Jack Nicholson’s Hall of Fame basketball life: Tales from courtside and beyond

Jack Nicholson was synonymous with the Showtime Los Angeles Lakers. He sat courtside at their games at the Great Western Forum. He participated in promotional photos. Occasionally, he invited them to parties at his house in Beverly Hills.

One summer night, Nicholson tended bar.

The Lakers had just defeated the Detroit Pistons in an exhausting Game 7 to win the 1988 NBA championship. The postgame party had spilled from the locker room to On The Rox, a private club on the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles.

Lakers forward Mychal Thompson walked to the bar, surprised to see Nicholson, a few months removed from his ninth Academy Awards nomination. In a recent interview with The Athletic, Thompson paused while relaying this memory. “Let me see if I can imitate him,” he said.

“What do you have, Mychal?” Thompson said in Nicholson’s famous drawl, one that’s delivered some of the most iconic lines in cinema.

Thompson laughed.

“That was so cool I couldn’t believe it,” he said.

Today, celebrity super fans are the norm, but perhaps no one has been more associated with a team, or a sport, than Nicholson has with the Lakers and the NBA. On Sunday, the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame will add Nicholson, as well as actor Billy Crystal, director Spike Lee and businessman and Philadelphia 76ers fan Alan Horwitz, to its James F. Goldstein SuperFan Gallery, the latest honor for a man who long ago integrated Hollywood and hardwood.

For most of his adult life, Nicholson, 87, has been an NBA fixture, part of the fabric at The Forum and Staples Center, which is now Crypto.com Arena. A columnist for The Los Angeles Times once called Nicholson “the best sixth man the NBA has ever seen, the oddest weapon in a very odd league.” During the Lakers’ championship clashes with the Boston Celtics, Nicholson was a main character, as significant as Magic and Kareem, especially the night he stood in Boston Garden and showed Celtics fans his backside. Allegedly.

“He was not a normal person — he was Jack Nicholson,” former Lakers forward Jamaal Wilkes said. “We were all aware of that. We didn’t treat him like any other fan. We treated him with due respect and we appreciated the fact that he was so into us.”

For celebs, attending Lakers games became a form of Hollywood street cred, a place to be seen, but for Nicholson, it was never about publicity. He had grown up in New Jersey playing basketball, and his love for the game remained strong, even as life took him to the West Coast. Rolling Stone magazine once identified Nicholson’s passions as art, movies, skiing, books and basketball. Writer Tim Cahill asked Nicholson for a common denominator.

“There’s poetry in all those things,” the actor said in the 1981 story. “When I look at a painting, I get involved. There is a moment of truth somewhere. And basketball … when you miss a play, it’s a matter of microseconds. Little moments of truth. Skiing is like that. It’s all little moments of truth and extending the limits of control.”

Like he did with art, Nicholson got involved with basketball. In 1982, he agreed to cast the first fan ballot for an upcoming All-Star Game. At a luncheon, Nicholson was given a pen and an oversized ballot and he proudly cast a vote for “E. Johnson,” thinking he had selected Earvin “Magic” Johnson. Instead, Eddie Johnson, a young forward for the Kansas City Kings, had just gotten a vote from the league’s most recognizable fan.

In 1986, photographer Andy Bernstein had an idea to stage the Lakers at The Forum’s concession stand, having them act like fans for the organization’s annual poster. Lon Rosen, who worked in promotions, wanted Nicholson involved. He told Bernstein to find a place for him.

On the day of the shoot, Bernstein positioned the Lakers, dressed in full uniform. He had Magic holding a pushbroom. Coach Pat Riley selling programs. Kurt Rambis removing the garbage. But Jack was not there. So Bernstein began shooting. One frame. Two frames. Three. He felt a tap on his shoulder. Bernstein turned. “So where do you want me?” Nicholson said.

“For a second, I was like Martin Scorsese,” Bernstein said. “Imagine a 20-something-year-old photographer who literally gets to direct Jack Nicholson for that 10 minutes. It was crazy.”

At On The Rox, an establishment owned by Nicholson’s close friend Lou Adler, Nicholson handed Thompson a beer. He poured forward Michael Cooper a tequila. Actress Daryl Hannah, Adler’s sister-in-law, joined Nicholson behind the bar. Magic and others danced. Parties that night erupted all over Los Angeles, but this was intimate. Just the Lakers, the coaching staff, trainer Gary Vitti and the players’ wives.

