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 th
em 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.
So basketball is out for a little while, but I’m still going to the Thoreau Club in Concord every night and I’m swimming. I’m riding the treadmill, I’m working out, I’m coming back home, I’m getting massages, and I’m watching the games. The next day I’m going to practice, riding the exercise bike, coming home and taking a nap, then going for treatment, then back to the pool.
I had a key to the Lincoln-Sudbury High School gym, which was right across the street from my house, and they had a little weight room in there. So I’d go there to lift some weights and take some free throws. I usually went around eleven o’clock at night when no one was around. I ate right, stayed active. I lost fifteen pounds, but that damn Achilles just wasn’t responding.
Just before the All-Star break I got a call that the Lakers were unveiling a statue of Jerry West outside the Staples Center. The All-Star Game was in Los Angeles, and I was invited to come to the ceremony. I told my assistant, “No, I’m a Celtic now. I’m not going.” But a couple of weeks before the event we got another call telling me that Jerry would really appreciate it if I showed up.
I was surprised it meant that much to him, but once I heard that I made sure that I was there. I knew I was Jerry West’s guy once, but I guess I thought he’d moved on. It was pretty damn gratifying to get to that event and be sitting in the audience while Magic and Kareem and Elgin Baylor and Pat Riley and Jerry Buss were sitting on the stage, and to have Jerry West find me in the crowd, point to me, and say, “I love you.”
It blew me away. I went up and talked to him after it was over, and he was crying and telling me I was his favorite. It’s funny. He never really said stuff like that when I was playing for his team. Usually when we had a conversation it was because he was chewing me out for something I’d done wrong.
I want to thank Jerry West for remaining true to me. I want to thank him for remembering what I remember—that together we brought a championship to the Lakers, along with Kobe and all the other guys. That together we were a pretty good team and created some pretty cool memories for a lot of people in Los Angeles.
&nbs
p; Just before the trade deadline in February, Danny called me up and told me they were thinking of trading Perk. There’s been a lot of talk about that trade and why they did it, but let’s keep it real: they traded Perk because he wanted a big extension and they weren’t going to pay him. Simple as that.
It was business, baby.
Danny admitted that was the reason, along with the idea they had to get younger, and Jeff Green would do that for them. He wanted me to know that Doc believed when I got healthy I’d be a great fit with the Big Four and that we could probably win it all.
I felt I had to be honest with Danny, so I told him, “Listen, win or lose, there’s a better than 60 percent chance I won’t be back next season. My heel isn’t getting better. I don’t think you should trade Perk.”
The reason I said that was because I had already been out awhile, and even with all the work I was doing to get my heel right it wasn’t improving. To be honest, at that point I was getting kind of nervous and scared, because I didn’t want the whole thing to hinge on me and then have it all fall apart because I couldn’t get out there and play.
I had been blamed so many times in so many places when things went wrong, I didn’t want that to happen again. Not there. Not in Boston. I didn’t want it to be my fault if the Celtics lost. In fact, because I’ve turned into one of those conspiracy guys, I actually put my call with Danny on speakerphone so everyone who was there with me, including Danny Garcia, my massage therapist, and Nikki, my girlfriend, could hear me say, “I don’t know if I’m coming back, bro.”
They traded Perk anyway. The locker room was pretty quiet for a few days. Perk was a popular guy, a hard worker, a sweet kid. His opinion of himself might have been a little inflated, but hey, join the club. You could probably say that about all of us.
It took a while for us to adjust to all the new faces. The Boston Celtics scene is kind of intense, and Jeff Green and Nenad Krstic looked a little shell-shocked the first few weeks. For one thing, no one had ever asked them to play defense like that before.
Shaq Uncut: My Story Page 25