Killer Crossover, page 21
Finally, in 2000, more than a decade into my career, I signed up for the team set to compete in Sydney. The games were a long way from home, but I was excited to play for my country. Ever since the 1992 Dream Team, when Michael Jordan, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, Chris Mullin, and company destroyed the rest of the world, the international game has only gotten stronger. 213We knew we weren’t going to cake walk to the gold. Still, with a team that included the likes of Vince Carter, Gary Payton, Zo, Jason Kidd, Ray Allen, Allan Houston, Antonio McDyess, Kevin Garnett, and myself, we also knew we were definitely favored.
Playing for Team USA is high pressure. When you play for America, you’re supposed to win. A gold medal is expected. So you have to channel that pressure and use it to your advantage. The best example of this was probably Carter’s dunk on Frenchman Frédéric Weis. It happened on September 25—a day that will live in infamy. In our game against France, their players were about to run a fast break when one of their guys tried an errant spin move and behind-the-back pass—but Carter plucked it out of the air. In a flash, he was airborne. Vince cocked the ball up behind his head and jumped higher than perhaps any human ever has. The only person between him and the basket was Weis. Boom! A first-round pick by the Knicks in 1999 (the summer prior), the 7-foot-2 center’s career was never the same after VC posterized him. The ball might as well have been a grenade, as Carter put it through the net with such an explosion, spreading his legs as he leapt full over Weis in one perfect exhibition of athleticism. Ouch.
As a team, our strategy in the games was simple. Our coach, Rudy Tomjanovich, a two-time NBA champion with the Houston Rockets in the mid-1990s, instituted a couple of sets. But mostly, we wanted to play tight defense and get out and run, deal with the physicality, and use our superior athleticism.
Everyone brought something unique to the table, from shooting to shot blocking to trash talking. If we slowed the game down and played half court, we looked to post up our bigs. If they didn’t have a scoring option, they got the ball back out to a guard to make something happen on the perimeter.
214 We didn’t want to be the first team in recent memory to lose in the Olympics. We never talked about that, but we all felt it. European teams spend more time together than the US does. While we’re more talented, we can lack chemistry. Thankfully, we were a great group that year. We built our bonds in practice. Man, a lot of people think that if you’re not starting on Team USA, you’re going to be disgruntled. That was not the case. All of us on that team were starters, All-Stars, making millions, and many were future Hall of Famers. But the coach has to make his decision on the best five in the moment.
The only thing that fucking mattered was gold. It wasn’t a popularity contest, it wasn’t a dick-measuring contest. Gold. We were all on the same page. There were a lot of guys, including myself, who didn’t get a ton of minutes on the team. But you know what didn’t matter? That. You know what did? That’s right, gold.
The practices were fun, but also cutthroat. We had a great time, our families had a great time. But on the court, it was a matter of pride and of pushing the next guy. We often played one-on-one knockout games against each other—full court! I remember seeing Garnett win something like 15 or 16 in a row, he was that talented and in that great of shape. He took that shit very seriously and screamed things like, “Y’all ain’t shit! I’m the best!” The competitiveness was at an all-time high. Lots of shit talking. No fisticuffs, but lots of guys in each other’s faces. All for the sake of glory. Our gym in Hawaii leading up to the tournament was hot, with no air conditioning. But no one minded. We were there to sweat, to work.
It was also marvelous watching Carter come into his own in real time—especially when he hit that dunk over the Frenchman, it’s still legend.
215 To no surprise, we breezed through all the early-round games. But our toughest matchup of the tournament came in the semifinals against Lithuania. We’d won our first six games handily, defeating the likes of China, Italy, New Zealand, France, and Russia. Yet, when we matched up against Lithuania, it was much more difficult.
The country was without their retired legendary center Arvydas Sabonis and my former Golden State teammate Šarūnas Marčiulionis. Still, though, late in the game, we found ourselves in hot water. To begin the contest, we went up big in the first half but then they fought back in the second. And with a minute left in the game, we found ourselves tied, 80–80. If we lost the matchup, we’d be playing for the bronze medal—not silver, not gold. And no USA team is happy with that. In this country, we have standards—and that standard is always to bring home the gold. It was getting tight out there on the court, to say the least.
