In honor of Shaq’s retirement, Kevin Lincoln looks back at the NBA’s rich tradition of the player-rapper.
[Scene: a carpeted living room in suburbia. Stage left, a man sits in armchair with The New Yorker, unlit pipe in mouth, blue-stockinged feet propped gracefully on ottoman, furry mutt asleep by his side. Foreground, a teenage boy lies on his stomach in front of the smoldering fireplace. He uses an iPad. Stage right, a flat-screen television plays the Heat–Mavericks. All face the audience.]
Jimmy: Dad, did you hear?
Dad: What’s that?
Jimmy: Did you hear about Shaq?
Dad: Did he sign with the Heat?
Jimmy: No. What? No. Dad, Diesel retired!
[Beat. Dog lifts his head, looks around, falls back asleep.]
Dad: I thought he retired in like 2005?
Jimmy: Well, that was the last season he missed less than 25 games.
Dad: He was with the Heat then, though, right?
Jimmy: I was like 12 years old. I don’t know.
Dad: Jimmy, you like rap music.
Jimmy: Sure.
Dad: Did you know that the Shaqtus once rapped? That’s my favorite of his nicknames. The Shaqtus. It’s like a cactus, except better at pick-and-rolls.
Jimmy: That’s right, I forgot about that! I mean, I remember he used to act, like as a genie and whatever, that was pretty sweet—
Dad: They call him “The Big Aristotle.”
Jimmy: They called him.
Dad: What? He’s not dead.
Jimmy: Sure, but—
Dad: Jimmy, the Big Aristotle was part of a proud, sordid, embarrassing, and hilarious history of NBA athletes making ill-advised rap albums. With his retirement, the league not only loses one of its greatest centers, quirkiest hearts, and worst contracts, but believe it: the average rapping ability of an NBA player has just increased by at least 25 percent.
[On the television, Shaq’s “(I Know I Got) Skillz” from debut album Shaq Diesel—which went platinum, I swear to God—begins to play.]
Jimmy: What did he just say about the Statue of Liberty? “I’m gonna punch her in the stomach/I don’t give a heck?”
Dad: Oh, those were grim times. You should see the video for “I’m Outstanding,” where he hams it up in front of a green screen. It makes Kazaam look like Black Swan.
Jimmy: My iPad says he once made a song with Method Man. Method Man’s actually good.
Dad: Let this be a lesson to you: make enough money, and you can do whatever you want. Unless you’re Allen Iverson, and you try to drop an album under the name “Jewelz,” and you spit hardcore about killing people using language that would probably get you fined more than you make in a year nowadays. Even back then, Stern wouldn’t let him release the album.
[Video for “40 Bars” plays on TV.]
Jimmy: Wait, he’s actually not bad.
Dad: Sure, but he’s a pro basketball player, not the Notorious B.I.G. He shoots more people in that song than Ghostface does on entire albums.
Jimmy: Since when did you know so much about rap?
Dad: Oh, I do a little writing on the side for XXL. But that’s neither here nor there. Jimmy, Shaq once uttered the Homeric line, “Kobe, tell me how my ass taste.”
Jimmy: That’s disgusting.
Dad: Yes it is. But people will never forget it, because it’s so totally weird. Weirdness seems to be a common quality in NBA rappers, because Ron Artest also made an album. Reportedly, it sold something like 365 copies in its first week.
[Video for “Champions” plays on TV.]
Jimmy: How many of those were bought by Artest?
Dad: Honestly? I’d say half. But maybe less. I mean, people buy Jim Jones records.
Jimmy: Good point. Man, just listen to that Auto-tune.
Dad: Ron-Ron gets a free pass though, because he’s hilarious and pretty fascinating. You should read Dave Hill’s essay on him. Also, one of his songs says something about how he would go and buy fifths during halftime, and he actually did that. Which makes him at least as legitimate as Rick Ross.
Jimmy: But I love Rick Ross!
Dad: I do too, son. I do too. And maybe that’s my point. Fortunately, today’s players have wisely heeded the bad examples set by Chris Webber, Jason Kidd, Tony Parker (in French), Kobe—who released just one song, fittingly called “K.O.B.E.”—and Gary Payton, and they’ve refrained from making hip-hop, or at least any they release to the public. Except for Carlos Boozer.
[Video for “Winning Streak” plays on TV.]
Jimmy: Seriously, Twista? Also, nice hashtag rap: “Now I got the game laced up/Shoestrings.” This is funny, first because the Bulls lost, and second because Boozer went to Duke.
Dad: Have you ever heard of Mike Posner?
Jimmy: No?
Dad: God bless your little heart, Jimmy. But Boozer isn’t the only Blue Devil alum to try his hand at rhyming. National Player of the Year J.J. Redick wrote poetry.
Jimmy: “Strategy” with “battle me?” “High plains” with “internal pain?” And that’s only in the first four lines …
Dad: But that boy sure can shoot. And that’s what matters most.
Jimmy: We’ll miss you, Shaq.
