JERRY WEST WAS A CHAMPION WHEN HE LOST AND ALWAYS BELONGS AS THE NBA LOGO
Never forget how he built the Lakers into a double-dynasty because he dwelled on losing eight of nine Finals as a player, but the emblem is all about a man who couldn’t be damned by a shameful TV show
Never has a sportsman been more famed by the piqued look on his face. Jerry West loathed losing to the point he was personified by a logo, which should remain the NBA’s emblem as long as balls are dribbled and shots are swished. We loved him for the pain, yet his reputation reached the point where he was wronged, by TV in Hollywood, where he thrived as a player and executive after living with an abusive father in West Virginia.
“A baseless and malicious assault,” his lawyers described treatment of West by the HBO series “Winning Time,” claiming the show “falsely and cruelly portrays Mr. West as an out-of-control, intoxicated rage-aholic.”
In a sad way, his retort was typical Jerry West. When he was depicted out of sorts — breaking an office window when he hurled a championship trophy, or locking himself in a fetal position in his underwear — he responded with real anger. In Los Angeles, where he symbolized the rise of the Lakers as much as any other legend, his character was shown to a younger audience as off target. Was he mad he couldn’t win more as a player, losing eight of nine Finals despite scoring the most points in league history, reaching 30 points no fewer than 31 times? Understandable. And as the founding father of Showtime in the 1980s and the man who craved Kobe Bryant, teaming him with Shaquille O’Neal, didn’t he want more championships as he ran a golden franchise? A bit greedy, maybe.
He once told Sports Illustrated: “The stress of acquiring Kobe and Shaquille in the summer of 1996 sent me to the hospital with exhaustion for a few days. The elation of one of my greatest accomplishments simply did not last. When I returned from the press conference in Atlanta that announced the signing of Shaquille, I said that aside from the birth of my children, it was the happiest day of my life. But then I experienced an emotional letdown, and my lifelong depression reared its ugly head once more.” Later, he mentioned his disappointment with Bryant, who was “unwilling to defer” to O’Neal, and said he had “no relationship” with Phil Jackson, calling the coach “a wack job.”
In his autobiography, West wrote, “I have a hole in my heart, a hole that can never be filled.”
Depression is relatable in 2024, as we hear of West’s death this morning at 86. And in a cryptic manner, who didn’t relate to his suffering in life? We all want more, and West had it, yet he’d still leave the arena during a big game and drive to Santa Barbara or a place far away, wherever his fury could be isolated. He’d quit and return and quit and return until he finally resigned, leaving the Lakers in 2002 after winning eight titles as general manager. Before he took over the Memphis Grizzlies, a pleasant thought entered my senses as a Chicago columnist. Shouldn’t the Bulls, after the ownership wreckingball had cleared out Michael Jordan and pushed Jackson to five more rings, hire West to replace Jerry Krause? In retrospect, I was correct.
It didn’t happen. But West joined the Golden State Warriors as a key adviser in 2011 — before their own dynasty — and took a similar role with the rival L.A. Clippers. He was immensely relevant in the sport until a few months before his passing. How enriching to his legacy that so many basketball people came to his rescue during the HBO fiasco, such as Magic Johnson, who pinpointed lying when the program had West telling him, “Happiness is a diversion. And no one will be able to comprehend that. Nobody, not your family, not your f—cking teammates, not your woman.”
Said Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: “Instead of exploring issues with compassion as a way to better understand the man, they turn him into a Wile E. Coyote cartoon to be laughed at. He never broke golf clubs, he didn’t throw his trophy through the window. Sure, those actions make dramatic moments, but they reek of facile exploitation of the man rather than exploration of character.”
Closer to the truth, West told a commencement at West Virginia University, “Success without a personal satisfaction or sacrifice isn't success at all. It's posturing. Money is a means of power, but seldom a measure of success."
From HBO, West wanted a “retraction, apology and damages.” The program faded out quickly after a short second season and made executive producer Adam McKay look like a charlatan. “The series made us all look like cartoon characters,” West told the Los Angeles Times. “They belittled something good. If I have to, I will take this all the way to the Supreme Court.”
His quest didn’t reach the ultimate U.S. judicial realm. Not that it had to. Those who knew West knew him in the highest order, as the logo.
“Jerry West was a basketball genius and a defining figure in our league for more than 60 years,” commissioner Adam Silver said in a statement. “He distinguished himself not only as an NBA champion and an All-Star in all 14 of his playing seasons, but also as a consummate competitor who embraced the biggest moments. ... I valued my friendship with Jerry and the knowledge he shared with me over many years about basketball and life. On behalf of the NBA, we send our deepest condolences to Jerry's wife, Karen, his family and his many friends in the NBA community.”
Of course, as Silver said, the logo never was “officially declared” to be Jerry West, though “it sure looks a lot like him.”
He lost. He won. He cried. He died.
Like all of us.
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Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.