Then with just 43 seconds left, our power forward Antonio McDyess, who’d come in for Zo when he fouled out, fouled one of their three-point shooters in the act. A cardinal sin. When Zo exited, I’d yelled to our coaches, “Put McDyess in! We need a big!” That wasn’t looking like the best idea, though. Lithuania, thankfully, could only hit a single free throw. On our next possession, Carter scored a floater, putting us up by one with 31.3 seconds left. After a great defensive stop by Garnett, in which Lithuania ended up fouling him, he was put on the line for the chance to make it a three-point game. Uncharacteristically, Garnett missed both. McDyess, however, got the offensive rebound and laid the ball in for the score. After a quick field goal by Lithuania, they fouled Kidd to put him on the line, where he hit the first shot. The second, however, bounced out, 216and a melee went down for the ball between both teams, ending with McDyess and Lithuanian Ramūnas Šiškauskas on the floor with possession, leading to a jump ball. McDyess was able to win the tip, but the call on the court gave the ball to Lithuania. So with 4.6 seconds remaining, and us up 85–83, it was up to our defense to get us the win. And, thanks to great defense from Kidd and McDyess, Šarūnas Jasikevičius was forced to throw up a running three, which fell short of the hoop. Phew!
That quick, Antonio went from scapegoat to hero. If he hadn’t gotten that board, it would have been rough for all of us back home. And the coaches deserve a lot of credit for putting him in the game. In the next round, we beat France again for the gold, 85–75. Thank goodness. While it wasn’t the most dramatic game of the tournament, the France gold medal game was up there. There was lots of drama in the second half. They played their asses off. They wanted to win it as much as we did. But we prevailed thanks to a bit more talent and a bit more good fortune.
By the final game, you’re gassed. You’re tired. You’re exhausted. But you have to dig for that little bit more. It’s just like the later rounds of the playoffs. You don’t have anything left, but you have to give it a bit more. I remember we were up just a couple points and France had a chance to go up on a three, but they missed. Then we took the ball down and scored. We’d simultaneously dodged a bullet and took the air out of them. When the buzzer sounded, we’d won.
Let me tell you this: When you win a gold, no one can tell you nothin’. At least, that’s how I felt. I was on top of the world. My teammates and I had Won Gold! In Sydney, Australia! I got gold. We got gold. USA got gold. I was walking around 217everywhere I could after that with my chest out: I’m a mother-fucking gold medalist. You can’t tell me shit! Don’t even talk to me at all right now!
The Olympics made stars of many of our players. In terms of VC, especially, that dunk over Weis was his coming out party on the world stage. After that dunk, KG told VC, “Man I thought I was the best until that shit happened!”
When I got into games, I’d pick up my man full court, fight over screens, make it difficult for him to get his team in rhythm. If I was to play 10–12 minutes, it would be the hardest 10–12 minutes I could. For us, it wasn’t about how many points you scored, but about getting the win. However, that can sometimes be lost when you’re worried about playing time and paychecks. I only averaged about 5.5 points per game, which was about 20 percent of what I did at my peak in the NBA. But no one was counting stats. There was only one number that mattered: victories. And, thankfully, we achieved gold.
It’s rare for teammates like me and Zo to win gold together. Karl Malone and John Stockton did it with the Dream Team. LeBron James and Anthony Davis did it in 2012 and 2024. But it’s rare. Zo and I celebrated that fact all summer. It was rewarding to be on a team with such amazing players. Perhaps to the surprise of some, there was no shit talking between us. Me and Allan Houston didn’t say a word about the Knicks-Heat rivalry. That was all in the past. For us, it was about Team USA and taking on the world. We’d all been together for several years. Before the 2000 games, we had our work cut out for us, having to play in Puerto Rico just to qualify for 2000.
