Killer Crossover, page 26
Stern made me feel really small that day, and I had to go ahead and just take it. I understood what he was talking about, and he was right to do it. But then after he was done, he talked to me and said, “Tim, you’re going to do right. And I believe that you’re going to do right because I read good things about you.” 269Stern didn’t tell me exactly what to do. He didn’t tell me how to go about it. He just said, “I believe that you’re going to do right and you’re going to be okay from this.” I responded, “Okay, Mr. Stern.” But I had to pick my face up from the floor. After I left his office, I sought out a proper counseling center so that I could educate myself.
That’s when I found myself at The Yes Institute, a South Miami–based suicide prevention group that focuses on LGBTQ youth and offers counseling to people like me. That place helped me a lot and, to this day, I tell people that if they want to be educated about the LGBTQ community, go to The Yes Institute. When I was there, we focused on a lot of empathy techniques. I remember sitting on benches and having conversations with people there. I enjoyed the experience tremendously and was given a new understanding of the gay community. I knew through and through what I said to Dan was not only wrong, but immensely misguided.
And, to their credit, the people at The Yes Institute were so very kind and welcoming. They told me they understood my situation, why I said what I said, how I grew up misinformed. They knew that I had to change my mind, and were there to help me with an understanding perspective. They respected my choice to come in and see them. A lot of people who say hateful things don’t do anything past a quick apology. But I knew that wasn’t going to be enough for me. I’m so grateful for The Yes Institute’s help. The people there could have shunned me. They could have been horrified by me. But they treated me with respect and, in turn, my eyes were opened.
* * *
270 I want to talk now a little bit about faith. As a kid, I went to a Baptist church with my grandma, Minnie. I remember not exactly being excited to attend, but she dragged me up in the morning and made me go with her. When you’re nine years old, church can feel like punishment. But as an adult, there is a lot of good to find. You start going and listening and identifying with things that are helpful. My father’s mother, Julia, was also religious. To both, the Word was the Word. They would quote the Bible at least once a day. If you ever talked back about it, they’d say, “Stop sassing me, boy!” So I grew up believing in God and the way of life the Bible espoused.
But while the general lessons of discipline and responsibility are good, the downside of all this religion is that you can take some things too literally—and that’s what I did. At times, religious people can be so caught up in adhering to the Word of God that they can forget about people who are just trying to live day to day. It’s easy to become close-minded that way. To let your view of the world narrow. I’m not saying that either of my grandmothers were that way. I do know, though, that I didn’t let myself question enough of what I heard in church. And that, combined with everything I heard about on the streets about gay folks, colored my opinions.
In the end, it’s my fault, though. I was the one who didn’t do the work. I was the one who didn’t consider the lives and feelings of my family members, gay or not. I was the one who said those things to Dan, and I am the one who has had to deal with the consequences ever since. I accept that. I just want people to know that I’m trying, and have been trying, since that Valentine’s Day in 2007. This is something I’ll never live down—I know that. I live through it every single day. I think about it every day. 271While I’ve forgiven myself, it’s always there. I’ve tried to move forward, but someone always brings it up. Someone always has something to say about it.
We say we live in a forgiving culture, but what I said is not something the world can easily forget. And I understand it. I wish it was different. What I told Dan has cost me sponsorships and jobs. Companies like Nike distanced themselves. Even if I’m the perfect guy for a gig, a company will say they won’t hire me because they say people are still thinking about what I said. It’s just not something the world can get past. I dug my own grave. So be it. But at least I know in my own heart that I’ve grown. I can’t demand forgiveness. I can only trust that the people who truly mean something to my life know who I am because I know who I am.
As Pat Riley says, “Adversity introduces a man to himself.” I’ve had to look in the mirror and say to myself often, “Get better. Get better.” Along with my own internal growth, a small benefit to my stupid big mouth has been the recognition that those sorts of comments should never be tolerated. It was a reminder to athletes and to the world at large that ideas like that are wrong, plain and simple. Violence of any kind toward the LGBTQ community should never be tolerated. At the same time, I’m not taking credit for any of that awareness. But I know it happened. Others did some self-evaluation because of me. I can take solace in that. It’s a silver lining.
* * *
After I’d educated myself on the subject, I began to put my new perspective into action. In 2009, I began to work with the Trevor 272Project, a national suicide hotline for gay youth. It’s important for me to say here that you aren’t your lowest or worst day. If you’ve made a big mistake in life, you can come back from it. You can be better tomorrow. And I worked to prove that as much as I could. With the Trevor Project, I helped them raise money. It was important for me to put time in and prove to myself that I meant what I said when I made my apologies. This was not anything I wanted political “points” for.
A few years later, in 2011, I went down to El Paso to fight against religious conservatives who were behind a recall effort to remove local government officials who were pro marriage equality, including then-mayor John Cook. As a Black man, I know what unjust discrimination is like and I should have always realized that was the case with gay people, too. But now I was ready to fight for my brothers and sisters in Texas. I told folks in El Paso who were fighting against marriage equality to, “Grow up and catch up with the times.” People who love one another should be allowed to marry, plain and simple.
