The Sixth Man
Page 24
And you’re back in the game 100 percent. At home you’re in the game. In bed you’re in the game. On days off you’re only in the game. It consumes you. And you welcome it.
* * *
—
But there is a larger cycle. The last days before training camp begin to have a certain feel to them. The days are shortening, the nights are cooling, and you can tell it’s almost time to return, that the summer is coming to an end. And just like that, there is a time you know when your career is coming to an end. The summers themselves are what is shortening, and your body is what is cooling. And though you’ve known your whole career that the day will come for us all, that we can’t do it anymore, that Father Time is, in fact, undefeated, the realization still manages to sneak up on you somewhat. It’s like you’ve spent all day making dinner for a guest, but you are still surprised when they actually show up. No one can predict when things are going to end. But every single one of us can predict that they will.
You hear the stories. When a guy retires, he has a midlife crisis, like six months out. I remember early in my career Antonio Davis broke it down for me. When every guy retires, they miss one thing. And it’s always the same thing. The bus ride. You miss being with the fellas. Cracking jokes. Talking about how your family is doing. Talking about business and politics and relationships. You miss being a part of a campaign with a band of brothers. Of all these men who have come from all these different places. From fathers who were professional players and had trophy rooms at home filled with twinkling rings, jerseys stiff and framed, signed game balls with long beautiful stories attached that they tell you at night when it is long past your bedtime. Men who come from single mothers, fathers who were never around. Brothers and cousins in prisons and caskets. Roaches and rats. Drug addiction and cold-blooded murders. One chance to make it out, a chance for which they have willingly sacrificed everything. You miss being with men who came from small towns where no one ever thought you’d survive. From youth-league coaches who drilled in you the fundamentals since you were five years old. Not just the fundamentals of the game, but the fundamentals of life. How to show up, how to push yourself, how to become something better than what anyone could have imagined. How to become what God has laid out for you. You miss that. You miss being a man with a team, a man with a purpose. At least that’s what I’ve heard.
Recently we moved to a new house. We had lived in the hills, where the streets were steep and winding, but we got a place farther away from the madness, where there is some nature and some flat, open trails that you can ride a bike on. Which is good thing. Because even though my son is eleven years old, he hadn’t had a lot of practice riding a bike. The hills we lived in made it impossible, and I rarely had time to take him elsewhere to ride. I felt responsible for that. He remembered how to run a pick-and-roll. He remembered how to switch on defense and how to decide when to go over top or underneath a screen. He knew which coaches were good and bad, and he knew when the refs made terrible calls. He knew about vegan diets, bench presses, two-a-days, and media availability. He knew what it was like to ride in a championship parade, and he knew what it looked like when a grown man came home late at night with his body broken after having lost an entire season.
But one of the things he didn’t know was how to ride a bike. So, this off-season, after we won our third championship in four years, I took some time to teach him. I hope that he and I can one day ride together, gaining speed on these open trails. Because at certain times of the year, if I let my critical eye go just enough, I can squint, and for a brief moment these California hills remind me of my childhood. And I can remember the feeling of running through empty fields in Springfield, a hundred miles of sky in either direction, playing as freely as I wanted to for as long as the sun would stand up in the sky. And it’s nice, for a brief moment, to have that feeling back.
Clean teeth . . . until free will kicked in.
All photographs courtesy the author unless otherwise noted.
Eighth grade. First pair of Air Jordans.
Before I grew into my ears.
Look of surprise as I was caught—probably up to something sneaky.
With mom dukes before I headed to a high school dance.
Junior year of high school, all skinny arms and legs.
High school varsity team, when I was still a “hidden gem.”
2001, College Signing Day, when I originally chose Arkansas.
With my big bro after the draft.
Freshman year at University of Arizona.
Photo courtesy of University of Arizona Athletics
With my brother from another, Rich McBride.
Around the time I started to realize my potential.
Photo courtesy of University of Arizona Athletics
Rookie photoshoot. An amazing feeling.
Getty / Jesse D. Garrabrant
Familiar scene in my younger days, playing in the 2010 FIBA World Basketball Championships in Turkey. Although Father Time has been good to me . . .
Getty / Garrett Ellwood
The 2010 FIBA World Championships are one of my most memorable basketball experiences. A couple of the guys became future teammates.
Getty / Garrett Ellwood
London 2012 Olympics. One of the greatest teams ever assembled.
Getty / Jesse D. Garrabrant
Sneaky kid (like father . . . ) sneaks in Hamptons Five photo.
Getty / Nathaniel S. Butler
First “Shampionship” (in the words of my man Leandro Barbosa).
Getty / Jesse D. Garrabrant
Headed to the White House with my wife to celebrate our first championship with President Barack Obama.
Fashion has been an interest of mine since I was a kid. This was at the 2015 New York Men’s Fashion Week kickoff party, hosted by Amazon Fashion and the CFDA.
Getty / Stephen Lovekin
Onstage with Sarah Lane at TechCrunch Disrupt SF in September 2015.
Getty / Steve Jennings
At the Annual Players Technology Summit that I launched in 2017.
Photo courtesy of Gene X. Hwang/Orange Photography
Rich Kleiman, myself, Kevin Durant, and my business partner Rudy Cline-Thomas at the Players Technology Summit 2018.
Photo courtesy of Gene X. Hwang/Orange Photography
2018 Championships, Game 3 against the Cleveland Cavaliers.
Getty / Mark Blinch
Celebrating our 2017 Championship.
Getty / Nathaniel S. Butler
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book started as an idea that involved many reflections and emotions. I want to thank Rudy Cline-Thomas for conceptualizing the project and thinking outside the box, knowing me well enough to understand that I would embrace this journey (sharing many articles paid off in more ways than we thought, as we found Carvell!).
Special thanks to Carvell Wallace for his patience and getting out my thoughts. Huge thanks to the Claremont Club and Spa in Berkeley for being so accommodating throughout my and Carvell’s many sessions there.
Much appreciation to Cassidy Sachs and John Parsley at Dutton, Sylvie Carr at Fletcher & Company, Patience Ramsey, and Paulette Eastmond, for carrying the load and keeping this whole process on schedule and gathering all the materials and facts needed till completion.
To my Pyramid family (y’all know who y’all are!), thanks for all the encouragement and holding me accountable throughout this thing and believing in the vision! Also my U of A family and NBA family. All my coaches going back to Coach Sherman at Springfield Housing Authority. Two guys who I found myself looking up to at the “elderly age,” Grant Hill and Michael Strahan, thank you for
being an inspiration and setting the template for young black athletes.
Moms, aka Linda Shank, we did it! Thank you for raising me and making me the way I am! RIP Frank Sr. My three seeds constantly motivating me.
Most important, my wife, Christina, for all the sacrificing and understanding during all the constant madness. Appreciate and love you dearly! Thank YOU!
—Andre Iguodala
For Georgia and Ezra, my reasons for love and work.
—Carvell Wallace
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ANDRE IGUODALA is an American professional basketball player for the Golden State Warriors of the National Basketball Association. The swingman was an NBA All-Star in 2012 and has been named to the NBA All-Defensive Team twice.
CARVELL WALLACE is an author and podcaster based in Oakland, California. He has covered sports, culture, music, race, and the arts for ESPN, MTV, The New Yorker, GQ, and others. He is a regular columnist on Slate and a contributing writer to The New York Times Magazine.
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