Shaq Uncut: My Story (33 page)

After a while, I felt like I had a sense of how he rolled. Most guys his age think about scoring. He only thinks about passing. So I went up to him one day and I said, “Hey, man, throw me a lob, I’ll make you look good.” So he did. And I made him look good.

So now we start talking.
Rajon is a great player, he’s got great instincts, he knows what to do, so I never told him what he should do. The minute you do that, you lose him.

He’s looking to connect with me and throw me that lob, so when he threw it and I missed it I’d tell him, “Hey dawg, that’s on me. I screwed up our highlight. My bad.”

I spent a lot of time trying to lift him up, make him feel good. He had ticked
off so many of the veterans over the years that they kind of liked it when he got put in his place, so I was trying to counter that.

What I liked about him was he gained the respect of Paul, KG, and Ray the old-fashioned way, by playing defense and dishing the ball instead of that home-boy between-the-leg nonsense. Rondo knows all the other team’s plays. We’d be out there and the other team would
call something and he’d start yelling, “Paul, shade over that way” and “Shaq, they’re coming with a screen.” Very intelligent.

He and Doc used to get into what I call “respectful beefs.” They’d argue about a play or a call or a decision Rondo made. It was good dialogue. Sometimes it got a little heated, but that was healthy. It was a classic relationship between a point guard and his former point
guard coach.

My goal was to make Rondo feel like he was a Hall of Famer because I knew he was very, very delicate, much more than people realize.

Most stars in the NBA are—me included.

Let me give you an example of what I mean. Remember that stretch right after Perk got traded and Rondo was struggling so badly? He definitely was nicked up and fighting some injuries, but something else happened
that I think affected him.

In early March some of the guys went to the Museum of Fine Arts for a fund-raiser and got to hang with President Barack Obama. Everyone was a little bit in awe. The president turns to Ray, points at Rondo, and says, “Hey Ray, why don’t you teach this kid how to shoot?” Everyone starts laughing, and Ray says, “Nah, that’s why he’s got to give the ball to me. I’ll take
care of the shooting.”

KG told me he saw the look on Rondo’s face and the kid was devastated, embarrassed. Dissed by the president, even though I’m sure Obama didn’t mean any harm. Rondo smiled and went along with all of it, but KG told me he could see it in his eyes. It bothered Rondo. It killed him.

The next day Rondo shot the ball horribly. He stopped taking shots after that. He’s so sensitive.
I think it was a real jolt to hear the outside perception of a basketball fan who happens to be the president of the United States. It messed with his mind. I’m sure of it.

I kept telling him how great he was, trying to boost his confidence, bring him back up to speed, because without Rondo we were screwed. And that was what I kept telling him. He knew it, too. Most of the time he had enough
confidence for all of us. But once in a while, he would fall into these stretches where he had serious doubts. When that happens to you, it’s the veterans’ job to prop you back up.

When I was with the Lakers, I was playing with Derek Fisher, who is a hard, hard worker, but he’s not a natural talent. He was an okay player, but I made sure he was always involved in what we were doing. When teams
disrespected him by laying off him, I’d always tell him, “Shoot it, Fish.” He’d say, “No man, I’m missing all the time,” and I’d say, “You’re going to hit this next one.” So he keeps shooting and his confidence gets up and he hits some big, big shots for us. He thinks I trust him, so his confidence starts peaking. Same
with Rick Fox. My thing was, let me establish myself as a pure scorer. I’ll
hit a few jump hooks and a free throw, and then let me kick it out to Fox to get him involved.

I would have done more of that with the Celtics, but I just wasn’t in a position to have the ball all that much. Believe me, I understood. When you’ve got Paul and KG and Ray, they should get the majority of the shots.

It didn’t take me long to settle into the Boston area. I rented a house in the great
town of Sudbury and felt immediately at home. The fans loved to interact with me, but they were also respectful. When I rode the subway (or the T, as they call it) on Halloween dressed as Shaquita, a big, busty, sassy lady, people laughed and took pictures, but gave me my space.

Same thing when I came up with my brainstorm to sit in Harvard Square in Cambridge and become a statue. I sat there
for almost one hour without moving. People would try to tell me jokes, or get me to laugh, but I stayed completely still, for the most part. The only guy that got me was the one who said, “Do you have any tickets to the Miami game?” I didn’t answer him, but I turned my head and shook it no.

