Real Hoops - How Will Shaq Be Remembered

Superman.  The Diesel.  The Big Artistotle.  The Big ... Disappointment?

In a move that surprised no one who saw him running around like someone who no longer wished to use his legs, Shaquille O'Neal, the Man of a Thousand Nicknames, one move and the best center of his generation, is retiring, ending a 19-year career in which he was mostly dominant and always entertaining.  In a world that rushes to instantly put everyone and everything in historical context, the first question everyone asks is where he ranks amongst the other all-time great centers. 

[In our estimation, he can't be better than fourth.  Not that he should be ashamed, but he lacked the pure statistical dominance of Wilt, Russell's winning disease or Abdul Jabbar's longevity (though the thought of Shaq attempting to prove his dominance by violently and repeatedly dunking on Kareem's bald, alien head is intriguing).  After the Big 3, you get into guys like Shaq, Hakeem, Mikan and Walton.  Mikan belongs in his own category as the first real big man and Walton, who may have been as good when healthy as anyone, just didn't last long enough.  The Hakeem-Shaq debate is much less settled.  Shaq has the edge in titles 4 to 2 but Hakeem never played with anyone as good as Wade or Kobe.  Still, Hakeem loses points for winning his two during the mid-Jordan void.  But Shaq's Lakers never really beat another dominant team and his Magic lost to Hakeem's Rockets.  The debate deserves even deeper analysis, but we give Shaq the edge over The Dream on sheer dominance.  Hakeem was wonderfully skilled but Shaq was a force majure.] 

And while that's makes for a legitimate debate, the more interesting question for us is:  How will Shaq be remembered?

Will he be remembered for what he was?  The player who won 4 titles, 1 Regular Season MVP (one vote short from being the first unanimous choice in history thanks to Fred Hickman who keeps telling himself Iverson was better), 3 Finals MVPs (all while playing with the annoyingly precocious Kobe), made 8 All-NBA First Teams and lead the league in scoring twice.  The physical freak who burst on to the scene (averaging 26 and 13 his first two years) as a 300 lb, 7-footer who moved like no man his size had any business doing, displaying the flair to lead fast breaks and make diving for loose balls look like fun.  The force who was simply just too much for the league to handle, nobody could guard him and the refs couldn't officiate him fairly.  The gifted scorer and passer who won everywhere he played.  And the legend who walks away ranking 5th all-time in scoring, 12th in rebounds, and 7th in blocks.

Or will he be remembered for what he could/should have been?  The player who's combination of size, strength and agility (and, if you're being honest, the lack of players who could physically compete with him) who always left you thinking he could have done a little  better and maybe been the best to ever lace up a pair of basketball shoes (we started to read a book once that attempted to argue that Shaq was the best ever.  We stopped reading after page 5).  The young hungry player with something to prove that set career highs in rebounds (13.9), blocks (3.5) and games played (81) during his first two years in the league but never improved on those numbers and never, despite his obvious physical advantages, lead the league in blocks or rebounds.  The injury prone star who never seemed able to stay healthy, missing more than 15 games 7 times in his prime.  The underachiever who, only when paired with Phil Jackson, was motivated and in shape (two continuing problems for the Big Whatever) to put together his definitive season in 99-00, averaging 27 ppg, 12 rbg, 3.4 asp and 2.7 bpg in 79 games) and winning the title, MVP and finals MVP (38/17 averages in the finals) in the same year.  The veteran who never quite reached that peak again but continued to show what he could when he wanted it by averaging 29/15 during 4 consecutive playoff runs.  The athlete who, when he put together a Wilt-like triple-double of 24 points, 28 rebounds and 15 blocks, made you wonder why he didn't just do that every night. 

The problem with Shaq is that those times when he put it all together, instead of just being good games, or hot streaks or career years, gave us glimpses of the player we thought he should be.  But Shaq was always about more than basketball.  Instead of spending off-seasons running sprints, finding new training edges or simply figuring out how to shoot free throws (his fatal flaw), he was off cutting weird rap albums, starring in some of the worst movies of all time (Kazaam and Razzie-Award Nominee Steel), learning how to be a cop or pursuing his Ph.D (Dr. Shaq?).  And shouldn't that be ok?  In real life we laud people for being well-rounded and valuing things beyond their jobs.  But when it comes to our sports figures, we project our undying obsession with the game and expect them to meet not their standards of excellence or even societies, but our own.  We expect them to be the best they can be, even while routinely falling short of that lofty goal in our own lives.  It's simply not fair.  Shaq was great, as good as he wanted to be, and if we remember him for anything but that, it's on us.

So we'll choose to remember Shaq fondly.  Sometimes it's hard to remember when our most recent memory is of him “running” around like an extra from “The Klumps” (Eddie Murphy IS Shaq in “Fat in Cleveland”) but we still have vivid memories of his dominance.  Of him at his early 2000's peak, catching a low entry pass, drop stepping as what seemed like 10 guys converged upon him, exploding out of the crowd to throw down yet another vicious dunk and sprinting back down court like big kid trying to decipher what he'd just done.  Eventually, despite his flaws and our unfair expectations, we suspect everyone will see him in that same positive light.  Because, after all, like ears and noses, reputations just keep growing.