Nov. 29, 2004. 01:00 AM
Is he a villain or victim?
Some of Ron Artest's cousins are murderers and drug dealers. Who am I supposed to be? he asks Friends, family say his recent brawl with fans was out of character, by Mike Wise and Sally Jenkins
The basketball player branded America's menace is on the telephone, calling from a children's pizza parlour in suburban Indiana. Ron Artest knows television does not lie. That's him on videotape, balling his fists, over and over.
He also explains that trauma is relative, pleading for everyone to move on beyond even the endless televised loop.
After all, when Artest was 12, he saw someone get shot in front of his housing complex in New York City, but life kept moving then, too.
"We just gathered the kids around us and told 'em it would be all right," Artest recalled. "They could go outside again.
"People say I'm a thug or whatever," Artest said. "But my cousin got life for killing someone. I have other cousins who sold cocaine and drugs. So what type of person am I supposed to be? Don't I deserve some credit for overcoming that? I didn't see a lot of nice stuff growing up, so really, who am I supposed to be?"
Who is Artest supposed to be? Villain to many, victim to some, today the all-star forward of the Indiana Pacers is at the epicentre of one of the most violent altercations in the annals of American sports, a free-swinging brawl 11 days ago between players and fans in the final minute of an NBA game between the Indiana Pacers and Detroit Pistons in Auburn Hills, Mich. Repeated televised replays of the fight have spot-shadowed the widening disconnect between millionaire basketball players and their suddenly emboldened customers.
Two days after the melee, NBA commissioner David Stern suspended Artest for the remainder of the 2004-05 season a total of 73 games, the longest non-drug related suspension in league history. The players' association has appealed Artest's suspension and those of Pacers teammates Stephen Jackson and Jermaine O'Neal, who were docked 30 and 25 games, respectively, for their role in the brawl.
But it was Artest's behaviour that thrust him into a select hall of infamy, alongside basketball's Latrell Sprewell, who choked his coach, P.J. Carlesimo, seven years ago, and Todd Bertuzzi, the NHL player who is awaiting trial on assault charges stemming from an on-ice sucker punch last season.
The image of Artest leaping into the stands to confront a fan after being pelted with a large beverage and the subsequent punches Artest landed to another fan who approached him on the court in a threatening manner became career-defining. The NBA's reigning defensive player of the year stands to lose more than $5 million (all figures U.S.) for his actions.
"I just plan to move on with my life and come back on the court," he said during an interview Friday night arranged by his business partner in a record-label venture. Artest phoned back to emphasize how much he deeply regretted the brawl and its impact. But on the advice of his lawyers, Artest refused to discuss specifics of the incident.
Before the events of Nov.19, Artest, 25, had been fined $87,500 and suspended a total of 15 games during his six seasons as an NBA player. Stern acknowledged Artest's past had influenced his decision.
When Artest was confronted with his litany of suspensions, he pointed out that most of his physical anger was channeled toward inanimate objects, such as the video monitor he destroyed at Madison Square Garden two years ago. Many of his fights, Artest said, have pitted him against immovable basket stanchions or telephones he yanked from the wall.
"I never hurt anybody in the NBA, you know?" he said.
Artest is often guileless, displaying an emotional candor that is raw and unsparing. He fits into no narrative. He seldom recognizes the magnitude of his deeds or, often, his words.
Artest seemed not to fully comprehend the fallout earlier this month when he asked the Pacers for a month off to help promote a record he was financially fronting and to rest his sore body.
Mike Jarvis, his college coach at St. John's, said last week that Artest "needed help." Rafer Alston, a guard with the Toronto Raptors who often played with Artest during the summer, blames the NBA for failing to nurture young players like Artest.
"Ron is not a bad person, he just has issues he needs to take care of," Alston said. "But the league wants you to get that help. They don't want to spend their own dollars or help with a support system."
Michael Ruffin, a former teammate of Artest's in Chicago who now plays for the Washington Wizards, called Artest "a genuinely good person."
"He's emotional," Ruffin added. "The things that make him a great player sometimes make him go over the edge."
Unlike so many of his physically gifted all-star peers, Artest was not blessed with a great vertical leap or a potent offensive arsenal. His calling card became his combativeness, his tenacity. From Dirk Nowitzki to Allan Houston, he pasted cut-out pictures of prolific scorers he had shut down in his locker cubicle.
"Beast," his teammates called him, because of his defensive ferocity. Or "Pac-Man," for his relentlessness.
He did not defend the league's best players as much as he crawled underneath their skin, and never was that more evident than the day Artest broke one of Michael Jordan's ribs as Jordan prepared for his last comeback in the summer of 2001 at a Chicago health club. The players in the gym that day still wonder why Artest took a scrimmage so seriously.
Some teammates were concerned when he decided to change his number from 23 to 91 this past season. Michael Jordan wore No.23. Dennis Rodman, the troubled, tattooed soul who ended up nearly broke and needing the NBA much more than it needed him recently, wore No.91.
Artest reacts to such proclamations nonchalantly. He spent much of the past week promoting Allure, the all-female, rhythm and blues group he produced on his record label.
Artest said he envisions himself like Mark Cuban, the Dallas Mavericks' owner and entrepreneur.
"Or like President Bush," he said. "He runs the country, but he also owns oil wells, other businesses. I want to be like that. Play basketball and be good at other things, too."
