With Avery Johnson serving as a real-life example of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon (something you just found out about that suddenly seems to come up everywhere) in Alabama, I've been asked by some people about the story I referred to in my recent post: No one should underestimate Avery Johnson
Specifically, they didn't know about Sean Elliott's amazing comeback to the NBA from a kidney transplant.
This is an excerpt from No Time Outs, in the chapter about feature writing:
It’s my
firm belief that when everything is said and done, the best way we can gauge
ourselves is not with how much money we made, what jobs we had or even what
stories we broke. It’s rather by relationships. The people we see every day, sharing
experiences, meeting those who affect our lives and make an impact without ever
knowing it.
That’s why to me, the best sports stories are often ones which have very little to do with sports. This job, this business, will always be as much, if not more, about the personalities rather than the games themselves, and that’s what makes it so special.
One day I was doing interviews at Bank One Ballpark, and decided to head up to the press box early to start writing. In the elevator, Arizona Diamondbacks public relations director Mike Swanson was talking to a very robust Atlanta Braves player in full uniform who took up half the space.
“Hey Chris, I want you to meet Andres Galarraga,” he said.
The “Big Cat,” as he was called, stuck out his hand, said hello and gave me that big toothy grin that would make any Cheshire jealous. They were heading up to the team offices as one of the assistants was a huge fan and it just happened to be her birthday.
Now that’s a class move.
It may have been the first day of spring training in 1999 when I was walking in between Arizona’s practice fields in Tucson and heard, “Hey, did you hear about Andres Galarraga? Word’s going around that he has cancer.”
Stunned wouldn’t begin to describe the feeling everyone felt. Andres had a reputation for being one of the game’s good guys, and just like that the preseason physical changed his life forever and also may have saved it.
After missing the season with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, many thought of Galarraga’s return to baseball as the comeback story of the following year. I thought one topped it:
“Relax,”
he kept telling himself.
“It’s
just another game.”
“You
can do this.”
“This
is the easy part.”
“You’ve
come so far.”
“Calm
down.”
“Relax,”
Sean Elliott told himself for the seemingly millionth time. Pre-game jitters
were something he had dealt with on countless occasions before. Everything was
in place. He was ready. His mother Odiemae even cooked his favorite meal,
spaghetti and meatballs. He had prepared. He had trained. It was time.
But
it wasn’t just another basketball game. Such a thing would again never exist
for the former University of Arizona standout. No one had ever come back from a
kidney transplant to play professional sports before. No one had even tried.
Millions
of fans wanted to welcome him back to the court. Thousands had packed the
Alamodome just to see the 6-foot-8 forward wear the black and silver again.
Every television station from Tucson was on hand to see No. 32 run the floor.
Friends and family who had traveled to hear his name announced over the
loudspeakers filled forty-six seats. One in particular came to see the first
basket and had paid an admission price far greater than the rest combined.
Noel
Elliott, the brother who donated the kidney that gave Elliott back his game,
his life, wouldn’t have missed the San Antonio Spurs vs. the Atlanta Hawks on
March 14, 2000 for anything. Only he would be in the spotlight as much as his
younger sibling.
“Relax,”
Sean Elliott said again.
Finally,
the journey back was over. Just 212 days after the transplant, Elliott walked
out of the locker room and back into the NBA.
He
had defied medical precedent, ignored the advice of so-called experts and cast
away the doubters once again.
Sean
Elliott was back. Now he just needed to prove he still belonged.
Tucson’s favorite son
Anyone
who hasn’t lived in Tucson just doesn’t get what Sean Elliott means to that
community. We’re talking a Larry Bird and French Lick, Ind., kind of affair.
Even rookie residents who just relocated there know Elliott is Tucson and
Tucson is Elliott. He does anything and it’s front-page news in both
newspapers.
Some
like to joke that the locals treat Arizona men’s basketball coach Lute Olson
like a minor deity who can do no wrong. The court at the McKale Center has been
renamed for he and wife Bobbi, who lost her life to cancer. But Elliott is
Tucson’s No. 1 son, and that has a different and special kind of love
altogether. Remember when every news organization was listing their local athletes
for the last century? The question in Tucson was “Who’s No. 2?” as the hometown
hero led the Wildcats to their first Final Four in 1988. Some other guy named
Kenny Lofton was on that team too, and many UA fans have yet to figure out that
he’s playing pro baseball.
