Killer Crossover, page 23
When you’re calling me a liar, that makes me want to raise my hands on you. But since that is (obviously) a huge no-no in the NBA, I couldn’t do anything. Marc gave me another tech for trying to get at him (some of my teammates held me back). He kicked me out of the game and with that I was just done. As I was walking out, I saw a small boxy TV monitor on the scorer’s table, and I picked it up and threw it out onto the court. The Magic’s Darrell Armstrong later picked it up, brought it back to the table, and plugged it back in. That was funny. After the game, which we lost, 124–102, Darrell and I actually signed the broken thing to auction it for charity. Then I got fined $10,000.
Occasionally in the summers, I’d see Marc at various events in Chicago. He knew he was wrong for what he’d done but never said sorry like a good referee is supposed to. But I could just tell in his demeanor that he knew he was wrong for tossing me out of the game. To this day, Marc and I don’t talk at all. After that incident there’s no sense in trying to talk to him if he won’t apologize. In the end, I regret throwing the monitor because I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me, but when you 236call me a liar and I can’t call you one back, that’s frustrating— especially when you kick me out of the game for it.
After my suspension, I came back to play a few more games for Denver, but then broke the fifth metatarsal bone in my left foot and was done for the season. (Strangely, my son later had the same injury when he was in the NBA.) We had about three weeks left in the season, but that was it for me. It was a bad way to end a difficult year. It was actually the first time I was feeling old as an NBA player. Like my body wasn’t responding as it should. To heal, I flew to Miami two days after the break and got surgery from a doctor I trusted in the area who I was comfortable with. I wasn’t sure if this was going to be the end of my career, but I hoped it wasn’t. I didn’t exactly want to go out like that in Denver.
I averaged 9.6 points and 5.5 assists in Denver but, after the season, my time was up in the mile high city. Over the following summer and into the next year, I healed and bided my time. I was in no rush to get back to the NBA. I’d done a lot, and enjoyed spending time with my family, including baby Nina. Tim Jr. was coming into his own as a young basketball player and Nia was growing into a terrific and talented young woman. To keep busy, I worked as an analyst for ESPN, doing postgame broadcasts. Even so, I continued to work out and hoop. In March, though, my former idol Isiah Thomas called to see if I wanted to join the Indiana Pacers, where he coached.
Isiah wanted to bring me in to tutor his team’s young point guard, Jamaal Tinsley, and I said yes to the idea. A second-year player out of Iowa State, the New York City–born Tinsley was very talented. As a rookie, he scored nearly 10 points per game along with dishing over eight assists. Isiah thought he could 237benefit from a veteran point guard on the roster to show him the ropes. To this day, a lot of people don’t remember how good Jamaal was, what he could do with the basketball, and I was happy to help him grow. So on March 27, 2003, I signed with Indiana to play out the rest of the regular season. In my first game, showing no signs of wear, I dropped 14 points and seven assists against Chicago.
Indiana was solid that year and finished 48–34. The team had a lot of good players and were just beginning to gel—vets like Reggie Miller, Brad Miller, Ron Mercer, Jeff Foster, and Austin Croshere mixed with rising stars like Jermaine O’Neal, Al Harrington, and Ron Artest. What I didn’t know was just how good Artest was. He had a great basketball IQ. That guy understood the game and could take one over with his defense. We had a solid team, but just couldn’t quite get over the mountain top, losing to Boston in the first round. Though it was a short run, it was great to reunite with Isiah.
By the time all was said and done, I played in 10 games for the Pacers, scoring 4.9 points and dishing 2.4 assists per. It was a fine farewell for me, and with that I was ready to call it a career.
The following season, though, I almost came back for one more taste of NBA life. It was a few weeks before the 2003–04 season when the Clippers called me up. One of their rising stars, Duke University product Corey Maggette, said the Clips needed a point guard. “Come help us out, Tim,” he said. So I agreed to give it a shot. Me and the Clips were getting a deal together when I got into a car and headed for the airport to fly to LA.
We were halfway there when I tapped the driver on the shoulder and said, “You know what, man? Turn around.” He balked and said, “Huh?” I repeated, “Turn us around.” I got on my cell 238phone then and called my agent Henry Thomas. “Hank,” I said, “tell them thank you, that I appreciate the offer. But you know what? It’s time for me to retire and be around my kids.” I was finally ready to be a full-time dad and husband. The decision came to me right then and there in that car. It was what my heart told me. I needed to be with my family. I was done with the NBA, and it was at that moment I officially called it quits. My career was complete.
Memory Lane: Scott Williams
I didn’t play with Timmy long—we only overlapped on the Nuggets for about half the season. We were on a really bad Denver squad in 2001–02. Dan Issel was the head coach to start the year, but he was let go after some controversial statements he made to a fan. Mike Evans, who was on staff, took over. We started struggling and Denver started to trade away pieces. They shipped guys like Raef LaFrentz to Dallas, and we got back Hardaway and his “UTEP Two-Step.”
