Today's column fulfills a promise I made to Bill Walton.
Not that we were best friends or anything, or that I have any deep insight into his extraordinary life, but a promise is a promise.
Walton, one of the all-time college and professional basketball greats, died of cancer on Memorial Day.
In January of 2023, I wrote several columns about the exploits of Gonzaga University All-American big man Drew Timme.
Tim was such a charismatic and hilarious player, so endlessly creative in the lane and on the baseline, and such a great teammate and representative of our university that praise for his work seemed to be heard at nearly every game.
But you can't keep doing the same thing at the same tempo for an entire season, so I wanted to find someone else to comment on Tim.
Tim's play was reminiscent of Walton's plays at UCLA in the early 1970s, although in a slightly smaller font, to be sure.
I got contact information from a friend in the media and texted Walton, asking if he could spare a few of his precious minutes to talk about Tim.
He responded promptly and continued for over 30 minutes with one of the most memorable, wild and wide-ranging interviews I've ever had.
“I love Drew Timm,” Walton said. “He's a dynamic force of nature like no other. He plays with boundless passion, has an incredible skill level and an intellect that stands out from the crowd… He has a creative genius and a very vivid imagination. And he's a lot of fun. What's not to love?”
I didn't tell him at the time because it would be foolish to interrupt him when a source starts talking like this, but his description of Tim sounded a lot like Walton's description of himself to me.
His own frenetic commentary, hyperbole and incoherent comments have divided opinion among basketball viewers.
What the critics have forgotten is that the words of poets and philosophers cannot be taken literally.
Some felt he wasn't talking enough about the game of basketball at hand, and I don't think they realized he was speaking in a broader sense about humanity, aspiration and the arts, which he clearly believed were embodied in the game of basketball when it was at its best.
I had to ask him for clarification a few times during the interview.
“Our job as humans is to make other people's lives better. Drew Timm has made my life better.”
Yes…what is it?
He explained that watching Tim play he could sense his “amazing” dreams.
Huh?
“Can't you?” he asked. “He's a lot like Spokane Falls, he just keeps on flowing and not even solidified lava can stop him or make him change direction. It's amazing.”
Born in the 1960s, Walton was one of the most famous athletes to try to bring about social reform through sport and his frequent protests during those turbulent times.
Walton and legendary coach John Wooden had a beautiful relationship based on respect, and although they sometimes clashed over cultural differences, they ultimately learned from each other.
The article about the pair included a photo of an older Wooden looking overwhelmed by the 6-foot-11 Walton. I told him I thought their chemistry and size difference was a lot like the incredible collaboration between Tim and Zags head coach Mark Few.
Mentioning Few to Walton sparked further excitement.
“What Mark Few has done there is just exhilarating,” he said. “It makes you feel positive about the world and about our future, that we have opportunities.”
I agree that there is no doubt that Mark Few is a brilliant coach, but does he have a global impact?
“When you look at Gonzaga basketball, you see that they embody everything good there is in the world: their style, their culture, their identity, their player development, their physicality. A volcano starts erupting…”
Arriving at the site of the volcanic eruption, it became clear we may have missed the mark.
But why did Walton not have a grandiose perspective on life and its possibilities? He was a skinny kid with a speech impediment and extreme introversion who became a spokesman for a social movement, a Hall of Fame athlete, and one of the most eloquent speakers in any medium.
He played through injuries, illness, pain and, often, criticism, but he felt an unrelenting, indescribable joy in his world.
Yes, he would yell at times, but it was with purpose.
He taught, he interpreted, he entertained, he shared the wonders of art, music, literature and philosophy through the prism of basketball.
He was the greatest man in my life, but not too great to share my time with, and therein lies his greatness from my perspective.
The man returned my calls and also filled my notebooks with great quotes and inspiring metaphors. He is now a first-ballot member of my all-time interview hall of fame.
I was so grateful that I vowed to always write only kind things about Bill Walton.
“That's nice,” he said, but then asked the obvious question: “How old are you?”
When I confessed that I was a year older than him, he laughed, as if my promises were of little use during a eulogy.
That's what happened in the end.
Thanks again, big guy.