That summer, we were coached by Larry Brown. He was sitting in for Rudy, who was dealing with some personal issues. 218Brown would later lead the 2004 Olympic team, which had its own struggles. Playing under the Team USA microscope, we formed tight bonds. There may have been a little recruiting on the side, too. Some guys were trying to get Vince Carter or Kevin Garnett to switch teams, talking about all the rings that could be won together! Could you imagine VC or KG on the Heat with me and Zo? That would have been unstoppable. It was a pipe dream, of course, but still fun to talk about on the bus or in practice.
When all eyes are on you, a tight-knit feeling is born if you respond to it. Today, Team USA is a brotherhood. That was exemplified again just recently in 2024, when I got together with some of my Olympic teammates at the USA Basketball showcase ahead of the Paris games, and even took a selfie with former President Obama, Gary Payton, Reggie Miller, and others. Being a part of the Olympics creates a brotherhood that lasts a lifetime. In the end, the experience was unforgettable. Everyone knew their roles and everyone succeeded within them. That’s what a team is supposed to be about.
* * *
While I was in Sydney, I was also negotiating my next contract with Pat Riley back in the States. For much of my career, I’d either played on contracts that were fair, or I’d taken a discount for the sake of long-term financial security. Now it was time for me to get paid, to enjoy some of the rewards of being a five-time All-Star and five-time All-NBA player. I was one of the Heat’s all-time leaders in assists and three-point shots, and our team were consistent winners. But what I remember about the negotiations 219from the other side of the world was that Pat was being a little stingy. I remember our hellacious arguments over the phone. The 12-hour time difference didn’t make things any easier.
We’d go back and forth, back and forth about numbers and what I deserved. Since I was away in Australia, we couldn’t talk face-to-face, which I would have preferred. I felt the Heat owed me for a long tenure of sterling service. I wanted a two-year deal, but Riley didn’t. I said, “Pat, why are you putting me through this?” There was a lot of cussing on the phone, but if we were face-to-face there wouldn’t have been. Back and forth, back and forth. I don’t remember what he was trying to lowball me with, but I do remember him saying we hadn’t won a championship yet—he threw that at me. But I threw back at him that I was the best point guard he’d had since Magic. Back and forth, back and forth. I knew I had value to the team, and I knew that I’d played under that value for several years. When you thought of the Miami Heat, I was one of the first people that came to mind. So it was time to take care of me.
But I also knew that it was the GM and president’s job during negotiations to devalue me. Even so, my agent Henry Thomas and I were just not going to accept that. In Sydney, Zo was trying to play the role of mediator. “Hey Bigs,” he’d say. “Hey Bigs, why don’t you just take this offer?” I was like, “Look, motherfucker, you got Your money, how come I can’t get mine? They just gave you $120 million, you don’t think I’m worth at least $20?” And Zo didn’t really have anything to say after that. Pat got him his money and power, how come I couldn’t get mine? Still, it was odd negotiating with a guy who was both president and coach.
On the one hand, the coach is supposed to build you up and make you a winner. But the team president was trying to make 220sure he saved millions off your deal. He makes you second-guess yourself. So I had to stand strong and go in there and make sure Pat at least heard my voice during the entire process. Henry Thomas stuck up for me, but I had to make Pat know there was a human being on the other end of that phone. Only I could say exactly what I wanted. If the other side of the talks doesn’t want to hear your voice, then you know they don’t respect you. If they want the conversation to be one-sided, then they don’t give a damn about you. I had to be heard.
Eventually, we came to a decent solution. That summer, I signed a one-year, $12 million deal, which made me the highest paid point guard for the upcoming season. There were bonuses in there for wins and if I kept my weight down and, if I hit all those, I’d get a little more. The deal wasn’t long, but it was rich and I was okay with that. I was good with money and knew I wasn’t going to blow it on stupid shit. I’d save it, like the NBA told you to do in those rookie seminars where they warned about the perils of being a rich and famous athlete. Predators are everywhere (sometimes even on your own team). Thankfully, I knew what I was doing.