My memories of Tim are of a guy who had a fiery personality and wanted to win. He loved to compete, and I thought that type of energy was right up my alley because that was how I played, too. I wasn’t a star on any team I played for, except maybe in high school! But Timmy’s and my personality were the same from that competitive standpoint. We really meshed well.
The story that I remember—we were in a heated game, and it was close down the stretch, and Timmy got so upset that he took one of those old school TV monitors and smashed it on the court. That was one of those moments from a sports perspective that you always take away because it 239was something unusual. It was both serious and funny at the same time. I don’t remember the aftermath of exactly what happened, but I’m sure the league issued a fine.
But that was Timmy. That was his fiery personality. He could get explosive with his emotions, go from zero-to-sixty. I don’t think there was anybody quicker. But he was a great teammate and a good dude to be around. At that time in my career, I was just trying to enjoy what I thought might be my last year in the league. I knew we wouldn’t make the playoffs, but I enjoyed my teammates as an extension of my family. That was my philosophy.
And he was one of those guys. We would get on a plane or a bus and have conversations after the game. I always loved to talk basketball, but I also enjoyed getting to know guys outside of what we did between the lines—their personalities, behaviors, and mannerisms. Timmy and I were only in Denver a short period of time together, but we made a friendship that has lasted to this day. Now, his boy is playing in the league and that’s just great.
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14 My Boy’s a Baller
During my playing days, it was fun to have Tim Jr. around. When I was with Miami, the team’s assistant coach Stan Van Gundy used to allow him to hang out under the basket while we shot before games. Tim could rebound and pass the balls back out to the coaches, but wasn’t allowed to shoot himself. That was the rule. Stan was strict about that. So, one day Tim came to me to complain about it. “He doesn’t let me shoot, Dad!” Tim was mad about it. Mind you, he was maybe seven years old at the time, so I had to set him straight. “Coach Stan is right. This is the team’s time to shoot, and he’s letting you be a part of it. But it’s not your time, Tim.” I explained that Coach Van Gundy could’ve not let him participate at all, but instead was being nice. If Tim didn’t like the arrangement or didn’t want to abide by the rules, he could go in the back and play with the other kids. “So what do you want to do?” I asked. Tim paused, “Okay, I’ll do what he asks me to do.” I said, “Well, that’s a good answer!” So, he kept rebounding and bounce-passing the ball out to the coaches, who then passed to the players to shoot. 241The deal was that if no one on our team was out there, he could shoot a little, but never if a player was getting his shots up. “Do you understand? I asked. “Yes,” he said.
That, in a nutshell, is parenting. Kids want to do what they want to do, but it takes boundaries and relatively strict rules to help them understand the world doesn’t revolve around them. I was glad for Stan’s direction and help, and that he wasn’t giving my son special treatment other than letting him be out there in the first place. Tim wasn’t on the team, and it wasn’t time for him to play. But Coach still let him be around the guys and soak up what it meant to be in proximity to NBA players. That was more than other children in his position had, and that either needed to be good enough for him or he could leave the gym.
At some point in shootaround, someone saw Tim had a ball and said, “Take a shot, Tim!” But my son responded, “No, my dad told me not to.” I was so proud! He understood and kept with the right approach. And we never had a problem with him at practice again. Of course, being a parent is tough. In a way, all you ever want is to give your kids what they want. But you also know life is a long game and it’s not about instant gratification. I learned that every day when I was growing up. I heard the word no more often than I could count. There has to be rules. But Tim got to be around basketball ever since he was six months old when I was in Golden State.
He loved the game, and I was glad I could give him that. When he started playing as he got older, it was only natural. As a teenager, he played AAU on a team in Miami. He would travel around the city on the squad and then later around cities in Florida (like Orlando), then outside the state to cities like Memphis. I was excited for him and wanted the best for him 242and his game, so I started to teach him how I learned it. But I came on too strong. I acted like a drill sergeant—so much so that one time he looked like he wanted to clock me. As a kid, I put so much pressure on myself to get better, but I had to realize that my son and I are different people.
I watched him, but it was as if my eyes were closed to his game. Sometimes I would say, “If you’re not going to play the right way, we’re not going to come back to these tournaments. I’m not going to spend my money on them anymore.” Now I just shake my head, knowing that was the wrong thing to say. I was frustrated, but for all the wrong reasons. When I hear parents say those things now, I want to tell them how I used to be like that. It took me a while to realize that I’d never really praised my son. I’d never told him, “Good game.” It wasn’t as if I got that from my dad, really. He was rough, but he was always encouraging about my game.
It took me a long time to realize Tim and I are different people. He and I grew up different—he had more than I did as a kid. Of course we would have different mentalities! I realized my error when, as a sophomore in high school, I asked him if he wanted to watch a playoff game on TV, and he said no. He wanted to watch it over at his friend’s house, and kind of just ignored me. I knew something was wrong. First it was Tim’s high school Athletic Director who told me I was messing up. Then my wife Yolanda had to set me straight. “You’re tearing this house up,” she said. “He’s getting tired of all your shit.” I said, “I just want him to learn!” But she said, “He is learning!” So I decided to back off. I decided I would go up to the bleachers and watch him play and not say a word. I told myself, You better check yourself. That kid out there is playing ball, and you have 243to be quiet. I was making him hate the game. Even if he doesn’t play his best, you be positive. Afterward in the car, I gave him the praise he deserved. “You played a really good game,” I said. “Man, you was hoopin’!” He thanked me and I apologized. “I’m sorry that I’ve been on you and been hard with you about this game. And you’re doing the right things out there. Helping your teammates, getting to the right spots.”