After it was over I told reporters, “Now I can always tell my friends I went to Harvard. I went to Harvard,
I stood at Harvard, and I graduated from Harvard. So now I’m smart.”

Here’s why I did the Harvard thing. For one thing, I was bored. Second of all, I wanted to connect with the fans. Third of all, I knew the media would eat it up. It took very little of my time, and everyone was tweeting about it, and it was a nice little thing for me and the Celtics.

At that point I was feeling good and playing
well. Once I started having injury problems, I stopped doing things like that. You don’t want to be seen all over the place when you are hurt and can’t help the team—unless it’s for charity. I don’t care what anyone says about my charity work. I’ll never stop doing that, even if I’m on one leg. One of the best nights I had in Boston was going to an old folks’
home and watching television with
them. Sweethearts. Every one of them.

Before I got injured I got to conduct the Boston Pops at Christmastime. I was waving that wand while we played “Sleigh Ride,” “Can You Feel It” by the Jackson Five, and “We Are the Champions” by Queen. It was a fabulous experience and led to yet another nickname: The Big Conductor.

Of course we did our annual Shaq-a-Claus trips to help the underprivileged
kids have a nice Christmas and Shaq-a-Bunny during Easter. We did a Marine Toys for Tots promotion, and I called out my teammates to join me. I told everyone, “My goal is to get one big-time person in each state. I’m doing this here in Boston, in New Jersey, in Florida, and California, so there goes four states. So I say we get Paul to take care of California, and KG to take care of Minnesota, and
Ray to take care of Connecticut.”

Just like everywhere else I’ve ever been, people were asking, “Is Shaq doing too much?” Danny Ainge handled that perfectly for me. He understood I was away from my family and my children, and that was hard for me. He knew I had time on my hands. As he explained it, “Doing fun things at Harvard Square and helping the community? Why not? The other guys are playing
video games. Ray is playing golf. As long as Shaq puts in the time in practice and gets treatment for his body, I’m good with it.”

We opened our season against the Miami Heat, which was supposed to be the next dominant team. Honestly, I thought with that lineup they would win it all. Do you think our guys were a little pumped up for that game? We played great. Everything clicked. It was so cool
to be out there with Ray and Paul and KG. After we won 88–80, Doc told us, “That was the most dominant half of basketball we’ve played since I’ve been in Boston.”

I tried to adjust to my new position as a role player. Some days went smoother than others.

In January, I played thirty-five minutes against Charlotte and dropped 23 points on them. I missed only two shots and hit all three
of my free
throws. I also had five blocks. After the game, I ran into Danny Ainge in the hallway and said, “Not bad for a guy who’s making the minimum.”

There were other games when I just didn’t touch the ball. The way the offense was running that night didn’t include me. I remember after a home game against Sacramento in January, I took only three shots in the game. It was frustrating for me because I
felt so good and I wanted to contribute more, but you kind of just have to roll with it.

That’s not really my strong suit. When I got back to my house in Sudbury I was so frustrated I punched a hole through my glass window. Smart, huh?

The Celtics were a very tight team, but I didn’t hang around with them all that much. I was a loner at that point of my career. When we went to most of the major
cities, I had business appointments. In Miami, I was hanging out with my police buddies. If I didn’t have something going on in a particular city, I usually just sat in my room and did a video chat and laid low. I didn’t have my bodyguard, Jerome, with me anymore, because he had stayed in Phoenix with the Suns as their security guy. When I had him, it was different. When I had Jerome, I didn’t
have to worry about going out and giving someone a chance to be famous. I could move about freely. Without him, why chance it?

All in all, I was a model Celtics citizen. There was only one little stretch where things got a little hairy, when we flew to the West Coast and played the Lakers on January 30.

I wanted to get off against LA. I won’t lie to you. I knew I wasn’t going to get a ton of
shots, but I was running the court and getting open and I know I’m not the focal point but how about throwing me the ball when I’m four feet from the basket? I was ducking in, getting great position, and Doc made it clear when I was doing that to give it to me.

“Big Baby” Davis kept looking me off and taking it himself. Doc is shouting at him to go inside, but he won’t. So Doc calls time-out
and draws up a play for me.

