God and Starbucks: An NBA Superstar’s Journey Through Addiction and Recovery

193 Pages·2017·2.47 MB·English

by  Vin Baker

Dedication
This book is dedicated to my wonderful mother, Jean Baker; my wife and
partner, Shawnee; my father (and pastor), James, who never gave up on me; and
God, who always sees the best in me!
Epigraph
You never know God is all you need until God is all you have.
—Rick Warren
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Introduction
Prologue
1: Growing Up
2: Big Fish, Little Pond
3: The Rookie
4: “How Bad Can It Be?”
5: Playing High
6: Scared Straight (Almost)
7: A New Home in Seattle
8: Ego Gets in the Way
9: A Functional Alcoholic
10: A Fractured Life
11: Back to New England
12: Celtics Intervention
13: A Career Unravels
14: Losing Everything
15: The Prodigal Son
16: Abyssinian Baptist Church
17: Starbucks and Second Chances
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Introduction
I
can see it on their faces sometimes. They walk into the store, heavy lidded,
distracted by thoughts of the upcoming workday, looking for nothing more than
a jolt of caffeine to shake off the morning cobwebs. They peck away at their
smartphones or fumble with their wallets, oblivious to their surroundings, until
suddenly, there they are, at the front of the line, looking up—way up—at the
world’s tallest barista.
Some feign cool indifference, but most can’t help themselves. I grew up in
Connecticut, played college ball at the University of Hartford, and spent part of
my career—a rather notorious part—with the Boston Celtics. So here, at a
Starbucks in North Kingstown, Rhode Island, there’s no place to hide. First of
all, I don’t look like an ordinary guy. I’m a giant in the back there. I mean that
literally—I’m six foot eleven, 275 pounds. You see me frothing up your
cappuccino, and at the very least you can’t help but wonder, What’s going on
here? He must be . . . somebody. Others know exactly who I am: a guy who
made, and lost, more than $100 million in his NBA career, a career wrecked by
alcoholism and depression and spectacularly bad business decisions. These are
the people who stare hard, then suddenly avert their eyes, the sadness
nevertheless evident on their faces.
I know what they’re thinking: How the hell does a four-time NBA all-star, and
an Olympian, end up shouting “Tall decaf cappuccino!” from behind the counter
at Starbucks? Given half the chance, I’ll disarm the customer with a smile and a
few friendly words. I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable when they walk
into our store, and I sure don’t want anyone’s pity. Trust me when I say this: I’ve
been through worse. Much, much worse. There’s no shame in work. The
indignity comes from not working, from losing your way through ego and
weakness and addiction, and finding yourself tumbling into a bottomless pit of
weakness and addiction, and finding yourself tumbling into a bottomless pit of
despair and helplessness.
Want to know what that looks like? Okay, here it is.
I was a first-round NBA draft pick (the eighth choice overall in 1993)
smoking weed every day to alleviate my anxiety, until repeated trips to the
emergency room, with my heart racing uncontrollably, prompted me to find
another way to self-medicate.
I was an NBA all-star, drinking after games, and then before games, and
eventually at all points in between—draining anywhere between a pint and a
fifth of liquor a day—using alcohol to end my career and nearly my life. Make
no mistake, that’s what alcoholism is: slow and deliberate suicide.
I was a man running from responsibility, fathering five children with two
different women, and selfishly bouncing back and forth between families and
relationships, because money gave me leeway and freedom that others were not
afforded. Money, after all, is like a “get out of jail free” card—until it’s gone,
and with it the patience and tolerance of those you’ve hurt, and the enabling of
those who never really cared about you in the first place.
I was a former millionaire driving my mother’s Mercedes (the one I bought
her with my rookie contract) to a pawnshop, with four old tires stuffed into the
backseat and trunk. I sold the tires for eighty bucks, bought a few bottles of
liquor, and drank myself into oblivion, until all the pain was gone—the ache in
my lower back that signaled a failing liver, and the ceaseless cloud of loneliness
that hung over every day.
That’s how bad it got for me.
By comparison, working at Starbucks is a walk in the park.
Would you prefer to say that I got my ass kicked? That I’ve been humbled?
Fine, go ahead and say it. You would not be incorrect. But I’m not bitter. I’ve
been sober for six years now, and in that time, with spirituality as the foundation,
I’ve rebuilt my life one brick at a time. I married a longtime girlfriend, and
together we are raising our four beautiful children. I am a licensed minister and
assistant pastor at the same church in Old Saybrook, Connecticut, where my
father is the head pastor, and where, as a boy, I knew nothing but peace. I’ll
probably never be a millionaire again, but that’s fine. Life is good and full of
possibilities.
That’s the point I’d like to get across: that life is worth living, no matter how
bad it might get at times. Obstacles can be overcome, demons can be conquered.
I’ve been speaking to youth groups both in and out of church, and I’ve done
some work with the NBA, helping provide a cautionary tale to young athletes
who likely aren’t even remotely prepared for the ways in which their lives will
change when staggering wealth is heaped on them. This book is part of my
change when staggering wealth is heaped on them. This book is part of my
mission. Maybe, by telling my story, I can provide inspiration and hope to those
who are facing all manner of hardships, and who are trying to figure out how to
pick themselves up and start over again.
As I tell the parishioners at my church: God doesn’t measure how far you’ve
fallen, but he will be there when you’re ready to rise.