After being eliminated 4–2 by the Pacers in the second round of the playoffs, we had our exit meetings and then bid Miami farewell for a month or so.
I’d had one of my best seasons ever, averaging 17.1 points, 9.4 rebounds, and 4.1 assists, and I felt certain I was on the brink of making my first All-Star Game. With First Team All-Rookie superstar Dwyane Wade, Caron Butler, and myself, we had the best young core in the league and looked to be a major factor in the championship chase for years to come.
As is the case when the season ends, everybody headed off in their own directions to get away from basketball. I did what I did at the beginning of every off-season and flew back to New York. Back in those days you had to turn your phone off during air travel. When we landed, I turned on my phone and it sounded like a pinball machine. It was beeping and buzzing and blinking like crazy. For a split second a lightning bolt of fear passed through me. With so many messages, something big must have happened.
The majority of the calls were from my agent, Jeff Schwartz. Why in the world was Jeff calling me, I wondered. We were locked in for another three years. Something was brewing. Something big. Like 320 pounds big.
“Miami is trying to move you,” said Jeff, once I got him on the phone.
“What?! We just got there,” I said. “I just killed the entire year.”
“Well, they’re trying to trade you for Shaq.”
Shaquille O’Neal, the most coveted center in the NBA . . . told you it was big. I was stunned and hurt. Pat Riley had told me he absolutely loved what I brought to the table and that I was in the Heat’s long-term plans. But damn . . . they wanted Shaq. I knew that Riley had wanted Shaq for years. Every coach and GM did. He was the piece to everyone’s championship dreams, so I couldn’t be that upset. I’d trade me for Shaq, too.
The proposed trade had the Heat sending me, Caron Butler, Brian Grant, and a first-round draft pick to the Lakers in exchange for Shaquille O’Neal.
Riley had been working on it for weeks unbeknownst to me. While we were in the air, the media had falsely reported that the trade was complete. This was why Jeff was calling me. I had a trade kicker in my contract, which meant that if I got traded within my first year in Miami, I received a 15 percent bonus.
I took in Jeff’s words through a haze of disbelief, and he kept having to repeat himself until it sank in. My mind raced as I played out the season in my head, wondering if there was anything I could have done differently. Mainly I thought about my budding relationship with Riley, one of my all-time basketball heroes. I thought he loved me. I felt unwanted. Worse, I felt betrayed.
This is why players are constantly repeating the mantra “It’s a business.” Because it’s 100 percent true. There’s no loyalty. If you convince yourself otherwise, you’ll end up getting hurt . . . like I just had.
To get my mind off the impending trade and my feelings of rejection, I went to the New York Sports Club to work out. I got up some shots, worked on my ball handling, and did some light weight work. I burned off some of my aggression, but every person I ran into at the club had questions about the trade. The actor Taye Diggs quizzed me about the deal in between sets.
After the workout, Greg and I sat in the cafeteria, still stunned at what was unfolding. Live! With Regis and Kelly host Regis Philbin startled me with a rather excited intro.
“Hey, Lamar! What’s the situation with the trade? It’s crazy!” he said in that familiar staccato delivery. “Congratulations!”
I was having a hard time taking it all in. I was trying not to mope, but I loved Miami and didn’t want to leave. Plus, the prospect of having Shaq, D-Wade, and myself would give us one of the most unique lineups in NBA history and make us the odds-on favorite to win the championship and start our own dynasty.
I got back to my room at the Phillips Club hotel and the phone started heating up again. Jeff told me that it was within his power to take me out of the deal and replace me with Eddie Jones. Riley was definitely into the idea and wanted to keep me in Miami if it was at all possible. But the Lakers wouldn’t do the deal without me. Lakers general manager Mitch Kupchak wouldn’t budge. He had visions of a dynamic duo of me and Kobe Bryant. Riley thought he could pull off the trade without me, but his hands were tied. The Lakers weren’t going to ship Shaq off without getting what they wanted in return. I was the key to the trade.
There was a bright side. I’d get a $7.4 million bonus to go back to Los Angeles, and I’d be playing for the most storied franchise in NBA history alongside the game’s best player in Kobe Bryant. That’s not bad.
My phone rang. It was Riley.
“Hey, I’m sorry we’re at this point,” said Riley.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said meekly. “I know you have to do—”
He cut me off.
“I just want you to know I love you,” Riley said. I could hear that it was difficult for him to get the words out. His voice cracked and he began to choke up. So did I. There was a knot in my throat, and I hoped he’d keep speaking so I wouldn’t have to. His words confirmed what I had hoped to be true—that Pat Riley loved me. He cared about me as more than just a basketball player. In that moment, that meant more to me than bonuses and trade clauses. It was the most difficult talk I’ve ever had with a basketball executive.
There was a long pause. I could hear him sighing on the other end. The guilt as he exhaled was palpable. He hinted that nothing was set in stone.
“O, this thing came out of nowhere,” Riley said. “These things move so damn fast sometimes. But . . .”
When he called me O, I knew he was sincere, as his voice was always full of honesty when he did that.
Still, I didn’t say anything. Another pause. This one longer and more excruciating than the first. Just air on the phone. But I wouldn’t break the silence.
“I’ll pull it,” said Riley, completely shocking me. “I’ll pull it, O. But I need to call you back.”
Greg and I freaked out. Every kind of emotion possible was pouring out of me, yet I didn’t know how to react. I desperately waited for the phone to ring to get more information. Five minutes later my phone rang. It was Jeff.
Riley had called Heat owner Micky Arison after he got off the phone with me. Arison rejected any deal in which O’Neal didn’t become the newest member of the Miami Heat. The deal would go on as scheduled. My heart dropped.
“Also,” Jeff explained, “Pat Riley is forbidden to have any further contact with you. Their lawyers just called me. Riley will not be calling you back. It’s over.”
I hung up the phone and put my head in my hands. I felt like crying.