Even
before the kidney thing, Elliott was already a legend. His high school, Cholla,
renamed the gymnasium after him. Just about any Tucson sports fan could tell
you Elliott wears a size 13.5 Nike, his middle name is Michael and the nickname
“Ninja.” Elliott holds a series of basketball camps in Tucson and Japan every
summer. Like many other athletes, he enjoys eating at a local Japanese
steakhouse (where his headlines and photos help cover the walls), has a serious
car collection, owns more than 100 fish, six snakes and two lizards, and likes
video games.
His
three favorite movies? That’s an easy one, “Shawshank Redemption,” “Aliens” and
“Silence of the Lambs.” Don’t get into statistics unless you don’t have time to
kill. Elliott finished his college career as the Pac-10’s all-time leading
scorer with 2,555 points (UCLA’s Don MacLean was first to break it with 2,608)
and had the first basketball jersey retired at UA.
As
a senior, Elliott averaged 22.3 points, 7.2 rebounds, and 4.1 assists per game.
He was named College Player of the Year by nearly every news organization and
won the prestigious Wooden Award. As a junior, he averaged 19.6 points and 5.8
rebounds and named All-American. Elliott scored double figures in 128 of 133
college games. Just don’t mention knee injuries.
That’s
why the first time he showed up at America West Arena after the transplant
people drove up to see Elliott in a sharp silver suit as he was doing color
commentary for San Antonio television broadcasts. It was Nov. 7, 1999, and
Elliott could only be described as restless as he paced and scanned the media
notes at least 10 times in the visitor’s locker room. He was even worse on
press row.
“Hey Sean,” a
teammate asked, “don’t you have to tape up to be on TV?”
“Ya,
right,” came the response. “That’s the worst part about game nights, the
waiting around.”
That
night, like many others, the Spurs really could have used him. While the
Phoenix Suns were able to scrape out a 77-74 victory, the soft-spoken
31-year-old was left peering into the stands, looking for his older brother.
“Thanks
for coming,” Elliott said with a hug when he finally caught up to the man who gave
up his left kidney. Like he needed to say anything at all.
Never say never
When
the Spurs raised their championship banner on the same night San Antonio voters
approved funding for a new arena _ which he campaigned for diligently on his
own despite the weakened condition _ Elliott nearly stole the show receiving
his championship ring and addressed the crowd on behalf of the players.
“I
try not to think about it too much” Elliott said of a return to the lineup. “I
don’t want to put too much pressure on myself. People will watch everything I
do. ‘Oh he’s tired. Look at him, he’s tired.’ Everyone will scrutinize
everything I do.
“That’s
OK.”
The
controversy was already brewing, however. Those who didn’t know Elliott found
it hard to believe that he was serious about a comeback. But in Tucson, they
knew. If Sean said he was coming back and playing basketball again, then he was
coming back and playing basketball again. It was that simple.
It
wasn’t to the Spurs. Elliott had two years left on his contract valued at $11.2
million, which included a clause giving the team an out the final year should
he develop kidney problems. Liability was a question and the Spurs made Elliott
sign a waiver before he did anything. Quietly, the organization decided to put
every conceivable roadblock in his way. They couldn’t afford not to as Sean
would have to completely and overwhelmingly convince everyone, from the owners
down to the trainers, that he could play and put up with the physical demands
of the NBA.
The
biggest question was stamina, and the more active Elliott became in training,
the more he became a slave to his condition. By November, when he had
originally hoped to be nearly ready to return to practice, Elliott could barely
run the length of the floor before having to sit down.
“My
stamina is absolutely nothing right now,” said Elliott, who knows the road to
recovery well as he’s returned from two debilitating knee injuries and before
last season missed 50 total games the two previous years. “My strength is good,
I can move fine. I can run up and down the court two times, literally, and I’m
exhausted.
“My
doctors told me the only thing holding me back is me and my stamina.”
Talk
of a December return was quickly pushed back to January, to no schedule at all.
Elliott had resigned himself to the fact that if he couldn’t complete the
comeback this season, he probably wouldn’t make it back at all. The gap in
playing time would be just too great to overcome.
“He’s
itching to get back,” said guard Steve Kerr, Elliott’s best friend on the Spurs
and a former Wildcat teammate. “The big thing is he has to make sure that he’s
all right. Nobody wants to come back for a big ovation if it hurts physically.”
If,
if, if.
If
he could get back into playing shape. If he could keep up with the game’s
sometimes brutal pace. If he didn’t have a setback. There was talk about
wearing special padding for extra protection, but two doctors told Elliott it
wouldn’t be necessary as the new kidney was tucked in deep behind the pelvic
bone.
