spurschick
02-05-2006, 09:51 AM
Mark Wangrin
Express-News Staff Writer
http://www.mysanantonio.com/sports/stories/MYSA020506.1C.BKNelliott.halloffame.2ff92cd.html
It's 35 minutes before tip-off of the Spurs' Jan. 24 home game against Charlotte and Sean Elliott, set to do the television color commentary on Fox Southwest, is nowhere to be seen.
Nobody's worried. That's just Sean.
"If you see Sean's taillights driving to catch the team plane," said producer Daniel Ashcraft, "you've missed it. He's by far the last human being."
On this night, Elliott's late arrival gives his co-workers a chance to dish on him to a reporter doing a story on the former Spurs forward's impending induction into the San Antonio Sports Hall of Fame. The first topic, not surprisingly, is punctuality.
Last month, the Spurs were set for a 7 p.m. home game, but 15 minutes before the tip, Elliott wasn't there. Even for the man teasingly called "The World's Slowest Human Being," that was cutting it close.
Ashcraft dialed him up.
"Where are you?" he asked
"Just leaving," Elliott said.
"Your home?" Ashcraft blurted. Then he explained the game was at 7 p.m., not 8 p.m. as Elliott suspected.
"Well, can they delay the game about 15 minutes?" Elliott asked.
Ashcraft and the rest of the Fox crew laugh, as only friends can, poking fun, but at the same time there's a thread to that they can't deny.
"If anyone could pull that off," said his play-by-play partner Andrew Monaco, "it would be Sean."
They call out his name at the AT&T Center. They yell, "We love you Sean!" or "Hey Sean, remember me?" Of course, he doesn't, but they'll never know that, not from the warm handshake, the smile and the gentle and easy manner that he greets them with.
"When I walk in here I'm like the mayor," Elliott said. "It's 20 or 30 hellos before I can get moving."
After the Charlotte game, as Elliott is finishing up his postgame commentary, two women sneak on the court for a photo.
"My knees are knocking," one woman says, as Elliott wraps up.
"Gotta suck in my stomach," said the other, before she and her friend flank Elliott as the camera clicks.
Minutes later, as Elliott sits on the deserted Spurs bench, he marvels at the attention.
"When I was growing up, I never imagined this happening, people viewing me in this light," he said. "It's even more pronounced since I became a broadcaster. It means you're communicating with them. They feel they know you."
Says Ashcraft, "Sean wonders why he's a superstar."
That's modesty talking. What has spoken louder for Elliott, what the fans don't forget, has been this: His contributions in 11 years as a Spurs player; his reputation as a good guy; his selflessness in taking a smaller contract so others could benefit; his stoicism in playing on failing knees and kidneys; his courage in coming back to play after his older brother Noel donated a kidney for a transplant; his candor and humor as a broadcaster.
Yeah, that and the 3-pointer he hit three months before the transplant, with 9 seconds left and his heels almost out of bounds, to help the Spurs beat Portland on their way to the 1999 NBA title.
All that led to the 38-year-old's selection for the San Antonio Sports Hall of Fame, an honor he calls "surreal."
"I don't know how to put it in an emotion," said Elliott, the third pick of the 1989 NBA Draft out of Arizona. "When I got here the Spurs gave me some press clippings about the draft and there were a lot of people questioning me. I thought, 'Wow, I don't know how long I can last here.'"
Elliott muses on his trade to Detroit in 1994 and his return a year later.
"You can overcome a lot," he said "Life can deal you a lot of hands. You can handle it or it can break you."
If you listen closely during Elliott's broadcast, sometimes you can hear what sounds like a tongue-tie.
Blame it on the red strawberry licorice whips, the kind he loved as a kid, when he'd bite off the ends and use them as straws. Blame it on the gummy worms, which have taken the place of the cinnamon bears his mother used to buy him.
When caught in mid-chew during a broadcast, he slides the candy under his tongue.
No big deal.
That's how he's dealt with plenty, from the towels Spurs guard Bruce Bowen routinely flings at his head during pre-game television stand ups to the kidney transplant that shortened his career — because of the transplant, he could no longer take anti-inflammatory medication.
"I had to decide if I would reach for those pills again because my knees hurt, but I couldn't do that," he said.
(Eight months ago his donor, older brother Noel, and his wife had their third child, a girl, in Tucson, Ariz. "He's a testament to organ donation," Elliott said. "A lot of people have reservations about donating, but if they looked at my brother, how well he's doing, it would alleviate their fears.")
