If You Followed My Career, I’d Love For You to Read This

When you make an announcement like this one, you can’t keep it a secret from literally everyone.

It’s impossible. 

You’re gonna have your people you tell early. Whether it’s your dad, your wife, your best buddies from grade school, there’s always gonna be people who know you’re retiring before the world does. And those people, they love you, they know that turning the page is probably pretty scary so … they kind of check in on you. It’s like: “Oh wow. Congrats! Big decision. Are you OK?” 

That makes you pause and take stock of everything, you know? Makes you think about where you came from, and everyone you’ve learned lessons from over the years. The special moments. The friendships. Everything comes to mind in a flash. 

But, with me, something else would happen, too. 

Every time someone asked me “Are you OK?” after I told them the news, my mind would immediately go to a very specific place. Back to one of my all-time NBA moments. Me and Kobe Bryant, going at each other inside Staples Center back in 2013. 

Kobe’s one of the main guys I leaned on for advice after I tore my Achilles in 2017. He helped me so much back then, and I’m forever grateful. But four years before that, Kobe and I were fresh off the USA Basketball camp out in Vegas. During those camps, guys spend a ton of time together, so you form some close bonds. And this game in L.A. was one of the first times that we played against each other after Vegas. 

Before tipoff, we see each other, and it’s all love. It’s like “What’s up, Kob?” “What’s up, Rudy?” Super chill.  

Then the game starts, and at one point, Kobe, he decides to switch onto me in the post. I was a lot taller than him. But he’s Kobe Bryant. He doesn’t care. So, he comes at me like it’s nothing. I start backing him down, and he tries to stand me up. Of course, I’m like “Come on, bro….” and I go right at him. Like all out. And as I do that, he reaches around, and, well, I kind of … slam my shoulder right into his head. 

Bam!

And Kobe goes down. Hard. 

When he gets up, I look at him and notice … dude’s bleeding a little bit. 

We’re boys. And now I have him out here on this court bleeding. 

“Yo, Kob!” I say. “Kob, are you OK?” And….

He says nothing. 

Doesn’t react at all. 

Maybe he didn’t hear me? 

Or did I f*** up his eardrum or something when I hit him. Can Kobe not hear now?!?!? What did I do?

So, play continues, but at the other end someone knocks the ball out of bounds or something, and there’s a stoppage. I walk over to Kobe like, “Kob! Kob? You alright?” 

Nothing. 

He’s just swaying back and forth now. It’s crazy. Just swaying in place. Eyes looking off in the distance somewhere. 

Next possession, we’re on offense again, and there’s a foul. OK, enough! I’m standing right next to him at the foul line. Like, I gotta see if Kobe can hear!  

“Kob. Kob! Kob!!! Are you OK, man?”

A second passes. Then another. Then….

He turns his head in my direction. And he looks at me. Blank stare. 

“Kob, I know I got you with the shoulder a little bit. Are you OK?”

A few more seconds pass. Like awkward, awkward seconds. Then he looks straight into my soul with those eyes of his, and, real slow and pronounced, he says….

“Don’t    you    ever …………….. ask me ……….. am I OK.”

It was the coldest cold-blooded thing ever. 

And then…. 

He didn’t say another word. We just went back to the game. It was the middle of the third quarter or so.

And, as you can probably guess, Kobe roasted us after that. Dude scored 24 points after it happened. He hit three threes in the final two minutes of the game to send it to overtime. And then, in OT, of course….

The Lakers got the win.  

An hour later, he’s on SportsCenter or whatever, and they’re asking him about all those points he scored at the end, and he’s literally like, “Yeah … I mean … Rudy Gay asked me if I was OK. So……..” 

No joke. Dead serious. That’s what he says. On TV.

Then he smiles this sly little smile.  

I’m just shaking my head watching that like: You know what … in retrospect … maybe I shouldn’t have asked him if he was OK.

Lesson learned. 

Kobe taught me all about focus that day. About how, even though they call it a game, hoops isn’t really “a game” if you’re trying to be the best player in the world. 

And, you know what? Sitting here now, knowing that my NBA days are over … I’m absolutely convinced that the coolest thing about putting up 18 years in this league is all those moments like that one with Kobe. I’ve been beyond fortunate to experience so much in this game, and so on my way out I really just want to tell a few of my favorite stories and shout out some folks who have been especially meaningful to me. 

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Look, I’d be lying if I said my career turned out exactly how I wanted it to.

Let’s be real here. It didn’t. 

You know that. I know that. Everybody knows that. 

