Word: shaqness
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...military kid, young Shaq moved around. In the spring of 1987, O'Neal, then a 6 ft., 8 in., 15-year-old sophomore, transferred into Robert G. Cole High School in San Antonio, Texas. Herb More, O'Neal's geometry teacher at Cole, remembers him as a humorous kid who "made class fun." More was also the assistant basketball coach. O'Neal was already too big for the other players to handle in practice, so More had to be his practice partner. "I used to foul him an awful lot--he used to complain about it," says More. "I would...
...that fill up the court like blasts of boom-box rap. Short, curt hooks. BAM! Power-jams in the paint. BOOM! Or, as in Game 7 of the Portland series, a spectacular fourth-quarter alley-oop from Bryant that O'Neal pulled from the rafters of the Staples Center. Shaq came down harder than thunder, harder than a Dr. Dre track. SHAKA-LAKA-BOOM! Portland was finished...
...projections. There was a virus-ravaged Jordan in Game 5 of the 1997 finals, scoring 38 points to give his team the win. Or O'Neal, in Game 4 of this year's Western Conference final against Portland, fouled repeatedly by the Trail Blazers (a strategy called Hack-a-Shaq), hitting nine foul shots in a row despite his history as a horrible free-throw shooter. True sports greats surprise us, exceeding our high expectations...
...great their height or extravagant their talent, need teammates to step up if they want to become champions. Every NBA championship squad in recent memory has featured at least two superstars; no player can do it alone. Every Jordan needs a Pippen. Every Olajuwon needs a Drexler. Every Shaq needs a Kobe. The star adapts his talent for the good of the team; the other players learn from his example. He needs them--the fellow star, the role player, the Steve Kerr taking a pass from Jordan and knocking down the shot, the Brian Shaw coming off the bench...
That may be why there is one thing you won't find anywhere in Shaq's 15,000-sq.-ft. mansion high above Hollywood, nor in the secret apartment he sometimes escapes to along a sugary swath of beach just south of Los Angeles: a trophy. "My dad never [displayed] any trophies," says O'Neal. "Neither do I. I don't want to look like I'm satisfied." It's all about the team for him now. It's all about winning. Someday soon, though, if the Big Aristotle successfully completes his playoff drive, he just may want to clear...