Ron Artest and I

When I decided that I wanted to try and challenge myself with a 500 mile walk this summer, I wondered what toll, if any, the experience would have on me. I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find out that (with the notable exception of several blisters on my feet) I’ve done pretty well physically. The only other issue I’ve had has come on days where I’ve got longer routes (say 18+ miles) to navigate, and on those days my back really starts to hurt at about the 16 mile mark.

For this, I blame Ron Artest.

Almost everybody that follows the NBA knows about the infamous brawl back in 2004 that involved the Pacers and the Detroit Pistons. What you might not know is that I was the only person that was seriously injured in that mess.  In addition to sustaining a nasty cut on my forehead that resulted in a lot of bloodshed but no real damage, I also broke my back, so I doubt that it would surprise you to learn that the incident is permanently installed in my mind’s eye. Most of you probably recall seeing the video, with Ronnie lying on the scorers table directly in front of our broadcast location at The Palace (totally off topic random observation: I’ve always felt that the Kings, not the Pistons, should be playing in The Palace). Players were milling about, mostly shouting empty threats at one another, and I clearly remember thinking to myself that if somebody didn’t get Ronnie off of that table and into the locker room, something bad was going to happen. It shouldn’t have been that difficult to do; most NBA teams have 234 assistant coaches, all but one or two of whom have no real function, and I will never forget the sight of Chad Forcier, one of the Pacer assistant coaches at the time, standing next to Ronnie and rubbing his stomach as though he were the family pet lying on the living room floor watching television. But nobody took a proactive stance, that nut job in the stands behind us fired his beer at Ronnie, and you know what happened after that.

Here’s what you might have missed, though. When Ronnie bolted up off the table and headed for the stands, I stood up, got right in front of him, and tried to stop him. Not my brightest move; I stood roughly the same chance of derailing Ronnie as a squirrel would have of stopping a charging rhino. Many months later, a friend of mine mentioned that had I been able to stop Ronnie, the brawl never would have happened and the fortunes of the franchise would have taken a dramatically different turn. Really? You’re kidding! Jesus, if I were capable of stopping Ron Artest, I wouldn’t be wasting my time yakking about hoops for a living. I’d be playing linebacker for an NFL team and making some real coin.

Anyway, this altercation resulted in the aforementioned split forehead and five fractured vertebra (T6 through T10 for all you medical students in the audience). I was in significant pain for sometime and actually had to sleep sitting in a chair for a bit, but in the end it could have been a whole lot worse. Four of the five verterbra healed completely and the fifth was close to that, and although my back specialist has warned that I may have some arthritic issues to deal with when I get older, on balance I feel fortunate that my injury wasn’t more traumatic.

Before I get to the real point here, an editorial comment about Ron Artest. I do not defend his actions that night, nor am I a fan of some of the other stunts he pulled while he was in Indiana. That said, I will say without equivocation that he was one of the nicest men I’ve met in my 22 seasons with the Pacers. He always had time for everyone, was wonderful around children (possibly, I’ve always thought, because he saw the world through the eyes of a child himself), and though he didn’t always go about it in a rational way, he really wanted to win and had a passion for his work that I always admired. I will say that I doubt I’d feel this way if he had been a teammate. In that case, I’d probably still be angry with him, because I believe that ’04-’05 team was the best in the NBA, and I would probably feel that his antics cost me a chance to win a championship. But he wasn’t my teammate, he didn’t cost me anything – I’ve always held myself to blame for my back injury, as I stepped in front of him – and I still like him very much.

That doesn’t mean I let him off the hook, though. Every time I see him, I remind him that he nearly killed me and that my attorneys are looking for him. He just laughs, but the fact remains that my back does hurt quite a bit towards the end of these long treks, and I’m not above using a guilt trip to get something. In this case, it occurs to me that it would be appropriate that Ronnie kick something into the coffers to help the kids. He loves kids, this is a project that benefits kids, and it seems like a perfect match.

Of course, I’m not naïve and I know it’s highly unlikely that when Ronnie rolls out of bed the first thing he does is log on to thewishwalk.com to follow my progress. Still, the technology of the Internet is such that we’re all more or less connected through our computers and cell phones, so surely there’s at least a chance that Ronnie will be made aware of this journey through a friend, or a friend of a friend. Or my attorney.

Are you out there Ronnie?

Sunday’s Journey: None

Mileage: None

On the iPhone: Nothing

P.S.: Always, I hope you’ll check my Facebook Page to see photos from our journey