But the strangest part of the Olympics was Zo’s crazy traveling schedule and what happened afterward. During the middle of the Olympics, his wife gave birth. And, as to be expected, he left the team to fly from Sydney back to the east coast to be there for the birth of his child. Just hours later, he got back on a plane and flew the 10,000 miles back to Sydney to continue playing. He was in the air going up and down for, like, twenty-four hours straight. Later, Zo began to experience some serious, life-threatening health issues. While none of us on Team USA were doctors, we couldn’t help but wonder if something happened to 221him during that extreme schedule. Did he eat something that messed his body up? Did all that flying fuck his up equilibrium? Zo flew for a day straight, and that just can’t be good for you. Again, I’m only speculating, but not long after the Olympics he began to feel the effects of very serious kidney issues. I was one of the first people to see Zo in his sick state. After the gold medal game, we were in the locker room and he asked me to look at his lower leg. We pushed the skin in on his leg and instead of it coming right back out, it stayed in and looked like Play-Doh. It didn’t come back out right away like it was supposed to. Even the doctor didn’t know what was going on or why that was happening. He told Zo to get back to the States for tests.
It wasn’t until we got back to America that we were able to figure out what was happening. They ran about a million tests on him, and what came back was kidney failure. Zo thought it might have been all the pain killers he took to stave off injuries, but no one really knew the cause. Maybe it was a combination of several things, from flying to the meds. A chemical imbalance. Either way, it was bad news for him and his family and, to a lesser extent, our team. After the Olympics, Zo consulted with numerous doctors, and the conclusion each came to was that he had to retire immediately.
But that wasn’t something he was comfortable with. While he wasn’t expected to play moving forward, he ended up coming back for a few games toward the end of the 2000–01 season and was able to play most of the 2001–02 season as well (though had to miss the following year due to his kidney issues). He eventually had to get a kidney transplant from a family member. He met with a team of doctors who worked for years—and continue to today—to keep him healthy. During his career, Zo was 222one of the league’s most physical players. He endured all kinds of injuries and always bounced back. But this? This was something else entirely. He was just thirty years old, and now his life was threatened. It was horrible to watch, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, let alone my close friend and teammate.
* * *
While it was less important compared to Zo’s situation, we still had to figure out our upcoming season. So Pat went to work and, in the offseason, picked up talented shooting guard Eddie Jones and bruising power forward Anthony Mason (another former Knick) from Charlotte, trading away Jamal Mashburn and P. J. Brown. Pat also traded for the young undersized center Brian Grant from Portland and signed his former Showtime power forward, A. C. Green. With those deals, we had almost an entirely new team going into the 2000–01 season. It was crazy, but also something of a fresh start.
With all our losses to New York and now the loss of Zo to this health scare, it was hard not to feel at times like the Miami Heat were snakebitten. It was just one thing after another. But Pat was undeterred. You could just see his mind always turning, the wheels going, and so he remade the roster to improve on our weaknesses and hold our own in the East. We knew he was serious about the season, which set the tone for the rest of the team. Eddie Jones could score. Mason was a beast. And Brian Grant was an up-and-coming star in the league. With our revamped roster, we knew we could win and even contend for a championship.
It would take time to develop chemistry, but that was my department. In training camp, Pat talked us up. He told all of us 223that we had one goal in mind: to win it all. Now, I don’t know if, in his heart of hearts, he believed it—what else was he going to say? That we were going to fail? No. But Pat got the troops hyped—especially the new guys who’d never seen how convincing he could be. Pat instilled confidence like a military man. If you had doubts, he removed them from your mind. That was his job. But no matter what, I knew my job. All I ever tried to do on any given day was win. To take it to the opponents and put a notch in the win column.