“And Jack,” former Lakers guard Byron Scott said. “That was our team. We were very tight. Very close-knit. Pat Riley wouldn’t let us have a lot of people in our inner circle. But Jack was in our inner circle.”

Courtside interaction

Dick Motta has not coached in the NBA in nearly three decades. He lives in Idaho, where he works in a garden that includes beans, garlic, peas and flowers. Motta, 93, gets his work done early. He likes to joke that if he’s still vertical at 4 p.m., then it must have been a good day. On a recent summer afternoon, Motta was having a good day.

He took a phone call from a reporter, who asked about a confrontation Motta had years ago with a well-known basketball fan in Los Angeles. Motta was slow to answer. “The reception here isn’t great,” he said. “Repeat his name again.”

Jack Nicholson.

This time Motta heard just fine.

“You mean the guy that grabbed my leg and I tried to kick him off?” he said.

For most of his years as a Lakers fan, Nicholson has had four season tickets in the front row near the visitors’ bench. A famed record producer, Adler, the On The Rox owner, has almost always sat by his side. In the 1980s, actor Harry Dean Stanton and film and television producer Bert Schneider were frequent Nicholson guests. Dennis Hopper and Michael Douglas were there as well.

Over the years, these seats have become known as the “Nicholson seats,” among the best the house can offer. Former NBA star Ralph Sampson suggested recently that Nicholson should receive royalties because nearly every team in the league profits handsomely from the courtside seats he made so famous. In town for the 2014 Wooden Awards, a couple college players actually posed for photos in the Nicholson seats, like tourists in front of a historical landmark.

But not everyone appreciated the location. Former Lakers public relations director Josh Rosenfeld said former Portland coach Jack Ramsay once asked organizations not to sell the seats close to the visitors’ bench. The reason: Ramsay was convinced Nicholson was relaying Ramsay’s instructions to the Lakers. Others made similar accusations, albeit jokingly. In the 2006 playoffs, Suns star Steve Nash told reporters that Nicholson was practically in the Phoenix huddle, “trying to steal our plays.”

Nicholson enjoyed the banter, especially with officials. Former referee Ed Rush actually addressed this with young officials before games at The Forum. “Look,” he recalled telling them. “He’s going to know you. He’s going to call you a rookie. You can handle this any way you want, but, remember, he’s going to want to talk for the whole game, so you have to figure a way to corral this. If you want to say hello or whatever, that’s fine. But at some point, it’s over.”

Former official Joe Crawford said he was in his third or fourth season when Nicholson first greeted him by name. It rattled him. “I’m saying to myself, ‘Jesus Christ, Jack Nicholson knows my name!’” Crawford said. “I’m all excited. Game starts and I don’t even know what freaking town I’m in. I’m missing plays all over the place.”

Former NBA head coach P.J. Carlesimo said it was like a coach had not yet arrived until Nicholson at least had an idea what your name was. It was almost like a rite of passage. Same for players. The first time he met Nicholson, Hall of Fame forward Adrian Dantley told the actor how much he enjoyed “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” a popular Nicholson film, and for the rest of his career, Nicholson always made sure to say hello whenever Dantley played in Los Angeles.

“He wasn’t one of those nasty guys,” said former big man Tree Rollins, who once politely asked Nicholson to put out his cigarette, back when the NBA allowed smoking in arenas. “You had Spike Lee in New York. You had the lawyer (Robin Ficker) in Washington, you had Leon (the Barber) in Detroit. Jack did not harass you. I think he really enjoyed watching you perform, just as you enjoyed watching him perform.”

Motta had a different experience.

In 1980, he was in his fourth and final season as head coach of the Washington Bullets, a team fighting to make the playoffs. In the final minute of the first half, the Bullets grabbed an offensive rebound. Motta rushed toward mid-court with his index finger in the air. “One shot! One shot!” he yelled.

“About halfway down I looked down and some a— had me by the leg,” Motta said. “I looked and it was Jack Nicholson. … I poked him in the shoulder.”

At halftime, a Lakers official suggested Motta owed Nicholson an apology. Motta could not believe his ears. “He owes me an apology!” he said. As both teams warmed up for the second half, Motta sat beside Nicholson. The actor told Motta he had broken the rules, running past the line coaches were not supposed to cross. Motta suggested that Nicholson buy his own team and maybe one day he could come in and coach it.

