My Intimate Moment with Shaq

So, Shaquille O’Neal has Tweeted that he’s retiring his size 23 sneakers after 19 years in the NBA. Now, how many people can say they’ve seen those shoes close-up? I can. And Shaq was in them.

It was October 1999, and I was at a Santa Barbara resort for a conference, attending as an editor for a technology magazine. The buzz around the hotel centered on the Lakers, who were staying there along with Coach Phil Jackson who had just joined the club.

Because my guest room was located at the end of a hall near the doors to the fitness center, I was privy to the site of Sequoia-sized athletes on their way to or from their workouts. I suppose if I were into fitness at the time, I could have actually sweated alongside them.

What I’m going to tell you now will sound like I’m making it up, but it’s the truth. After a set of meetings one afternoon, my head was over-filled from briefings with highbrow geeks who might have actually thought I knew what they were talking about. I had been covering this beat for only a few months, and this was only my second conference. Needing a break, I decided to retreat to my room for a bit.

As I approached my door, I fumbled for my key, head down, when a large shadow fell over me. I found myself toe-to-toe with the largest pair of sneakers I have ever seen. As if in a movie, I looked above those rowboat-sized feet, past legs clad in warm-up pants, past a matching jacket, and up even further, my neck hyperextended, to meet the face of a large-jawed man who was clearly not interested in my profuse apology for not watching while I was going. Without a word, he stepped around me, leaving me standing there feeling like an idiot. “What a jerk,” I thought. Well, that’s the G-rated version.

Later, still miffed, sitting at a table in a courtyard at the resort, I shared my account of the unpleasant encounter with a colleague. As if on cue, the culprit, whom I had let ruin my day, lumbered through the area.

“That’s him,” I spat.

“That’s Shaquille O’Neal,” I was told.

Well, it’s nearly a dozen years later, and I’ve told and retold that story many times, always adding how I managed to score Phil Jackson’s autograph for my son during that visit. My memory of Shaq always includes the indelible image of his expression of disgust, his disregard of my apology, and those huge shoes.

This week, the media lauded Shaq’s career and some even added what a nice guy he is. He probably is. But, my moment with Shaq occurred when it was just the two of us alone in a hotel hallway with no one else there as witness. He might have just been tired the day I got in his way, and I should have been watching where I was going. He might not have accepted my apology, but he gave me a story to tell.