The Golden Age of Basketball

Chapter 237 Rebirth from Death
Things got bad in my sixth season with the Clippers. There was no improvement on the court, I'd had enough, and I was fed up with everything about Donald Sterling.

In Los Angeles, the traffic, dust, noise, crowds, pollution, losing games, and making mistakes all exhausted me, which was not what I wanted.

The past five years of my basketball career can be summarized as rest, playing, fracture, rest, healing, playing, fracture, surgery, rest, healing, playing... I could write at least two more lines.

Again and again, like Sisyphus pushing the boulder endlessly, doctors told me countless times that I had to stop, that I could no longer try to return to the NBA, and that I should work on recovering to the point where I could live a normal life.

The doctor told me that if I continued like this, there was a risk of amputation.

Aside from injuries that have kept me off the court, I've been plagued by off-court lawsuits for the past five years. The Clippers have sued almost everyone—including me, the NBA, Lloyds Insurance Company, the Trail Blazers, and so on.

I also sued the Trail Blazers' doctor, Lloyd's sued the insurance broker, and the NBA Players Association sued the NBA. It's like the Ouroboros in Greek mythology, endlessly devouring itself.

My time, energy, resources, and spirit were also consumed by these things. The birth of my son Luke was a ray of light that illuminated me, followed by a second ray of light from Dr. Bill Wagner in Whitty, California.

During a consultation, the other doctors were discussing something terrible: they thought I should have my leg amputated.

"He will encounter trouble for the rest of his life."

"His leg is lame, and it will continue to get worse."

"Pain will not disappear, it will only deepen."

"He can never play ball again."

“We have to cut off his foot; amputation is a very real possibility.”

These voices echoed in my ears like the whispers of demons, but they were not demons, but doctors who cared about my health.

At this moment, Dr. Wagner appeared. After a long period of observation and thought, he said softly, "I have an idea."

He proposed a new surgical method, and amidst the skepticism of the crowd, he detailed this extremely complex surgical procedure.

The surgery required making five large incisions in my leg to operate on various parts of my foot and ankle, including tendons, fascia, and ligaments.

He believed he had found the root of my problem—a congenital piece of cartilage between the navicular and calcaneal bones in my foot, which was hindering normal ankle movement and pressure release.

Dr. Wagner's goal was to try to treat the fused bone and readjust the biomechanics of the ankle joint.

Everyone said it wouldn't work, but Dr. Wagner calmly and resolutely stuck to his position.

When asked how many times he had performed such surgeries, Dr. Wagner said, "Ten times."

How many out of ten people recovered? "None."

But I choose to believe him, to believe that I will be the lucky eleventh, because I want to play basketball.

Although Dr. Wagner sternly warned me, "I'm not doing this so you can play basketball again, but so you can avoid amputation and live a normal life."

Fortunately, the surgery was successful, but I can no longer play for the Clippers. Here, fans wore red beards, used crutches, and had casts on their wrists to walk onto the court for Halloween, winning the festival's best costume award.

I tried to contact Jerry West, but neither the Lakers nor Jerry was interested in me.

They just beat the Celtics to win the championship, and Jerry doesn't want anything to do with me.

I was about to call Reid Auerbach when Coach Jack Ramsey suddenly contacted me.

Our relationship has been improving this season. After a game in Portland, he treated me to dinner, and we made up.

I would say that in the half-season after our relationship was restored, we got along even better than when I was still playing in Portland.

He no longer had to yell at me, criticize my off-court behavior, and I no longer had to hate him. In fact, I found him to have become surprisingly gentle.

I know he is a very competitive person who loves challenges and has a very high sense of self-esteem. This is why we still have a grudge against each other for so long—we have long forgiven each other, but we are unwilling to admit it or take that step.

He took that step and came to Los Angeles, where he shared many of his innermost thoughts with me, and I was deeply moved.

But when he invited me to play for the Portland Trail Blazers, I was very surprised and immediately turned him down.

I said I love it there, but I can't play for Portland anymore, that's impossible.

