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No Time to Be an Airhead
Posted: Saturday January 23, 1999 01:15 PM
Well, it wasn't exactly Sophie's Choice, was
it?
I mean, it was either a) play the game of your life, hold
the pose and retire in eye-aching glory, or b) come back
for a sawed- off season full of puffy daddies stumbling
around for teams Scotch-taped together at a chaotic
two-week yard
sale.
It was either stop at the absolute top -- the way Muhammad
Ali didn't, the way Wayne Gretzky hasn't, the way Willie
Mays wouldn't -- or drag your legend through the slop.
We'll give you all the time you need. Is 10 seconds
enough?
And yet, somehow, it took Michael Jordan seven months to
make the
decision.
Seven months! Carmen Electra could get married 42 times in
seven months! Your new Pentium 4000X PowerLap will be
obsolete in less time! The Malaysian red-eared sloth
gestates, delivers and expires in less than seven months!
Thank God, Jordan's not
working the
ER.
Nurse:
Dr. Jordan! This kid's in big trouble! What should we
do?
Jordan:
Ummm, well, let me run that by Charles and get back to
you.
Not that anybody was eager to hear. Just the NBA, NBC, the
Chicago Bulls, Scottie Pippen, Dennis Rodman, 198 other free agents, Dow
Jones, America, the world and Radio Free
Neptune.
You say,
Wait a minute! Michael was just holding off to bolster
the players' position during negotiations to end the
lockout!
Some bolstering. Jordan was about as much help as Boutros
Boutros-Ghali. He'd show up for a meeting or two, as long
as there were hot and cold running craps tables, but that's
about it. Without him, the players crumbled like Roquefort,
becoming the
first sports union in history to agree to put a lid on what
athletes can make. Thanks to the leadership of Billy
Hunter, who trained under Custer, a player who had the
potential to make $30 million a year last month, now can
never make more than $14
million.
Hey, where do we
sign?
Not long ago, Jordan said he'd announce his decision when
the lockout ended. It ended. Jordan was playing golf in the
Bahamas. The next day Jordan was playing golf in the
Bahamas. The next day Jordan was playing golf in the
Bahamas.
The Bulls said they weren't lifting a hoof until they heard
from Jordan. The league froze. A whole line of free agents
bumped into the back of one another. For Jordan it must've
been some wonderful ego trip: the world waiting for you on
one crammed
corner, rain dripping off guys' hats as each of them lifted his
watch to his ear to see if the damn thing was still
ticking. "Scottie's been trying to reach him,"
Jimmy Sexton, Pippen's agent, said three days after the
agreement was reached. "Nobody knows
where he
is."
Can you believe that? Here was Pippen, without whom
Jordan's fingers go naked, ready to finally step forward
and cash his first big lotto ticket (Pippen made $30
million less than Jordan in salary alone last season), and
Jordan left him cooling in the
lobby.
And you are
...?
It's not just Pippen. The Bulls have four signed players.
Four! Currently the second Luv-a-Bull from the right is
scheduled to start at power forward. Club chairman Jerry
Reinsdorf didn't know whether to reload or rebuild.
"I'm going to talk to Michael
directly," he said, "or through
somebody."
That's nice. The guy who's paid you $63 million over the
last two seasons has to talk to you through your valet?
Jordan has talked to Daffy Duck more than Reinsdorf in the
last six
months.
And what about poor Tim Floyd, Chicago's
coach-in-perpetual-waiting? He's still director of
basketball operations, "just in case Michael wants to
name his own coach," said one Bulls executive.
Terrific! In this way Jordan was able to jerk around his
owner, his best teammate
and his coach! It's Sock Puppet
Theater!
Look, I know I'm interrupting the papal services here. I
know that the rest of the world considers Jordan the
greatest human being since Gandhi. I'm not saying Jordan
wasn't a great player, maybe the greatest basketball player
in history, and the way
he's going out -- if he stays out, which I doubt -- is
perfect. But nobody else would be allowed to treat people
this
way.
Jordan has people who wax his wheels and shine his shoes
and buff his brass. He has people who fashion his clothes
and tend his toes and powder his nose. He has three guys to
watch his back and three his front and one just to let him
win at
Scrabble.
Too bad he doesn't have anybody to tell him when he's being
a
jerk.
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