I May Be Wrong But I Doubt It Read online

  I may ask a dozen people about something, especially when it’s a sensitive topic or something that’s likely to be explosive. And I like getting input from smart people and people who’ve experienced things I’ll never experience or haven’t yet experienced. But ultimately I’m going to make up my mind and say what I really feel. Saying something just for the hell of it isn’t worth anything because unless you provoke some conversation, what you’re saying is irrelevant. Just because I say something and get a strong reaction or a negative reaction from somebody doesn’t mean I didn’t anticipate it. I don’t like getting caught off guard. Hell, a lot of times I know exactly what’s coming and I say it anyway because I feel it needs to be said, or I need to be confrontational on a certain issue. But I’ve thought about it, trust me.

  And I also know people think, “Charles is just saying that to get attention.” And, yes, there are times I’ll say something crazy or silly because I’m not going to be serious all the damn time. And other times the way to make an important point is by using humor. But when you read my comments in interviews it’s not like I was seeking attention. Somebody asked me to sit and talk about something. I didn’t go to some publication or network and say, “Hey, I’ve got some shit to say.” They called and asked me to talk about a number of issues. I’ve started telling people, “Don’t ask me if you don’t want to hear what’s really on my mind, or what I feel is the truth about a subject.” Is it okay to express myself only as long as I say what somebody hopes I’ll say? Do you think I’m going to say something I don’t feel, or just tell people something they want to hear?

  In March of 2002 I did a piece for Sports Illustrated with the magazine’s longtime basketball writer Jack McCallum, and immediately after it ran I must have had two hundred people come up to me and start to tell me their opinions, what they liked and didn’t like. Some people who said they didn’t even subscribe to Sports Illustrated said they picked up the issue and read the piece. Most of the media reaction to it had to do with my opinions about Augusta National changing the course, and why I thought they were targeting Tiger Woods. A lot of people come up and say they disagreed with what I said about Augusta National, but I haven’t had anybody say to me they disliked the things I discussed in the piece. I would say to almost all of them, “Okay, you disagree with my view on Tiger and Augusta, that’s cool. But what did you think of the entire article?” See, it wasn’t as important for them to agree with me as to get whoever read it engaged in some sort of discussion or debate about the bigger picture.

  I’ve been criticized for expressing certain views for nearly twenty years. And even though I never minded getting hammered, toward the end of my career I was thinking, “Let me finish my playing career before I start seriously discussing all the social issues of the day. I’ll still be in the public spotlight because I’m probably going to be in TV to some extent. Then I’ll be better able to handle it.” The more serious the subject matter, the more time you need to spend thinking about it and the harder people come at you if they disagree. As I said, I don’t have any problem with people who disagree with me because the real reason you take on serious issues is to get some dialogue started on difficult and sensitive topics. But disagreement and ridicule are not the same thing.

  Another reason I’m looking at a transition is I don’t know that you can give full attention to subjects as serious and as sensitive as race and the economy and education, then just shift into doing all sports. I don’t know if the two go together. I’ve always contended that sports don’t help black people. . . . We don’t own any of the franchises, don’t run any leagues, barely run any teams. You talk to these kids and all they want to talk about is sports, and I guess they don’t realize how little other than playing sports black people have to do with the industry. But they all want to play sports. Playing sports is fine, but too often it’s all they want to do.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love sports as much as anybody ever has, and I’ll still be doing my work for Turner during the NBA season, which is a lot of fun. But my duties in Atlanta will be expanded to include appearing weekly as a special contributor and commentator on CNN’s show TalkBack Live, as well as other CNN programming. And I’m going to take that very seriously because the show deals with serious subjects. The primary reason I turned down an opportunity at HBO is that it would have been exclusively sports. And it was a damn attractive situation. I would have worked on HBO’s Inside the NFL—not with football analysis, because they have former NFL players and coaches who already do a great job of that, but doing interviews. I think I would have liked it.

  But I need to transition because there are so many things people don’t want to talk or think about, things I think I can get them to think about. Most of the reporters who ask me questions are white; almost all are doing well financially. Most don’t want to talk with me, a person they see involved only in the industry of sports, about issues that concern black and Hispanic and poor white people. I don’t think they see that stuff as something they can sell their readers or viewers.

  How is it possible that 80 percent or more of the NBA is black, and there are still so few black writers covering the league? How is that? How many black writers cover the NFL? It’s still a handful from the conversations I’ve had with my friends in the media. It’s a travesty. I know writers and broadcasters all over the country, and I know it’s a more diverse group now than it’s ever been, and that’s really sad because it’s still bad. I know a lot of white reporters who are real nice guys and very good at what they do. But many of them just don’t care about this stuff and others don’t get it. And when the reporter does care, I know for a fact sometimes the boss—the editor or producer or whoever—doesn’t give a damn and figures the readers don’t care. “You think the people reading this sports section give a shit about poor-people issues? Man, you better bring me some stories where the coach is talking bad about the player or the player is talking bad about the coach.”

