By Richard A. Butler
*****This was written one week before the confirmed murder of former NBA player Lorenzen Wright*****
With the reported death of former Los Angeles Clipper Lorenzen Wright, I felt compelled to share the following:
I remember a more innocent time in professional basketball.
I was eleven years old, fully in awe of every NBA player on the Los Angeles Lakers telecasts. I would recite Chick Hearn’s “This game’s in the refrigerator” chant when the Lakers were about to close out a victory, memorize the starting lineups, and be in awe with the likes of former Laker players Vlade Divac and Eddie Jones.
However, actually attending Laker games was a rarity – my parents simply couldn’t afford the ticket prices.
I distinctly remember opening the Los Angeles Times before the 1995-1996 pre-season was set to begin. Looking forward to the season preview, I had it in my mind I would watch every Laker road and home game. I even cut out the photos of the players and taped them to my walls – reinforcing who my true gods were at the time.
While plowing past the baseball section, I saw an advertisement for the Clippers. They were offering eight game packages to see the likes of Michael Jordan (the Bulls), Grant Hill (the Pistons), David Robinson (the Spurs), Gary Payton (the Sonics) and, of course, the Holy Grail of them all, the Los Angeles Lakers. The package was a quarter of what Laker games cost, an unbelievable deal at the time. Quickly my father and I picked up the eight game package.
In the season that ensued, my father and I were surprised to find that we fell in love with the Clippers. Although the Clippers posted a horrific record year after year, the games we attended were exciting and competitive. Every game was within five points, and my father and I found ourselves game after game on our feet rooting for the Clippers to pull out a win.
Best of all, I got to every game ninety minutes early to meet the players. I got all the visitors autographs, and even became friendly with some of the Clippers, including Bo Outlaw, Kevin Duckworth, and Eric Piatkowski.
My father and I ended up getting another season of the Clippers package. We were anxious for every game. I went over the pre-game lineups in the car, giving key players scouting reports and game predictions to a father who just wanted to spend quality time with his son. We loved the Clippers – we were actually fans. How could I be a fan of two teams? I don’t know, but it happened.
Almost fifteen years have passed since those freewheeling Clipper days. Since then, my father and I could finally attend Laker games, and we have been fortunate enough to enjoy the talents of Laker teams that have been to the NBA Finals 7 of the past 11 seasons.
The Clippers haven’t been as fortunate. They’ve been to the playoffs one time since 1997 and have lost key players via free agency, bad trades, and unfortunate injuries (see last year’s #1 overall pick, Blake Griffin.)
But something more glaring about the Clippers is apparent, and it dates back to the two seasons I was a true Clipper fan: 1995-1996 and 1996-1997.
The talk of the Clipper curse goes far deeper than playoff droughts and player injuries. And I’m talking much, much darker.
A quick glance at basketball-reference.com shows during my two-year span at Clipper games there were roughly 19 players on the roster. Of those players, MAJOR tragedy has struck a good number of them. A look:
- Kevin Duckworth (Heart attack – dead at 44)
- Malik Sealy (car accident – dead at 30)
- Bison Dele - formerly Brian Williams - (missing at sea – presumed dead at 33)
- Rodney Rogers (RV accident – paraplegic at 38)
- Lorenzen Wright (Reported death, foul play suspected– 34)
I can’t think of any other professional basketball or sports franchise that has had this amount of misfortune hit in a relatively small amount of time (aside from the 1970’s Uruguayan rugby team plane crash.)
It’s all too eerie. I still remember chatting with Malik Sealy during warm-ups, taunting Kevin Duckworth because of his weight (which eventually led to his death), witnessing the burly grace of Rodney Rogers, getting autographs five times from Lorenzen Wright (and hearing him say, “Didn’t I sign you the last two games?”) and going to see “Beavis and Butt-Head DO America” and having dinner with Bison Dele (who turned out to be my neighbor, and I would visit him regularly.)
From all outward appearances (through innocent eleven year old eyes) these were not only professional basketball gods, but also good people. They had kind hearts (although a failing one in Duckworth’s case – don’t intend to be mean…), represented the Clippers in a professional manner, and were wonderful with the fans.
Seeing the mortality of these tall, burly, and athletic athletes has not only been shocking, but disturbing. In a way, I feel a loss for the athletes I cheered and who kept up my fantasy of the professional athlete for so long. If this had been any other team, any other players, any other sport, I doubt I would care. But I do. And despite my love for the Lakers, I feel a real loss dating back to my Clipper days.
Fifteen years later, I still cheer on these basketball players, but I’m not merely as emotionally invested. I can’t let it happen. I need to save my emotional capacity for my family and friends.
The game of basketball has been a valuable life tool, teaching me lessons I never dreamed to be true. Those 1996 and 1997 Clipper teams taught me the most valuable lesson of all (which I had been denying for over a decade): it’s just a game.