The move toward broadcasting was natural for Elliott, who had considered becoming an assistant coach, and he said one team he wouldn't name "told me I could have any position in the organization."
"I really feel I have the best job in the world," said Elliott, who worked a year as an ESPN national basketball analyst but decided the travel demands were too great.
Calling Spurs games allows him to recreate part of his competitive career, the watching of tape to glean tips. It allows him to recreate other parts of it, too.
Radio broadcaster Bill Schoening remembers Game 7 of the NBA Finals, when referee Joey Crawford came to the scorer's table to call a blocking foul on Tim Duncan. Elliott, on his feet, argued it was a charge.
"Sit down, Sean," Crawford warned, and the unthinkable scenario flashed through everyone's mind — the Spurs beloved broadcaster getting called for a technical in the game to decide the NBA championship.
Elliott is married to his second wife, Claudia Zapata. He likes to joke that they met six years ago in rehab.
Rehab for their bad knees.
Zapata, the fitness columnist at the Express-News, and Elliott are raising three children from previous marriages, Tad, 14, Jada, 13 and Jordyn 7.
Life is good.
So what next?
"Besides winning a celebrity golf tournament?" Elliott said. "Being a good father."
Two years ago, when the Spurs needed some outside shooting, Elliott mulled a comeback. He still had his shot, but came to the conclusion that what he could give in minutes would be outweighed by the sideshow that would be created.
"I can still get above the rim like I was 30," he said, "but I can't play five minutes of NBA defense."
There's his wine collection. Spurs coach Gregg Popovich has turned him into a bit of a connoisseur. Elliott said Popovich's knowledge is deeper but his tastes are broader.
A few years back, Elliott was offered a chance to own a small stake in the Phoenix Suns, but turned it down. He's intrigued about joining former teammate David Robinson as a minority owner of the Spurs, but he's quick to say, "Now I didn't make David Robinson money. But maybe someday."
There was a time, early in his career, when Elliott considered San Antonio a way station, a place to play some ball, earn some money, hang out.
Elliott pauses, takes a breath and glances up at his number 32 jersey hanging in the AT&T Center rafters, between David Robinson's and an NBA title banner.
"I always felt I'd go to Arizona when I'd retire," he said. "Now San Antonio feels like my hometown."
Express-News Staff Writer
http://www.mysanantonio.com/sports/stories/MYSA020506.1C.BKNelliott.halloffame.2ff92cd.html
It's 35 minutes before tip-off of the Spurs' Jan. 24 home game against Charlotte and Sean Elliott, set to do the television color commentary on Fox Southwest, is nowhere to be seen.
Nobody's worried. That's just Sean.
"If you see Sean's taillights driving to catch the team plane," said producer Daniel Ashcraft, "you've missed it. He's by far the last human being."
On this night, Elliott's late arrival gives his co-workers a chance to dish on him to a reporter doing a story on the former Spurs forward's impending induction into the San Antonio Sports Hall of Fame. The first topic, not surprisingly, is punctuality.
Last month, the Spurs were set for a 7 p.m. home game, but 15 minutes before the tip, Elliott wasn't there. Even for the man teasingly called "The World's Slowest Human Being," that was cutting it close.
Ashcraft dialed him up.
"Where are you?" he asked
"Just leaving," Elliott said.
"Your home?" Ashcraft blurted. Then he explained the game was at 7 p.m., not 8 p.m. as Elliott suspected.
"Well, can they delay the game about 15 minutes?" Elliott asked.
Ashcraft and the rest of the Fox crew laugh, as only friends can, poking fun, but at the same time there's a thread to that they can't deny.
"If anyone could pull that off," said his play-by-play partner Andrew Monaco, "it would be Sean."
They call out his name at the AT&T Center. They yell, "We love you Sean!" or "Hey Sean, remember me?" Of course, he doesn't, but they'll never know that, not from the warm handshake, the smile and the gentle and easy manner that he greets them with.
"When I walk in here I'm like the mayor," Elliott said. "It's 20 or 30 hellos before I can get moving."
After the Charlotte game, as Elliott is finishing up his postgame commentary, two women sneak on the court for a photo.
"My knees are knocking," one woman says, as Elliott wraps up.
"Gotta suck in my stomach," said the other, before she and her friend flank Elliott as the camera clicks.
Minutes later, as Elliott sits on the deserted Spurs bench, he marvels at the attention.
