Marcus Smart is known across the NBA for being one of the meanest, toughest, most disruptive defenders alive-a player who treats every loose ball like it owes him money and every possession like it decides a season.
But off the court? He’ll tell you he’s goofy. Chill. A big kid. What you see between the lines is a version of Smart shaped by something far heavier than basketball:the death of his brother, Todd Westbrook, to leukemia.
That moment didn’t just change Smart’s life-it hardened him, focused him, and built the relentless competitor the Los Angeles Lakers are leaning on this season.
The day everything changed
Smart was still young when Todd passed. But the responsibility placed on him was anything but. When Marcus arrived at the hospital, his oldest living brother pulled him aside and delivered a message no child should have to hear: “You don’t have the luxury to cry. You don’t have the luxury to be a child anymore.
You’re the last one Mom has. If you don’t make it, the family falls.” His world shifted instantly. Smart moved his family an hour outside Dallas before ninth grade, determined to chase one goal-making it in basketball, no turning back. “This was the goal. No looking back,” Smart says today.
He didn’t just want to succeed. He needed to. Smart’s intensity isn’t an act-it’s survival. From sleeping on the floor or the couch through high school, to watching his mom sacrifice everything just to keep the lights on, Smart learned that effort is non-negotiable.
The Lakers needed edge and Smart brings it
Redick wants this Lakers team to play hard every single night. Not fake hustle. Not flashes. Real physicality that becomes habit. That is Marcus Smart’s identity. He set the tone in the second game of the season against Minnesota, the same team that eliminated L.A. last year. Redick pointed to that night as the team’s first “reference point” for playing hard.
“Did you feel it? I saw it. I felt it,” Redick said. Smart didn’t need convincing. He’s lived in this mindset since childhood. “The toughest team sets the rules,” he says. “Twelve years in this league-that’s always been the motto.” And his teammates have followed.
The story of Marcus Smart isn’t about defense or hustle or technical fouls. It’s about a kid who lost his brother and was told he no longer had the luxury of being a child. A kid who carried his family’s hopes on his back. A kid who turned heartbreak into fuel. It’s about a man who honors Todd Westbrook every time he dives, fights, scraps, and refuses to break. Smart doesn’t need to talk about legacy. He lives it.
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