I wrote plenty about Bill Walton when he was alive (alive as you and me) but, damn, even more so. I don’t want to let him go. Ever!
In our country’s battle to preserve what soul it had, there was no greater weapon and stronger voice than that of antic Bill Walton. He rarely dribbled, and never shut up. He truly mattered.
In each instance, we might ask, perhaps in unison with the recently departed Bill Walton, which of these are making our beautiful game more beautiful; and which less? (Note: Reggie Miller’s casual use of “beautiful.” Reggie should know.)
I once wrote about devising a game with my then three year old son, wherein my five fingers represented the five greatest centers ever. In this game, Walton was my thumb. The Best! This describes Walton well, I still contend, even if you dispute my rankings (based on peak value in his best years, and discounting longevity) right up until the recent passing of the mantle to Bill’s closest descendant: Nikola Jokic.
So much for child rearing. Then there was Greek mythology: my beloved Deadhead Walton joining the passionately hated Celtics, causing me to reflect about King Oedipus and the return on the repressed.
And finally, see my review of his memoir Back from the Dead. What this man had been through: childhood stutter, defective legs, a spine that needed countless surgeries that had him writhing on the floor wishing only for death; corporate exploitation of his early brilliance, worsening all the structural anomalies that took away legs that when he was a collegiate star made him a dominant force like no other before or after. Shoot 21-22 in an NCAA final game? Who does that? Bill Walton did. And who follows all that by pronouncing himself the “luckiest man in the world.” My thumb can answer that!
And his spirit! As Pac-12 announcer, Bill regularly served up phenomenally detailed and rambling disquisitions on just about any subject triggered or imagined in the course of a college basketball game. His memory and command of the material was staggering. He may have once stuttered, but, boy, was it worth waiting for him.
Now cancer. I never knew about this. I just re-read my under-linings in his book, and am stunned by his overall wisdom and the sheer mass of interesting characters that peopled his life.
My world is radically shaken. In the coming struggle this country appears likely to face, humanists have lost a powerful force.