Ja Morant, Richard Pryor and the man in the mirror

“I’ve quit a lot in my life. I’ve stopped doing this for a while and stopped doing that for a while. But just to stop everything, to surrender, to admit to yourself, ‘God, I need your help. I can’t do this alone.’ That was hard.” 

— Richard Pryor

December 10, 2005, likely doesn’t mean much to Memphis Grizzlies point guard Ja Morant. And why should it? The mercurial star was only 6 years old, and more than a decade away from being tasked with leading the Grizzlies. On that day 20 years ago, though, the comedy world lost its brightest, most controversial — and for much of his time in the public eye, its most troubled star – Richard Pryor.

In the 20 years since his passing, Pryor’s legacy is as complex, and celebrated, as ever. But Pryor and Morant aren’t an apples-to-apples comparison. For all the frustrating decisions Morant has made in the last several years, Pryor was infinitely more self-destructive, and accomplished. Yet Morant’s reputation in the NBA is fascinating in the current moment. His future in Memphis is under constant speculation. Unlike Pryor, the former NBA Rookie of the Year isn’t an open book, allowing outside opinions to form a narrative that’s both fitting and unfair.

Morant has been sidelined for nearly a month with a calf strain, but he is expected to return Friday to a Grizzlies team that has won seven of its last nine games. Nonetheless, it’s hard not to see Morant as one of the most misunderstood players in the NBA. There is mystery to him. The basketball world has an opinion on him, what’s best for him and potentially what’s next. It’s a far cry from where he was just a few short seasons ago, when Morant found himself in the now nauseating “face of the league” conversation (a title he never truly craved), but for good measure, given his box-office style of play.

Yet, when looking at Morant now, it’s hard — for me, at least — not to think about Richard Pryor. Here’s this enigmatic artist with all the talent in the world, and there’s a question of what his future entails. It’s a discussion around the price of fame and how no one is truly built for the brutality that comes with it.

“You know all this fame s— ain’t natural. That’s the problem. We ain’t born for it, and we ain’t made for it. And definitely ain’t ready for that s— when it hit us,” Mike Epps, who played the iconic comedian on HBO series Winning Time, said. “But you best believe everybody else is.”

Many people are talented. Fewer have talent that can change not only the direction of their entire family’s lives, but a small part of the world in the process. The common thread is the responsibility that talent brings. How one deals with the weight of talent and fame usually is how history remembers their story.

Earlier in his career, the sky wasn’t the limit for Morant. It was merely a driveway for a career that felt limitless. He was pegged as one of the next great American stars to follow the old guard of LeBron James, Kevin Durant and Stephen Curry. Morant’s aerial theatrics made him must-see TV, and the Grizzlies were the young team poised to take the next step to the game’s elite. 

Then Morant gave the now-infamous interview in which he proclaimed he was “good in the West,” announcing his team’s standing in the Western Conference. Then came the injuries. And the suspensions stemming from showcasing firearms in videos. The goodwill plummeted. Anthony Edwards became the face of young American basketball. And while Morant seemed like a shoo-in for a Team USA roster spot, it now feels far more viable for stars like Jalen Brunson or Tyrese Maxey.

Even last month’s dust up with Dallas Mavericks guard Klay Thompson felt unnecessary, most notably because he wasn’t an active participant in the game. Trash talk is a healthy part of basketball. But pointing a finger in another man’s face, as Morant did to Thompson, and attempting to coax Thompson into a physical altercation, felt far more futile than it did galvanizing. Thompson’s remarks after the game spoke volumes because it reflected a larger sentiment about Morant’s stature and reputation around the league.

“It’s funny to run your mouth when you’re on the bench. It’s kind of the story of his career so far, just leaving us wanting more,” Thompson said after the Mavs’ 102-96 loss to the Grizzlies. “We all want to see him out there and do his best, yet he’s just been letting a lot of other stuff get in the way of that. We need that in the NBA. We need our best players to be out there, and when you’re a star, it comes with great responsibility. I hate to see that go to waste.”