One of the new guys who was already familiar with Pat was Mason. He’d played for Riley for years in New York with the Knicks. They’d gone to the NBA Finals together in 1994. Mason, God rest his soul, was a wild man. The stories I’d heard about him in college at Tennessee State and in the pros were outlandish, both on and off the court. He always made sure to intimidate during games, making sure people wouldn’t fuck with him or his guys. But in practice, Mason was a great guy. He loved his teammates, was always in shape and ready to play. He just wanted to do it his way. So, sometimes you just had to let him.
Playing for Team USA is high pressure. When you play for America, you’re supposed to win. A gold medal is expected. So you have to channel that pressure and use it to your advantage. The best example of this was probably Carter’s dunk on Frenchman Frédéric Weis. It happened on September 25—a day that will live in infamy. In our game against France, their players were about to run a fast break when one of their guys tried an errant spin move and behind-the-back pass—but Carter plucked it out of the air. In a flash, he was airborne. Vince cocked the ball up behind his head and jumped higher than perhaps any human ever has. The only person between him and the basket was Weis. Boom! A first-round pick by the Knicks in 1999 (the summer prior), the 7-foot-2 center’s career was never the same after VC posterized him. The ball might as well have been a grenade, as Carter put it through the net with such an explosion, spreading his legs as he leapt full over Weis in one perfect exhibition of athleticism. Ouch.
As a team, our strategy in the games was simple. Our coach, Rudy Tomjanovich, a two-time NBA champion with the Houston Rockets in the mid-1990s, instituted a couple of sets. But mostly, we wanted to play tight defense and get out and run, deal with the physicality, and use our superior athleticism.
Everyone brought something unique to the table, from shooting to shot blocking to trash talking. If we slowed the game down and played half court, we looked to post up our bigs. If they didn’t have a scoring option, they got the ball back out to a guard to make something happen on the perimeter.
214 We didn’t want to be the first team in recent memory to lose in the Olympics. We never talked about that, but we all felt it. European teams spend more time together than the US does. While we’re more talented, we can lack chemistry. Thankfully, we were a great group that year. We built our bonds in practice. Man, a lot of people think that if you’re not starting on Team USA, you’re going to be disgruntled. That was not the case. All of us on that team were starters, All-Stars, making millions, and many were future Hall of Famers. But the coach has to make his decision on the best five in the moment.
The only thing that fucking mattered was gold. It wasn’t a popularity contest, it wasn’t a dick-measuring contest. Gold. We were all on the same page. There were a lot of guys, including myself, who didn’t get a ton of minutes on the team. But you know what didn’t matter? That. You know what did? That’s right, gold.
The practices were fun, but also cutthroat. We had a great time, our families had a great time. But on the court, it was a matter of pride and of pushing the next guy. We often played one-on-one knockout games against each other—full court! I remember seeing Garnett win something like 15 or 16 in a row, he was that talented and in that great of shape. He took that shit very seriously and screamed things like, “Y’all ain’t shit! I’m the best!” The competitiveness was at an all-time high. Lots of shit talking. No fisticuffs, but lots of guys in each other’s faces. All for the sake of glory. Our gym in Hawaii leading up to the tournament was hot, with no air conditioning. But no one minded. We were there to sweat, to work.
It was also marvelous watching Carter come into his own in real time—especially when he hit that dunk over the Frenchman, it’s still legend.
215 To no surprise, we breezed through all the early-round games. But our toughest matchup of the tournament came in the semifinals against Lithuania. We’d won our first six games handily, defeating the likes of China, Italy, New Zealand, France, and Russia. Yet, when we matched up against Lithuania, it was much more difficult.
The country was without their retired legendary center Arvydas Sabonis and my former Golden State teammate Šarūnas Marčiulionis. Still, though, late in the game, we found ourselves in hot water. To begin the contest, we went up big in the first half but then they fought back in the second. And with a minute left in the game, we found ourselves tied, 80–80. If we lost the matchup, we’d be playing for the bronze medal—not silver, not gold. And no USA team is happy with that. In this country, we have standards—and that standard is always to bring home the gold. It was getting tight out there on the court, to say the least.