Right then and there, everything changed between us. I’d been tearing him down, taking his joy and, in a way, causing a big rift in our family. I had to learn to be better. He had almost quit playing because of me. I’m so glad I stopped trying to be his coach and decided to be his father. It was a big change for me and, looking back, one that took longer than I would have liked. But I’m grateful that I was able to make it. Able to grow. Able to adapt. Basketball is about adapting to what the game needs—so is being a parent. You have to set general rules, but enforcing them requires a little ad-libbing. Life is too short to be so rigid that you hurt people.
Tim started enjoying the game again. He looked forward to basketball. It was no longer a burden on him. He was no longer trying to satisfy me. Instead, he was working to satisfy himself. That was great to see. Only if he asked would I offer advice. Growing up, he’d always been in the gym, but I almost took that from him by how I was acting.
Though his name is Tim Hardaway Jr., he was never going to be Tim Hardaway 2.0. We are different and have different skill sets. Besides, he’s a whole six inches taller than me! A fact he would not let me forget as it was unfolding. As Tim began to shoot up and eventually got taller than me, he’d start calling me “Shorty.” He’d do that thing where you stand close to someone 244and look over the top of their head, as if pretending he couldn’t see me. “Where’d you go, dad?” He’d laugh his butt off at that one. “I don’t see you!” What really got under my skin was when he just started leaning on me like I was some kind of fence post. “Yeah, Shorty,” he’d say, “let me lean on you.” I just told him, “Okay, okay, I see what you’re doing.” It’s a rite of passage, in a way, for a son to do that to his old man, and Tim soon got to be significantly taller than I ever was. He shot up to about 6-foot-5. When that happened, I knew he had a real chance for the next level.
As he grew, so did our relationship. And his game. When he saw I was serious about supporting him, things changed.
My advice to all parents, as a result, is keep your mouth closed—just be cool! Let your child figure themselves out. If you stay on them, there is a good chance they’re only going to resent you and the thing you keep pushing them toward. If you’re criticizing your child, it means you want it more than they do, and then what are you really doing? They have to want it more than you. And if it takes them a little longer to get there, just enjoy the ride. Let them grow at their pace. Besides, they already have a coach and teammates to listen to!
* * *
It was about six years after I retired from the NBA when the Miami Heat decided to retire my jersey. That was a fantastic ceremony where my family, my agent, and many of my teammates and Heat friends came to celebrate my career. The team played a special video for me, complete with announcers calling some of my famous buzzer-beaters. In the video, Riley called me 245one of the most “courageous” players he’s ever coached, and Zo reminded fans that I helped build the championship foundation for the franchise. I may not have won a ring, but others might not have won theirs had I not done what I’d done.
The event took place on Wednesday, October 28, 2009, and it was overwhelming. To see the highlight clips, to walk down memory lane. Pat Riley talked often about the honor I brought to the team. To be surrounded by the people you love and mean the most to you—it’s an experience I wish every player and every person could feel at least once in their lives. And in my life, I’ve been lucky enough to experience it three times. Once in Miami, once at UTEP, and once at Carver High School. I’ve been fortunate to have a trio of places hang my No. 10 jersey from the rafters. Now I’m just waiting for Golden State to call me up!
* * *
The end of the 2000s and heading into the 2010s was a great time for me and my family. In 2009, I played for the NBA Generations team in the 2009 NBA Asia Challenge, which was a string of exhibition games against the Korean Basketball League and the Philippine Basketball Association. The NBA has always been great about growing the game overseas, and I was happy to be a part of that, to give back to the league and to show off my killer crossover in a few new countries. And just a few months after that, my son was making some travel plans for himself. But just where he would go was still up in the air. It was college recruitment time.
Tim and I worked out together in the summers. I found a gym and got players to help him work on his game. He played on my team and I’d get him open, directing him to come off 246screens, get to his spots. I put him through an NBA regimen, knowing he had to be ready. John Beilein at the University of Michigan was one of the first people to come down and watch him work out. “How does it feel to have a dad just throw you the ball all the time?” he’d ask Tim. “You’re the focal point.” John said he’d never seen a dad work so hard for his kid before. Tim knew I was doing everything I could to prepare him, and he took to it like a duck in water.
Those were some of the best times we had together. Making the NBA is near impossible. Fewer than five thousand people in the history of the sport have ever done so. And to have two people from the same family is like seeing lightning strike the same spot twice. A lot has to go right, and making the correct choice for college is at the top of the list. My son made a name for himself at Miami Palmetto High School. Like me, he enjoyed playing multiple sports. He thought about playing football before he focused on basketball exclusively. And it was the University of Michigan that continued to show interest in him as his high school career unfolded.
