by Derek Fisher
I couldn’t dwell on our loss for too long. I still had family matters to attend to. Just as I do at the end of every season when I meet with the Lakers and review the season and preview the upcoming one, here’s a bit about where the Fishers stood heading into 2008–09 season.
Since her procedure, Tatum has done remarkably well. Through the diligence of her doctors and the grace of God, the tumor has receded and she has approximately 50 percent of her vision in the affected eye. Later on as she gets older, she will have to do some therapy and training of the weaker eye so that the unaffected one won’t dominate too much. Her prognosis is excellent, and she and her brother are getting to be even more of a handful each day. I haven’t checked out their jump shots yet, but there’s still plenty of time for all that.
My mother continues to be a strong and active and positive influence in my life. I sometimes kid her that I wish that she would retire. It seems no matter where I travel in the league, people ask me to give my mom their best. Recently, on a road trip to New York, David Stern, the NBA commissioner, asked me to send my mother his greeting. My mother is active in the Mothers of Professional Basketball Players Association doing charity work. The organization introduces new players and their families to the NBA life and eases their transition. She’s made some good friends and recently flew to Denver to hang out with Chauncey Billup’s mom while I was there with the team. We talk at least once or twice a week, and lately she’s even got into sending text messages.
From what my male friends tell me, my dad and I are pretty typical of most fathers and sons. We don’t speak as often as Mom and I do, but that doesn’t seem to trouble either of us. We say far less, but when we do speak, it really matters. At my wedding, my dad spoke to me before the ceremony. I was glad that he didn’t give me the birds-and-bees talk, especially since what he said was so heartfelt and meaningful. He told me how proud he was of me, and that he was so glad that I was going to be a family man. That meant so much to me. He remarried about a year ago, and I’m happy that he seems happy and more settled than he had been for a while. Candace encourages me to ask about some of those issues from the past with my mom, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
As for me, I’m enjoying life on and off the court so much, but I’ve got a few thoughts about my next steps. Nothing definite, but I have no immediate plans to retire. As long as I keep improving, as long as my body holds out, I don’t see any reason that I should hang it up other than a desire to spend more time with my family. I sometimes feel guilty about not being there full-time for Marshall. He’s about to head into high school, and because of my busy schedule, I’m kind of a “special events” presence in his life—attending some football games, birthday parties, graduation, and so on. I check in on him every day, whether it’s seeing that his homework is done or just to talk with him or to play a video game or two. Candace, Marshall’s father, and I easily manage a respectful relationship with one another, but I still wonder if Marshall has been shortchanged by not having someone in the home full-time and as fully involved as my dad was.
When I do retire, I’ve done some planning ahead of time. I’ve done some color commentary for the Women’s National Basketball Association team in Los Angeles—the Sparks—and enjoyed that. I have some friends in the broadcasting industry, and they’ve told me that they see that as a natural fit for me. I’m not certain of what I want to do, but it will have to be fulfilling on a deep level. One reason I wanted to be the president of the Players Association is to leave the game in better shape than it was when I got here. Whatever is next for me in this life will have to fulfill that same mission—to better the lives of others. That was the important fundamental my mother and father taught me.
Epilogue
Mission Accomplished
Winning a championship is what it’s all about. I’ve won them at nearly every level, and believe me, the feeling never gets old. Having won four of them in the NBA, I’ve been asked after each of them how it feels. After winning the second and the subsequent championships, I’ve been asked where the 2008–9 one ranks. That’s a very difficult question. In the moment, just after the final buzzer has gone off and you and your teammates are awash in an overwhelming sensation of relief, joy, amazement, and vindication, it’s hard to put it all in perspective. All I can say to those who’ve never won any kind of championship, those victories are like your children, and they are each special in their own way. That said, because we are talking about games and not children, when asked, I have said that this fourth championship was the most special to me. The reason is simple: When I look back at all the things that have taken place in my life—both personally and professionally—since winning that third championship back in 2001–2, this one is especially gratifying. I guess that the longer and tougher the road, the more grateful you are when you arrive at the destination, particularly when that destination puts you at the top.
