The Legend of Rasheed Wallace
The NBA history books are rife with individual athletes who have lingered on in the hearts of fans who adored them long into retirement, but few stand apart as definitive representations of their generation like Rasheed Wallace.
It’s a seemingly irrelevant grey day in early 2004 and the bitter winds whipping through East Rutherford make it neither pleasant nor particularly welcoming. The exhausted winter sun sets early and the afternoon gives way to a cold dark evening, ushering in – for the hometown New Jersey Nets and visiting Atlanta Hawks – the first game of the second half of the 2003-04 NBA season.
The calendar reads Feb. 18, 2004. Amidst a flurry of trade rumors and post-All-Star Game hullabaloo, the reigning Eastern Conference Champions looking to win their 10th straight with new head coach Lawrence Frank are playing host to a roster in transition. A roster that nobody knows exactly what to make of, or whether or not to even take seriously.
“All I remember about him playing for ATL was knowing that he was possibly headed to the Pistons and him looking quite odd in his Hawks uniform,” says Natalie Sitto – the resident expert on everything Wallace, the founder and editor of long-running Need4Sheed.com. “He looked oddly happy playing in his single game for the Hawks, knowing he was headed to a team that could win it all. A team where he wouldn’t have to be ‘the man’.”
There was a certain sense of inevitability in the cold air that night, a sense that Georgia would be no permanent home for Wallace, the renowned cancer hastily shipped out of town by aPortland Trail Blazers executive staff frustrated with his act.
After years in Oregon, the Blazers had grown tired of his antics, tired of his attitude, his quirk, his propensity for infuriating officials, the temper, the conspiracies, the seemingly harmless but overwhelmingly painstaking presence on the roster.
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For the mere price of a package highlighted by Lindsey Hunter and a draft pick, Wallace and his expiring contract were relayed to Detroit the following day.
“The thing about Rasheed Wallace is his innocence,” says Ryne Nelson, online editor ofSLAM Magazine, perhaps the literal embodiment of the intersection that connects attitude and the NBA. “He wouldn’t front – on or off the court – and hid nothing. That transparency got him in trouble, and won him many followers.
Perhaps it’s hindsight that allows us to look back on the fiery forward’s career with admiration, as if it’s the big picture and it alone that allows us to truly appreciate what Wallace brought to the table.
Without such perception, like a movie cut short before it’s natural conclusion, there would be no resolution, no salvation or redemption. The Galactic Empire would triumph, Harry and Sally would just be awkward friends and nobody would ever realize how to trick the Tyrannosaurus Rex back into the freighter and out of San Diego.
“I remember him well in Portland,” recalls Sitto. “I always liked his game, but remember saying to myself, ‘If this guy could ever stop bitching and play, he’d be regarded as one of the best in the game’. ”
Knowing the grief that seemed to follow every double-double night like a moping dog desperate for attention, it was hard to find any sort of positive spin for an obviously-wasted talent.
“If Sheed stays in Portland or would have went to another non-contending team you can be quite sure that his legacy would be nothing but that of a loudmouth malcontent,” says Sitto. “His time in Detroit helped legitimize his true game to the naysayers.”
Sweat beads on Wallace’s brow as he establishes his footing over the free-throw line at the IZOD Center. Instinctively glancing out of his peripheral vision he catches a glimpse of the unfamiliar jersey on his chest as he dips into the motion of his release. It’s been a tiring week for the power forward, emotionally if nothing else. That he’s adapting on the fly to a new playbook and new teammates is one thing, that he may not even set foot in Atlanta before his tenure as a Hawk is over is something entirely else.
Maybe Wallace understands as well as you or I do that his historically brief stint with the Hawks was, if not substantial, at least necessary. We can only wonder, though, if it means as much to him as it does to us, writers and fans anxious to attribute significance amongst the piles of game logs and box scores that define our athletes’ careers.
Now seven-plus years removed from the day Wallace hopped back on an airplane and into the lives of Pistons fans like Natalie Sitto, the perception that surrounds the man has been overhauled completely.
“Sheed brought basketball knowledge, a heart, a soul, extreme fire and a sense of humor to the game,” she says. “You can’t deny that Rasheed Wallace took the Pistons over the edge talent wise and brought that team to a championship and to the brink of another.”
Wallace would go on to clock five full seasons with the Pistons, outlasting even Ben Wallace around whom the identity of the franchise was built. There were highs – the championship, the impenetrable front court defensive pairing of both Wallaces, the consecutive Eastern Conference Finals appearances – and there were relative lows – the Robert Horry defensive lapse in Game 5 of the 2005 NBA Finals.
Above all else, though, there was an opportunity, made possible by Wallace’s otherworldly talent, that for once didn’t go to waste.
“I prefer to remember him as a winner. A winner that was willing to teach as well as put his own glory aside to do it for the team,” Sitto says. “We’ll always love him in the ‘D’ until someone brings up Robert Horry.”
With the latest brush strokes of the overall painting now dry (Wallace retired in 2010) it’s finally possible to step back and reflect honestly on the polarizing figure’s 15-year career.
While images of him screaming with glee to a packed Auburn Hills crowd clash predictably with others of him sulking, whining and throwing towels at Arvydas Sabonis, only one thing is certain: the man will never be far from our collective conscious, no matter how critical we may have been about him along the way.
Few NBA players can get away with shooting 24 times in their first game with a new team, but then again few ever approach first impressions the way that Rasheed Wallace does. His Atlanta Hawks – if they could ever be described as such – have come up short on this particular night and now face the final two games of a three-game road trip.
What those Hawks don’t know at the time but can certainly sense is that Wallace won’t be joining them when they arrive in Miami to challenge the Heat, or for the rest of the season at all for that matter. No he’ll – for better or worse – be moving on to bigger and better things with an entirely different organization.
Just two days later, by then an official member of the Detroit Pistons, Wallace would stumble upon an opportunity to stamp his mark in the history books as one of the most unique and strangely amicable personalities the league and its fans have ever seen. It was an opportunity to rewrite his legacy both on the court and off that he made count.
“We’ve heard Rasheed Wallace could have been the best,” recalls Nelson. “In his mind, though… he was.”
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