Then with just 43 seconds left, our power forward Antonio McDyess, who’d come in for Zo when he fouled out, fouled one of their three-point shooters in the act. A cardinal sin. When Zo exited, I’d yelled to our coaches, “Put McDyess in! We need a big!” That wasn’t looking like the best idea, though. Lithuania, thankfully, could only hit a single free throw. On our next possession, Carter scored a floater, putting us up by one with 31.3 seconds left. After a great defensive stop by Garnett, in which Lithuania ended up fouling him, he was put on the line for the chance to make it a three-point game. Uncharacteristically, Garnett missed both. McDyess, however, got the offensive rebound and laid the ball in for the score. After a quick field goal by Lithuania, they fouled Kidd to put him on the line, where he hit the first shot. The second, however, bounced out, 216and a melee went down for the ball between both teams, ending with McDyess and Lithuanian Ramūnas Šiškauskas on the floor with possession, leading to a jump ball. McDyess was able to win the tip, but the call on the court gave the ball to Lithuania. So with 4.6 seconds remaining, and us up 85–83, it was up to our defense to get us the win. And, thanks to great defense from Kidd and McDyess, Šarūnas Jasikevičius was forced to throw up a running three, which fell short of the hoop. Phew!
That quick, Antonio went from scapegoat to hero. If he hadn’t gotten that board, it would have been rough for all of us back home. And the coaches deserve a lot of credit for putting him in the game. In the next round, we beat France again for the gold, 85–75. Thank goodness. While it wasn’t the most dramatic game of the tournament, the France gold medal game was up there. There was lots of drama in the second half. They played their asses off. They wanted to win it as much as we did. But we prevailed thanks to a bit more talent and a bit more good fortune.
By the final game, you’re gassed. You’re tired. You’re exhausted. But you have to dig for that little bit more. It’s just like the later rounds of the playoffs. You don’t have anything left, but you have to give it a bit more. I remember we were up just a couple points and France had a chance to go up on a three, but they missed. Then we took the ball down and scored. We’d simultaneously dodged a bullet and took the air out of them. When the buzzer sounded, we’d won.
Let me tell you this: When you win a gold, no one can tell you nothin’. At least, that’s how I felt. I was on top of the world. My teammates and I had Won Gold! In Sydney, Australia! I got gold. We got gold. USA got gold. I was walking around 217everywhere I could after that with my chest out: I’m a mother-fucking gold medalist. You can’t tell me shit! Don’t even talk to me at all right now!
The Olympics made stars of many of our players. In terms of VC, especially, that dunk over Weis was his coming out party on the world stage. After that dunk, KG told VC, “Man I thought I was the best until that shit happened!”
When I got into games, I’d pick up my man full court, fight over screens, make it difficult for him to get his team in rhythm. If I was to play 10–12 minutes, it would be the hardest 10–12 minutes I could. For us, it wasn’t about how many points you scored, but about getting the win. However, that can sometimes be lost when you’re worried about playing time and paychecks. I only averaged about 5.5 points per game, which was about 20 percent of what I did at my peak in the NBA. But no one was counting stats. There was only one number that mattered: victories. And, thankfully, we achieved gold.
It’s rare for teammates like me and Zo to win gold together. Karl Malone and John Stockton did it with the Dream Team. LeBron James and Anthony Davis did it in 2012 and 2024. But it’s rare. Zo and I celebrated that fact all summer. It was rewarding to be on a team with such amazing players. Perhaps to the surprise of some, there was no shit talking between us. Me and Allan Houston didn’t say a word about the Knicks-Heat rivalry. That was all in the past. For us, it was about Team USA and taking on the world. We’d all been together for several years. Before the 2000 games, we had our work cut out for us, having to play in Puerto Rico just to qualify for 2000.
That summer, we were coached by Larry Brown. He was sitting in for Rudy, who was dealing with some personal issues. 218Brown would later lead the 2004 Olympic team, which had its own struggles. Playing under the Team USA microscope, we formed tight bonds. There may have been a little recruiting on the side, too. Some guys were trying to get Vince Carter or Kevin Garnett to switch teams, talking about all the rings that could be won together! Could you imagine VC or KG on the Heat with me and Zo? That would have been unstoppable. It was a pipe dream, of course, but still fun to talk about on the bus or in practice.