Looking back, Motta laughed.

“The last thing you would expect … I guess it should’ve been an honor because he’s a famous star and he took time to grab my leg,” he said from Idaho. “I wonder how it felt to him. Because I have a muscular leg. Maybe he was just jealous of my legs.”

Public Enemy No. 1

In the playoffs, Nicholson was an irresistible storyline. During a 1986 Lakers series against the Dallas Mavericks, the Fort Worth Star-Telegram ran a daily “Nicholson Watch,” alerting readers of the actor’s whereabouts. In the 1988 Finals between L.A. and the Pistons, a Detroit radio station handed out 10,000 Nicholson masks to fans before Game 3.

Boston took this to a higher level. And Nicholson played right along, the perfect basketball villain, always more comfortable as the Joker than Batman.

In the 1984 finals, Boston fan John Cronin had his high school art teacher make a Nicholson sign. During Game 7 at the Boston Garden, Cronin, stationed behind the Lakers bench, held the sign high for all to see: “Jack Flew East, Jack Flew West, Jack, Fly Back to the Cuckoo’s Nest.” (Forty years later, Cronin has this sign framed and hanging in his house.)

As the Celtics built a lead, the Boston fans taunted Nicholson. Earlier in the series, Nicholson, stationed in a sky box, had wrapped his hands around his neck, implying the Celtics would choke. The fans didn’t forget.

What happened next has become rivalry lore. With the Celtics pulling away, Nicholson stood and dropped his pants, mooning the rowdy Boston fans. Well, maybe.

Per a news report, Boston radio broadcaster Johnny Most said it looked as if Nicholson exposed his backside. A radio engineer in the press box admitted he didn’t see the incident but said a lot of people thought Nicholson had dropped his trousers.

In a 1987 feature story, longtime Nicholson business manager Robert Colbert said the Nicholson mooning never happened and suggested the only reason the rumor persisted was because Nicholson had refused to discuss it. Forty years later, a definite answer is still difficult to find.

Did Jack moon the crowd?

Former Lakers forward Michael Cooper: “Hell, yeah, he did.”

Former Celtics forward M.L. Carr: “I don’t think that would’ve been Jack.”

Former Lakers official Lon Rosen: “That’s true.”

Rosenfeld, the former Lakers public relations director, arranged Nicholson’s security that night. He didn’t see whether Nicholson mooned the crowd but said he saw the actor make another gesture.

“I think the writers all decided that they couldn’t describe what he did so they all agreed to write ‘mooning,’” Rosenfeld said. “But maybe he did moon them as well. He was sitting behind where we were so it’s not like I could see him all the time. But during timeouts you would hear the crowd going nuts and it was usually because of something Jack was doing.”

Nicholson caused another disturbance during this series — and he wasn’t even involved. Before a Boston home game, Carr learned that his brother, John, wanted to attend, along with a friend. In his fifth season with the Celtics, Carr arranged a limousine for transportation.

After the game, as the duo left Boston Garden, fans spotted the limo. “That’s Jack Nicholson!” someone yelled. Fans surrounded the luxury car and started rocking it back and forth. Starting to panic, John Carr rolled down his window. “No, no. I’m M.L Carr’s brother!” he said. The fans apologized and backed off.

“If Jack would’ve been in the limo, he was going upside down,” M.L. Carr said, laughing. “The fans were so upset with him because of the choke sign and all that. My brother said he’d never been so frightened in his life.”

In 1985, the Lakers got revenge, beating the Celtics in six games. In 1987, the rivals clashed again. During a Game 4 Lakers win in the Garden, Nicholson absorbed the crowd’s razzing and motioned for more. Is that all you got?

The next day Nicholson arrived at the Garden to watch Lakers practice. Boston Globe columnist Leigh Montville introduced himself. Nicholson didn’t do many interviews, but he sat and talked with Montville for 15 minutes. Other reporters joined in. Nicholson discussed his respect for the Celtics, and what it was like to be Public Enemy No. 1 in a sea of green.

“They’ve got a lot of ‘Bleep you, Jack,’ signs up,” Nicholson said of the Boston crowd. “I do invite it but I think ultimately it hurts them. … You can’t afford to let one fan take this whole building out of the game.”

