Bill Walton: The Cosmic Voyager Takes His Final Ride
Image credit: Joe Daly, 2024
The world grew a little dimmer today, as Bill Walton, the redwood among basketball legends, took his final breath at 71, succumbing to a relentless battle with cancer. Walton's departure marks the end of an era that spanned the dazzling heights of UCLA's dynastic run to the gritty, glory-strewn courts of the NBA, into a kaleidoscopic career in broadcasting and beyond.
Born on November 5, 1952, in La Mesa, California, Walton was a freak of nature in the best possible sense. He commandeered the hardwood with a blend of grace and ferocity that made even the most hardened sports cynics weep. Under the watchful eye of coach John Wooden, Walton led the UCLA Bruins to two national championships, cementing his legacy with a mind-boggling 44-point performance in the 1973 NCAA title game against Memphis State. His college career, an 86-4 symphony of dominance, was a testament to his otherworldly talent. Along with fellow UCLA legend Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Walton is widely regarded as one of the two greatest college basketball players of all time.
Drafted first overall in 1974 by the Portland Trail Blazers, Walton's NBA journey was a rollercoaster of divine peaks and hellish valleys. He won the MVP award in the 1977-78 season and dragged the Blazers to a championship in 1977, only to be cruelly hobbled by chronic foot injuries. But the cosmos weren't done with Walton. The basketball gods granted him a second wind with the Boston Celtics, where he snatched another title in 1986, forever etching his name in the annals of basketball lore and securing instant “Legend” status in the City of Boston.
Adam Silver, the NBA commissioner, summed up Walton's essence: "Bill Walton was truly one of a kind…What I will remember most about him was his zest for life. He was a regular presence at league events -- always upbeat, smiling ear to ear and looking to share his wisdom and warmth. I treasured our close friendship, envied his boundless energy and admired the time he took with every person he encountered.”
Jabbar mourned publicly: "My very close friend and NBA rival Bill Walton died today, and the world feels so much heavier now. He was the best of us, a fierce player on the court, and a gentle giant off it."
Walton's influence extended far beyond the hardwood. A broadcasting savant, he turned his stutter into a symphony, delivering game insights with the fervor of Baptist preacher. He won an Emmy, captivating audiences with his feverish string-of-consciousness commentary that could pivot from the technicalities of a pick-and-roll to the psychedelic musings of a Grateful Dead lyric.
Walton, of course, was the ultimate Deadhead. His love affair with the Grateful Dead began in 1967 at age 15, when he witnessed their raw, psychedelic magic for the first time. Over the next 48 years, Walton attended over 854 shows, a number he began tallying only after joining UCLA in 1970. His wife, Lori, joked about their meeting at a Dead concert, which Bill regarded as sacred as any church. Known as "Celebrity Deadhead Number One," Walton's presence at concerts was as iconic as the band itself. His towering frame often made it seem like only one person was standing amidst a sea of seated fans, earning him backstage passes and lifelong friendships with the band. Walton's home became a sanctuary for the Dead, filled with memorabilia and cherished memories, embodying his devotion to the band that paralleled his basketball career.
One of his most legendary stories hails from 1985, the year he was traded from the Clippers to the Boston Celtics. With the fervor of a missionary, Walton decided his new teammates needed a proper initiation into the world of the Dead. These hoop warriors, including the stoic Larry Bird, had never experienced the band's live transcendence.
So, on a fateful night, they converged at Bird's house—a gathering of giants in anticipation of a different kind of spectacle. Walton, the hook shooting psychedelic shaman, corralled his skeptical teammates, ready to expose them to the cosmic, unfiltered essence of Grateful Dead magic. It wasn't just a concert; it was an odyssey, a rite of passage that would forever blend the realms of hardwood and harmonic chaos. Walton's passion was palpable, a beacon guiding his bewildered comrades into the heart of the Dead's labyrinthine soundscape.
Walton's spirit was as towering as his 6-foot-11 frame, his life a canvas splattered with the colors of triumph and tribulation. He was an advocate, a dreamer, a doer. His journey from the sunlit courts of UCLA to the celestial realms of basketball heaven is a testament to the indomitable human spirit.
Bill Walton's tale is one of epic proportions—a legend whose echo will resonate through the ages. Farewell, you magnificent giant. The world is less bright without you.