If you never saw Spencer Haywood in his prime, you missed a lot. Haywood was LeBron James before LeBron James. In the early ’70s, Haywood was unstoppable. At 6-foot-9, 225 pounds, Haywood was built for the game of basketball. His arms hung halfway from his hips to his knees. His didn’t jump as much as he exploded.
Michael Jordan glided. Haywood detonated.
The ball looked tiny in his enormous hands, gifted with an extra knuckle and joint on each finger that allowed him to easily palm the ball and wave it around.
Haywood was freakishly athletic. He could blow by smaller forwards to the basket and leap over most centers for violent dunks that shook the backboards.
That’s the Spencer Haywood Seattle fans remember. That’s the Spencer Haywood whose number, 24, the team will retire in a ceremony tonight at halftime of the Sonics-Portland game.
It’s an honor past due.
With all due respect to the late Dennis Johnson, No. 24 belongs to Haywood. He was Seattle’s first true professional superstar, its first pro athlete who made us catch our breath, bolt upright, stand and scream.
Johnson was an essential cog on the Sonics’ only NBA title team. Haywood was the first to show us what the pro game could be.
For nearly five memorable years, Haywood owned the region. He helped raise money for sickle-cell anemia research. He bought a piece of a small, black radio station and hired a hip, young DJ named Spencer Haywood to spin jazz tunes two hours a night on weekends.
Those were the good times. The breathtaking slams. The strength. That perfect body that allowed him to perform as few in the world could.
More than anything, Spencer Haywood was about respect. He earned it for his courage and amazing physical ability. He lost it through a near-tragic self-destructive streak.
Haywood handled success poorly. But then, how is a poor kid from the Mississippi Delta, a kid bred to be the world’s tallest cotton-picker, supposed to handle the big stage?
Haywood forced his way into the NBA in 1970 through the law courts in order to receive the respect he deserved as one of the world’s great players. As a result, every 20-something NBA millionaire and others who entered the league before they finished four years of college owe much to him.
He received love and respect in his four-plus seasons as a Seattle SuperSonic, which established him as one of the game’s elite, most exciting players.
He lost much respect from Seattle fans when he slipped on a wet spot on the Seattle Coliseum floor, resulting in a lawsuit. Upon his trade to the New York Knicks for $2 million and a no-name rookie named Eugene Short, he blasted everyone in town, saying the city didn’t appreciate him.
When he and the Knicks next played in Seattle, fans unmercifully booed him, threw things at him and called him names. His brother and sister wept in the stands.
Respect plummeted when Haywood and cocaine introduced themselves to each other. Haywood’s skills deteriorated and he became a journeyman player before he turned 30.
At one point as a Los Angeles Laker, his addiction was so acute that he tried to hire a Detroit hit man to kill his coach, Paul Westhead, after Westhead booted him from the team for falling asleep in practice.
At 57, Haywood has packed enough in his life for three humans. He says he has been clean and sober since 1985. He hasn’t touched red meat in 28 years. He’s involved in real estate. He owns a shopping mall in Salt Lake City and has construction projects in Las Vegas. He is a family man with three daughters at home. A fourth from a previous marriage is 26 and out on her own.
Happily, he’s made it all the way back.
Haywood’s flameout career probably prevents him from induction into the Hall of Fame. In the basketball world, he is largely forgotten.
That’s unfortunate. It’s sad that Haywood’s own demons sabotaged a Hall of Fame career. It’s also unfortunate that so many who got rich from the Spencer Haywood Decision have no idea who he is.
For a few minutes tonight and every time we look into the rafters at KeyArena, we’ll recall only the great memories Spencer Haywood gave us.
There were too many to count.
Sports columnist John Sleeper: sleeper@heraldnet.com
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