I was so saddened to learn about Bill Walton’s passing on Monday. Walton is a beloved legend at our house. As a kid growing up in the Pacific Northwest, Bill was an icon and hero. My dad introduced me to him when I was young, always saying that Bill was the best basketball player he ever saw and we treasured any game that he called as a broadcaster. As a kid he called the NBA games on NBC and then in my thirties, he became the voice of the Pac-12 Conference, fitting, considering his iconic Hall-of-Fame career that began at UCLA.
As I got older, oftentimes I’d turn on one of the Thursday night Pac-12 games he was announcing, even if I wasn’t watching, just to listen to Bill. We knew it was a gift and we tried not to miss any chance to listen to him riff and wax poetic about all the good things in life and the world, always relating something grandiose and cerebral to the game of basketball.
Years ago, I wrote a piece titled, “Sometimes it really is about the bike.” Here’s a little snippet and a link. https://beaudacious.com/its-about-the-bike/
“The thing about the bike is that it really sums up the best of any relationship: the more you give to it, the more you get in return. Remember the words of Bill Walton, ‘The bike is my gym, my wheelchair, my church.’
I vividly recall the first time I read these words. I was thirty-three, in the middle of a perfect storm of injuries (and a wicked spondy flare): achilles, hip tear and wrist injury. I’d undergo a half dozen procedures, surgeries and experimental treatments that year. I was down, depressed and dejected, and my dad brought me an article about Bill Walton’s physical struggles (few athletes have endured more) and his love for the bike. That’s the beauty and essence of the bike.”
Bill was brilliant. Bill was resilient. He was one of the greatest big men of all-time. He experienced the ultimate body betrayal, missing 9 of his 14 seasons with injuries, injuries that others constantly questioned. He had 38 surgeries. He’s the epitome of resilience and what it looks like to bounce forward.
When I was in the midst of one of my hardest and darkest times (in the throes of ankylosing spondylitis related injury and depression), my dad shared an article with me about Bill’s battle back from the dead. He spent over two years lying on his living room floor, injured, depressed, suicidal.
But in classic Bill Walton fashion, he persevered with the love and support of those around him. When I learned of his death on Monday, I cried and I got my dog eared and marked up copy of his autobiography out and started reading it for the fourth or fifth time.
Bill was eccentric. He was a humanitarian. He was articulate (despite a speech impediment as a youth and a fear of speaking in public). He became a truly one of one announcer, a national treasure. He was worldly and highly intelligent, a champion on and off the court, a righteous believer in all that is good and true, an audacious fighter for the fate of the free world.
He loved the Grateful Dead, Jerry Garcia, Neil Young and Bob Dylan, he was an advocate for our climate and environment. He’d rave about campuses like the University of Utah or Arizona State University for their dependency upon solar power, praising them mid dribble for their push towards sustainability, their leadership and vision. His Thursday night riffs during Pac 10 basketball games were the stuff of legends—diving into the cosmos, the stars, sustainability, music, poetry, classic works of literature and somehow bringing it back to the beautiful game we love.
He was a boy from San Diego with a deep love for the West. Anything but a Pac-12 school was a “truckstop,” we loved this. He lived his life with passion, energy, effort, enthusiasm, intensity and tenacity. He was complicated, compassionate, quirky and truly audacious–authentic to the core.
I wanted to do something special yesterday to honor Bill and his vitality, so I downloaded his book (which he narrates) on my phone and went for a long ride. Bill LOVED the bike. He loved the Conferences of Champions (as do we). And boy did he love to go for long rides—especially on bright, sunny days like we had here in Southwestern Montana yesterday.
I called it a Bill Walton Tribute ride yesterday. I don’t typically listen to anything when I ride—sometimes I’ll cue up a Leadville podcast, but yesterday, I wanted to honor Bill by listening to his voice as I pedaled. I knew the timing would be tight to try and pull off a big ride in his honor. My goal was to pedal a mile for each glorious year that Bill walked this big, rugged, watery planet of ours.
Knowing we had a dinner scheduled with family friends and Kamiah’s beloved, thoughtful, gold medal winning swim coach, the timing would be tight. I hit 63 miles with about thirty minutes to spare but knew I was nine miles short of my goal. So, I put my head down, got in the drops and cranked it 4.5 miles down the road. Running out of time, I hammered the last nine miles to hit that 71-mile mark. With that, I tipped my hat and said a prayer to Bill.
What a great, noble, authentic and beautiful human he was. Though I’m sad he’s gone, I’m grateful for the joy, laughter and quirkiness he brought to the game and Pac-12 conference we love. Perhaps it’s fitting in some way, that he left this world before the end of the spring sports season, before the Pac-12 is officially no longer.
Anyone who listened to Bill, who admired and loved the unique way he called a game, or just had a reverence for the Pac 12, relished each time he’d call out, “The Conference of Champions.” Bill Walton was the conference’s greatest champion—as a player and human.
There are some big changes coming our way, some good, some not so good, and I’ll sure miss the wise, irreverent and strong words and opinions of the great Bill Walton. I’ll revisit his book early and often. We’ll miss and always treasure you, Bill.
With nothin’ but love, Michael W. Leach