shaquille o nealToday, we only celebrate the contributions of Shaquille O’Neal, who has been bigger than life in just about every way imaginable. We fondly reflect on the former LSU Tiger, who Wednesday announced his retirement from the NBA after 19 seasons — in a Shaq-like move, via Twitter — and a couple of decades of basketball dominance. And we wonder, legitimately, if he’s the last of his kind, a 7-foot-1, 325-pound wonder (that’s his listed weight; he looked a few gallons of gumbo heavier than that in recent seasons) who, at his peak, was as swift as he was strong, as deft as he was hammerlike, and always, as gregarious and engaging as any athlete alive. “We did it,” Shaq said to fans in his real-time video. “Nineteen years, baby.
“I want to thank you very much. That’s why I’m telling you first, that I’m about to retire. Love you. Talk to you soon.” Of course he’ll talk. He has been a Hall of Fame talker as much as a Hall of Fame player. In fact, no one ever has accused the man with more nicknames than fingers and toes — including “Superman” when he played in Orlando, “The Big Shaqtus” when he played in Phoenix and “The Big Shamrock” when he was a Celtic — of being at a loss for words. His sense of humor is the stuff of legend. Few athletes ever have proven as adept at clowning themselves, teammates, opponents and anything else that caught his attention or drew his sarcastic wrath. And when the occasion called for it, he also could be introspective and analytical. But the talk wouldn’t have carried much significance, or generated much of an audience, if Shaq hadn’t walked the walk, too.
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