My story, it’s not some fairy tale. In the end, I guess I would say it was … complicated. Just in terms of how it all worked out. The injuries sucked, for sure. And, for whatever reason, there were a number of times when I ended up with teams in the middle of situations that were just not ideal, or teams dealing with some sort of internal turmoil.    

In those moments, of course it was difficult. And at times it almost felt like it was becoming too much. But at this point? At the end of the line? I can’t be upset about those things forever, you know what I mean? Spend the rest of my life thinking about what-ifs? Be all pissed off and bitter and grumpy? Like, be that guy? 

No thanks. 

Those were the cards I was dealt. And I can honestly tell you that I did the best I could with those cards. I may not have been the best player on the planet, but I really did try my best. 

It wasn’t always all good. I could’ve done more or been better. But you know what? At the same time … in some cases, on some nights, the result was actually really cool. And the circle I formed, the moments I shared, the teammates and coaches I worked alongside with, made the ride worth every moment. 

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For starters, even before getting to the NBA, back home in Baltimore, you have the one and only Carmelo Anthony.

I’m always going to give that guy his flowers. Melo was three years ahead of me, and he really laid down the blueprint for achieving greatness coming out of our town. Coming up and seeing him do it, that was super inspiring to me. 

But back when I was young? Man, I never told him any of that. It’s Baltimore! It’s a very competitive city, especially when you’re talking about basketball. 

He still hasn’t forgiven me for not going to Syracuse, but that’s my guy. 

Carmelo Anthony, more than anyone else, taught me what it meant to do your thing and show out for Baltimore on the biggest stage possible. 

Then, when I left B’more and went up to UConn, I learned a lesson from Jim Calhoun … I don’t even know exactly what about. I guess you could maybe say about being responsible for your actions.

But, more than anything, I learned that it’s a cold world. 

Freezing cold. 

That was my first time away from home, so it was a crazy learning experience. And Coach Calhoun, God love him, he’s the best, but that guy … he could absolutely be a nut sometimes. Just in terms of the level of precision he demanded. I’m thankful for that overall. It prepared me well for the NBA. But there was this one time….

Dead of winter. Freshman year. Gotta be like 10 below zero. I have this 8 a.m. class. And it’s a MONDAY, by the way. So, what do I do? I sleep in. I miss the class. Instead of going to class, I head straight to the team breakfast. I’m like: The sun’s barely up! No one will even know if I don’t go to that lecture. 

I walk to the cafeteria wearing this gigantic, oversized winter jacket, some sweatpants, and those big-ass Timberlands everyone used to wear back then. As soon as I grab my eggs and some juice and take a seat … there’s Coach, snagging the chair right next to me. 

“Hey, Rudy! How’s your morning going?”

Play it cool, Rude. 

“Oh, good! Cold one out. But good, good.”

Silence.

“Wonderful. Wonderful!”

More silence. 

I’m looking straight down at my eggs, not lifting my head up, not saying anything. Just hoping that maybe he’ll leave and go talk to someone else. But….

He doesn’t leave.  

“So, how was class this morning, Rudy?”

Wait, does he know? Are you kidding me? Did he talk to the roosters or something? Or does he really just want to know how class was? Maybe he’s just curious.

So, then it’s like … to lie, or not to lie? Right? That was my choice. 

And I was 18, sooooooooo….

“Oh good, Coach. It was good! You know, class is so important. Always want to be learning.” 

I’m shaking my head right now remembering this.

Coach Calhoun, he’s not someone you can just trick and keep it movin’.

He says, “Oh yeah?”

He points to my boy. 

“Because this guy right here, you know what he told me?” (You know who you are, you rat!) “He was in class, and he told me you weren’t there.”

 Then, I kid you not, Coach Calhoun, I still can’t believe this … he looks at me and is like, “OK, here’s what’s going to happen now….” 

When he laid it out, for a second, I thought maybe he was joking. But….

Coach Calhoun doesn’t joke like that.  

He made me get up from the table, leave the cafeteria, walk outside and … run a damn mile.

Right through the middle of campus.

Picture it. Six-foot-nine dude, big-ass jacket on, sprinting down the quad. Timberlands sliding all over the place. Sleet all up in my eyes. People looking at me like I’m nuts. 

“Chop, chop,” Coach Calhoun yelled, sending me off. “Get yer’ ass out there and run, Rudy. Since you’re so well-rested, it shouldn’t be a problem for you.” 

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Once I made it to the league, there were a bunch of guys who helped me be a better NBA player, but the biggest influence early on was definitely Damon Stoudamire. 