I purposely use the word vindication in describing those feelings above because after having lost in the finals the year before, we had a lot of doubters who were convinced that we didn’t have what it took to go all the way. That was another of the reasons that this one was so special. None of those doubters were in our locker room or in our front office, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t aware of their presence in the media and out there in “fandom.” I don’t think anyone can go through life without having people who doubt your abilities, your commitment, your mental strength, and in my case in this year’s run to the championship, my age, my quickness, my shooting ability. Based on the results, and what I was able to contribute personally to the Lakers’ winning the championship, that V word fits.
Along with being aware of what’s being said about the Lakers and me on various media outlets, fan sites, blogs, and all the other ways that people are able to communicate these days, I was also made aware of another factor that was being discussed widely—the officiating in the games and to a lesser extent the idea put forth by conspiracy theorists that the NBA had a vested interest in seeing the finals come down to LeBron James’s Cleveland Cavaliers taking on Kobe Bryant’s Los Angeles Lakers. That was the marquee matchup the NBA wanted, and David Stern had issued orders to the league’s officials to make sure that much desired pairing took place. Or so the crazy thinking went. That’s like saying that I masterminded a conspiracy of my own. Some people could say that I knew that this book was in the works, and so, using my considerable powers of persuasion, I engineered a one-man conspiracy to make certain that all the points about the fundamentals I was making played a large role in the outcome of individual games and ultimately the championship.
I’m kidding about the conspiracy, but as I’ve said several times in this book, it seems as though there were larger forces at work in my life. The events of the 2008–9 season, but more specifically the playoff series, all seemed to fit into a larger plan for my life and also for this book. Ifs, buts, would haves, should haves, and could haves are all a part of sports and our fascination with them, and no one can ever say how things might have turned out if such and such didn’t happen. What I find ironic is that in the game that will go down in a lot of people’s minds as the most pivotal in our series against the Orlando Magic, game four, I hit a three-pointer with 4.5 seconds to go to tie the game and to get us into overtime. While I’m really proud of that contribution and what it meant for our team, something happened prior to that shot that illustrates one of the points that I’ve been trying to make throughout this book. I’m referring, obviously to those of you who watched the game, about Dwight Howard missing two free throws just prior to our last possession when we tied it up. I mean no disrespect to Dwight. He’s one of the bright young stars in the game and a terrific competitor. But—and here we go with those speculative what ifs, might haves, and could haves—if he had hit one or both of those foul shots, our task would have been immensely more difficult. I’m not a gambling man, but I would say that the odds of us tying that game with so little time left on the
clock would have been considerably longer than they were with us down by three instead of by four or five. I’ll talk more about that sequence in a bit, but for now let’s just focus on the missed opportunity those unmade free throws represent.
I hope that by now you see my point. Who knows what would have happened in the series if we had lost that game four. I believe that we would have still won it all, but who knows what could have happened in terms of injuries, etc. The point I want to make is that as much as series and games and life turn on critical moments, as much as people will remember LeBron James hitting a buzzer-beating three against Orlando or my three to get us into overtime, it really is about those fundamentals. The reason we won the championship is because we executed when it mattered the most. Execution and fundamentals go hand in hand. You can’t talk about the one without the other. Ask fans of the Denver Nuggets and the failure of their team to successfully inbound the ball on a couple of occasions. They’re likely to point out the team’s inability to successfully perform one of the most basic plays in basketball as a reason for their missing out on a championship parade. Too often, fundamentals are noticed when they aren’t executed than when they are. That’s just how it is in life, and you likely won’t get a whole lot of individual attention for being fundamentally sound, but as is true in my case, you will get the ring eventually. You will feel the enormous sense of accomplishment that comes from knowing that your contributions lead to a team victory.
