Issue date: October 29, 2000

In this article:
How O'Neal overcame his failings to emerge as the game's dominant force --

"Now they can't call me a bum"

No one ever doubted whether Shaquille O'Neal had potential. But many began to doubt he'd ever reach it -- until last season. What made the difference?

By Dennis McCafferty

s soon as you step into Shaquille O'Neal's palatial estate high in Beverly Hills, an oil painting of an ebony-skinned Atlas holding up the world greets you. But in this artwork, the world resembles a basketball. That's what draws O'Neal to the image. "The portrait resonates with me," O'Neal explains. "Basketball is my world."

But recall that, in Greek mythology, Atlas was forced to hold up the world for eternity. It was a punishment, not a privilege. Look closer at the painting and Atlas' powerful arms and hulking back muscles strain at the task. The Titan struggles with something as imposing as his will. It makes one wonder whether, in O'Neal's universe, basketball is a blessing or a burden.

"The critics can make it a burden," the star L.A. Laker center, 28, concedes. "They want you to achieve the ultimate goal right away. When you're watching TV, guys like Bill Walton and Bob Costas think they freakin' know it all. They're saying, 'I don't think Shaq can do it. They're never going to win. ... ' That just gets me. It just builds. It just builds. ...

"They will pick at you until you achieve that goal."

Pick at Shaq, they have. He is confronted with a barrage of taunts, elbows and knees -- from the scathing sports radio critics to the National Basketball Association opponents who kick, elbow and pummel him. For seven years, it worked. No matter how big and bad O'Neal got, he always lost and lost big when it came time to win a title. For consecutive playoff runs, in 1998 and 1999, he and the talent-laden Lakers were embarrassed by losing 0-4 in two series sweeps.

But something different happened during the 1999-2000 season: The Giant shook off all opponents and rose above everyone. He and the Lakers won game after game after game, until the championship was theirs and there were no more games to win. After that final buzzer in the title-winning game in June, O'Neal stood in the middle of the court and wept openly before an audience of 45 million TV viewers.

But these weren't tears of joy. They were tears of redemption.

"All these people say I don't concentrate, I don't work hard," O'Neal says. "Those weren't happy tears. Criticism makes me stronger. Now, you can never say Shaq was a bum. You can't say it."

As the league MVP unwinds in his size-22 Italian loafers, he is at peace. He has secured an elusive, missing piece of his world. In this respect, the Giant is an everyman. For anyone who strives to succeed in most any arena, there is an ultimate honor. It could be an Oscar, a Nobel Prize, or a plaque for the very best nurse or ditch digger anywhere.

But perhaps unique to their profession, athletes are judged more harshly than others for falling short. Without a championship, they can acquire a roomful of accolades and still be labeled as someone who ultimately failed.

The truth is, for the vast majority of athletes, a sports season is a Sisyphean journey. They figuratively push a rock up a mountain, only to have it tumble down again and again. Many all-time great pros -- Charles Barkley, Ernie Banks, Jim Kelly -- never won an ultimate game. Until last season, O'Neal was plagued with questions about whether he'd ever win it all. Shaq's too busy rappin', naysayers have sniped. Shaq's gone Hollywood. ...

Pressed for explanation as to why a man so large and skilled couldn't win everything, O'Neal said he only failed to do so as a college player and as a pro. Critics howled: So when did you win big, Shaq? Little League?

O'Neal faced more pressures than ever last season; there were no excuses. Then, there was a spark. To inspire a talented supporting cast that included All-Star Kobe Bryant, brilliant new coach Phil Jackson brought his six championship ring résumé. Early on, Jackson challenged O'Neal by declaring publicly that without major improvement, "he can't be the leader."

It was classic Zenmaster-of-basketball, show-me-what-you're-made-of-headgames Jackson. O'Neal refused to wilt. "Phil is a psychologist," O'Neal says. "When certain people say things, they want to see how you react. He's a guy I respect. Now, I got to show him. In practice, I would work harder, be more vocal. I became the drill sergeant of my team."

