romsey31
10-01-2005, 12:30 PM
http://www.realgm.com/src_wiretap_archives/36764/20050724/kemp_vows_to_play_in_nba_again/
HOUSTON — Shawn Kemp is standing next to his car, a Dodge Magnum RT with Oregon plates and 24-inch chrome rims and windows tinted black. He's strapping 25-pound weights on each ankle. Dressed head-to-toe in swooshes — Jordan socks, Nike Shox and red and white shorts — he shoves two American flags into the ground at George Bush Park.
His hill awaits. But why the flags?
"This is the American dream,'' Kemp says.
The hill stretches about a quarter mile in each direction, its summit equidistant between two green gates. The sun beams from the diamonds in each earlobe. Kemp takes a slug of water.
It's time to head back toward the top.
Readying for a return
Kemp's house is a five-minute drive from the park, tucked into a swanky neighborhood called Lakeside Parkway. There's a pool with a Jacuzzi and a waterfall in the backyard, four cars — the Dodge, a Hummer H2 with spinning rims, an Escalade EXT 300 and a Chrysler REMI — in the driveway, a bright red Vespa scooter in the garage and a pit bull puppy running around the house.
It's clear that, at 35, Kemp never has to work again. So why is he heading toward his "sweatbox" and closing the garage door? Why is he balancing on a yellow ball, lifting a medicine ball overhead and grimacing through hundreds of crunches? Why is he jumping rope, lifting weights and trimming the fat?
"I'm going to play again,'' Kemp says, speaking in depth publicly for the first time since he retired two years ago after a 14-year NBA career. "And if I'm going to play again, there's only one way to do it. The right way. On my own.''
Kemp says this isn't about the money. It's about the way his legacy has been defined. You look at him and see a troublemaker, a baby factory, a talent unfulfilled. More than once, Kemp says he doesn't care what anybody thinks. And yet he cares so much, he's willing to leave the Cribs-style house and lavish lifestyle for all the things that dragged him to the bottom.
Here's how he got there. Here's Shawn Kemp in 2003, too fat to look at himself in the mirror. Here's Shawn Kemp, quitting with two years remaining on his contract.
"Don't even call me about no basketball,'' Kemp told his agent, Tony Dutt.
The fall was hard. When he left the Sonics in 1997, he jumped like his shoes were made of Flubber. But by the spring of 2001, Kemp checked himself into a rehabilitation facility for cocaine abuse. His weight had ballooned to 317 pounds from the 260 he carried in Seattle. Kemp returned from the NBA lockout in 1998 so heavy his coaches in Cleveland worried about a heart attack. Kemp says he'd still be an All-Star if the lockout never happened.
He's finally talking now, rain clouds hovering above the Reign Man. He looks trim, close to the player Seattle remembers. Gone are the rolls of fat and double chin that defined him later, replaced by definitions in muscle fast returning. He's talking fast, animated, gesturing with arms spread wide to make his points. There's a reason, an excuse, for everything that happened.
And then, at the end of every explanation, Kemp places the blame squarely on his shoulders. It's tough to gauge where he wants that blame to go — on the events he says conspired against him or on himself.
"You see, I never blamed anybody for any of this,'' Kemp says. "I put my own self in the dirt.''
(There's alot more ...click on the link to read.. too long to post)
HOUSTON — Shawn Kemp is standing next to his car, a Dodge Magnum RT with Oregon plates and 24-inch chrome rims and windows tinted black. He's strapping 25-pound weights on each ankle. Dressed head-to-toe in swooshes — Jordan socks, Nike Shox and red and white shorts — he shoves two American flags into the ground at George Bush Park.
His hill awaits. But why the flags?
"This is the American dream,'' Kemp says.
The hill stretches about a quarter mile in each direction, its summit equidistant between two green gates. The sun beams from the diamonds in each earlobe. Kemp takes a slug of water.
It's time to head back toward the top.
Readying for a return
Kemp's house is a five-minute drive from the park, tucked into a swanky neighborhood called Lakeside Parkway. There's a pool with a Jacuzzi and a waterfall in the backyard, four cars — the Dodge, a Hummer H2 with spinning rims, an Escalade EXT 300 and a Chrysler REMI — in the driveway, a bright red Vespa scooter in the garage and a pit bull puppy running around the house.
It's clear that, at 35, Kemp never has to work again. So why is he heading toward his "sweatbox" and closing the garage door? Why is he balancing on a yellow ball, lifting a medicine ball overhead and grimacing through hundreds of crunches? Why is he jumping rope, lifting weights and trimming the fat?
"I'm going to play again,'' Kemp says, speaking in depth publicly for the first time since he retired two years ago after a 14-year NBA career. "And if I'm going to play again, there's only one way to do it. The right way. On my own.''
Kemp says this isn't about the money. It's about the way his legacy has been defined. You look at him and see a troublemaker, a baby factory, a talent unfulfilled. More than once, Kemp says he doesn't care what anybody thinks. And yet he cares so much, he's willing to leave the Cribs-style house and lavish lifestyle for all the things that dragged him to the bottom.
Here's how he got there. Here's Shawn Kemp in 2003, too fat to look at himself in the mirror. Here's Shawn Kemp, quitting with two years remaining on his contract.
"Don't even call me about no basketball,'' Kemp told his agent, Tony Dutt.
The fall was hard. When he left the Sonics in 1997, he jumped like his shoes were made of Flubber. But by the spring of 2001, Kemp checked himself into a rehabilitation facility for cocaine abuse. His weight had ballooned to 317 pounds from the 260 he carried in Seattle. Kemp returned from the NBA lockout in 1998 so heavy his coaches in Cleveland worried about a heart attack. Kemp says he'd still be an All-Star if the lockout never happened.
He's finally talking now, rain clouds hovering above the Reign Man. He looks trim, close to the player Seattle remembers. Gone are the rolls of fat and double chin that defined him later, replaced by definitions in muscle fast returning. He's talking fast, animated, gesturing with arms spread wide to make his points. There's a reason, an excuse, for everything that happened.
And then, at the end of every explanation, Kemp places the blame squarely on his shoulders. It's tough to gauge where he wants that blame to go — on the events he says conspired against him or on himself.
"You see, I never blamed anybody for any of this,'' Kemp says. "I put my own self in the dirt.''
(There's alot more ...click on the link to read.. too long to post)