The Golden Age of Basketball

Chapter 675 A New World
We had high hopes for the 1991-1992 season, but the team's performance remained lukewarm.

After a mediocre 52-game season with a 50% winning percentage, Don Chaney was replaced by Rudy Tomjanovich.

Rudy Tomjanovich used to play for the Rockets, so he knows how the players feel and behave.

He is neither a coach like Bill Fitch who says "I don't care if you like me" nor a coach like Don Chaney who says "I want to be everyone's friend".

He understands basketball, and he let us play basketball.

Although we didn't perform as well in the last third of the season as we did in the first two-thirds, and although we didn't make the playoffs, putting Rudy in charge of the team is a positive change and a good sign for the Rockets' future.

Unfortunately, when I looked ahead to my future, I didn't see the respect I deserved from management.

The entire league had evolved to another level, and in 90, I discovered that my contract was outdated and needed to be renegotiated.

Charlie Thomas and I developed one of the best player-owner relationships in the league. I had dinner at his house, he hosted a party for me in California with his friends, and he picked me up in his private jet.

We spend a few weeks together every summer, and I thought my contract would be handled by management, and they would make the right choice.

But when it comes to business and money, Charlie becomes a different person.

The Rockets did not pay me the salary I deserved based on market value; instead, they offered me a contract extension!
Good heavens, in the 90s there were still teams that wanted to extend the contracts of their key players.

Doing this simply sets my future salary at today's market value, and then I keep chasing after it.

The league's salary levels kept soaring, and by the time the contract extension took effect, the contract amount was outdated, and I still didn't receive the compensation I was owed.

For some reason, I thought about the distance between myself and Forrest Gump. His salary would never be delayed, and neither would his abilities, which made me anxious.

But I had no bargaining power with the Rockets' management. I had already signed a four-year contract that hadn't expired yet, and the Rockets refused to renew it, so I had no choice but to continue playing.

So I accepted the existing conditions and continued to play for the Rockets, earning $200 million a year.

But I was an NBA All-NBA player, an All-Star starting center, led the league in many statistics, and was recognized as one of the league's top players, yet I did not receive compensation commensurate with my value.

Whether for economic reasons or for the sake of player dignity, I must solve this problem.

So in the 1991-1992 season, I went to Charlie Thomas and said, “My current contract is worth too little. It hasn’t increased in the following years; it’s remained the same. You know that’s not fair, so we should sit down and talk about how to resolve this fairly.”

He knew I was telling the truth. I was willing to accept a salary below market value, but he had to pay me a salary commensurate with my worth.

Other teams have already adjusted player contracts to reflect market value in response to the salary cap changes, and Charlie said he would do the same, but he didn't.

In March 1992, as things gradually deteriorated, I approached Charlie Thomas again, asking him to keep his promise and do something about my contract. He told me to call him.

I called twice, but he didn't answer. So I called again and left a message for his secretary saying that I wouldn't call again.

He quickly returned the call and said, "Talk to Steve, we'll figure something out."

Steve Patterson has succeeded his father, Ray Patterson, as the Rockets' new general manager.

He's not the kind of person who's happy about young players making big money.

Steve told me, "You make more money than anyone else on the team."

I told him, "Because I've contributed more than anyone else on the team!"

Just as negotiations for a new contract were underway, I strained my hamstring during a game against the Portland Trail Blazers.

A hamstring strain cannot be seen on an X-ray or MRI. It won't turn blue or purple; it will only hurt so much that you can't run.

I couldn't compete with a strained hamstring, so I had to sit down and receive treatment.

I was receiving treatment in the trainer's room when Steve Paterson came to the training camp to watch the training.

He asked, knowing the answer already, "Where is Hakim?"

Instead of going into the locker room to take a look, he called the therapist to ask what the problem was.

The therapist told him that the hamstring injury was not serious and would heal in a few days.

But I wasn't well, I couldn't play. The Rockets were fighting for a playoff spot, and if I couldn't play, the team couldn't win.

