Robert Horry finally explains the moment that ended his Suns stint

A towel. Danny Ainge’s face. And the story that led to the moment.

There are a few moments in Phoenix Suns history that stand apart from the rest. Moments etched in memory, some beloved, some bizarre, and others so surreal you have to double-check they actually happened. Sure, there are iconic highlights like the Valley-Oop. But if you really dig into the Suns’ archives, you’ll uncover a treasure trove of wild and often forgotten chapters. Moments that drift between folklore and fever dream.

One of those? January 5, 1997. Robert Horry. Towel. Danny Ainge’s face.

Ah yes, Robert Horry.

I’ve sports hated that man for a long, long time. He was part of those soul-crushing Houston Rockets teams that ripped my adolescent heart out. Twice. That era included Mario Elie’s infamous “Kiss of Death,” which prompted me, in true teenage fashion, to hurl a remote control into the concrete floor of my living room.

Maybe that’s part of what made Horry so infuriating. He always found a way into your nightmares. But that towel toss? That was personal.

Recently, Horry joined Wosny Lambre on In My Feelings with Big Wos, a Ringer podcast, and for the first time in a long time, opened up about the infamous moment that forever tied his name to Phoenix lore, not for the rings, not for the Rockets, but for that one unfiltered act of rebellion.

A towel, a coach, and a moment that would become part of Suns history, whether we like it or not.

“Mario Ellie, my boy. Danny Ainge takes the ball out. They’re down. We about to win the game. He takes it and throws it and hits Mario right in the face with the ball,” Horry begins to explain, referring to when he was playing against the Suns as a member of the Houston Rockets, and Danny Ainge played for the Suns.

“You know, a couple years later, I get traded,” Horry continued.

Robert Horry arrived in Phoenix in 1996, part of the package — alongside Chucky Brown, Mark Bryant, and Sam Cassell — that the Suns received in exchange for Charles Barkley. It marked a changing of the guard in more ways than one. Just months earlier, Danny Ainge had hung up his sneakers after a 14-year playing career and returned to the Suns not as a scorer, but as an assistant coach, stepping into a new chapter as the franchise reshaped its identity.

“And so, we walking in the hallway and they’re showing us the facilities, Sam Cassell and I. And he [Danny Ainge] was like, ‘I hit Mario on the face on purpose with the ball.’ And so now all this animosity is starting to build up.”

“We got beat by like 40 by Chicago. And we were like, ‘Well, our offense…’, I say, ‘You know what? Can I say something? We keep talking about our offense, man. We got beat by 40. What about our defense?’ And then Danny’s like, ‘You’re the worst defensive player on the team.’ I’m like, ‘Whoa, dude.’”

“And then we traded away Michael Finley, who’s my boy,” Horry explained. “We trade away AC Green, and my dog Sam Cassell got traded. [Ainge] said, ‘Well, we traded away those people to give you more time.’”

“So we go to Boston. I had I had three great plays in a row, and all of a sudden he sits me for Danny Manning. I said, ‘Dude, I’m playing good.’ He said, ‘Man, go sit your ass down at the end of the bench.’”

Ah, here comes the fireworks.

“What did this mother say? I got up and I said, ‘What did you fucking say to me?’And he said, ‘I said, go said, man.’ And I threw the towel in his face and walked down early in the bin. We went back to Phoenix. They suspended me for two games.”

“After that,” Horry finished, “Danny called me on the phone and said, ‘I hate to say this, I just probably won you some more championships.’ I’m like, ‘What do you mean by that?’ ‘We just traded you to the Lakers.’ And I was like, ‘Yes.’ I hung up the phone. I didn’t even know. I didn’t ask who I was traded with, who I was traded for. I got in my car and drove to LA the next day.”

Indeed. The Suns shipped Robert Horry off to the Lakers in exchange for Cedric Ceballos and Rumeal Robinson, a short-lived chapter in Phoenix that ended with a towel toss and a soured relationship.

Meanwhile, Horry’s story was just getting started. Already a two-time champion with the Rockets, he’d go on to win five more rings: three with the Lakers during their early-2000s dynasty (1999–2000, 2000–01, 2001–02) and two more with the Spurs in 2004–05 and 2006–07. Both of those Spurs teams, of course, ended the Suns’ season en route to lifting the Larry O’Brien trophy.

So, five of Horry’s seven titles came at the Suns’ expense. That’s not just a footnote. It’s a full-on vendetta from a Phoenix fan’s perspective.

I’ve always sports hated Robert Horry for that very reason. He was the shadow looming over some of the most promising Suns teams, twice as a Rocket during the Jordan-less void when Phoenix looked ready to ascend, and later as a key figure on the teams that broke our hearts in the mid-2000s. And after that infamous towel toss at Danny Ainge, who had morphed from feisty floor general to assistant coach, Horry was practically declared public enemy number one in the Valley.

But if I’m being honest, I get it. I see his point of view. He was a champion with standards. He saw dysfunction, and he acted out. Petulant? Maybe. But perhaps he knew what winning was supposed to look like. And Phoenix, in that moment, didn’t.

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