  I pick up the very same publications and read columns or editorials criticizing guys for not talking about anything socially significant. And that’s true of a lot of guys. But if you ask me, I’ll talk about it. And if I don’t say it, the guy isn’t going anywhere else to hear anybody else talk about it. He’s not going to the projects to hear it. The only time anybody white comes to the damn projects is to find a great player.

  This is what annoys me about the whole issue surrounding Jim Brown and his criticism of me. I really believe Jim Brown is on the right track on most issues, and I like the way he confronts and deals with difficult stuff. But I think most of the mainstream press loves to hear two prominent black athletes attacking each other. They just love it. I like a lot of things about Jim. But what real substantive reason was there to interview Jim Brown in prison last spring, other than because so many of them knew he was going to say something negative, he was going to take the opportunity to bash Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods?

  He’s in there for problems of his own, namely aggression and lashing out. Does he talk about his own anger management? No. Did the interviewers who talked to him ask him about that? Apparently not. It seemed to be “What do you think about today’s black athlete?” and he just started bashing guys, saying the same crap he’s said for the last thirty years, and a lot of it is simply not true, or it was said without any knowledge of the people he’s criticizing.

  I don’t want to hear from anybody that I’m afraid to speak up. But I’m not going to bash guys who don’t. Some guys want to and can’t, some don’t feel they know enough, or they don’t want to get ripped for taking a stand. I know this for a fact because when I do something like the role model commercial for Nike, or pose for the cover of Sports Illustrated, symbolically breaking out of chains, I’ll start getting phone calls from brothers asking me, “Man, how’s it going?” I say, “Sonofabitch, you know how it’s going: I’m getting hammered.” They say, “I feel you, I want to join you. I want to say something, but . . .”

  I g
ot some great advice once from Clarence Thomas: he told me to always try to control your message. So I’ve learned that. I know sometimes everybody wants to kill me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give them the hammer to do it. I pick my battles. It’s just that some of them, like racism and prejudice, are tough battles. Those are battles worth fighting.

  Keeping It Real

  When you’re black and you become wealthy, or become successful to a degree that is still uncommon, you’re trapped in a way. I remember the first time I heard Allen Iverson say, “I want to keep it real.” Well, his real at this point is that he’s one of the best professional basketball players in the world and a huge celebrity in America making $15 million to $20 million a year. That’s keeping it real for him.

  My “real” is no longer the existence of a little kid in Alabama growing up in the projects on welfare. My real is what I am today. That “keeping it real” shit is irrelevant, or ought to be. It’s only relevant to the people who want you not to grow and experience new things in your life. So, if you achieve and become accomplished, you’re caught in a trap. This definitely has to be a black thing, some garbage we put on each other. I wanted to keep up with all my old friends, because I don’t want them to think I’ve changed. But you do change. You grow and you mature, and you don’t want to do that same nonsense you used to do. I don’t want to do the same stuff anymore. You’re supposed to grow into new interests and into new relationships and friendships. I try to tell these guys now when they start talking about “keeping it real” that they’re not some little “hood-rat” anymore, and I’m not some kid running around in the projects. You’re a professional athlete who, most likely, went to college and put yourself in a whole new culture that is diverse racially and economically and socially.

  You’re now making somewhere between $1 million and $10 million a year and you ought to be trying to have a positive impact on something because you can. That’s your reality. That’s keeping it real now. If you’re trying to act as if you’re the same guy you were at sixteen, that’s the furthest thing from keeping it real. That’s keeping it phony, and it’s total BS.

  I’m nearly forty years old, have traveled all around the world, met presidents and kings. Damn, I met Princess Diana, met Prince Albert of Monaco. So I’m not that same kid from the projects of Leeds, Alabama. If I’m that same guy now, all these years later with all this money and opportunities and mentors . . . If I haven’t evolved as a person and taken advantage of these chances to say something and do something and help somebody, then I’d be a damn fool. I don’t want to hear that shit about keeping it real. My reality is the body of work I’ve built over my life, the stuff I’ve accomplished.

  “Keeping it real” sounds like an excuse. To me it sounds like the new way for my own people to tie me down and keep me from working toward something new. That whole notion had to come from somebody not doing anything, not accomplishing anything. They want to keep you right alongside them so you can take care of them.

  You tell some of these guys you’re trying to be successful and they say, “You’re trying to be white.” No, damn it, I’m trying to be successful. If a kid tries to go to college and improve his situation in life or his family’s situation, we’ve got people saying, “He’s a damn Uncle Tom.” Man, this stuff is so sick it’s mind-boggling. Even though it seems to be largely a black thing, I know we aren’t the only culture that has that. I was watching some documentary about life for Native Americans on reservations. And this one girl talked about being called “an apple” because they felt she was red on the outside, and white on the inside. She said it hurt her feelings, but it ultimately made her work harder to get away from that environment. The equivalent for black folks is being called an “Oreo,” black on the outside but white inside. Stuff like that lets us know it does happen in other cultures, but I guess I just know of way too much of it happening in my own culture.

  Black people ought to want other black people to be successful and work hard and accumulate some wealth and build a new damn reality.

