When the news broke on May 27, 2024, it felt like the world got a little quieter and a whole lot less colorful. Bill Walton was gone. For a guy who seemed to possess more life than ten regular humans combined, the idea of him actually stopping just didn’t compute. He was the guy who could talk for twenty minutes about the geological history of a canyon while a fast break was happening right in front of him.
But then the official statement came from the NBA. He was 71.
If you’ve spent any time following the "Big Redhead," you know his life was basically a series of "back from the dead" moments. He was a walking medical miracle—or a walking medical disaster, depending on which of his 37 surgeries you were looking at.
Bill Walton Cause of Death: The Official Answer
Honestly, for a long time, Bill kept his final battle pretty quiet. He wasn't one for self-pity, even when his body was failing him. The NBA eventually confirmed that Bill Walton died from colon cancer. He passed away at his home in San Diego, surrounded by his family. It was a "prolonged battle," which in "Walton-speak" means he probably fought it with the same relentless, goofy intensity he brought to everything else.
There was some initial confusion online. You might have seen some early reports or social media whispers mentioning prostate cancer. While prostate cancer is statistically more common in men his age, the primary reports from reputable sports outlets and family-adjacent sources clarified it was colorectal cancer.
It’s a bit of a cruel irony. Here was a guy who was a strict vegetarian, a meditator, and someone who spent half his life on a bicycle. He did everything "right" for his health once he stopped playing, but cancer doesn't always care about your diet.
💡 You might also like: Por qué los partidos de Primera B de Chile son más entretenidos que la división de honor
A Life Defined by Pain (and Ignoring It)
To understand why his death hit so hard, you have to look at the sheer amount of physical trauma the man survived before the cancer ever showed up. Bill didn't just have "injuries." He had a structural collapse.
He was born with congenital defects in his feet. Basically, his arches were non-existent, and his bones didn't move the way they should. Every time he jumped for a rebound at UCLA, it was like landing on glass.
- The Spine: In 1974, he was undercut during a game and literally broke his back. He played through it.
- The Feet: He missed more games (over 600) than he played (468) in the NBA.
- The Surgeries: 37. Thirty-seven orthopedic surgeries. Think about that. Most people are traumatized by one knee replacement. Bill had his ankles fused, his back rebuilt, and his knees cleaned out more times than he could count.
There was a period around 2008 where things got really dark. He couldn't sit. He couldn't stand. He spent years literally crawling on the floor of his house because the pain in his spine was so "unrelenting, excruciating, and debilitating," as he put it. He even admitted to contemplating suicide during that time. He told reporters he was "searching for bridges."
But he got a experimental spinal fusion, and it worked. He came back. That’s why his death in 2024 felt so sudden to fans—we just assumed he’d keep beating the odds forever.
Why We Should Talk About the "Prolonged Battle"
The fact that Bill kept his cancer diagnosis private for a while isn't surprising. He wanted the focus to be on the joy of the game, the Grateful Dead, and whatever "conference of champions" tangent he was on that night.
📖 Related: South Carolina women's basketball schedule: What Most People Get Wrong
But his death from colon cancer has actually sparked a lot of necessary conversation in the sports world. Colon cancer is incredibly treatable if you catch it early.
The American Cancer Society has been shouting from the rooftops that men—especially those over 45—need to get screened. If a 6-foot-11 powerhouse like Bill Walton can be taken down by it, it's a reminder that none of us are invincible.
The Legacy Beyond the Diagnosis
If you only remember Bill Walton for how he died, or even for his broken feet, you’re missing the point of his whole existence. He was the greatest passing big man to ever touch a basketball. Go watch the 1977 NBA Finals. He didn't just play center; he orchestrated the entire court.
Then there was the broadcasting.
He was a stutterer as a kid. A bad one. He couldn't say a word until he was 28 years old without a massive struggle. To go from that to being the most talkative, eccentric, and beloved (or polarizing) voice on ESPN is nothing short of insane. He turned sportscasting into performance art.
👉 See also: Scores of the NBA games tonight: Why the London Game changed everything
He’d be wearing a tie-dye shirt, talking about the "vibrations" of the arena, and then suddenly drop a piece of basketball wisdom so profound it made the lead play-by-play guy go silent.
What We Can Learn From Bill’s Final Chapter
Bill Walton’s death wasn't just a loss for the NBA; it was a loss for anyone who likes people who are unapologetically themselves.
The biggest takeaway from the "Bill Walton cause of death" news isn't just a medical fact. It's about how he spent those 71 years. He lived more in a single Tuesday than most people do in a decade. He survived the collapse of his body, the loss of his career, and a crippling disability, only to come out the other side as the happiest guy in the room.
If you’re over 45, or if you have a family history of health issues, do the thing Bill would tell you to do: Take care of yourself. Get the screening. Don't wait.
We don't get many Bill Waltons. The guy was a one-of-one.
If you want to honor the big man, go put on Europe '72 by the Grateful Dead, hop on a bike, and tell someone you love that they are "doing a masterful job." That’s exactly how he would have wanted to be remembered.
Actionable Next Steps:
Check your health records for your last colorectal screening or physical. If you’re in the high-risk age bracket (45+), schedule a consultation with your doctor. Early detection is the only reason Bill’s "prolonged battle" wasn't much shorter, and it's the best tool we have for prevention.