From my earliest days in Memphis, I always looked up to Damon. And please don’t let him know that I’m saying this but … I still look up to that guy to this day. 

When I first met him, Damon was the most honest person I’d ever been around. If I made a dumb mistake — and believe me, I made a bunch — he’d call me out. Sometimes he’d embarrass me. He didn’t hold back. And that did me a ton of good. 

Going from being a high school All-American, then to UConn, and doing enough there to be able to leave early? I was … a little bit arrogant. 

Damon, he wasn’t having it. 

Right from Day 1 it was like: “Look. You don’t know as much as you think you do. You need to watch and learn.”

Lots of guys probably would’ve hated it, but I absolutely loved his approach. I needed someone like him back then to straighten me out immediately. 

From there, it was years of learning from some of the best. There were so many players who were kind enough to pass along some of their expertise. Way too many to name. But I’ll always be grateful to Mike Miller for showing me how to put in work. How to hone your craft through consistent and focused training. Mike was a maniac with that stuff, and if you were around him enough you couldn’t help but to have it rub off. Patty Mills and Manu Ginobili were two other guys I absolutely loved. They’re both tireless competitors, and Patty is literally the most optimistic, positive person I’ve ever met. Darrell Arthur, too, another Memphis guy. Did all the little things, the dirty work. He had a huge impact on me. Then there’s Chris Paul, my friend and also one of the most competitive people I have ever met. I remember us not talking for years over a playoff series! And Kyle Lowry. Kyle is one of my best friends in the entire world, going all the way back to middle school. So, it was awesome to be able to suit up and play in NBA games with Kyle. 

And then there’s DeMar DeRozan.

That’s my brother right there. I appreciate his friendship so much. How he’s helped me through things over the years, and always been there when I needed his advice, or even just someone to listen. And I hope that he feels like I’ve been as good a friend to him over the years as he has been to me. We’ve definitely both been through some stuff in this game, and in life, and ever since we became friends in Toronto, we’ve leaned on each other in the way that real, true friends do. 

Flashback to after I blew out my Achilles and was coming back after surgery. San Antonio brought me in, and I’ll be the first one to admit ... that time in my life … it was a lot. People were telling me how I’d never be the same as a player. And then, on top of that, it was like … oh, and also, you’re a bench guy now.

I was salty. I absolutely was. I’ll cop to that.

But DeMar, when he came over to the Spurs from the Raptors it was an absolute gift for me. Because that guy, he knows me. As a player, and as a person. He’d see me moping around or feeling sorry for myself, and he’d know exactly how to get me out of that funk. 

DeMar always made time for me. And, even now, we still talk a few times a week. 

To have someone like DeMar in your life … you basically just thank your lucky stars. 

Which brings me back full circle to Memphis. 

I arrived in Memphis when I was 19, and I was so fortunate to be there with Damon and Kyle and Pau and Mike Conley, all those guys, and be able to see something built from the ground up. It was so fun on the court, but just as importantly, and meaningfully, it was awesome being a member of that community. 

One thing about Memphis … those fans, they love to see the players they cheer for out and about town.  

Like they really want to see you. 

You can’t be one of those hermit crab-type dudes, the “we-never-see-him-anywhere” types, and be playing in Memphis. It just won’t work. 

They need you to be out there, with them. Walking and eating and running errands. And if you can hang in that way … those people will show you more love than you could ever imagine. 

It may not be for everyone. But I absolutely loved it. All of it. I loved being a part of that whole vibe. 

Unfortunately … trades happen. 

And look, I’m no dummy. I know the deal. I know I get a lot of flack for the Grizzlies having a run of success after trading me. But all I can tell you is that I’m proud of what I contributed toward the rise of that team back then, and I hope everyone there knows how much I loved being a Memphis Grizzly.  

I enjoyed a bunch of places where I played during my career. Toronto was amazing. Sacramento was a really fun place to play.  

But there will always be a soft spot in my heart for Memphis. 

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It’s kind of funny when you’re at the end of your career, and you’re weighing whether to try and catch on with a team as an end-of-the-bench player, versus, like … getting to be able to drive your kids to school every morning and pick them up after and go grab ice cream cones together.

I mean, those are two very different paths right there.

But, ultimately, you gotta talk to the kids, right? See what they think. Feel it out. 

With any other line of work, I feel like the safe assumption is that the kids would be like: “Dad, come home! Stop working! Hang out with us. It’ll be so much fun!!!!” But when you play in the NBA? And you have two boys who are nine and 10 … and those boys just so happen to be little basketball maniacs? It’s a whole different ball game. 