I talked about my former UTEP coach, Don Haskins, who was at the forefront of racial equality in the 1960s. “A lot of people said, ‘What is Don Haskins doing?’ But El Paso understood.” I also said during a press conference, “It’s not right to not let the gays and lesbians have equal rights here. If I know El Paso, like they came together when the 1966 team won a championship and Don Haskins started those five [Black] guys, I know the city will grow and understand that gays and lesbians need equal rights.” I know that to some, it may have seemed like a PR stunt, but in my heart I knew I was doing the right thing.
A couple years later, in 2013, I was the first person to sign a petition for a ballot initiative to allow same-sex marriage in 273Florida. The organization Equal Marriage Florida launched a petition to amend the definition of marriage as described in the state constitution, and I wanted to help the group make a statement. So I went downtown to city hall and added my signature. I wanted to show that change was possible. That it was okay to be open to the rights of the LGBTQ community. I said, “If you’re married, you’re married—you should see your significant other in the hospital, make choices for your significant other if you need to make those choices.”
Listen, I know I’ve said it already, but what I said to Dan was wrong. It was born of an ignorant, macho place and I learned quickly that I’d added fuel to the fire, allowing people to ridicule and “other” our brothers and sisters in the LBGTQ community. I’ve never been a bully in my life. I know what it’s like to be hit, to be hurt, and to be made fun of for who you are. If I’d stopped to think about that for three seconds when it came to gay folks, I would have never had said what I’d said. Perhaps my homophobia was a way to make myself feel better for all the abuse I’d incurred earlier in my life—I don’t know. But what I do know is that if I can change, you can change.
In 2013, another NBA player came out and announced he was gay. Center Jason Collins became the first active player in a major sport to make such an announcement. The former Nets big man who had played with the team in back-to-back NBA Finals made headlines with that. When I heard the news, I called Jason to support him. I congratulated him on his decision to make the public statement and I told him I was happy for him. You can’t hold something like that in, I said, because if you do, you’re going to be walking on eggshells all day long. And I told Jason that I hoped no one would judge him for his decision. I 274said he had a friend in me. Today, if I hear young people say dumb crap like I’d said, I straighten them out and make them understand why it’s wrong. That’s important to me, too.
* * *
A couple years ago, I realized I’d never called John Amaechi to formally apologize to him. Someone had reached out to me to let me know that. I thought I had, but I realized I’d just done so in public, not man to man. So I made it a point to call John and talk to him personally and apologize. I’d heard he was skeptical about my attempt to make amends and to change. I understood that. People see a public person make a mistake and then apologize and it can seem like a stunt. But when I called John, I told him how sorry I was. I told him it was beneath me to say what I did, and I should never have done anything to make him feel less-than.
I also told him that I never should have said anything like that about a former colleague, either. Thankfully, John accepted my apology, hearing the remorse in my voice. He said he appreciated me giving him a call and talking to him about it. We wished each other well and said that if we were ever in the same place, we could sit down and talk (John works as a psychologist today in London, England). Some believe he worked behind the scenes to keep me out of the Basketball Hall of Fame for a number of years, but he did nothing of the sort. I’m just happy the air is clear, and we can both move on with our lives.
As for me and Dan, I still see him all the time. He apologized to me, saying he was sorry that our conversation led to such an outcome. Sorry he asked me that question. But I told him 275repeatedly he did nothing wrong. He has nothing to apologize for—he’s just trying to be nice to me because he’s a standup guy. He’s a reporter and was just doing his job. It was my blunder, my screw up. My head that needed examining, not his. Today, I’m just glad I was able to learn and fix what was wrong in my mind. Life is about change. Change is the only constant. Now I can only hope that other people understand that.
276
16 From the South Side to Springfield
Life is remarkable. Sometimes it can feel like a series of rejections after rejections. But then everything can change in a moment. That was the case for me when it came to the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. It was 12:01 p.m. one afternoon when my phone rang. I was in the gym working out. The Caller ID read, “Hall of Fame.” For the past five years leading up to that day, a man named John was on the other end. He calls everybody with the news. And each time so far, he’d told me, “Tim, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any good news for you today.” Knowing it was John on the other end of the line again, my hand started to shake.
I was sweating, scared to even answer it. I thought, God damn, do I even touch this phone? I have to answer it, right? I couldn’t hear another rejection from John. But when I finally took a deep breath and picked it up, John spoke to me on the other end and said, “My man, I finally got some good news for you!” 277Tears streamed from my eyes. They’d already started gathering even before I picked up the phone. But now they were free to fall. When I got to the gym that summer afternoon, I knew my phone might ring, but I didn’t want to think about it. Then when I heard the sound, my stomach turned. Finally, though, it was good news.
John continued. “I want to congratulate you on being inducted to the Naismith Hall of Fame class of 2022.” I thanked him repeatedly. And then when we hung up, after the five-minute call, I just sat there for two or three more minutes, thanking God, saying, “Thank you, thank you!” It had been a long time coming—likely largely due to my own mistakes—but the day was here. Jubilation ran through my veins. Patience paid off. While no one told me directly that my comments on Dan Le Batard’s radio show held up my entry into the Hall of Fame for fifteen years, it was the only conclusion to come to. And if it was, I understood.