When all eyes are on you, a tight-knit feeling is born if you respond to it. Today, Team USA is a brotherhood. That was exemplified again just recently in 2024, when I got together with some of my Olympic teammates at the USA Basketball showcase ahead of the Paris games, and even took a selfie with former President Obama, Gary Payton, Reggie Miller, and others. Being a part of the Olympics creates a brotherhood that lasts a lifetime. In the end, the experience was unforgettable. Everyone knew their roles and everyone succeeded within them. That’s what a team is supposed to be about.
* * *
While I was in Sydney, I was also negotiating my next contract with Pat Riley back in the States. For much of my career, I’d either played on contracts that were fair, or I’d taken a discount for the sake of long-term financial security. Now it was time for me to get paid, to enjoy some of the rewards of being a five-time All-Star and five-time All-NBA player. I was one of the Heat’s all-time leaders in assists and three-point shots, and our team were consistent winners. But what I remember about the negotiations 219from the other side of the world was that Pat was being a little stingy. I remember our hellacious arguments over the phone. The 12-hour time difference didn’t make things any easier.
We’d go back and forth, back and forth about numbers and what I deserved. Since I was away in Australia, we couldn’t talk face-to-face, which I would have preferred. I felt the Heat owed me for a long tenure of sterling service. I wanted a two-year deal, but Riley didn’t. I said, “Pat, why are you putting me through this?” There was a lot of cussing on the phone, but if we were face-to-face there wouldn’t have been. Back and forth, back and forth. I don’t remember what he was trying to lowball me with, but I do remember him saying we hadn’t won a championship yet—he threw that at me. But I threw back at him that I was the best point guard he’d had since Magic. Back and forth, back and forth. I knew I had value to the team, and I knew that I’d played under that value for several years. When you thought of the Miami Heat, I was one of the first people that came to mind. So it was time to take care of me.
But I also knew that it was the GM and president’s job during negotiations to devalue me. Even so, my agent Henry Thomas and I were just not going to accept that. In Sydney, Zo was trying to play the role of mediator. “Hey Bigs,” he’d say. “Hey Bigs, why don’t you just take this offer?” I was like, “Look, motherfucker, you got Your money, how come I can’t get mine? They just gave you $120 million, you don’t think I’m worth at least $20?” And Zo didn’t really have anything to say after that. Pat got him his money and power, how come I couldn’t get mine? Still, it was odd negotiating with a guy who was both president and coach.
On the one hand, the coach is supposed to build you up and make you a winner. But the team president was trying to make 220sure he saved millions off your deal. He makes you second-guess yourself. So I had to stand strong and go in there and make sure Pat at least heard my voice during the entire process. Henry Thomas stuck up for me, but I had to make Pat know there was a human being on the other end of that phone. Only I could say exactly what I wanted. If the other side of the talks doesn’t want to hear your voice, then you know they don’t respect you. If they want the conversation to be one-sided, then they don’t give a damn about you. I had to be heard.
Eventually, we came to a decent solution. That summer, I signed a one-year, $12 million deal, which made me the highest paid point guard for the upcoming season. There were bonuses in there for wins and if I kept my weight down and, if I hit all those, I’d get a little more. The deal wasn’t long, but it was rich and I was okay with that. I was good with money and knew I wasn’t going to blow it on stupid shit. I’d save it, like the NBA told you to do in those rookie seminars where they warned about the perils of being a rich and famous athlete. Predators are everywhere (sometimes even on your own team). Thankfully, I knew what I was doing.
