#Roger that t shirt free

The documentary doesn’t quite complete the thought about how a bike-riding hippie could also become the highest-paid player at the time, but it does get at the emotional core of how those deals didn’t make Walton’s lack of playing, and the guilt from letting down his teammates, any easier to accept.

James tells this on-court career in loving detail, with a great focus on his emotional downfall when foot and knee injuries began to cause him to sit out for hundreds of total games, while contracts ensured he made money in the process. Free, and others. James creates the kind of reunions in which friends, family, and teammates are one and the same, and anecdotes abound. It makes you giddy to hear what was shared off the record, but in this rare case, it’s obvious there wasn’t anything bad said about Walton. But the interest in this formal but compelling project is primarily about emotional memorabilia, and so we are treated with a bounty of off-the-cuff remembrances from his peers like Larry Bird, Abdul Jabbar, World B. In long drives, James nerds out about specific matches with those who shared the spotlight with Walton, especially when Walton made his way to the NBA Finals with the Blazers in ’77, and later the Celtics in ’86. Walton’s life story is in great hands with director James, who has a rare touch for sports and the people who play them (“Hoop Dreams,” “Prefontaine”).

#Roger that t shirt free

He made Portland a home for his free spirit, legendary jump hook, and radical thinking. Walton focused most of all on becoming a great basketball player, having followed in the long lunges of Kareem Abdul Jabbar at UCLA. Due to a stutter, he hardly talked on camera. In his heyday of playing center for the Portland Trail Blazers in the '70s, he was a humble hippie and outdoorsy guy, a vegetarian who stood out with his 6' 11' frame and preferred mode of transportation (a bike). As we learn from this jolly Steve James docuseries, the towering and ebullient Walton is known for hyperbole, for liberally using the word “fantastic.” But in the humble Hall of Famer's mind, filled equally with Grateful Dead jams and gratitude, claiming the title is no stretch.Įven without today's standards in sports, in which egos can be as big as paychecks, Walton is an enigma.

One doesn’t so deeply insist on calling themselves “the luckiest guy in the world”-as NBA superstar and sportscaster Bill Walton does-without facing bad luck.