I go out there, and I back Andrew Bynum way under the rim. I’m loose, I’m ready. I’ve got Bynum under the basket and again, Baby won’t give me the ball. So I go up to him and say, “If you ever miss me again I’m going to punch you in the face.” I was hot.

Two nights later we’re playing in Sacramento, and here we go again. I take three shots the entire game, and again
I’ve got my man isolated underneath the basket, and Baby ignores me and takes a jump shot. So the next time we’re in the huddle I let Baby have it.

I tell him, “Pass the fucking ball inside.” He comes back at me a little bit, and now I’m really heated. All hell is breaking loose. We’re going back and forth. Doc is standing there and he’s not saying a word. The message was pretty clear: work this
out yourselves. I tell Baby, “You are a selfish player. Everyone on this team knows it.” Hey, all the fans knew it. He takes shots when he shouldn’t.

I really am ticked off and I want to go off on him 100 percent, but I can only go off on him 15 percent because my mother is sitting behind the bench. I start cursing Baby out, and I look up and there’s my mother wagging her finger at me so I have
to stop. Baby looks stunned.

Because of the way I am, I wouldn’t let it go. I was going off all week. I was mad, really mad. I worried a little bit that no one was willing to put Baby in his place. Doc did, because that kid drove him crazy, but he was the only one.

Here’s what really ticked me off about Big Baby: he didn’t realize how much I helped him when we were on the floor together. I was
such a presence on that block that whoever was guarding me didn’t dare go help, because if he did I was catching it and dunking it on his head. When my guy stays with me, that opens up the lane for everyone else, including Glen “Big Baby” Davis.

Baby should have remembered the game against Orlando when he was posting up Ryan Anderson. Normally Dwight Howard would come over from the weak side
to help, but when Baby made his move and got past Anderson, Dwight didn’t dare leave me. So what happens? Glen Davis gets a layup.

You’re welcome, Baby.

Doc never confronted Baby on it, but a few days later, we’re having a film session and there it is, on the screen, me, wide open. Doc didn’t single Baby out, he just said, “When Shaq is ducking in deep like this, we’ve got to get him the ball.
He’s almost unguardable in that situation.”

Thanks, Coach.

I actually talked to KG about Baby. I said, “Hey, you should do something about that.” He said, “Why don’t you just talk to him?” I said, “Hey, KG, this is our last go-around. We don’t have time for crap like that. I don’t mean to interfere in how the Big Three runs things, but you got to keep that stuff in check or it will come back
to bite you.”

Kevin has mellowed a lot now that he’s older. Me? I wouldn’t let that shit ride. Of course, later on Paul reminded me that KG yelled at Baby so hard once that he sat on the bench and cried.

Both Paul and Kevin are dawgs, and Ray is just Ray. Paul will say, “C’mon, we’re playing like crap. Let’s go,” but he won’t really jump on guys.

The only one who will do that is Rondo. He’ll
even get on the Big Three if he thinks they deserve it. The kid has guts.

One thing I quickly realized about the Celtics is they weren’t about drills. Doc knew it. We were too competitive. Put us in a scrimmage and keep score and you are going to see some serious shit. The veterans were as competitive as any group I’ve ever been around. They were dinged up a lot, but when we were in those scrimmages
and it was tied 5–5 and the game was to 6, the elbows were flying, brother. At one point during the season it got out that Delonte and Von Wafer had come to blows in a practice. Let me tell you: that wasn’t the only skirmish. That’s what makes a basketball team edgy, tight.

Everything was going as planned until we played my old team, the Orlando Magic, on Christmas Day. I didn’t even take a shot.
Not one damn shot. I never saw the ball. I was running down the floor and I tried to accelerate and I felt something kind of pop. It was the
back of my heel. The next night we played in Indy and I told our trainer, Ed Lacerte, to tape it real tight. I played pretty well that night. I had 9 points and 4 rebounds in sixteen minutes of time, but the next day I got up and I couldn’t move. My heel
was killing me.

Both Ed and Doc were so great about it, so gracious. They said, “Take some time off, big guy. Take your time. We’ve got Perk back, we’re okay, get better.” They were so fabulous about it. They made me feel so at ease about everything. I hung in there a little longer before I finally sat down in mid-January for three games. After those three games I came back, but it was a mistake.
Something was wrong with my Achilles. I had to take a seat.