Some said I should’ve never made it because of what I said, while others knew I’d worked hard to earn forgiveness. But however we got here, we were here now. One of the greatest (small) point guards of all time with one of the best handles ever was now part of the Hall of Fame! As far as I’m concerned, all’s well that ends well. After I got the call, I had to decide which Hall of Famers I’d ask to help induct me. One of my first calls was to Mully. I told him, “Chris! I’m in!” He was so happy for me. We laughed and he congratulated me. Then I called Mitch, “Mitch! I’m in!” And he said, “In what?” Ha! But both guys were there for me on my big day.
They were joined by the great Detroit Pistons point guard Isiah Thomas and the former WNBA MVP and Carver High 278School graduate from Chicago, Yolanda Griffith. I’d also wanted Tiny Archibald there, but he was unable to attend due to health reasons. Nevertheless, my Hall of Fame weekend was incredible. Truly, making it is my biggest accomplishment as a basketball player. It was the period—no, the exclamation point—on my entire career. Not everyone can make the Hall of Fame, but I’m grateful that I did. My name is etched forever in stone in Springfield, Massachusetts. No one can take that away from me. Officially one of the greatest players ever.
The best part about the weekend was having my parents there (even if they still don’t exactly get along, which I also understand). For me, their presence stood out the most. It was beautiful to have my wife and kids with me and my little brother Donald. But my parents have been with me through everything. From the very beginning. And they’ve each always had confidence in me and stayed positive even when few others would. When I was going through the worst stretch of my life after my conversation with Dan, my parents were very supportive. They both let me know I was wrong in what I said, of course. Like good parents are supposed to do. They talked to me and made me understand what I did was bad, what I said was wrong, and that I shouldn’t be talking about other people that way. They didn’t curse me out or distance themselves, but they expressed disappointment. They also told me I was going to make it right. That they knew my heart was good and that I’d be okay. My parents know me well, and to have them at the Hall of Fame ceremony in 2022 meant the world. The only sad note was that my agent, Henry Thomas, wasn’t there to experience it. He’d passed away five years earlier from Lou Gehrig’s Disease. I wish he could have been there since we’d made the NBA together.
279
* * *
As professional basketball players, we owe so much to the fans. So I was glad to spend the HOF weekend meeting lines of them, signing tons of autographs and doing interviews. Afterward, though, it was time to accept my place in Springfield. It was humbling to be inducted with the rest of the class of 2022, including people like Manu Ginóbili, George Karl, Swin Cash, Lindsay Whalen, Del Harris, and Bob Huggins. When it came to my moment, the great NBA broadcaster Ahmad Rashad gave me a terrific introduction. He began, “It’s often said that a journey of 1,000 miles begins with a single step …”
Then it was time for the punchline. He continued, “But in the case of Tim Hardaway and his journey into basketball immortality, it might be more accurate to suggest that it all began with two steps—or more precisely, the UTEP Two-Step!” Ahmad always did have a way with words! The Hall played video snippets of guys like Nellie, Zo, Riley, and Mully saying nice things about me and my game. Then it was time for me to talk. I thanked all the people there supporting me, from my wife and kids to Isiah, Yolanda, Mully, and Mitch. I thanked Donald Pittman, Nellie, Don Haskins, Micky Arison, Pat Riley, and all my Heat teammates.
Lastly, I took a moment to thank all the people in the NBA offices who stuck by me. I’m sure it wasn’t easy. People like Jerry Colangelo and Adam Silver and the late David Stern. “Men who never wavered in their belief in me, even when it wasn’t always popular.” And I concluded the speech saying this victory was bigger than just me. It was for the entire south side of Chicago. 280“I can’t name all y’all, but y’all know who you are and I love you to death. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” When it was all over, my spirit was full. I’d done what I’d always hoped: I sent love to the people who made me who I am. What could be better?
After the speech, I got my gold Hall of Fame jacket—it fit like a glove. When I put it on, I pantomimed a killer crossover with a giant smile on my face. Then someone asked me who in today’s NBA has a crossover like Tim Hardaway. I laughed and said, “Nobody!” When the NBA started up its next season, the Miami Heat honored me with a Tim Hardaway Night. And I got to thank the city, the fans, and everyone in the organization. When people come out to honor you like that, it makes you know that you did your job right. That you brought joy to people’s lives every night. That same year, the Warriors threw a Run-TMC Night, too. I was on cloud-nine.
Today, I’m the same Tim Hardaway. Making the Hall of Fame was the cherry on my basketball sundae. But, at the same time, it didn’t change me. I’m still a Chicago guy who cares about the next generation, personal growth, the game of basketball, and representing my values the best I can. I tell young people all the time: get an education, stay out of the streets, if you don’t want to do something then don’t do it, and be the best you can be. The Hall didn’t make me a guy who walked with his chest puffed out, because I’ve always been confident in who I am. Coming from where I come from and doing what I did, you have to be that way.
