Mourning Endures As Warrior

By Mike Wise
Friday, December 21, 2007

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.

"I don't have to be the all-star, I'm over that,'' Mourning said in 2003. "Still, you go through withdrawals, like, 'I used to be able to get that shot,' and 'What's this guy doing blocking my shot?' ''

On the Mount Rushmore of rugged players with an indefatigable spirit -- Charles Oakley, Rick Mahorn, Jim Loscutoff, Jerry Sloan, Isiah Thomas, Allen Iverson immediately come to mind -- Mourning has to be at the top. It says everything about his career that he went down while trying to prevent a score. The man refused a ride on the stretcher afterward, limping badly back to the bench with the help of teammates, one of whom, Udonis Haslem, stood over him after he went down.

"We tried to help him up and he just said, 'It's over, it's over,' " Haslem said.

"That's not the way I envisioned myself walking off the court for the last time in my career," he said afterward. "I've been through so much in my life. If I had to crawl off the court, I would have. Nobody was going to push me off on a stretcher off the court. That wasn't going to happen."

He went out standing up; remember that, too.

"Next to the word 'warrior' in Webster's dictionary you should put Alonzo's picture," Thompson said. "Based on how he played, overcoming what he's overcome. There is no better definition of a player as a warrior than Alonzo. He gave everything -- everything he possibly had."

Michael Wilbon had the good fortune of being there the night Mourning came out for his first Hoyas game. To everyone's astonishment, the gangly freshman entered the layup line wearing No. 33 -- only the number belonging to Patrick Ewing. (The idea that Mourning not only wore No. 33 but actually upheld the honor of the greatest player in school history says everything.)

Wilbon asked Thompson how that was possible and, furthermore, wouldn't Ewing's number be retired? "We don't retire numbers," Thompson said. "We retire memories."

Barring another miraculous return -- he underwent knee surgery yesterday, don't tempt him -- the days of Mourning, the player, have very likely come to an end.

"Each of you here know I've been through a whole lot worse than this,'' Mourning said after the injury. "It's disappointing to even think that my career would end this way, but there are so many other things that life has to offer for me. I have a great family and I have so many other opportunities out there."

In the mind's eye, seeing 'Zo pin a ball against the glass backboard is almost fresh. Same with that now almost comical clip of Jeff Van Gundy holding onto his leg like a bull terrier after Mourning squared off with Larry Johnson, which 'Zo laughs about now.

But what endures the most if the memory of an expectant father crisscrossing continents on 19-hour flights, leaving Sydney and the Olympics, trying to get back to his wife, Tracy, in Miami, to help her with the birth of his daughter. He came back to Sydney and won a gold medal. A few days before the kidney disorder that was supposed to end his career was diagnosed, Mourning chalked up his fatigue to jet lag.

Say what you want about denial, but that's perseverance. That's Alonzo Mourning.