In the middle of a Jazz game earlier this month, Greg Ostertag stood nearly unnoticed at the end of the bench. His arm was draped over a bleacher guardrail as he chatted amiably with a fan.
It was easy to imagine how Jerry Sloan might react if he caught 'Tag small-talking while on the clock. Then again, by that stage Sloan probably didn't care. The coach had given up on Ostertag and Ostertag had given up on the game.
Maybe now both could have some peace. Ostertag could go hunting when he wanted and sleep as late as he liked. Sloan could stop burning brain cells, trying to get the most from a 7-foot-2 enigma who didn't particularly like the game.
Ostertag officially announced his retirement Monday. But he unofficially announced it several weeks ago as he languished at the end of the bench. It was easy to tell by his body language that he had no intention of being the good soldier. If he wasn't going to play, he wasn't about to feign interest. So he gave it up.
He said Monday, among other things, he was quitting because he wanted to spend more time with his family. He noted he was tired of "waking up on the road, not knowing where you're at."
It could be argued that he awoke a lot of times on the court, not knowing where he was at, too.
The Jazz end their season tonight at the Delta Center against Golden State. It will mark the end of an 11-year career for Ostertag, 10 of which he spent with the Jazz. He will retire having played 756 NBA games, 700 in a Jazz uniform. During most of them, Sloan whipped and spurred him like a balky horse. During the 2003 playoffs, Ostertag was able to figure things out momentarily, going for a combined 40 points, 23 rebounds and six blocks on consecutive Saturdays. It was enough to eventually land him a one-year stay in Sacramento and get him back to Utah for a final year, but not enough to change his nature, which was to sit back to see what happened. What happened was the Jazz missed the playoffs for the third consecutive year.
When Utah re-signed him last summer, owner Larry H. Miller admitted it was risky. After nine years of frustration, they knew what they were getting. But the thinking was if he could affect a handful of games, it might be the difference in getting to the playoffs. As it turned out, he didn't come close to making the difference. He never even filled the role of elder statesman, thanks to the requisite blowups with Sloan.
That's not to blame this season's failure on Ostertag. That would be like blaming the price of gas on the tanker driver. He barely played after Carlos Boozer returned from injury. Likewise, it would be unfair to paint him as a troublemaker. He never did anything worse than participate in a couple of shouting matches a year with Sloan and get slapped upside the head by Shaquille O'Neal. There are worse things a player can do.
He made headlines for donating a kidney to his ailing sister, which was a noble gesture. Yet it had nothing to do with earning his keep with the Jazz. So he drew criticism from fans, media, teammates and coaches, all of which questioned his commitment. Ostertag became a poster boy for ill-spent money, earning nearly $50 million in his career. The Jazz tried to trade him at times but could never get what they considered a fair return offer.
He often left others wondering if anything sank in, because he tended to get sidetracked. Case in point: When he was still in college at Kansas, he once showed up at the school's sports information office to do an interview. Spying a video game on a computer as he walked in, he sat down and began playing. Soon he was immersed, ignoring the interviewer, who sat waiting awkwardly for half an hour. Ostertag didn't say a word to him until finishing the game. Only then did he turn his attention to the the reason he had come.
That's how it went with 'Tag throughout an 11-year NBA career.
His head was usually someplace else. Even he admitted he had no idea when he would produce a big night or what motivated him.
When the end arrived, Ostertag had proven neither a dominating center nor even a consistent one. His claim to fame was that he was the last remaining player from the team's glory years. He was no star. Just a tall, loopy guy who spent a career waking up wondering where he was at.
E-mail: rock@desnews.com