“If
at some point he feels great and the doctors say, ‘OK,’ we’ll probably give it
a try,” concerned coach Gregg Popovich finally admitted. “But from a personal
standpoint, I’m going to be nervous as hell. I wouldn’t mind seeing him say sayonara
if it means he will stay healthy.”
Enter
the Spurs training facilities, where Elliott became a fixture in October, doing
everything from weight training to cardiovascular workouts, running, biking,
even a little basketball. Within a month, he was back up to his playing weight
of 220 pounds.
“It’s
coming slower than what I’m accustomed to,” he said. “The biggest thing is
hydration. It’s a lot more critical for me than most people.
“I’ll
get my chance. My conditioning’s going to get there. But you can’t tell if I
can come back or not until I get out there and mix it up.”
The kidney and the brother
Elliott
learned in 1993 that he had focal glomerulosclerosis, which prevents the
kidneys from properly filtering waste from the blood. If untreated, it can
cause exhaustion, fatigue, weight loss and nausea. Often a transplant is
required if the kidneys deteriorate.
The
small forward says he looked “huge” in the face because of medication during
his season in Detroit (1993-94), and that was “just the tip of the iceberg” in
terms of side effects. The condition thwarted a trade to Houston in 1994
because he failed the physical. When San Antonio reacquired him from Detroit
five months later, the kidney clause was inserted into his contract.
Although
Elliott knew in the back of his mind that he might develop further problems, he
didn’t think it could ever end his career. That is until he had a routine
checkup last March and doctors used the word “transplant” for the first time.
Because the condition wasn’t immediately life threatening, Elliott kept
playing. The only person he told in the organization was Kerr, and not until
late into the playoffs. Not even Elliott’s mother knew how serious the
situation was, and Noel didn’t find out until Elliott was conducting his
basketball camp in Tucson.
“He
was pretty sick,” Noel Elliott said. “He didn’t want our mom to worry.”
“He’s
one of the all-time class guys,” Popovich said. “From day one, he wasn’t even
sad. He was disappointed that he wasn’t going to play, but one of the comments
he made was ‘Why should I feel so bad? There are a gazillion people with this
problem who have to stand in line. I have a brother who’s going to give me a
kidney, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.’ He always looks at it that way, the
positive rather than the negative.
“
‘My career could be cut short,’ he didn’t even bring that up.”
After
not missing a game during the season for the first time in his career, Elliott
averaged 11.2 points and was even better in the playoffs (11.9). On May 31, he
hit what’s now called the Memorial Day Miracle, an off-balance, 24-foot
three-pointer from the corner while falling out of bounds. The basket, with 9
seconds left in the game, gave the Spurs an 86-85 victory in Game 2 of the
Conference Finals against Portland, as San Antonio recorded a 15-2 postseason
mark and won its first championship. Elliott didn’t start to slow down until
the Finals against the New York Knicks. Two days after the hardware was in
hand, an ultrasound confirmed a transplant was needed as soon as possible.
Elliott, who had just chased Latrell Sprewell for five games, was weeks away
from requiring dialysis.
“I
think that puzzled the doctors,” Kerr said. “People in that condition often
have a hard time just getting out of bed, never mind play in the NBA. It’s
pretty amazing.”
“I’ve
always been pretty good at dealing with distractions. You know, I played a year
with Dennis Rodman,” said Elliott, who was once traded for the former
rebounding king. “How many more distractions can you have?”
The
search began, but quickly came back home as tests concluded Noel was a suitable
donor. He never hesitated, and outside of a little scar tissue life hasn’t
changed much for the older brother. He spent nearly a month laid up, but needed
another three weeks to return to work.
“I’m
a little more recognizable,” said Noel Elliott, who still lives in Tucson, but
could see his brother’s broadcasts using their mother’s satellite dish. “I’ll
be doing something or walking down the street and someone will figure out who I
am. It’s all right.”
Getting stronger
The
next time Elliott visited Phoenix, the change was remarkable. He walked through
a team shoot-around, did a little running in a practice gym and even played
some pick-up ball. At that point, Jan. 7, it was one of the toughest workouts
he had endured since the Aug. 16 transplant, yet Elliott was itching for more.
He wanted to practice with teammates.
“That
point is coming very soon and it’s not going to be a situation of ‘Can I?’
It’s, ‘I’m going to.”