But the strangest part of the Olympics was Zo’s crazy traveling schedule and what happened afterward. During the middle of the Olympics, his wife gave birth. And, as to be expected, he left the team to fly from Sydney back to the east coast to be there for the birth of his child. Just hours later, he got back on a plane and flew the 10,000 miles back to Sydney to continue playing. He was in the air going up and down for, like, twenty-four hours straight. Later, Zo began to experience some serious, life-threatening health issues. While none of us on Team USA were doctors, we couldn’t help but wonder if something happened to 221him during that extreme schedule. Did he eat something that messed his body up? Did all that flying fuck his up equilibrium? Zo flew for a day straight, and that just can’t be good for you. Again, I’m only speculating, but not long after the Olympics he began to feel the effects of very serious kidney issues. I was one of the first people to see Zo in his sick state. After the gold medal game, we were in the locker room and he asked me to look at his lower leg. We pushed the skin in on his leg and instead of it coming right back out, it stayed in and looked like Play-Doh. It didn’t come back out right away like it was supposed to. Even the doctor didn’t know what was going on or why that was happening. He told Zo to get back to the States for tests.
It wasn’t until we got back to America that we were able to figure out what was happening. They ran about a million tests on him, and what came back was kidney failure. Zo thought it might have been all the pain killers he took to stave off injuries, but no one really knew the cause. Maybe it was a combination of several things, from flying to the meds. A chemical imbalance. Either way, it was bad news for him and his family and, to a lesser extent, our team. After the Olympics, Zo consulted with numerous doctors, and the conclusion each came to was that he had to retire immediately.
But that wasn’t something he was comfortable with. While he wasn’t expected to play moving forward, he ended up coming back for a few games toward the end of the 2000–01 season and was able to play most of the 2001–02 season as well (though had to miss the following year due to his kidney issues). He eventually had to get a kidney transplant from a family member. He met with a team of doctors who worked for years—and continue to today—to keep him healthy. During his career, Zo was 222one of the league’s most physical players. He endured all kinds of injuries and always bounced back. But this? This was something else entirely. He was just thirty years old, and now his life was threatened. It was horrible to watch, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, let alone my close friend and teammate.
* * *
While it was less important compared to Zo’s situation, we still had to figure out our upcoming season. So Pat went to work and, in the offseason, picked up talented shooting guard Eddie Jones and bruising power forward Anthony Mason (another former Knick) from Charlotte, trading away Jamal Mashburn and P. J. Brown. Pat also traded for the young undersized center Brian Grant from Portland and signed his former Showtime power forward, A. C. Green. With those deals, we had almost an entirely new team going into the 2000–01 season. It was crazy, but also something of a fresh start.
With all our losses to New York and now the loss of Zo to this health scare, it was hard not to feel at times like the Miami Heat were snakebitten. It was just one thing after another. But Pat was undeterred. You could just see his mind always turning, the wheels going, and so he remade the roster to improve on our weaknesses and hold our own in the East. We knew he was serious about the season, which set the tone for the rest of the team. Eddie Jones could score. Mason was a beast. And Brian Grant was an up-and-coming star in the league. With our revamped roster, we knew we could win and even contend for a championship.
It would take time to develop chemistry, but that was my department. In training camp, Pat talked us up. He told all of us 223that we had one goal in mind: to win it all. Now, I don’t know if, in his heart of hearts, he believed it—what else was he going to say? That we were going to fail? No. But Pat got the troops hyped—especially the new guys who’d never seen how convincing he could be. Pat instilled confidence like a military man. If you had doubts, he removed them from your mind. That was his job. But no matter what, I knew my job. All I ever tried to do on any given day was win. To take it to the opponents and put a notch in the win column.
One of the new guys who was already familiar with Pat was Mason. He’d played for Riley for years in New York with the Knicks. They’d gone to the NBA Finals together in 1994. Mason, God rest his soul, was a wild man. The stories I’d heard about him in college at Tennessee State and in the pros were outlandish, both on and off the court. He always made sure to intimidate during games, making sure people wouldn’t fuck with him or his guys. But in practice, Mason was a great guy. He loved his teammates, was always in shape and ready to play. He just wanted to do it his way. So, sometimes you just had to let him.
