Unguarded by Scottie Pippen (English) Paperback Book

Description: Unguarded by Scottie Pippen An unflinching memoir from the six-time NBA Champion, two-time Olympic gold medalist, and Hall of Famer, revealing how Scottie Pippen, the youngest of twelve, overcame two family tragedies and universal disregard by college scouts to become an essential component of the greatest basketball dynasty of the last fifty years. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER This unflinching "master class" (The New York Times) of a memoir from two-time Olympic gold medalist and NBA Hall of Famer reveals how Scottie Pippen, the youngest of twelve, overcame two family tragedies and universal disregard by college scouts to become an essential component of the greatest basketball dynasty of the last fifty years. Scottie Pippen has been called one of the greatest NBA players for good reason. Simply put, without Pippen, there are no championship banners--let alone six--hanging from the United Center rafters. Theres no Last Dance documentary. Theres no "Michael Jordan" as we know him. The 1990s Chicago Bulls teams would not exist as we know them. So how did the youngest of twelve go from growing up poor in the small town of Hamburg, Arkansas, enduring two family tragedies along the way, to become a revered NBA legend? How did the scrawny teen, overlooked by every major collegiate basketball program, go on to become the fifth overall pick in the 1987 NBA Draft? And, perhaps most compelling, how did Pippen set aside his ego (and his own limitless professional ceiling) in order for the Bulls to become the most dominant basketball dynasty of the last half century? In Unguarded, the six-time champion and two-time Olympic gold medalist finally opens up to offer pointed and transparent takes on Michael Jordan, Phil Jackson, and Dennis Rodman, among others. Pippen details how he cringed at being labeled Jordans sidekick, and discusses how he could have (and should have) received more respect from the Bulls management and the media. Pippen reveals never-before-told stories about some of the most famous games in league history, including the 1994 playoff game against the New York Knicks when he took himself out with 1.8 seconds to go. He discusses what it was like dealing with Jordan on a day-to-day basis, while serving as the facilitator for the offense and the anchor for the defense. Pippen is finally giving millions of adoring basketball fans what they crave; an unvarnished, "closely observed, and uncommonly modest" (Kirkus Reviews) look into his life and role within one of the greatest, most popular teams of all time. Author Biography Scottie Pippen played seventeen seasons in the NBA, winning six championships and two Olympic gold medals. He was honored as one of the 50 Greatest Players in NBA History in 1996. Pippen is the only person ever to win an NBA championship and Olympic gold medal twice in the same year. He was inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in 2010. He lives in the Los Angeles area and you can follow him on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter @ScottiePippen. Michael Arkush has written or cowritten fifteen books, including the New York Times bestsellers, From the Outside with Ray Allen and The Big Fight with Sugar Ray Leonard. Arkush previously served as a staff writer at the Los Angeles Times. He lives with his wife, Pauletta Walsh, in Oak View, California. Review "A master class in settling scores, or creating new ones."-The New York Times Review Quote "The Chicago Bulls stalwart tells all--and then some. Pippen also writes evenhandedly of the world outside basketball: "No matter how many championships I have won, and millions I have earned, I never forget the color of my skin and that some people in this world hate me just because of that." Closely observed and uncommonly modest." --Kirkus Excerpt from Book Chapter 1: Hamburg CHAPTER 1: HAMBURG I wish I experienced one of the idyllic childhoods so common in the small-town America of the late 1960s and early 1970s. But I didnt. I dont recall the day when everything changed in our corner of the universe. All I know was that for the longest time my brother Ronnie, thirteen, wasnt around to play anymore. He was in the hospital after being seriously injured in gym class. Attacked was more like it. I was three years old when it happened, the youngest of twelve. Ronnie was waiting for class to start when, out of nowhere, this bully delivered a sucker punch in the middle of his back. He fell to the floor and was unable to get up. My sister Sharon, two years younger than Ronnie, rushed to his side when she found out, but the authorities quickly cleared the gym and didnt allow anyone near him. The bully had been pushing Ronnie around in school for some time. Sharon urged him to fight back. He wouldnt. That wasnt who Ronnie was. I have never known a more gentle soul. One day, after months in the hospital, he finally came home. I remember feeling as if I were meeting my brother for the very first time. He was paralyzed from the neck down and would never walk again. Not until many years later did I learn the whole story of how my mother, Ethel Pippen, got Ronnie out of the hospital. The hospital was a few hours from Hamburg. My parents visited him on the weekends. Mom had her hands full raising everyone, while my father, Preston Pippen, a veteran of World War II, cut logs at the Georgia-Pacific paper mill in Crossett, fifteen miles away, where they made toilet paper, tissues, and paper towels. Everyone knew someone who worked at the mill. The mill had a distinct odor you could smell from anywhere in Hamburg. I cant describe what the odor was like. Trust me, it was putrid. Anyway, one Sunday when they arrived at the hospital, Mom and Dad were told they couldnt see Ronnie. The doctors had put him in a new program and were concerned that if my parents continued to coddle him, Ronnie wouldnt make any progress. There is nothing wrong with your sons back, the doctors told them. The problem is in his head. That is why hes not walking. The doctors had moved Ronnie from his bed in the main section of the hospital to the mental ward. Knowing Mom, who was tougher than any of the Bad Boys (the Detroit Pistons) from the late 1980s and early 1990s, I can easily imagine the look she gave the doctors when she found out what they had done. I saw that look many times growing up. It was scary. "Im not leaving the hospital without seeing my son," she insisted. "If we let you see him," they warned her, "you will have to take him with you. We wont want him anymore." No problem. Mom was more than happy to take Ronnie where he belonged. Home. "Go ahead," they finally agreed. "We dont care. He is going to die anyway." "If hes going to die anyway," she said, "hes going to