Reflections on the “Luckiest guy in the world”

I don’t remember much about the first time I ever saw Bill Walton play basketball, but I’m told I was captivated. The year is 1977 and the Portland Trail Blazers are playing Dr. J and the Philadelphia 76ers for the NBA Championship. I am watching with my dad on a black and white television set. The Blazers won their only title that night and Walton was the ringleader scoring 20 points with 23 rebounds, eight blocked shots and seven assists. 

Decades later, long after his playing career ended, I shared that story with Bill Walton and I showed him my vintage kids Portland NBA Championship t-shirt. He was absolutely delighted.

When I found out that Bill had passed away Monday at the age of 71 after battling colon cancer, I was struck with a feeling of loss.

Everyone who met him has a favorite Walton story and I was fortunate enough to meet and learn from Bill while working at the University of San Francisco and the West Coast Conference. I have rarely been around a more authentically grateful, inquisitive and irrepressible soul. 

Sports takes a toll on the body and the first time I ever saw Bill in person was at a random University of San Diego basketball game in the late 2000’s. I saw a tall, stooped man using a walker and he looked like he was hurting mightily as he shuffled towards the exit. At that point his body had undergone more than 35 orthopedic surgeries. Both ankles were surgically fused. His back had two titanium rods and four four-inch bolts holding it together. 

He contemplated suicide. But he persisted. After recovering from back surgery, Walton returned to broadcasting for the 2012-13 college basketball season, resuming a love affair with the sport and “The Conference of Champions”.

Walton often claimed that overcoming his stuttering problem – at the age of 28 – was the “greatest accomplishment of his life and everybody else’s biggest nightmare.” Once his playing days were over, he took a breath and jumped into a broadcasting career and seldom came up for air. 

The first time I met him I was trying to share crucial details of the upcoming NIT game USF was hosting that night. Bill wanted to talk about the architecture of War Memorial Gym, at one point referring to it as the Boston Garden of college basketball. Then, in mid-conversation, he was handed a tie-dye shirt in USF green and gold colors and he whipped off his ESPN polo shirt and put the on the Dons swag.

I was a bit flabbergasted, which is a feeling most broadcasting partners Walton had over the years experienced more than once. 

The last time I talked with Bill Walton was in 2019 at the newly opened Chase Center in San Francisco a few months before the pandemic hit. He was about to broadcast a tripleheader, including a women’s game. I asked if he was ready to go. His response: “This is not work. This is pure joy. I am the luckiest guy in the world.” 

One could be forgiven for taking that phrase with a grain of salt. The highs were so very high and the lows, very, very low indeed.

Think about the run “Big Red” enjoyed from 1972 to 1978.

UCLA

• Three-time NCAA National Player of the Year (1972-74)

• Two-time NCAA Champion (1972-73)

• Two-time Final Four Most Outstanding Player (1972-73)

Portland Trail Blazers

• Two-time All-NBA (1977-78)

• NBA Finals MVP (1977)

• NBA Most Valuable Player (1978)

Portland was riding high in 1977-78 opening the year at 50-10, prompting dreams of back-to-back championships before Walton went down with a career-threatening injury. He would only play two more games for the Blazers. In 209 games in Rip City, Walton averaged 17.1 points, 13.5 rebounds, 4.4 assists and 2.6 blocked shots.

From 1979 to 1984 a hobbled Walton battled a myriad of foot, leg and back injuries and in five seasons only twice played more than 50 games in a season.

Instead of succumbing to bitterness and resentment and self-pity, Walton persevered and overcame obstacles with his typical zest for life. 

He would bounce back with a swan song for the ages in 1985-86 as the NBA Sixth Man of the Year for Boston, helping the Celtics – one of the four best teams ever assembled – roll to the championship. The next season his playing career was over after 10 games.

A passionate activist since his early days at UCLA, Walton was arrested and jailed for protesting the Vietnam War – at the time almost unheard of for a college athlete. He organized student protests and occupied the campus quad. One day FBI agents showed up to his house questioning him about his involvement with Patty Hearst. 

In a rare break with his hero, mentor and head coach John Wooden, Walton said, “Look, you can say what you want, but it’s my friends and classmates who are coming home in body bags and wheelchairs. And we’re not going to take it any more. We have to stop the craziness, and we’re going to do it now.”

One of Wooden’s favorite stories about Walton goes something like this. Walton showed up to UCLA’s training camp with a long scraggly beard and hair, far exceeding Wooden’s mandate of no facial hair and short, trimmed hair. Walton argued it was a method of personal expression and it was his right to wear his hair anyway he wanted.

Wooden’s response: “That’s good Bill. I admire people who have strong beliefs and stick by them, I really do. We’re going to miss you.”

Wooden was right once again. Bill, we’re going to miss you.