I can’t put myself in Tiger Woods’s shoes. I wish I could and hit a golf ball the way he does, and this is only speculation on my part. I believe that winning an individual championship like Tiger has must feel very different from what it feels like to win a team championship. One is not better, of course, just different. One of the challenges every team in every sport faces, and not just the Lakers, is how you blend different personalities, skills, and desires into a winning effort. Much was made of Kobe winning his first Shaq-less championship. To be honest, that wasn’t something that Kobe and I ever discussed, even though we were in the same situation. Much was also made of Kobe’s scowling focus and the ferocity and fatigue that marked the incredibly long journey he (longer for him because of the 2008 Olympics) and the rest of us undertook. Ultimately, motivation mattered less than our collective ability to do what it took to get the job done. As I said following game four and the two key three-pointers I hit, when I am out there on the court, I know that my teammates are counting on me to contribute in some way. One of the reasons I was so exultant after that game was that I knew that not only had we won, but I’d solidified the faith that my teammates and my coaches and the Lakers organization had in me. I never doubted myself, I never wondered whether my teammates had lost their faith in me, but I still felt an obligation toward them to do what it took to win.
Coming downcourt as the seconds ticked away, I didn’t have time to think about anything other than the game. As I crossed the half-court line, my focus was as tight as the 2,350 or so square feet of floor on either side and in front of me. As I dribbled toward the three-point arc, and just before I let the ball go, my field of vision narrowed down to that rim. I’ve shot thousands of jump shots, been in that position mentally probably thousands of more times since I was a kid shooting hoops at Chuckie’s house or at the Penick Boys Club or out on the playground. None of that mattered. It all came down to that moment, and the reason that shot was good was because I was in that moment exclusively. I put my faith in myself, my ability, and the countless hours of preparation I’d put into the game. I let go of the shot and was fully prepared to accept the consequences, good or bad, of my action. That’s all you can ever hope to be able to do in this life. Give it your best shot, take the result, and move on. Fortunately, things went my way. I’m grateful and humbled by the fact that the result was positive. I’m enormously grateful and humbled by the fact that we went on to win the championship. I’m thrilled and ecstatic. I know what it feels like to be on the other side of that experience and I’ll take winning over losing every time. That’s why we play the game.
Truth is that the high I’ve experienced since we closed out the Magic hasn’t worn off. But in another version of the if, could have, would have scenario, I can confidently say that if we hadn’t have won the championship, I’d have experienced a different kind of postfinals high. I would have been home with my family spending more time with them than I can during the season. I’d have experienced a different kind of satisfaction. I’d not have had the sense of vindication that I experienced, and that would be just fine with me. The thing about family is that there are no doubters. They believe in you, trust in you, and love you unconditionally, win or lose, swish or brick. That’s the most fundamental truth I know, and I’m glad that I get to live it everyday. Holding my wife and my kids in my arms is a better feeling than hoisting any kind of championship trophy. No, no one holds a parade in my honor for being a good husband and father, and I know that our priorities as a culture need some shifting so that maybe we can honor parents who do the right thing and bring home the championship for their families the same as we do for athletes. Let’s just say that off-the-court success and on-the-court success aren’t necessarily better or worse than the other. Let’s just say that they are different in some ways, but the skills and values you need are the same. I’m going to keep striving for more victories in both places. This is no if, could have, or should have kind of a thing. I’m driven and I see no sign of that changing. My eye is firmly fixed on the rim, and no opportunity is going to pass me by.
Acknowledgments
Putting a book together is a lot like assembling a winning basketball organization. I have many people to thank for assistance along the way. I can’t possibly name all of the family members, friends, teammates, coaches, teachers, and business associates who have contributed to my life in one way or another, but please know that you have my thanks. There are a few people whom I would like to thank specifically.
First I want to thank my family, especially my mother and father and my siblings, who have always supported me. Without Candace and our kids Drew, Tatum, Chloe, and Marshall, none of what I do would have much meaning. While you’ve been on the sideline cheering me on when I played, you’ve always been the center of the action in my life.
Many people have helped me in seeing this project through to completion. From the beginning Peter McGuigan and Foundry Literary + Media, Sandy Fox, my editor Zachary Schisgal and all the folks at Touchstone Fireside, along with my collaborator Gary Brozek have helped guide me through the process. Also, to Duran McGregory and Jamie Wior for all that you have done and continue to do.
Photo Credits
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Andrew D. Bernstein
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Jesse D. Garrabrant
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Noah Graham
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Garrett Ellwood
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Noah Graham
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Joe Murphy
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Harry How
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Andrew D. Bernstein
photograph courtesy NBAE/Getty Images: Wendi Kaminski