die with me." My mother hardly ever brought up that day in the hospital. Whenever she did, she broke down. I wonder if a part of her might have feared the doctors were telling the truth. Once Ronnie had been home for a while, we began to get a clearer picture of what they did to him at the hospital. No wonder he had nightmares for months. Not from the accident itself. From how he was treated. Every night, before going to sleep, we knew the nightmares were coming. We just didnt know when. Ronnie would wake up in a sweat and start to scream. Mom along with my brothers and sisters did everything they could to get him to stop. "Youll never have to go back to that place," they assured Ronnie. After my brother calmed down, for the time being, Mom turned her attention to the rest of us. A number of my siblings had already moved out. Even so, there was still a lot of work to get done. "You need to go back to sleep," she would tell us. "You have got to get up early in the morning." No one woke up earlier than her. Lots of mornings, after I was five or six, she took off to clean other peoples houses. Every dime made a difference. I only wish we had the money back then to go after the people who caused my poor brother so much harm. That includes the school, which should have disciplined the bully long before he attacked Ronnie. They did nothing. The nurses at the hospital would leave a tray of food next to Ronnies bed, telling him he could feed himself whenever he wanted. He couldnt feed himself. He couldnt move. He just lay there, helpless, hungry. Ronnie was terrified of the dark. We had to keep the light on before he went to bed, turning it off once we were certain he had fallen asleep. After about a month, he grew secure enough to close his eyes with a small desk lamp on instead of requiring the light from the ceiling. His back was filled with ugly bedsores. Our task was to get them off and clean up the bed whenever he soiled himself. Day by day, with a lot of effort and a lot of love, we all nursed him back to health--and I mean all of us. We bathed him. We fed him. We helped him exercise. It took years, but we got Ronnie to where he could move around with two canes, earning the nickname Walking Cane. He learned how to ride to the grocery store on a specially fitted bicycle. Now in his midsixties, Ronnie still lives in Hamburg on the same plot of land where he grew up. My sister Kim takes care of him. The nightmares are long gone. I see him as often as I can. He has inspired me like no one else. Ronnie had every right to give up, to curse the fate he was handed. He didnt. He fought hard to build a productive and happy life. Im not the biggest success story in the Pippen family. He is. Ronnie kept believing in himself no matter what the obstacles were. He has spent many evenings on his precious CB radio, speaking for hours to truck drivers across America. Thats his bridge to the outside world. I should probably hate the bully who did Ronnie and our family so much damage. I dont. He was a kid, and kids do horrible things to one another. At the same time, I dont understand why he or anyone in his family didnt apologize to my brother or parents. Last year, the bully, who is still hanging around the area, reached out to see if he could visit Ronnie. My brother wasnt interested. I didnt blame him. Too late to apologize now. I have never asked Ronnie about the day in gym class or what they did to him in the hospital. I see no point in rehashing those painful times. For him, and for us. Roughly ten years after Ronnie was attacked, my family was dealt another shock. That day I remember. All too well. Dad was sitting on the sofa, enjoying his dinner. He liked nothing better than to watch a baseball game on television. He was a heck of a player in his day. By this time, Dad, who was about sixty, was on disability from the mill due to arthritis. The arthritis bothered him so much he would sit in his truck in the parking lot instead of on the bleachers when he showed up at my Little League baseball games. On this particular night, Mom was at church down the block, rehearsing for a revival. Her faith meant the world to her. All of a sudden, Dad dropped his plate and slumped toward the edge of the sofa. A deranged look was in his eyes and he was throwing up, food coming out of his nostrils. I didnt know what to do. Kim, who had brought him his dinner, ran out to have a neighbor go to the church to find Mom, who made it home before the ambulance arrived. Dad was having a stroke on the right side of his body. Somehow I assumed he would be fine. I was too young to understand what a stroke can do to a person. He would never be able to walk, or really speak again. He could say yes or no, but he couldnt put together a full sentence, except, strangely enough, this one: "You know what I mean." We never understood why that sentence and no others. He was aware of what had happened to him, and that had to be the cruelest part. I cant imagine the despair and frustration he must have felt, day after day, a prisoner in his own body, no hope of escape. Once again, everyone came together to help out in any way he or she could. Such is one of the countless blessings of belonging to a large, loving family. We fed Dad, we carried him into the shower, and because he couldnt control his bodily functions, we cleaned up his messes. Another brother lifted him as I slid a diaper underneath or vice versa. I wondered years later whether the back problems I suffered my first season in Chicago were from lifting weights or picking up Dad and Ronnie. Both were heavy. Mom, as usual, knew how to handle the situation. She made sure Dad never felt left out of any gathering. He sat in his wheelchair with the rest of us at the dinner table, having learned how to feed himself. At times I almost forgot about his disabilities. The strength Mom showed was remarkable. Her faith had a lot to do with it. Never once did she feel sorry for herself. What good would that have done? Her mother, Emma Harris, was even tougher. The word on the street was Grandma could work as hard as any man. I believed it. She, too, didnt engage in self-pity. Perhaps it was from growing up in an era when black folks in the South didnt complain about their fate. They simply accepted whatever the Good Lord gave them and did their best to improve their circumstances, one day at a time Details ISBN1982165200 Author Scottie Pippen Publisher Atria Books Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 1982165200 ISBN-13 9781982165208 Format Paperback Publication Date 2022-10-04 Imprint Atria Books Pages 304 UK Release Date 2022-10-04 DEWEY 796.323092 Audience General Illustrations Illustrations We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:137206055;

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