The rich get richer

At a Lakers home game in the mid-2000s, Brian Baumgartner took his courtside seat and looked across the Staples Center court. As usual, Nicholson was there.

Baumgartner, who played Kevin Malone on the popular sitcom “The Office,” had grown up in Atlanta. He loved theater, basketball and the Lakers. He also was a big Nicholson fan. He felt no one was more authentic or comfortable in his skin.

At halftime, Baumgartner and a friend went to the Chairman’s Room, an area where celebs and others could mingle. At The Forum, the Lakers had a similar room, a place where Nicholson and his buddies could smoke, but it wasn’t much bigger than a broom closet. The Chairman’s Room was nicer. And it had a cigar lounge.

With his friend off to the bathroom, Baumgartner pushed open a swinging door and found Nicholson smoking in the lounge, alone. For the first time, Baumgartner felt star-struck. This wasn’t like saying a quick hello to someone at The Emmys or Oscars. It was just the two of them. Baumgartner lit a cigar.

“Did he even know who I was? I have no idea,” Baumgartner said. “He was incredibly polite. … And I would say within 45 seconds, it was just two guys talking basketball.”

Others have similar stories. Mike Dunleavy Sr., once ran into Nicholson at a steakhouse. He had known Nicholson for a while, first as a player for nine-plus seasons, then as head coach of the Lakers, Milwaukee Bucks, Portland Trail Blazers and Los Angeles Clippers. Dunleavy invited Nicholson to join him and the two spent part of the night discussing whether the Lakers would have beaten the Chicago Bulls in the 1991 NBA Finals had James Worthy been 100 percent healthy.

In 1998, Doug Collins worked the NBA Finals for NBC along with Bob Costas, Isiah Thomas and Jim Gray. After watching Michael Jordan bury a jumper in the final seconds of Game 6 to lift the Bulls past the Utah Jazz, Collins dined with Costas and Gray at a downtown restaurant in Salt Lake City. Nicholson and actor Woody Harrelson joined them.

Although Jordan was the biggest story in sports, Nicholson peppered Collins with questions about the Lakers. “Talk to me, Dougie, my boy,” he said. “How do we get back? What do we have to do?”

After dinner, Collins and Nicholson realized they were staying at the same hotel. They walked in, pushed an elevator button and waited. The door opened but the elevator was packed.

“There was not a place to go, so Jack and I walk into the elevator and we just sort of push everybody back,” Collins said. “But we’re facing everybody. The looks on all these people’s faces. Like, ‘Man, that’s Jack Nicholson.’”

The elevator stopped and Nicholson stepped out onto his floor. He spotted a coin and bent over to pick it up. He then turned to Collins and showed him a quarter.

“The rich get richer,” he said with a smile.

Over the next couple decades, Nicholson rode the emotional wave of fandom. In a 2003 postseason game against the Spurs, he reacted so strongly to a third foul on Lakers center Shaquille O’Neal, stepping onto the court, that a referee reportedly told Lakers officials to prepare security in case Nicholson had to be ejected. In 2008, with the Lakers crumbling against the Celtics in the finals, Nicholson looked at then-Boston coach Doc Rivers and muttered four words. “We’re dead men walking.”

“Jack got it,” Rivers said. “He really respected our jobs. And he was cheering so hard against you, you could see him like at times, especially during that Celtics series, when he was literally dying.”

Nicholson hasn’t been around as much lately. His last film came out in 2010. He’s kept a low profile, which has fueled speculation about his health. On April 28, 2023, Nicholson returned to Crypto.com Arena for the first time in 18 months to watch the Lakers eliminate the Memphis Grizzlies in the playoffs. His movie highlights — “Hereeee’s Johnny!” — appeared on the video board. The crowd roared.

Just like old times.

“I tell you what: Jack Nicholson lived,” said Cooper, the former defensive ace for the Lakers. “I’m not saying he’s going anywhere anytime soon, but he lived. And I’m glad he lived in our era because he was spectacular, he was beneficial to us and he was entertaining. And most importantly, he was a pain in the ass to opposing teams.”

(Top illustration: Meech Robinson / The Athletic; photos: Jon SooHoo / NBAE via Getty Images, Noah Graham / NBAE via Getty Images)