Jack started talking about the team's changes, saying they replaced the medical team, improved medical procedures, and bought more equipment. I knew all that, and I also knew the Trail Blazers apologized to me in the newspapers, which touched me deeply, but wasn't enough to make me go back to playing.

Listening to Jack's story, his plea that humbled himself, I even felt ashamed of my own heartlessness. Yet, I couldn't forget the pain I had endured over the years; it was too painful.

Then I realized that the person who changed the most was actually Jack; he changed, he changed a lot.

When I said that to him, Jack smiled but didn't say anything.

I asked him why, and Jack said, "I want to win another championship with you."

That sentence almost completely moved me; I knew the Trail Blazers' performance in the Western Conference Finals.

They lack a backup center. Forrest Gump is an unparalleled talent, and I'm a huge fan of his.

But there's still something missing. I know I can't completely agree. I can't convince myself that it would be a betrayal of the pain I've experienced.

I told Jack I needed to think about it some more; I had a summer to make a decision.

After that, I met with Coach Wooden, who encouraged me to follow my heart, break free from my mental constraints, and make the choices that would be most beneficial to my life.

I went to see Donald Sterling and told him I was leaving. Sterling, who was sitting across from me, looked at me expressionlessly.

He said, "Bill, you really want this, don't you?"

I said yes, it's time. I've done my best, and there's nothing more I can do for him and his team.

Sterling sat on his luxurious high-backed throne behind his desk, grinning like a reptile, and told me that if I were to be traded, I would have to give up all the deferred compensation I had accumulated over the years with the Clippers.

Deferred compensation was a salary payment deferral strategy adopted by NBA teams at the time to ensure their financial health. Many players who signed big contracts did this, especially after I experienced so many injuries.

This was a huge sum of money, almost all of my assets, but I still nodded vigorously and said I wanted to be traded.

After that, both Portland and Boston tried to offer me a price, and I met Forrest Gump in September.

He was invited by Wooden to a coaching forum, and this guy always seemed to be hanging around in weird places where he shouldn't be.

Then he came to my house, and the first thing he said to me was, "Bill, the Trail Blazers want to trade me to the Clippers to bring you back."

I knew he was talking nonsense and joking. I laughed and said it was impossible. He said the Trail Blazers are sometimes unbelievably stupid, and nothing is impossible.

If he tries to persuade me to go back to Portland as soon as he arrives, even though I admire him, I will resist him from the bottom of my heart. I don't like lobbyists.

But now I know he isn't; he's my friend. We complained together about how stupid the Trail Blazers were and what ridiculous things they did.

I told him that when I suffered a serious leg injury in 1978, the management didn't believe there was something wrong with my body; they thought there was something wrong with my soul.

So they took me to a faith healer, and one early morning he led me outdoors. We waded into the Willamette River and stood on the knee-deep riverbed.

After sunrise, the scenery was absolutely magnificent. When the sun was higher up, right at the summit of Mount Hood, the therapist grabbed my wrist, stretched our hands out to the sky, and shouted:
"You're healed, you're healed, your foot feels great, now go out there and win us a championship!"

Fuck you, my foot is killing me. I think this guy is insane, and the Trail Blazers management is insane too.

Forrest Gump was shocked by this and said he would have to think carefully about whether to stay in Portland when his contract ended, or perhaps he should take his talents to the warm South.

He didn't talk to me about returning to Portland, not a single word. He just cared about me and talked to me about music, philosophy, and history. His insightful observations still fascinate me.

We talked a lot about his views on history, especially his incisive criticism of American war crimes, which revealed the true nature of American warmongers from a different perspective.

It was a pleasant exchange. He stayed in Los Angeles for two more days, and we trained and played together. He was even more agile and faster than last season, and his turnaround jump shot surprised me.

I know that next season he will shock the league even more than he did in his rookie season.

He then returned to Portland, and then I received news that Larry Weinberger had fired Stu Inman.

I know it's time to go back. All the obstacles in my heart have disappeared. I want to go back to Portland, back to the place I once called home.

—Excerpt from Bill Wharton's autobiography, *Back from the Dead*, published in 2016.

(End of this chapter)