My Antoine Walker story

Hey all. First off, let me acknowledge the egregious lack of content on this blog for the past couple of weeks. It'd be easy to say I've been busy at the Wire and just slacked off, but as my Atlantic Media colleague and blogger extraordinaire Andrew Sullivan would say, blogging is a full-time job. And even though I already have a full-time job, I can still devote a significant amount of energy to this blog. I will once again do so, starting now. I hope you will keep checking in.

There's no shortage of topics to cover: spring training (and MLB season previews), March Madness, Tiger heading to Augusta... the list goes on. Instead, I'm going to return with a take on the fall of Antoine Walker, based on my own brief encounter with the former NBA star.

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I never liked Antoine Walker. The crux of his game--25+ foot heaves at any point in the shot clock and ill-fated runners that too often barely made contact with the rim--struck me as the antithesis of good basketball. His appalling lack of defensive skills and relative unconcern about his physical condition branded him as lazy in my mind. On top of that, he played for the Celtics and was a central part of the playoff clashes between Boston and the Jason Kidd Nets. Suffice it to say I saw Antoine Walker as everything basketball should not be.

So when I read Mark Schwarz's eye-opening feature on Walker's financial troubles after leaving the NBA, you might think I nodded sagely and muttered: "Could've predicted that." And I could have. Instead, I felt only pity for Walker and his untenable situation.

And I thought back to when I met the man.

By 2007, Walker was a shell of his former self on the basketball court--at least in terms of talent. Physically, Walker was pushing 300 pounds and looking more like Robert "Tractor" Traylor every day. And the more out of shape he got, the more he fell out of favor with Miami Heat coach Pat Riley.

I was interning for the South Florida Sun-Sentinel at the time, shadowing Heat beat writer Ira Winderman. Winderman was--and I'm sure still is--the eternal agitator, exasperating players and coaches alike but getting more than his share of scoops. That preseason, Winderman hounded Walker repeatedly about his weight and wrote about the forward's conditioning issues on several occasions.

After one preseason game, Ira and I went to the Heat locker room for postgame quotes. A group of reporters surrounded Walker and began asking questions. After a minute or so, Ira pressed Walker again about his weight, asking whether his conditioning problems would keep him out of the starting lineup going forward.

That was the last straw for Walker, who went off on Ira. "Why do always have to write something negative," he yelled. "That's all you ever ask about."

Before Ira could retort, Walker held up his hand and declared he would answer no more questions until Ira left the locker room. The cadre of journalists fell silent, and everyone slowly turned to Ira, whose face had turned to stone. He looked at Walker, looked at me, and walked out without saying a word.

Practically, Walker's tirade meant very little; I recorded the rest of the interview and fed Ira quotes, and the incident became fodder for Miami-area radio shows. A day or so later, most people had forgot it even happened.

For me, the incident had a more profound impact. Every fan knows that top athletes can be egomaniacal, conceited and childish. Indeed, we've come to expect the worse from our sports heroes away from the game. But to see a millionaire athlete, one with a massive amount of natural talent, flip out at a reporter for an issue he could have rendered moot simply by getting in shape--which he was supposed to be doing anyway--was jarring, enlightening, and a little bit sad.

Fast forward to this excerpt from Schwarz's piece:

Walker, who also made millions off the court peddling goods for adidas as Employee No. 8, says he is not sure how much money he has left.

"It all depends on how much debt I can get out of," he said.

It is sad that Walker must resort to playing in Puerto Rico for a team called the Guaynabo Mets. It is tragic that he appears to have learned little from his ordeal.

I have talked to many people who crow when they see an athlete they dislike fall from grace. Some even find it cathartic, reveling in the misfortune of those who once had it all. But I can only pity Antoine Walker for his life's precipitous downward arc. For this story, I really do hate to say "I told you so."