A Tearful Ceremony For Hamilton Was The Proper Bow On His Pistons Career

By Will Burchfield
Twitter @burchie_kid

AUBURN HILLS (CBS Detroit) - Rip Hamilton accomplished most things in his life that he put his mind to -- even some he didn't.

But his will was no match for his emotions on Sunday night as Hamilton broke down again and again, wiping tears from his eyes, as the Pistons retired his No. 32 during a halftime ceremony at The Palace.

"It's surreal," Hamilton said prior to the game. "You never prepare yourself for something like this. You have a lot of dreams in your life, especially within the game of basketball, but I'll be 100 percent honest with you, I've never dreamed of anything like this before. It just lets you know when you dream, you can also dream bigger."

Hamilton is the third member of the Pistons' 2004 championship to have his number retired, joining Ben Wallace and Chauncey Billups in The Palace rafters. Despite the seminal role he played in that triumph, along with the organization's mid-2000's dynasty, Hamilton finds it hard to believe that the Pistons have bestowed upon him the ultimate honor.

"When I got the phone call from ownership and they let me know that they were retiring my jersey, I didn't have any words," Hamilton said. "It was like, 'Really?'"

To everyone else, it was simply, "Of course."

During his eight-year career in Detroit, during which time the Pistons claimed five division titles, played in six straight Eastern Conference finals and won the 2004 NBA Championship, Hamilton averaged 18.8 points per game and played in three All-Star Games. He was the team's leading scorer each and every season. Without the wiry shooting guard from Coatesville, Penn., the "Goin' To Work" Pistons would never have brought home the spoils.

Still...he has trouble grasping the breadth of his own legacy. In many ways, it feels impossible.

"It's kind of like this," he explained. "I'm talking with all my friends and family today and everybody around me is like, 'Can you believe this?' Nobody's saying, 'Hey, I saw this coming.' Everybody's like, 'Hey man, you're from a town that's 11,000 people, and now you're about to get your jersey retired in front of over 20,000 people.'"

It's a story best appreciated in hindsight.

"The whole time that you're in it, when you're playing the game, when you're playing in the Finals and the Eastern Conference Finals, all those big moments, life was going so fast for us we didn't have time to think," he said.

But life has slowed down for him in retirement. He has time to reflect on the past and revel in the present.

"When they said, 'Hey, your jersey's getting retired,' I was like, 'Man, you must have done something really, really great,'" Hamilton said.

"But I couldn't have done it without my teammates."

His teammates were all there on Sunday night - Chauncey, Ben, Tayshaun and Rasheed, most importantly - sitting with Hamilton courtside and then joining him at half court, the Pistons logo beneath their feet, as his jersey was lifted to the ceiling. The five of them parted ways afterward, but it surely won't be long before they're reunited in the rafters.

"Our motto was, 'We're the best five alive.' Before every game that was our chant in the middle of the huddle," Hamilton said. "We all knew that in order for us to be great at what we do, we needed each other, we needed our brothers."

He doesn't use that word lightly. It isn't something Hamilton says for effect. The 'Fab Five' forged an intense bond during their playing days, a kinship that extended far beyond the basketball court, and it's only seemed to harden in the years since. The night before Hamilton's ceremony, they stayed up until 4 a.m. in Rasheed's hotel room reminiscing about days gone by.

When other retired players ask Hamilton if he still talks to his former teammates, the ones he captured a championship with, he proudly tells them, yes, two or three times a week.

"And some of the great players that played on great teams, they say, 'Man, I ain't talk to a guy on that team for 10, 15 years,'" Hamilton said. "So, I think our bond was special."

"We met and became friends," Billups told Hamilton during his ceremonial speech, looking his former teammate in the eye. "And now we're brothers."

More than his teammates, though, Hamilton was proud to share the occasion with his children. Only one of them, his nine-year-old son Deuce, may have any memory of Hamilton's basketball career, and all three of them, including his six-year-old son Parker and four-year-old daughter Peyton, came along well after his glory years in Detroit. Sunday's ceremony - the standing ovations, the fans waving his jersey, the feeling of unabashed love - showed Hamilton's children what those years were like.

"They never got an opportunity to experience the sellouts when we were winning each and every year," he said. "So for me, the biggest reward of all is bringing my kids in this building, seeing what Daddy did each and every day, understanding how Daddy went to work, understanding the fans of Detroit and everything about this city. I'm just happy that they can be a part of this moment."

During Hamilton's speech, a long-winded tribute to his many influences, the man of the hour thought back to being a boy. On a piece of cardboard above his bedroom door, Hamilton would scrawl his life goals, most of them centered on basketball. Win an NCAA championship. (Check.) Make it to the NBA. (Check.) Win an NBA title. (Check.)

"But I never wrote on that board that one day that Hamilton last name, that jersey would be going up in the rafters," Hamilton said.

And there it went, a glistening white banner adorned with his number in red and his last name in blue, slowly toward the ceiling and forever into history.

Considering the contentious end to Hamilton's Pistons career - he still hasn't spoken with former GM Joe Dumars since their public feud led to Hamilton being released - it's amazing that Sunday ever arrived. In some ways, it was all the more special for both the team and the player. Regardless, theirs was a relationship that deserved to be re-sewn, and Hamilton credits owner Tom Gores for threading the needle.

"What I realized is, Tom is just like my Mom. What I mean by that is my Mom always said, 'Never turn your back on family -- never, regardless of what the situation is.' And that let me know that Tom is a real one," Hamilton said, "because he never turned his back on family."

The tears started flowing for Hamilton during his Sunday drive from The Townsend Hotel in Birmingham, where he and his family were staying, to The Palace of Auburn Hills. The sense of déja vu was piercing.

"We took the same exact ride here that I would take each and every day to practice, and I broke down crying. I couldn't hold it in," Hamilton said. "My wife's always like, 'You've gotta let it out, that's the only way you'll feel better.' But just coming down Square Lake and seeing the Palace to the right, it was like, 'Man, this is it, this is special. I'm right back to the beginning.'"

He said he felt like he was on his way to a game. A big game. A Finals game.

"This is the Lakers all over again," Hamilton said.

He couldn't eat. He didn't want to talk to anyone. His emotions were boiling over. So he let them out, in the hopes he could restrain them later.

"I've already cried three times," he said before the game, "so I'll try not to cry again today."

Then he walked out onto The Palace floor as John Mason bellowed his name and the crowd roared in excitement and his teammates opened their arms, and Hamilton, his throat cracking, his eyes welling up, succumbed to the moment.

Hard to blame him.

In:
• Chauncey Billups