  Caretakers

  of the Game

  As great as Julius Erving was as a basketball player, he’s always been an even greater man. He was such a wonderful guy, and such a complete professional. I remember being so damn nervous before my first day of camp when I joined the 76ers in 1984. I had called and asked my friends, “What do you think I should call Julius Erving? Do I just call him ‘Doc’ or ‘Dr. J’ or ‘Mr. Erving’?” I was really nervous about it because, and you have to remember, this man was what you aspired to be, as a professional and as a man. At the start of the first practice he came over to me and said, “Hey, I’m Julius,” and I breathed a sigh of relief. I’m lucky to have started my career in Philadelphia, where I could be influenced by him. One of the important things he taught me early on was to value the game. Doc put it so eloquently when he said, “We’re all caretakers of the game.” I don’t want anybody to kill the golden goose. To be honest with you, the NBA is totally different from all other sporting entities because the people who produce the entertainment and the revenue and are caretakers of the game are overwhelmingly black. In what other sport is that the case?

  To do what Julius said, to actually be a caretaker of the game, you absolutely have to play at a high level. Guys can do all the crazy stuff they want to on the side, but you’ve got to play. These kids now aren’t the first to come along with personality. We had some characters back in my day, but those guys loved to play. World B. Free and those guys . . . they played, man. Bill Walton . . . Bill Walton had all that Grateful Dead hippie stuff going on, and you know that whole culture was way, way out there, but Bill Walton played ball. Even when Bill’s body wasn’t willing, if he could walk onto the court he laid it on the line. Larry Bird was a beer-drinking brother, but he brought it every single night. Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, Kareem, Magic, James Worthy, Michael Cooper, Byron Scott, they brought it. It was an honor to play against those guys.

  Bernard King brought it even when he had serious injuries. Micheal Ray Richardson. I tell you what, Micheal Ray Richardson might have been doing some drugs, but that boy was playing some ball, too. Guys sabotaging their careers ain’t something new. Young guys don’t realize they can’t do anything that hasn’t already been done. It’s like I tell my younger brother. He tries to trick me or be slick and I have to tell him, “I probably have done it all and I’ve certainly seen it all, so I can’t be fooled.” I tell these young guys, you can’t come up with any new stuff to fool me or any stuff I haven’t seen, so I’m going to ask you to do one thing: appreciate the game and make it grow.

  It’s a huge responsibility for every single guy in the league. But it’s an even bigger responsibility for the stars. It might not be exactly that way in baseball and football. But in the NBA, it all comes down to the stars, because stars get all the credit and all the blame. All those guys who were talking shit on a Tuesday night in December, you can’t find ’em with the game on the line late in the season or in the playoffs. Remember that Indiana Pacers series against New Jersey in Game 5 of the Eastern Conference playoffs last spring? There were a whole bunch of guys talking shit all week long, but in the last five minutes of the most important game of the series, it was Reggie Miller against Jason Kidd on every play. The only time other guys made a basket was off a pass from Reggie or Jason.

  It’s all about star power. You can have all the damn role players you want to, but if you don’t have stars you’re wasting your time. Hey, I think stars are the most underappreciated people in the world of sports. As great as Michael Jordan was, he was underappreciated, because he was able to be Michael Jordan every single night for thirteen years. Only the stars can do that. It’s like being on Broadway; you don’t pay $100 a seat to see the understudy or the costars. You go to see the stars. If you look at the NBA the last fifteen years . . . The Celtics lost Larry Bird after the ’92 season and you couldn’t look low enough in the standings to find their asses for ten y
ears. The Suns haven’t made it past the first round of the playoffs since I left in ’96. Every team that has lost their stars went straight to the bottom. The 76ers didn’t make the playoffs for eight years. How’d they get back? They drafted a star. Allen Iverson is a star. People wonder how the Lakers have been able to keep it at the highest level since Magic retired. It’s no mystery. Jerry West was able to get Shaq and then he was able to foresee that Kobe would be a star. Look at the Seattle Mariners. They’ve got a great manager in Lou Piniella. He’s a great manager of people; look at the guys he’s lost over the last few years . . . all of ’em stars, too. Piniella is great, man. It takes a helluva manager to lose all those people and keep a team in contention. They’ve got all those terrific role players, but they’re just not quite good enough to win the World Series.

  I had a guy tell me recently that my high school had never made it to the state championship until I got there, my college had never made it to the NCAA Tournament until I got there, and the 76ers didn’t make it to the NBA playoffs for eight years after I left. And the Suns haven’t made it past the first round since I left.

  We didn’t win, but I know I was doing something right. But people don’t appreciate stars. They take stars for granted. You know a guy is a star when people feel like “He’s supposed to play great.” The key thing is doing it every single night, being the guy the fans expect to do it, management expects to do it, and the other players on the team expect to do it. And the role players can do what they do because of the star player’s presence.

  Malik Rose on San Antonio is a really nice role player. You’d like to have him on your team, right? If he wasn’t playing with Tim Duncan, people would be boxing his ass out instead of blocking out Duncan when there’s a rebound. You see the difference? That’s the way it is for a whole lot of guys. Role players never are guarded by the best defensive player on the other team.