The Pat Jordan pick of the week is a profile he did on the ol' red-headed Deadhead for the New York Times Magazine back in 2001. Here's Bill Walton's Inside Game:
Back at the house, Walton goes to practice his piano while his sons go outside to play one of their fierce two-on-two basketball games. Nate and Bruk Vandeweghe, who has lived with the family for 20 years, team up against Chris and a friend. Luke, limping from an ankle sprain he suffered in one of the boys' recent games, sits in a chair and mimics his father broadcasting the game that is filled with rough play and profanity.
Nate fakes under the basket and tosses in a hook shot. "Nice utilization of the body," Luke intones. Chris immediately hits a long jumper. "But Chris will not go away," Luke says.
Chris drives toward the basket and tosses a pass behind his back that goes out of bounds. "A good look," Luke says, "but a little too fancy."
Nate and Chris dive for a loose ball and bang heads. Chris screams a profanity at Nate, and Nate curses back. As play resumes, Walton hobbles out on his crutches to watch. "What are you doing here?" Nate says. The boys' game is deflated. They continue to play, but without their previous fury; no more curses, just a lot of uncontested jump shots until the game expires.
After the game, Vandeweghe sits by the pool and talks about his life with the Waltons. He acts as their unofficial manservant, serving drinks, giving the boys massages on the living-room table and running errands. "This house is in a time warp," he says. "Like a monastery. Still, there's a lot going on here you don't know." He smiles. "Bill wants everyone to have a good time. At his parties, there are three girls to every guy. Bill lets you do anything with girls as long as you don't talk about it in front of Lori. She's subservient, like a geisha. She serves her purpose for Bill. She's thrilled to be with a star." He says that the Waltons' divorce was hard on Susie. "She was like my second mom. She can't lie. Bill can't talk about her because he knows she's right."
At that moment, Nate, furious, comes out of the house toward Vandeweghe. "Same old garbage!" he snaps. "I told Bill I was gonna see Mom, and he says he wants to talk to me for five minutes, and it goes on and on, nowhere."
Not everybody loved Jordan's story. Here is a letter the Times published on November 25, 2001:
In the 20 years since I wrote about the Portland Trail Blazers in an earlier book, Bill Walton and I have become good friends, and I have spent a good deal of time with him and with his sons (Pat Jordan, Oct. 28). The relationship between father and sons has always struck me as loving, supportive and mutually generous; I think it is not unimportant that in a home where the father let all of his sons follow their own stars, all four wanted to play basketball. More important, what Pat Jordan missed was the story right in front of him: the rarest kind of courage and exuberance on the part of an athlete, once gifted, whose ability to maximize the uses of his body is so critical to his psyche but is now so seriously jeopardized by the cruelest kind of injuries to both feet.