First Stop on the ‘Know Your NBA Tats’ Book Tour
3/20/2005
Jack Burditt Special to The Signal
Karl Malone has a tattoo. That’s what I was thinking when he recently retired as the second-leading scorer in NBA history.
A lot has been written and will continue to be written about Malone: The greatest power forward ever. Member of the original Dream Team. Never won an NBA championship. Teamed with future Hall-of-Famer John Stockton to form perhaps the game’s most prolific duo. His sharp elbows and sometimes bizarre quotes. His final season with that strange little sideshow known as the Lakers.
But all I could think about was his tattoo. It’s a buffalo skull, and it’s on his leg, but it is fairly well-hidden, and most NBA fans aren’t even aware that Malone ever had a tattoo.
Yet my buddy Andrew Gottlieb and I noticed it when we were in the Utah Jazz locker room a couple years back. So we approached Malone and asked him if there was a story behind the tattoo.
Yes, I realize that sounds like odd locker room behavior, scoping out tattoos and then inquiring about them, but for a few months that was our life’s pursuit.
Andrew and I were working as writers on “Watching Ellie,” an NBC sitcom starring Julia Louis Dreyfus. One day Andrew said he had the coolest idea for a book. Naturally, I winced. I don’t know how many times in the past I heard a writer say, “I’ve got the coolest idea for a book,” which is then followed up with an idea that doesn’t sound the least bit cool, and barely sounds like a book. , I’ve had some of those ideas myself. And on one foolish occasion I went ahead and wrote the book, which now serves as a lovely coaster.
Andrew’s idea was a book called, “In the Paint: Tattoos of the NBA and the Stories Behind Them.” Like myself, Andrew was a huge NBA fan. But while I’d waste months of my life trying to figure out the triangle offense, Andrew was similarly obsessed with the tattoos sported by the majority of NBA players. Because tattoos are mostly permanent, he figured there must be a good story attached to each one.
I told Andrew I was shocked that his cool idea for a book was actually a cool idea for a book. Andrew said his problem was he didn’t know how to put it together or sell it. He was humbly asking me for my advice.
If there is one certainty in life it’s that only extremely desperate people with no other alternatives come to me for advice. Yet in this case I actually realized I could help him. Not because I had any wisdom to spout. Lord no, any wisdom I ever possessed was tapped dry by the time my first child was four and she started giving me advice.
I helped Andrew by simply placing a phone call to my then agent, Marty, a Don Corleone/Tony Soprano figure, only more powerful and intimidating. Before we knew it we were talking to NBA corporate executives, who all agreed this was a cool idea for a book. They would provide Andrew with press credentials to give him full access to NBA players as they passed through Los Angeles.
I had long bragged to my cohorts about the long and distinguished career I had as a journalist, knowing full well that sitcom writers would be too disinterested to ever research the facts and expose me as a fraud. So when Andrew asked me to help him with the interviews I had to say yes. Besides, I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to have full access to NBA games and players. We were given the keys to the kingdom.
We were also warned that NBA players aren’t the easiest interviews in the world, that they hate answering questions and for the most part give quotes that are perfunctory or cliched.
But that’s when they’re being asked the same question about team play or opponents for the hundredth time. No one would do well under those conditions. And indeed we saw their weariness as we approached. Yet the moment we told them about the book, their faces would light up. They were all too eager to tell the stories behind them.
Okay, there were exceptions. Vlade Divac has a panther on his shoulder. We asked him about it. His reply was, “I like panther.” Then he shrugged, a gesture caught somewhere between boredom and sadness, and then he just stared off in thought. He was the one player who really seemed to show regret about getting a tattoo. Or maybe, in retrospect, he decided he just doesn’t like panthers.
But other players were excited about each and every one of their tattoos. For a guy like Allen Iverson, who has 22 in all, that’s a boatload of excitement. And players seemed eager to learn about other players tattoos, a mutual respect society in full swing. The consensus in the league was that Stephon Marbury and Cherokee Parks sport the best tats in the league.
Among the most popular themes are Chinese letters and symbols (although some players seemed unclear about their exact meaning), and tributes to moms. The latter serves two purposes. One, for many of these players, their mothers are the most important people in their lives. Two, they live in fear of their moms, and they feel the only way they won’t get into trouble for getting a tattoo is by dedicating at least one to said mom.
Sadly, another popular theme was to fallen family members and comrades.
But mostly the tattoos are for inspiration, or just fun. Like Shaq’s “Superman,” Greg Ostertag’s “Fred Flintstone,” Parks’ “Danger Girl,” crazy Jason Williams’ “White Boy” and Tim Duncan’s “Skele-jester.” What’s a skele-jester, you ask? Yeah, that’s what we asked.
“A skele-jester,” Duncan replied, shocked that he would have to offer any more information. He said it like anyone else would say, “It’s a cat. You know, a cat.”
So Andrew, showing much more locker room courage than I would ever possess, said, “Okay, you’re going to have to take off your shirt and turn around to give us a better look.” Surprisingly, Duncan did just that. Next thing we knew we were looking at a skeleton with a jester’s cap on. Of course, a skele-jester.
Every player we approached was cooperative.
And then there was Karl Malone. We asked him if there was a story behind his buffalo skull tattoo he wanted to share with us. He answered, “No.” But it was the way he said no, and the way he stared at us afterwards, that made it clear if we asked him again it would be the last question we ever asked anyone, which only strengthened my old point of view that no good ever comes from anything to do with Utah.
So we slinked (and yes, that is the first time in my life I ever slinked) away from his locker. John Stockton saw what happened and called us over.
“Hey, guys,” John beckoned, “you want a candy bar?” Andrew and I looked at each other, not sure what was happening. But only insane men turn down candy bars, so we shrugged and answered, “Sure.”
Stockton reached into a bag of candy bars he kept in his locker and gave each of us one. Then he chatted for a while. And I started thinking, “Did he always keep candy bars handy for the people that Malone was mean to? Is this what made them such a dynamic duo? Good cop, bad cop. Or grouchy power forward, candy bar-toting point guard.”
All I know now is I’m going to miss Malone. I hope to run into him someday and tell him how much I respected his game. And, if Stockton is anywhere in the vicinity, I hope to ask him the story behind his tattoo. Because that was one of a candy bar.
Jack Burditt is a TV writer. “In the Paint: Tattoos of the NBA and the Stories Behind Them,” by Andrew Gottlieb, is available at amazon. com.