Mourning Endures As Warrior

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In January 2002, before his kidney transplant and 30-plus games into his first comeback, one could fathom at the time, Alonzo Mourning was asked what kept him going, why he felt the need to prove anything after what he had already accomplished:

One gold medal. Seven all-star games. Two defensive player of the year awards. So dominant in his day, Mourning once came within a couple of votes of being named the NBA MVP. Why toy with such a legacy?

"Not my nature, man," he said, in that baritone voice. He paused and added, "My main objective was not to succumb, but to overcome."

Two days after Mourning's career may have ended -- right after his body may have betrayed him for the last time on an NBA court -- don't mourn the passing of 'Zo, the player. Celebrate the 15-year career of maybe the ultimate warrior in league history.

Don't dwell on the devastating knee injury -- the torn right patella tendon suffered Wednesday night when he went to put himself between the basket and a young Atlanta player flying in for a layup. Instead, look forward to the life ahead of a 37-year-old father and philanthropist, who in the latter half of his career proved he had so much more to offer the world than just that intimidating scowl.

John Thompson Jr. saw it firsthand the past decade. Over time, the shot-blocking menace who once patrolled the paint at Georgetown -- remember 'Zo with that high-top fade? -- had a chance to display the humanity and intellect he always had but rarely showed as a scowling-mugging youngster. After they exchanged e-mails Wednesday night, Thompson and Mourning spoke.

"I just told him that he had a great career, that I was extremely proud of him -- extremely," Thompson said. "After everything he went through, I told him: 'You gave me courage. How you handled your life, how you determined your future, who you became.' I wasn't alone; I didn't want him back after the kidney [disorder]."

Following the 2000 Sydney Games, after the diagnosis of focal glomerulosclerosis -- a potentially fatal kidney disorder that required treatment and then a transplant -- no one wanted Mourning to play again.

When his career is assessed, also think of this today: 'Zo gave the game four more years than anyone, including medical experts, believed possible. Being there the night he was allowed to take a small sip of champagne following the Miami Heat's 2006 stirring win over Dallas for the NBA championship was one of the great privileges of anyone who followed Mourning's career.

Shaquille O'Neal was almost as broken up as Mourning when he was reached yesterday afternoon.

"My best friend, my brother, my protector, my guy," O'Neal said. "When I lost him yesterday I lost a part of me. Alonzo is to me what Robert Horry is to Tim Duncan. Without them, we would only have three championships, not four."

Beyond the health risks of Mourning's comeback, think of the humility a once-elite player had to grasp and understand to be competitive again. His blood chemistry, stamina and oxygen intake all changed dramatically for the worse, forcing one of the most fearsome players in the NBA to gasp for breath during long stints on the court. He didn't just play through pain, he played through the same ailment that ended Sean Elliott's career. He didn't just cope physically, he retrained his mind to become a role player.