Previously slowed down by stomach injuries, O'Neal pushed himself by balancing his body on a large rubber ball for half an hour a day. Unlike in other years, when the long season wore him down, he played for the duration. His performance swatted at his critics the way he'd slap at an opponent's shot with his porterhouse steak-size mitts. He enjoyed one of the most dominating NBA seasons that anyone ever had: His 29.7 points a game lead the NBA. He was MVP of the All-Star Game, the Finals and the regular season. For the latter award, all but one of the 121 participating sports journalists voted for O'Neal in the biggest landslide in league history. (Not bad for a guy who still can't seem to hit much more than one out of two free throws.)

"One game," Jackson says, "I asked him, 'Do you know what the most amazing thing about Wilt Chamberlain was in the 1961-62 season?' Shaquille said, 'He averaged more than 50 points?' I said, 'No, it was that he averaged more than 48 minutes a game.' Shaquille took that challenge on: to be that strong."

His opponents underestimated O'Neal's resolve. They figured they'd bang and he'd cave in.

They figured wrong. O'Neal took his rock and defiantly pounded it up the mountain. Today, he enjoys the view up high. "They probably thought I was weak mentally," he says. "But I'm used to getting banged. As a matter of fact, I like pain. I like causing you pain. I like you trying to cause me pain. But, again, if I had [failed], then it's 'You're a ...' "

Bum.

The word stings. O'Neal was faced with the term just before he won. This time, it dug in deeper because it came from the man he reveres more than any in the world.

Phil Harrison, his Army sergeant stepfather -- whom O'Neal always refers to as his real father -- had a pivotal phone conversation with his stepson when the playoffs turned intense. Harrison always had taught his stepson about compassion; a young O'Neal watched him give away bagfuls of White Castle cheeseburgers to homeless men. He rounded up O'Neal's entire boyhood basketball team and made them visit sick kids in a hospital at Christmas.

This time, the lesson was harsh: There is no compassion for a loser. "In this world we live in," he told O'Neal, "if you win, you're probably going to be one of the greatest ever. If you don't, you're going to be a bum." Click.

It was a definitive challenge, ensuring that O'Neal's stayed mentally strong to the end. In fact, he called attention to his mind, not his brawn. "I'd like to be known as 'the Big Aristotle.' It was Aristotle who said excellence is not a singular act, but a habit."

The skeptics were charmed.

"When you're the biggest, strongest and baddest player in the game, fingers are pointed at you," says Walton, the TV analyst and Hall of Fame center. "Shaq rose to the challenge."

With Tuesday's season opener, O'Neal is back at the base of the mountain. The road ahead is more rugged than ever. Opposing teams will notch up the intensity. More critics will be watching for his every stumble. And Jackson probably has more headgames in store.

O'Neal will take them all on.

"We got one," he says. "Now I can get loose and show people stuff they think I don't have."

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Verdicts and vindication

Basketball's most astute insiders and observers on how O'Neal overcame his failings to emerge as the game's dominant force --

Film director and super fan Spike Lee: "He had a mysterious mental block in the past. He got more mature. He got healthy. But more importantly, he wanted to be the greatest ever."

Soul Food star and Lakers season-ticket holder Vivica Fox: "He utilized Kobe and his other teammates to everyone's benefit. Before, we were telling him, 'Shaq, just pass the damn ball!' He still has the free-throw shooting to work on, and Vivica and company will get on him about that."

Hall of Fame player, TV analyst and Phoenix Mercury coach Cheryl Miller, whose brother, Indiana Pacers guard Reggie Miller, lost to O'Neal in the Finals: "Jackson helped Shaq develop the mental part of his game, which affected his physical game. With the right mentoring, the sky's the limit."

ESPN's David Aldridge: "You can't say he was a lump of clay and Jackson made him what he was. Phil appealed to his warrior nature and improved what was already there."