"When I was growing up, I never imagined this happening, people viewing me in this light," he said. "It's even more pronounced since I became a broadcaster. It means you're communicating with them. They feel they know you."
Says Ashcraft, "Sean wonders why he's a superstar."
That's modesty talking. What has spoken louder for Elliott, what the fans don't forget, has been this: His contributions in 11 years as a Spurs player; his reputation as a good guy; his selflessness in taking a smaller contract so others could benefit; his stoicism in playing on failing knees and kidneys; his courage in coming back to play after his older brother Noel donated a kidney for a transplant; his candor and humor as a broadcaster.
Yeah, that and the 3-pointer he hit three months before the transplant, with 9 seconds left and his heels almost out of bounds, to help the Spurs beat Portland on their way to the 1999 NBA title.
All that led to the 38-year-old's selection for the San Antonio Sports Hall of Fame, an honor he calls "surreal."
"I don't know how to put it in an emotion," said Elliott, the third pick of the 1989 NBA Draft out of Arizona. "When I got here the Spurs gave me some press clippings about the draft and there were a lot of people questioning me. I thought, 'Wow, I don't know how long I can last here.'"
Elliott muses on his trade to Detroit in 1994 and his return a year later.
"You can overcome a lot," he said "Life can deal you a lot of hands. You can handle it or it can break you."
If you listen closely during Elliott's broadcast, sometimes you can hear what sounds like a tongue-tie.
Blame it on the red strawberry licorice whips, the kind he loved as a kid, when he'd bite off the ends and use them as straws. Blame it on the gummy worms, which have taken the place of the cinnamon bears his mother used to buy him.
When caught in mid-chew during a broadcast, he slides the candy under his tongue.
No big deal.
That's how he's dealt with plenty, from the towels Spurs guard Bruce Bowen routinely flings at his head during pre-game television stand ups to the kidney transplant that shortened his career — because of the transplant, he could no longer take anti-inflammatory medication.
"I had to decide if I would reach for those pills again because my knees hurt, but I couldn't do that," he said.
(Eight months ago his donor, older brother Noel, and his wife had their third child, a girl, in Tucson, Ariz. "He's a testament to organ donation," Elliott said. "A lot of people have reservations about donating, but if they looked at my brother, how well he's doing, it would alleviate their fears.")
The move toward broadcasting was natural for Elliott, who had considered becoming an assistant coach, and he said one team he wouldn't name "told me I could have any position in the organization."
"I really feel I have the best job in the world," said Elliott, who worked a year as an ESPN national basketball analyst but decided the travel demands were too great.
Calling Spurs games allows him to recreate part of his competitive career, the watching of tape to glean tips. It allows him to recreate other parts of it, too.
Radio broadcaster Bill Schoening remembers Game 7 of the NBA Finals, when referee Joey Crawford came to the scorer's table to call a blocking foul on Tim Duncan. Elliott, on his feet, argued it was a charge.
"Sit down, Sean," Crawford warned, and the unthinkable scenario flashed through everyone's mind — the Spurs beloved broadcaster getting called for a technical in the game to decide the NBA championship.
Elliott is married to his second wife, Claudia Zapata. He likes to joke that they met six years ago in rehab.
Rehab for their bad knees.
Zapata, the fitness columnist at the Express-News, and Elliott are raising three children from previous marriages, Tad, 14, Jada, 13 and Jordyn 7.
Life is good.
So what next?
"Besides winning a celebrity golf tournament?" Elliott said. "Being a good father."
Two years ago, when the Spurs needed some outside shooting, Elliott mulled a comeback. He still had his shot, but came to the conclusion that what he could give in minutes would be outweighed by the sideshow that would be created.
"I can still get above the rim like I was 30," he said, "but I can't play five minutes of NBA defense."
There's his wine collection. Spurs coach Gregg Popovich has turned him into a bit of a connoisseur. Elliott said Popovich's knowledge is deeper but his tastes are broader.
A few years back, Elliott was offered a chance to own a small stake in the Phoenix Suns, but turned it down. He's intrigued about joining former teammate David Robinson as a minority owner of the Spurs, but he's quick to say, "Now I didn't make David Robinson money. But maybe someday."
There was a time, early in his career, when Elliott considered San Antonio a way station, a place to play some ball, earn some money, hang out.
Elliott pauses, takes a breath and glances up at his number 32 jersey hanging in the AT&T Center rafters, between David Robinson's and an NBA title banner.
"I always felt I'd go to Arizona when I'd retire," he said. "Now San Antonio feels like my hometown."