehow it just worked out that when we played Atlanta it
always hit on the weekend of Freaknik, this big spring break party they had in Buckhead with students from all of the black colleges. It was party city, and me and DScott and the guys always made certain we
participated. What that meant was when it came time to play the Hawks a lot of us were suffering from the “Buckhead flu.”

Brian Hill got so upset he told us, “I’m never taking you guys to
Atlanta the night before the game again. From now on we’re flying in on the same day.” NBA regulations require you to fly into the city the night before the game, but he didn’t care. He paid the fine rather than give us another crack at Freaknik.

Even though I was having fun my first couple of years, we weren’t winning enough, and everyone around me in my inner circle was frustrated. My father
complained constantly about our point guards to just about anybody who would listen. Leonard called Pat Williams all the time about it. He’d say, “Get the big man the ball.” Pat would tell him, “We’ll get right on that.” It wasn’t until they brought in Brian Shaw and we established the Shaw-Shaq Redemption that we had a point guard who knew how to throw up that lob.

Brian was one of those final
pieces that helped us bring it all together during the 1994–95 season. The other piece was Horace Grant, who had won championships with the Bulls and knew what it took to get over the top.

We had a strong nucleus with those two guys and me and Nick Anderson and Penny, who was turning into a serious star. He had raised his game to an incredible level and made the first All-NBA team that year.
We made it to the NBA Finals, and we did it by beating MJ and the Bulls, which was a big deal for Horace.

Hell, it was big for all of us. We were jumping on top of the press tables at the O-rena and soaking in the love from the crowd. All of a sudden our city was on the basketball map. It was loud, vibrant, crazy.

We got too happy too soon. After we beat the Bulls we had ten days off before
the Finals. Me and DScott flew to Atlanta and just partied. We were hitting the clubs and finding some girls and dancing and gambling and listening to music all night long.

They had a Disney parade for us before we even went to the Finals. It was a mistake. The whole way we approached it was a mistake.
When you get to the point where I am now, retired and looking back, you recognize the 1995
Finals as a lost opportunity. You wish you had a chance to do it over, but it doesn’t work that way.

So after four days off, we start practicing and we are terrible. We’re sluggish but we’re still cocky, because we beat Houston twice that year and in our minds, we’ve got this.

At night after practice, DScott and BShaw and Anthony Avent would come to my house. Anthony could sing a little, so
we decided to go in my music studio and make our own rap championship song.

We figured if we had it all done before the Finals started we could capitalize on it once we won the whole thing.

Game 1 was in our building and we came out flying. We led by 20 points in the second quarter. Hakeem Olajuwon and Clyde Drexler brought Houston back, but we had a three-point lead at the end of the game and
all Nick Anderson had to do was hit some free throws. He missed four straight.

I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to knock him out after that game—not so much because he missed the free throws, but because he was laughing and pounding his chest after he did. I know he was doing it because he was nervous, but the way he behaved made me sick.

I’ve never said this before, but one of the reasons I
was mad at him was because I really felt he disrespected the basketball gods. He missed two free throws and he was banging his chest like he won the lottery.

All that bullshit he did drove me crazy. All he had to do was hit one free throw. Just one.

The other thing that upset me was they were running a pick-and-roll with Hakeem and Clyde Drexler and I kept telling BHill we shouldn’t help on
it, but that was how he wanted to play it.

So what happens? Clyde blows right past Nick and I’ve got to help, and Nick doesn’t drop so my guy Hakeem gets a tip-in. So now because Nick can’t guard his own damn guy it looks like I can’t guard mine, either. Number one, just make a free throw; and number two,
when I come over to help because your guy abuses you, at least drop down and do what you’re
supposed to do. I swear. I wanted to kill him.

After the game he was at his locker and I went right for him. I was about two inches from his face. I said, “What the hell are you doing? You’re playing like a wuss.” He didn’t say a word. He just sat there with his head down.

I wanted to hit him, but I knew if I did, we would have gotten swept.

Turns out we did anyway.

The problem was we all
knew Nick was done after Game 1. He was shook and he couldn’t recover. Couldn’t look at any of us. He was afraid to go to the line. Done. Completely done.

Looking back, it was probably my fault for jumping all over him like that. I was probably too hard on him. I was still learning how to be a leader.

After we’re down 0–2 I could see which way it was going. I was so angry, so upset. I just couldn’t
understand it. We had dominated Houston during the regular season, yet here we were, blowing the damn series. I got into my Hoop-D car and I took off.

I drove all night—to Miami and back. That’s how I relieve stress. I drive and listen to my music. I got to Miami in about two and a half or three hours, looked at the water, then came back.

I was trying to think of a way to turn it around. I had
all sorts of questions rattling around in my head.
Am I playing hard enough? Can I do something else? Are we coming back, or is it over?
I thought I might come up with some answers. Instead, I just came home exhausted, having burned up a ton of gasoline.

I was trying to tell Brian Hill to just let Hakeem score. I’m going to score on the other end. It will all balance off. But he wanted to double-team
everybody. We’re double-teaming Clyde Drexler and we’re doubling Hakeem. It’s really ticking me off because I felt it was the wrong strategy, and if we lose, it’s all on me.

That was when I realized that if we win, I’m going to get most of the credit, and if we lose, I’m getting all of the blame. That’s how it works when you are the CEO, the superstar.

Once I caught on to that, I was like, “Give
me the fucking ball. If it’s going to be on my head, then throw me the ball so I can get the job done.”

But Hakeem just dominated me in that series. Looking back, I was too respectful to him. I held him in such high regard I forgot I was supposed to be kicking his ass.

After they swept us, the fans smacked our charter bus with brooms on our way out of Houston. Coach Hill said, “Remember how
this feels.”

It took me a while to get over it. Dennis Tracey and I took our girlfriends on vacation to St. Pete, and we were sitting on the beach at night talking about what went wrong and everyone was having a drink and I decided,
Well, maybe if I have a drink it will make me feel better. I’ll have some of that pink Zinfandel
.

I drank two bottles of pink Zinfandel in about ten minutes’ time.
Then I threw up, and that was the end of that experiment.

You’d think since I was only twenty-three and Penny was only twenty-two we’d have plenty of chances to win a title for Orlando, but the following season, in 1995–96, it seemed as though everything that could go wrong did.

Penny decided he wanted a new contract. A big contract. I was like, “Hey, he deserves it, he’s a great player,” because
I’m figuring the DeVos family owns Amway and everybody is always buying the stuff they sell, so there’s enough money for everyone to get paid.

Penny holds out for a few days and the media is killing him, and I’m the only one who sticks up for him. So he finally gets his, but then when it’s time for my new deal at the end of the year, Penny is nowhere to be found. I find out that he wants to make
sure he’s the highest-paid player on our team. He’s telling people in the front office, “This is my team. It’s a guard’s league now.”

I can’t believe it. Craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Because I knew
Penny was kinda soft and he’d be screwed if he wasn’t playing with me. I could take the heat. I could handle the pressure. He wasn’t wired like that.

The bad thing is when you have two alpha males
on the team that don’t have the same understanding, things can go haywire. That’s what happened with Penny and me. I was the AA alpha male and Penny was the AB alpha male. Somewhere along the way he decided he could do it without the big dawg.