It started over a game of Booray.
Most people think it was just about the money. A gambling debt, maybe a few thousand bucks. But if you listen to Gilbert Arenas tell it now, years after the dust has settled, it was about the "trash talk." He wasn't even the one losing big that night on the plane ride back from Phoenix. Javaris Crittenton was. Crittenton was "1,000 degrees hot," as Arenas put it, and Gilbert—being the relentless prankster he was—just kept poking.
He kept hitting the stewardess button. He was yelling about a "jumper" because Crittenton was losing his shirt. It sounds like typical locker room hazing until you realize how fast it curdled.
By the time that plane landed in December 2009, the vibe wasn't just tense. It was dangerous. Crittenton allegedly threatened to shoot Arenas in his "messed up" knee. Arenas, never one to back down from a dare, told him he’d bring the guns himself.
"I'll bring you the guns to do it," Arenas said. He was calling a bluff. Or so he thought.
The Day the NBA Changed Forever
Two days later, December 21, the Washington Wizards locker room turned into something out of a bad Western.
Arenas showed up with four guns. He laid them out on a chair near Crittenton’s locker with a sign that basically said "Pick one." He thought he was being funny. He thought he was proving that Crittenton was just talking tough.
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But Crittenton didn't pick one of Gilbert’s guns.
Instead, he pulled out his own. It was a loaded silver-and-black handgun. He cocked it. He pointed it right at Arenas. According to teammates who were there, like Caron Butler, the room went dead silent. Players scrambled. Some hid in the showers. Others literally ran out of the building.
It wasn't a joke anymore. It was a standoff.
Why the Wizards Were the Worst Place for This
The timing couldn't have been more haunting for the franchise. Abe Pollin, the longtime owner of the Wizards, had passed away just weeks earlier. Pollin was the man who famously changed the team's name from the "Bullets" to the "Wizards" specifically because he hated gun violence.
Now, his star player and a young guard were pointing heaters at each other in the room that bore his legacy.
David Stern, the NBA Commissioner at the time, didn't just throw the book at them. He threw the whole library. He suspended both players for the rest of the season without pay. Arenas lost about $10 million in salary. Crittenton lost his entire career.
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The Fallout Nobody Saw Coming
A lot of fans remember the "gun salute" Arenas did during player introductions shortly after the news broke. He was smiling, pretending to fire finger-pistols at his teammates. To the league, it was the ultimate sign of disrespect. To Gilbert, it was just him being Gil.
But the legal system didn't care about "Gil being Gil."
- Gilbert Arenas pleaded guilty to a felony gun charge (carrying a pistol without a license). He got two years of probation and 30 days in a halfway house.
- Javaris Crittenton pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor and got a year of probation.
People forget that Arenas actually tried to take the fall for Crittenton early on. He texted a team official saying he was the only one with guns, trying to protect the younger player. The prosecutors didn't buy it. They used those texts to argue he was "manipulative" and "unremorseful."
Honestly, the tragedy here isn't just the money or the missed games. It’s what happened to Javaris Crittenton afterward.
A Darker Turn for Javaris Crittenton
While Arenas eventually made it back to the court—playing for Orlando and Memphis before pivoting to a massive media career—Crittenton’s life spiraled.
In 2011, he was involved in a shooting in Atlanta. He wasn't a professional athlete anymore; he was a guy looking for revenge after being robbed. He fired at a group of people, intending to hit the person he thought robbed him. He missed. Instead, he hit Julian Jones, a 22-year-old mother of four. She died.
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Crittenton eventually pleaded guilty to voluntary manslaughter and was sentenced to 23 years. He served about ten and was released in 2023.
Arenas has been vocal about this in recent years. In the Netflix documentary Untold: Shooting Guards, he gets surprisingly emotional. He thinks that locker room incident broke something in Crittenton. He feels like their "stupid" decision that day put Javaris on a path he couldn't get off.
What This Means for Today's NBA
The league is different now. The "locker room culture" of the mid-2000s—which Arenas claims was "way worse" than people know—has been sanitized. You don't see Booray games for $50,000 on team planes much anymore.
But the lesson is still there.
It’s about the "line." Arenas says he lived on that line between being a prankster and going too far. He crossed it, and it cost him his legacy as one of the greatest scorers of his generation. For Crittenton, crossing it cost him everything else.
Actionable Insights for Athletes and High-Performers
If you're looking at this story as more than just sports gossip, there are a few heavy takeaways:
- Ego is a career-killer. Both men could have walked away from that card game. The "bluff" wasn't worth the fallout.
- The environment matters. The Wizards locker room at the time was described as "lawless." Without veteran leadership or strict boundaries, small beefs turn into felonies.
- Reconciliation is possible. Surprisingly, Arenas and Crittenton have reconciled. Crittenton even appeared on Arenas' podcast, Gil's Arena, after his release. They’ve talked about how the media "twisted" their friendship, though the guns were very, very real.
The story of Gilbert Arenas and Javaris Crittenton isn't just a "sports scandal." It's a case study in how a single afternoon of pride can dismantle a decade of hard work.
Next Steps to Understand the Situation:
Check out the Untold: Shooting Guards documentary on Netflix for the first-hand accounts from both men. You should also look into the 2025 civil lawsuits filed by Julian Jones' children against Crittenton to see the ongoing legal aftermath of his post-NBA life.