I’m sure by this time you’re all well aware that the former Blazer great foretold to be featured on this very site today is none other than Big Red himself, Bill Walton.
It’s been a hell of a day, Rip City. First, I had to pick up some gear from my boy Andrew Theen’s house and jet over to the Rose Garden so as not to be late. Then I sat five feet from Big Bill as he waxed poetic about everything from his health problems to the ‘77 championship team to his regrets about leaving Portland to the Wizard of Westwood.
Then I had to drive to my real job: slinging coffee at a certain corporate coffee bar. After I clocked out, I grabbed a quick bite to eat before bolting like Usain over to my buddy’s Gresham appartment to help him move.
I’m afraid it’s just now, as it approaches midnight, that I’ve been able to finally exhale and attempt to digest the Long, Strange Trip that was attending a Bill Walton press conference.
And you know what? I need more time. I really do. I can’t adequately translate the experience for you guys right now. Give me until tomorrow night, and I’ll give you the inside scoop as I saw it.
But before I go, I feel like I should at least provide a sample of what it was like to be there. The best way I know how to do that is to describe the man himself. I had no idea what to expect when I got there, but when I left, the only thing I could think about was how genuine Walton was in his responses. I’m not good at many things. I’m a lousy bowler. I can’t play drums to save my life. I’m absolutely terrible with women. But I’m traditionally pretty good at detecting when somebody is full of it.
And Bill was anything but full of it.