Patterson thought I was faking my injury to avoid playing, and he angrily asked, "What's going on? Are you going to play or not?"

I can get to the training field normally, but I can't run because my legs hurt terribly.

Patterson went into the locker room and asked the coach to leave, leaving just the two of us.

“Hakim, this is not a good negotiation strategy. You should play the game.”

"What are you talking about?" I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I wanted to hear him accuse me of being a liar to my face.

“I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. I’ve already spoken to Charlie, and he said you can play, and we’ll renegotiate your contract this summer. I assure you, you’ll get the amount you deserve.”

"Steve, you don't really think I'm using this injury to get a new contract, do you? I'll earn my contract through my performance on the court, not through injuries. You know my worth, you should pay me enough. I have a serious leg strain, but you think I'm lying?"

Steve's face darkened, and he said in a threatening tone, "This will all be in the newspapers, you know. We'll make this public and let public opinion judge it."

For others, if they are injured, they will wear casual clothes and sit on the bench to watch their teammates play.

The Rockets wouldn't allow me to do that; they wanted me to play.

I won't risk ruining my career for these people. If I get seriously injured on the field, they'll abandon me quickly.

I'm reminded of something Forrest Gump once told me: Don't let loyalty hurt you.

You may be loyal to the team, but when you encounter difficulties, the team will not be loyal to you.

I told Steve straight to the point: "I can't play with an injury."

I don't want to argue with management or the boss anymore; let them think what they want.

Just as he threatened, Steve Paterson called the media and accused me of faking my injury.

He told reporters in Houston, "We brought in a whole team of doctors to examine him, and they couldn't find anything wrong. He threatened to stay on the bench and not play because he wanted a new contract. If you put these two things together, it's not hard to understand what's going on."

I was furious when I heard the news. First of all, I never threatened to sit on the bench.

Second, my injury is real, not faked.

“He’s a liar,” I told the reporter. “He questioned my integrity, which is rude. They’re trying to play dirty tricks on me, but they won’t succeed. Nobody wants to play more than me, but I won’t risk playing when I’m injured. Now the Rockets are trying to force me to play injured for the playoffs. I would have done that when I was younger, but not now. I have to think about my career.”

My teammates all agreed with me. Kenny Smith and Audis Thorpe both know that I'm not the kind of person who would lie about injuries; that would be a lack of basic professional ethics.

But the Rockets' doctors didn't think so. After examining me, they declared that I could play.

But I got a second opinion from a sports medicine doctor in Houston, who said I had a hamstring injury and advised me not to compete.

In the final stages of the season, I refused to play, and the Rockets suspended me.

My work ethic is top-notch; I give my all in every game. Yet they suspended me for failing to play according to the terms of my contract and deducted my salary.

They're trying to turn the media and fans against me, making them think I'm a mercenary person who faked an injury to threaten the team for a new contract.

We filed a complaint, and the league commission has launched an investigation. They will determine whether the Rockets' withholding of salaries was a violation of regulations. The hearing will be held after the season ends.

I am not afraid of a confrontation at the hearing. I did not fake my injury, and they will not take a single penny from me.

Patterson and Thomas did not disclose this to the media; they wanted to project a tough stance to pressure me about my contract.

After I was suspended, the Rockets lost five games in a row, getting further and further away from the playoffs.

When I returned from injury, I told management and the media that I wanted to be traded.

“I don’t want to play for the Rockets next season,” I said. “That’s obvious. After management has spoken ill of you, would you want to work for them? I love the city of Houston, but this time it’s not about my teammates or the fans, it’s about management. The damage has been done. I’d rather start over somewhere else.”

I've had enough of Charlie Thomas and Steve Paterson; they've swayed some people into thinking I'm a fraud.

I recovered from an eye injury a year ago, and this year I've been in the hospital being treated for an irregular heartbeat; I have health problems.

If I wanted to take a two-year leave and have them pay me my full salary, I could do so.

If I wanted to use these injuries in contract negotiations, no problem, but that's not my principle.

Their questioning of my character and professionalism is a great insult to me.