My kids absolutely love basketball. My oldest, Clint, especially … basketball is all he ever talks about. 

I remember having a discussion with Clint last summer before I signed on with Golden State, because it was looking like maybe Portland was going to be an option. Dame was still there at that point, and I was communicating with him about maybe trying to make it happen. 

I’m at home one afternoon, and I call Clint over to me. He’s nine at the time.

“Yo man, what do you think? What about your dad becoming a Portland Trailblazer? Good idea, or nah?”

And that kid, it’s so funny, he pauses for a second and kind of looks up at the ceiling. And then it’s….

“Nah.” 

I’m like “Whaaaaat? What do you mean?”

He’s just shaking his head back and forth now. 

“Nah. No! Absolutely not.”

I look at him kind of sideways, not sure what to make of it. I’m thinking maybe he’s gonna say it’s too far away, or it’s too rainy in Portland or something. But no.

“Dad,” he says, “Damian Lillard ain’t never gonna pass you the ball!”

Hahahhahahah! 

Kids, man. (You know I love you, Dame. That’s him, not me!) 

But anyway, when I eventually sat them down to talk about potentially calling it a career, I wasn’t sure how they’d react. I was thinking they’d be like: “Dad. You’re so lucky to play in the NBA. You should never stop.”

It wasn’t that, though. It was…. 

The opposite of that. 

And their response really put things in perspective. They were basically … just like any other kids. 

“Dad, come home! Stop working! Hang out with us. It’ll be so much fun!!!!”

When you play in the NBA? And you have two boys who are 9 and 10 … and those boys just so happen to be little basketball maniacs? It’s a whole different ball game.

- Rudy Gay

That was a relief. For sure. But it doesn’t mean this decision was easy from there. 

Basketball has always been my escape, my way out. Whether it was my family not having enough money when I was little, or my parents arguing, or anything else, I could always just find a hoop and do my thing. I could always rely on basketball. 

As a kid, I’d walk over to the neighborhood courts, and transform into Mike hitting those buzzer beaters. The next day I’d be AI, or Penny. When I got older, I’d be trying to do hesitation dribbles like White Chocolate, or I’d want to spot up like Ray or T-Mac.   

Hoops allowed me to enter a different world. Then, when I made it to the NBA, it was like that incredible fantasy world became real. 

To choose to bring that to an end?

It’s not easy. 

You know what, though? Real talk. Everyone gets to a point where what they’re able to do is just not good enough anymore. 

I needed to humble myself and be like: Look, this is over. 

But actually coming to grips with it being over, that’s … a process. One I’m honestly still dealing with, and struggle with at times. I’ll still be watching games and see some of these guys missing a pass or fumbling the ball out of bounds, and I absolutely am that dude yelling at the TV like: “I’m better than that clown. Are you kidding me?!?!?”

It’s not pretty.  

But, at the same time, look….

I’m 38 years old. That’s nowhere even near mid-career for most people’s professional lives. So, the way I see it, I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. I just need to figure out what exactly that means. Maybe it’s public speaking, or media, or business. We’re gonna see. I have a contracting company, a real estate company. I have the PickUp USA Fitness gym in Towson, Maryland. There are a bunch of things I’ve already begun devoting some time to. Now it’s just a matter of finding one big new thing that I love, and then throwing my energy into it. 

In the meantime, I’m just feeling extremely grateful for all the love, wisdom, and friendship that I’ve experienced in the game of basketball. 

Me and my entire family cannot thank everyone enough for the kindness I have been shown over the past 18 years. 

And now … that family has me back!

I feel very blessed to be able to be at home and spend so much meaningful time with my wife and children. I know everyone says this about their kids, but my wife, Ecko, and I … we have the best kids in the entire world! Massive respect to Ecko for doing so much to raise our boys into such wonderful young people and putting up with me being away so much for work. I cannot wait for us all to experience even more incredible times together. 

And as long as those three are good, I’m good. 

I can tell you for certain that when people check in on me these days … when they ask me that question. The one I hit Kobe with before he decided to go nuclear back in 2013. Those three little words…. 

“Are you OK?”

I’m happy to report that there’s no hesitation in my response. 

“Yeah, I am,” I say. “I’m better than OK, actually.” 

Eighteen years in the league. Learned from some of the best to ever do it. Made some incredible lifelong friends. Feeling good. Healthy. Inspired. Have a family that loves me, and who I love more than anything. 

I’m not just OK. It’s like…. 

“I’m the luckiest man in the world.”