Ron Artest Jr., grew up in Queensbridge Houses. The largest public housing development in the country, it has an assortment of 93 buildings and about 5,000 residents spread over six square blocks not far from the East River, with a view of Manhattan across the 59th Street Bridge.
The social centres of housing life, the basketball courts, are located in the building's courtyards. Scores of college-bound players learned to play there, including WNBA star Chamique Holdsclaw, who grew up in the nearby Astoria Houses. Artest and Holdsclaw played on the same Boys and Girls Club team. "Ron Ron," she called him, like everyone else in the neighbourhood.
Queensbridge Houses also is where some significant rappers have found their voices, including Nas, Mobb Deep and N.O.R.E. Music and basketball went hand in hand. There was crime, gunplay and empty vials on the streets, but also a very solid working class ethic. Artest's mother, Sarah, was a bank teller, and his father, Ron Artest Sr., held several jobs over the years. He still works on a truck, delivering Snapple juice products.
"I don't know one person in this building on welfare," says Jamaal Speede, 42, a housing consultant and long-time resident of Queensbridge who is close to the Artest family. "Everyone wakes up and has somewhere to go.''
Artest came from a family of seven. His mother and father had four children together, and Sarah had three daughters from a previous marriage.
Artest has remained friends with Holdsclaw, who said the enraged player shown on television does not square with her portrayal of a "committed dude" who returned to the neighbourhood to give his time and money.
"Sometimes people take him the wrong way," Holdsclaw said. "He's loyal to the extreme and competitive to the extreme. It's just like he sort of lost it for a second."
In a telephone interview last week, Ron Artest Sr. called his son "a good man and a very generous man."
"I'm not happy about it, but at same time I'm happy he didn't get hurt," Artest Sr. said. "I'm sorry the way they came at him. You corner him and he'll fight back. He responded and defended himself and everyone can see that from the tapes. Or maybe they're blinded."
"It's high time people know the complexity of this individual instead of the spin," Speede, the family friend, said. "I'm not trying to glamourize public housing but it's not a ticket for delinquency. It shouldn't be synonymous with a behaviour pattern.
"What is reflected here is we're seeing manifestation of how we're really thought of in white America. How white males view black athletes how dare this man think he can walk away to make a rap album? They go to these games to insult people."
According to court records filed in New York and Illinois, Artest has had a number of scrapes with the law. The most major off-court transgression stemmed from a domestic incident two years ago.
In May 2002, Artest's girlfriend at the time, Jennifer Palma, alleged that he grabbed her around the neck and by the arm during an argument. No charges were filed, but Artest turned himself in after Palma told police Artest had violated a family court order of protection by leaving her a threatening phone message.
"If you don't call me back, I'm going to have to hurt you," Artest said then, according to the complaint. Artest's lawyers said Palma sought increased child support payments.
Charges of harassment and criminal contempt were later dropped and Artest underwent anger management counseling. Palma's mother, Wilfreda Palma, 50, said Artest and her daughter have remained friends despite what happened two years ago and she confirmed Artest is making child support payments on behalf of Jeron, her grandson.
"Ron loved his child," said Wilfreda Palma. "He's very good with his children. Sometimes he was late. Sometimes he didn't show up. But he loves his son, Jeron."
Jeron is one of Artest's four children. His wife, Kimisha, has three children by Artest. A 2002 magazine disclosure of his financial generosity to family and associates portrays a millionaire who admitted to spending more lavishly than his means.
Mark Bartelstein, who was Artest's agent until they parted ways in August, said his former client was in disarray when Bartelstein began working with Artest five years ago.
"This is not a person who is diabolical or plotting to hurt people," Bartelstein added. "It's unfair for these amateur psychologists who want to make all these diagnoses for Ron and they don't know him. He's not a mean-spirited guy. Ron is this: When he wakes up in the morning he figures out what he wants to do and goes and does it."
Bartelstein conceded that Artest wanted to sign an extension as quickly as possible with the Pacers, who rewarded him with a six-year, $42 million (U.S.) deal in November 2002. By all-star standards, the deal is among the league's greatest bargains. One of the top 20 players in the game makes less than role players such as Adonal Foyle and Brian Cardinal.
The life of an NBA exile is not horrible, Artest said. He has more time to spend with family, to promote Allure's record "I need to get some more advance orders and I'm coming out with my own soon," he promised and to think about the chaos he helped incite.
He understands the incident will go down in NBA lore, but then, so have many incidents involving him.
Most have been more off-kilter than dangerous. Like the time when he applied for a job at Circuit City in Chicago while a member of the Bulls. Artest wanted to work on Sundays so he could reap the employee electronics discount.
There was also the day he gouged the Berto Center practice floor in Chicago, hurling a back-stretching apparatus weighing a couple of hundred pounds across the court in anger. Or the time he rifled a rack of basketballs, dodge-ball style, inches over terrified teammates' heads at halftime of a game.
He once in a rage lifted a 500-pound weight out of its moorings. The day he was traded from Chicago to Indiana, in March 2002, he pulled a framed picture of himself off the wall of the Bulls' practice facility. "They won't be needing this anymore," he said, gleefully.
Artest said some of the stories surrounding his past have clearly been embellished.
For example, two teammates said they recalled Artest performing push-ups in the nude in the Bulls' locker room.
"Naked push-ups?" he said, laughing. "I don't remember that one.
"But put it in there. That's really going to sell my album."
WASHINGTON POST