They did everything they could to discredit me in front of the fans, the people of Houston, and the entire nation.

I never wanted to have anything to do with them again, and then rumors of the deal quickly spread.

At the time, I had several options: the Heat, the Los Angeles Clippers, the Knicks, and the Orlando Magic were all considering me.

The Rockets lost several crucial games at the end of the regular season, falling to ninth place and failing to make the playoffs.

This is very disappointing. I feel I can no longer waste my time in Houston. I see no chance of beating the Portland Trail Blazers with the Rockets.

After the season ends, I plan to travel all summer.

As I was leaving, I told management, "Give me a call and tell me where I'll be playing next year. Trade me!"

I'm pretty sure I won't be going back to play in Houston. I left the US and went on a pilgrimage to Mecca with some of my friends and brothers.

After a grueling four-day pilgrimage, we went to Medina, one of the holiest places on earth, where everyone who knows it wants to pray.

After returning to the United States, I went to California to spend time with my daughter.

My grandmother would make me breakfast every morning, and I would get up to pray before exercising.

That summer I worked very hard, and I hired a coach named Charles to help me train.

Charles would pick me up every morning, and then we would run together on the beach.

I don't like running on the beach; it's tough for me, but it's worth it and helps improve my endurance.

I will have a light lunch, and in the afternoon I will do strength training.

In the evenings, Charles and I would go to a local high school to play basketball and refine my technique.

Charles also took me to Gold Gym, which he told me was the Mecca for strength trainers.

When I walked into Gold's gym, I completely understood what he meant: the people there were like beasts, huge beasts, even the women.

Everyone was muscular, and at 7 feet tall, I actually looked very thin; some women even looked more robust than me.

"This is a haven for fanatics; if you're not serious, you shouldn't even step inside."

When I arrived at the University of Houston in 1981, they took me to the weight room on my first day, and I couldn't even lift a regular barbell.

Strength has never been my strong suit. Thinking back on all the years of my battles with Forrest Gump, I always lost out in terms of strength. That guy was a monster.

When I talked to the gym burles about Forrest Gump, they all said that the guy was a powerhouse who had conquered many gyms.

So it wasn't until this summer that I really started to take strength training seriously and immerse myself in the tedious barbell exercises.

Three days later, I really enjoyed it, and I realized that these exercises were giving me immediate benefits.

I found that my body became more flexible, and after persisting for a period of time, my body recovered faster, and I could perform many technical movements more easily. My knees and joints became healthier and stronger under the protection of strong muscles.

In addition to strength training, Charles arranged for some high school students to be my sparring partners, and I began to refine my footwork under the basket.

In the past, I never seriously honed my footwork. Back in the University of Houston, every summer I focused on the competition, doing whatever came to mind during the game.

I have never taken a sideline to carefully observe everything I do, to determine which aspects are effective, which are ineffective, which are more efficient, and which are merely illusions.

This is very different.

Charles would play music on the sidelines, which filled the training ground with rhythm.

I started studying the moves by watching videos, scrutinizing every detail, especially the videos of my own fights with Forrest Gump.

I started by pretending to move right, then left, rotating to the baseline, then moving out, then back, repeatedly deceiving the defender.

My body started to develop a rhythm, like I was dancing to music, and I felt like I was dancing on the court.

Gradually, I felt myself reaching my peak.

I used to rely on my hook shot. I liked to move quickly after receiving the ball, turn around, and finish with a swift hook shot.

This worked well, but it was a bit monotonous. I started to hone my shooting skills more, practicing various shots when I was being defended.

I started thinking like a guard, which I realized while watching Forrest Gump's game tapes. He never saw himself as a center.

Position can limit and confine your thinking. In reality, when you step onto the court, no one dictates how a center or a defender must behave.

You can do anything you're capable of.

I carefully refine my steps; some details may seem insignificant, but they are extremely important.

For example, I try to make sure that my inside foot, the one closer to the basket, lands the moment I get the ball, so that when I jump to shoot, I'm already in position with my shoulder facing the basket.