Disappointment layered with resentment is currently the theme of Morant’s career. In sports, talent exceeding potential is rare. Many times it’s beyond a player’s control, like injuries or front office mismanagement. Nevertheless, the hardest pill to swallow is when it feels self-inflicted. A painful level of emotional trauma comes with seeing a rising star become one of the league’s most confounding mysteries. Last month, shortly after the season tipped off, Morant was asked if he still had the same “joy” about basketball. His answer was a simple yet profound no.

“We’ll see,” when asked how he would find it once more.

Ja Morant is responsible for a lot of transgressions and public battles he’s had to face in recent years. Nevertheless, when peeling back the layers, this is a young Black man dealing with some sort of crisis. One that’s equal parts man-in-the-mirror and the world around him.

In 1984, 15 years before Morant was born, Richard Pryor found himself in a similar scenario. He was a movie star, poignant social critic, and perhaps the most beloved stand-up comedian alive. However, the freebasing cocaine incident that nearly took his life in 1980, and the open battles with drugs and alcoholism, painted Pryor as a man at war with his own gifts and personal life. Pryor’s accomplishments, and there were many, were always in an emotional tug of war with the thought of his true potential had he not been his own worst enemy. The self-guilt haunted Pryor immensely.

“If there’s a hell, I’ve been there. And the devil turned out to be me,” Pryor confessed on an episode of Tony Brown’s Journal. “Because I thought about at one point, the opportunity I’ve been given to do so much and whatever I end up doing. I’ve got a base pipe in my hand and a fifth of Courvoisier in the other hand. In a room all alone by myself. Loving no one and doubting if anyone loved me.”

There was a contemplation in Pryor. Was all of this worth the stress? Was the money and fame worth losing himself? Had he known everything that came with jokes and holding a mirror to America, he’d have chosen another path. He wasn’t sure which, but it’d be one with far less pain and self-degradation. 

This same battle for clarity, and ultimately peace within one’s own mind and body, has lived in Morant, too. In 2023, shortly after being filmed at a Denver-area nightclub with a firearm, Morant admitted his mistakes were a product of immaturity and lack of accountability. 

“Obviously, I’ve made mistakes in the past that cause a lot of negative attention — not only to me, but my family as well, my team, the organization — and I’m completely sorry for that,” said Morant. “So my job now is, like I said, to be more responsible, more smarter, and don’t cause any of that no more.”

The game of basketball wasn’t the root of the stress. Instead, life and the ecosystem around the game bore the brunt of the burden now sitting on Morant’s shoulders.

Nearly 40 years earlier, Pryor reflected on the warped world he helped create around him.

“It had to do with me. It’s nobody’s fault but mine. The people [are] around me because of me. And then you get the people when you get well, you start removing yourself from people that are hurting you,” Pryor said. 

Morant’s game must certainly improve. Both leadership and his decision-making, on and off the court, will continue to be examined with a fine-tooth comb, primarily because of his past. That’s perhaps unfair, but it is understandable. Despite the outside chatter or anonymous sources within the league, Morant’s career isn’t over. It certainly is at a crossroads, however.

A stark difference between Morant and Pryor, two Black men who lived on earth together for only six years, is their transparency.

Pryor, oftentimes painfully, revealed every vulnerability and insecurity he had in front of microphones and cameras. Doing so made him a cultural prophet whose stories of Black life, and indeed his Black life in America, carry lessons and cautionary tales that outlived his battered physical shell.

Morant is the opposite. He’s reserved in what he says publicly, and for the most part, much isn’t known about who he is beyond a basketball court. As long as he’s taking care of himself, that’s not a crime. He’s not in debt to the world to speak about anything other than what he’s getting paid handsomely to do.

“No matter what you are or who you are or what you do, there’s a you that you must deal with eventually,” Pryor said in a remarkably clairvoyant assessment. “To surrender, that’s a hard thing to do for any person.”

Life isn’t a joke. And ball isn’t always life. Richard Pryor and Ja Morant haven’t always made the right decisions, but who has? Pryor, for as iconic as he is, left a lot on the table because of his own demons. He admitted as much in his lifetime. Hopefully, in Morant’s case, he understands the “surrender” Pryor mentioned doesn’t mean quitting. It means understanding how rare the opportunity in front of him is — and how rare he actually is.

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