Between
visits, Elliott had endured a nasty case of pneumonia, caused in part by his
weakened immune system after months of medication and rehabilitation. It caused
him to enter a hospital for four days in December, just after he had returned
to the gym.
“I’ve
started some days with the best of intentions and can’t get it done,” he said.
“I just don’t have the energy, or I should say the stamina. I try and do
something every day.”
Still,
the difference was “night and day.” Elliott could run a couple of miles on a
treadmill, and lift weights. Physically, he was almost like an athlete again.
“I
felt really good, but it didn’t take too long to hit the wall and hit it hard,”
he said. “I run the same conditioning tests that the guys run before training
camp. It just takes me a lot longer to recover.”
Still,
the Spurs remained cautious. Popovich was openly doubtful, but a lot more
supportive behind the scenes. He wanted Elliott to succeed, but had to balance
the responsibilities of friend and coach.
“We’re
trying to be hard on him about it because we’re more concerned about his health,”
said Popovich, who came into the league with Elliott 11 years ago. “I’m putting
as many obstacles in front of him as I can, so if he does decide to come back
he’s thought about everything in the world before he does it. I think that’s my
responsibility, not just as a coach, but I’ve known the guy for what seems like
a hundred years. I feel awfully close to him.”
This
time San Antonio beat Phoenix 102-83, but again the Spurs were clearly missing
their man in the clutch and perfect compliment to the twin towers of David
Robinson and Tim Duncan. With Elliott, their most versatile player _ a big man who
can ball-handle like a guard _ passing improves, defenders have another big
threat to worry about and the Spurs play with a lot more confidence.
“We’ve
been struggling,” Kerr said. “We got off to a great start at 14-3, but since
then we’ve sort of lost it. It seems like we don’t have the fire to win games.
Some of it is missing Sean Elliott. He’s a huge loss for us.”
“We
just haven’t finished games as well as last year,” said the coach, whose team
was also marked after winning the title. “Either we had poor shooting nights or
turnovers down the stretch, games that we would have won. I think for a while,
it was learning to play without Sean because he was the guy who broke down
defenses for us. He also made stops for us on the defensive end and we don’t
have him anymore.
“It’s
a fine line. It’s a really fine line.”
Another miracle
When
Popovich had Elliott announced in the starting lineup the first night back, the
sellout crowd went wild, and there were few dry eyes. Even the Hawks and game
officials got into the act, each shaking Elliott’s hand as walked on the court
as if they were reunited with a long-lost favorite brother. Dikembe Mutumbo
gave a hug just before tipoff.
Minutes
into the game, Elliott fell to the floor following a collision with the 7-2
center and three-time NBA Defensive Player of the Year, causing a collective
gasp from the 26,078 fans on hand. But none of those present had seen the going
over teammates had given him in practice, just to be sure. No foul and no harm,
Elliott jumped up, smiled and kept playing.
The
first physical shot had been taken, now it was time for the first basket.
Earlier, Elliott smelled a tomahawk jam, but launched himself too early and
came up a foot short. In the opening moments of the third quarter, a finger
roll slid off the front of the rim.
“Relax,”
he told himself, yet once again.
Then
it came. Like so many times before, Elliott got a quick step on his defender _
in this case Roshown McLeod _ and drove the lane for a thunderous dunk as if to
scream “I’m back!” Few announcements have ever been as loud as the noise in the
dome was deafening. It was the second miracle basket for Elliott in less than a
year.
“It
was a goose-bumpy kind of deal,” said Minnesota Vikings owner Red McCombs, a
San Antonio resident and one of Elliott’s biggest supporters. “It’s a story
that’s far beyond sports. It’s a story of heart. It’s a story of the medical
greatness that we’ve got in this country.”
In
the 12 minutes Elliott played that night, the Spurs outscored the Hawks 27-14.
San Antonio was down by three points when he opened the second half on the
floor. It led by five points when he departed seven minutes later. The Spurs
won the game, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who remembers the score
_ except Sean Elliott. It was 94-79.
“I
was really surprised that I felt that good on the court,” Elliott said.
“Really, the only thing that bothered me were the nerves.
“What
happened tonight could affect a lot of people. I hope it tells them not to be
afraid.”
Before
the night could be complete, Sean and his brother embraced again much to the
delight of everyone watching the reunion. Out on the court, in front of fans,
the cameras, indeed the world, not a word was spoken. None were needed.
For
Noel, the kidney was a small price to pay.
“On
a scale of one to 10, I’d say about an 11,” he said. “Very important.”