The order of your steps is very important at this time. Start with the inside foot, then the outside foot, and jump after you've adjusted.

If you choose to land on both feet, but your shoulders don't rotate in time, you'll lose your balance, and your jump height will be affected.

You must make adjustments to jump higher and straighter, so you'll have more time to aim at the basket.

After a summer of practice, my jump shot has reached a higher height, my release has become smoother, and I can even pause in mid-air for a moment.

This pause gave me some leeway; if I realized that this shot selection wasn't good, I could make other choices.

I can pass the ball out again, I can observe the shooters on the perimeter, distribute the ball to them, and restart the attack.

This change excites me. I know I've found a way to control the game, and I also understand why the gap between me and Forrest Gump is widening.

Every summer, he's like me this summer, desperately trying to perfect every detail, but I realized it too late.

I need a fresh start, new skills, a new team, a new city.

At the time, my agent was Leonard Amato from Los Angeles. One day, he brought one of his new clients to the high school gymnasium to train with me.

This guy just graduated from Louisiana State University; his name is Shaquille O'Neal.

When Shaq faced me on the court, I knew what he was thinking: he wanted to beat me.

At that time, I was enjoying strength training and improving the details of my movements, and I wanted to test the results.

So I invited Shaq to train with me.

The first thing I noticed about Shaq was that he was much older than me.

I am 6 feet 11 inches tall and weigh about 250 pounds, while he is 7 feet 1 inch tall and weighs about 300 pounds, and he is still growing!

He is a perfect giant; once he enters the restricted area, no one can stop him.

We practiced inside moves together and did offensive and defensive drills.

I received the ball with my back to the basket, then faked to the right—very quickly and convincingly—and he fell for it.

I immediately turned to the left, jumped and shot, and made the shot.

At that moment, he was at a loss; the feint was too fast for him.

However, in the next confrontation, he wouldn't fall for the trick again when I used it.

He has a very strong learning ability, he defends very well, and he's ready to block me.

But I still managed to dodge him with my footwork and, in the confined space, scored a goal with a hook shot.

Overall, it was a wonderful morning, and we trained together for two hours, which was very helpful for me.

Shaq worked very hard, and so did I.

I enjoy playing ball with him; he's a really cool guy.

I told him I really liked his nickname: Shark.

This is a perfect nickname, perfectly matching his name and characteristics.

He seemed a little shy, and he said he also liked my nickname "The Dream".

We talked a lot, and I know he's about to enter the league, and he's bound to cause a sensation.

He asked me a lot of questions about the NBA, especially about centers, how to deal with each opponent, and who is the most difficult to deal with.

I analyzed most of the tough centers in the league with him, and finally told him: You need to watch out for Forrest Gump, he's more dangerous than Shaq.

Shaq had probably heard similar things many times, so he was somewhat dismissive. He asked curiously, "Is Forrest Gump really that amazing?"

I told him seriously, "He's better than any center you've ever faced, and he's a monster. You need to be prepared to fight him for a long time."

At that time, I was too embarrassed to tell him that because I had been in the West for a long time, I had become wavering and wanted to leave.

I'm very comfortable in Los Angeles. There's sunshine, beaches, and plenty of places to play sports—gyms, basketball courts, everywhere.

Perhaps I should go to the Clippers, but at the same time, many other teams have extended offers to me—including the Miami Heat.

There was sunshine and beaches there, and my former teammate, my good brother, Clyde Drexler.

Ever since he learned about my conflict with Houston, he's been calling me, hoping I'll move to the South Coast, but I'm hesitant.

Then a phone call came in, and Steve Patterson told me, "You're going to be sent to Miami. Riley gave you a very good deal. Sorry, Hakim, we have to say goodbye."

At that moment, I remained silent for a long time. I felt a pang of regret. Was I really going to leave Houston? I had been here for 10 years. Was I really going to leave?
But soon, I knew that a new world was about to open up for me.

—Excerpt from Hakeem Olajuwon's autobiography, *Living The Dream*, published in 1996.

(End of this chapter)