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They're History
In a memorable series, the Bulls defeated the Suns for their third straight title and joined the
NBA's alltime elite
by Jack McCallum
Issue date: June 28, 1993
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(Andrew D. Bernstein)
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Forget for a moment that he ever played a high-stakes Nassau.
Pretend that he went to visit George Bush two years ago at that
beautiful 19th hole on Pennsylvania Avenue. Don't ask him to be as
glib, as personable, as irrepressible as his good buddy Charles
Barkley. Stop expecting him to live up to the Captain America image
created by his commercials. Now, consider this: Is Michael Jeffrey
Jordan simply the best basketball player in the history of the
planet?
No matter what you think of Jordan as a person, as a role model,
as a shoe salesman or even as a high-stakes gambler, you know the
answer to that question: yes. A resounding yes.
That was proved beyond a doubt on Sunday night when the Chicago
Bulls concluded their long and arduous drive to a third straight NBA
championship by staggering across the finish line in Phoenix with a
thrilling 99-98 victory over the surprisingly resilient Suns in Game
6 of the playoff Finals. In winning an unprecedented third straight
Finals MVP award, Jordan loomed over | the series from start to
finish, just as he had in both of the Bulls' previous title runs.
Three-peat? Without Jordan the Bulls don't even peat. His performance
in Sunday's clincher was typical—a game-high 33 points, eight
rebounds and a team-high seven assists in 44 minutes. The most
astonishing thing about the victory was that John Paxson, not Jordan,
took—and made—the winning shot, a dead-eye three-pointer with
3.9 seconds remaining.
Indeed, as the game drew to its unlikely conclusion, Jordan seemed
to be playing, more than ever, as a solo act, a tranquil island in a
bubbling sea of confusion and nerves. ''I don't know what it was,''
said Jordan after the game, ''but everybody was hyper.'' Well, maybe
it had something to do with the situation. The Bulls, who led the
series three to two but were reeling after having lost two of the
three previous games, were ahead 87-79 going into the final 12
minutes of Game 6. Then they allowed the Suns to open the period with
a 5-0 run, at which point Chicago coach Phil Jackson decided to give
Jordan a rest. Shaky would not be the word to describe the Bulls'
next two possessions—try tortured—which resulted in a 24-second
violation and a frantic miss as the shot clock was about to blare
once again.
And so Jordan, Chicago's one-man M*A*S*H unit, quickly checked
back in and instructed his teammates that he would take the shots
from now on, thank you very much. Over the next eight minutes he was
the only Bull to score, and his rebound and ensuing unimpeded
coast-to-coast layup drew Chicago to 98-96 with 38.1 seconds
remaining.
The Suns had a shot to regain a four-point edge, but Dan Majerle
air-balled a short jumper, and the Bulls got the ball back with 14.1
seconds left. After a timeout, a betting man (which number 23 most
assuredly is) could have gotten 100-to-1 odds that Jordan would take
the final shot. The ball was indeed inbounded to Jordan, but he soon
passed to Scottie Pippen in the frontcourt. Jordan then cut past
Pippen, hoping for a return pass. But Jordan was too closely covered
by Phoenix guard Kevin Johnson, so Pippen spun and charged toward the
basket, only to find his path blocked by Sun center Mark West. That
forced Pippen to dish the ball to Horace Grant along the left
baseline. Considering that he had missed his last nine shots,
including an uncontested layup, Grant wisely chucked the ball back to
Paxson, who was hovering quietly behind the three-point line ''just
in case they needed me.'' Paxson took his two pitty-pat steps,
released a shot that ''I've taken hundreds of thousands of times''
and watched. ''It seemed like the ball was in the air for about an
hour,'' said Phoenix coach Paul Westphal. Then it dropped through.
The Suns still had those 3.9 seconds in which to try to win the
game, but Grant blocked Johnson's driving jumper to preserve the win
and put the Bulls in the history books as only the third team to win
three straight titles, the Minneapolis Lakers having done it from
1952 through '54 and the Boston Celtics having won eight straight
from '59 through '66.
Jordan, his presence of mind extending even beyond the final
buzzer, immediately chased down the historic game ball before joining
his celebrating teammates.
To a man the Suns seemed stunned by the final turn of events. It
had taken a while, but with two victories, 129-121 in triple overtime
in Game 3 and 108-98 in Game 5, at Chicago Stadium, Phoenix had
established itself as a team of character and heart. Along the way
the Suns made the significant discovery that champions have to play
tough and tenacious defense, which they did in Game 5 and for long
stretches in Game 6. Indeed, Phoenix should be the preseason favorite
for the 1994 title—as long as Barkley doesn't follow through on
his postgame musings concerning his possible retirement.
Sir Charles's departure would be a shame because he has clearly
surpassed Jordan as the NBA's premier ''personality.'' Before the
Suns' Game 5 win, Barkley (registered in Chicago's Westin Hotel under
the name of Quinn Buckner) received a call from Walt Disney chairman
Michael Eisner, who asked whether, win or lose, Barkley would deliver
the company's famous ''I'm going to Disney World'' message after the
series. (He turned him down.) In contrast to the dread with which the
Bulls approached their three-peat task, Barkley continually reminded
us that a dominating player can actually have fun on the court.
Though he wouldn't admit it—''I don't want to say any
basketball player is better than I am,'' he said early in the series
— Barkley knows in his heart that his bald-headed homeboy, the guy
he described as ''the one player I'll accept losing to if I have to
lose,'' is clearly the best man between the lines.
Perhaps the most amazing thing about Jordan is the huge gap in
sheer ability between him and his contemporaries. True, Barkley won
this year's regular- season MVP award, breaking Jordan's bid at a
three-peat in that category, too, but it's doubtful that he would
have gotten a single vote had the voting occurred after the playoffs.
Jordan's postseason run was nothing short of magnificent, especially
considering the off-court distractions with which he had to deal. His
buzzer-beating shot in Game 4 of the Bulls' Eastern Conference
semifinal against the Cleveland Cavaliers did not just complete a
sweep, it also shook up the franchise. Longtime Cav coach Lenny
Wilkens resigned seven days after the series ended, and Mike Fratello
was hired last week to pick up the pieces of a team psyche that has
been shattered time and time again by Michael Miracle. That's power.
Then came the Eastern finals and the New York Knicks, who were
plenty tough. Making things tougher for Jordan were the revelations
of his late-night foray to an Atlantic City casino before Game 2 and
the allegations of his high- stakes gambling in Richard Esquinas's
book, which cropped up before Game 6. During that series Jordan
stopped talking publicly and then ripped off 54 points in Game 4 and
steady 29- and 25-point performances in Games 5 and 6, respectively.
Run silent, run deep.
Finally, against Phoenix, Jordan had to overcome a dizzying array
of defenders (Johnson, Majerle and Richard Dumas all guarded him from
time to time) as well as the hard reality that his team—dare we
use Jordan's favorite description of ''supporting cast''?—was
disappearing before his very eyes. All you need to know about
Jordan's work in the six-game series, during which he averaged 41
points (a Finals record), 8.5 rebounds and 6.3 assists a game, was
that he scored his average in Game 5 and the Suns were overjoyed with
the defensive job they had done on him. That's because he had bopped
them for 55 in Game 4, a 111-105 Chicago win.
''I think Michael would like to have been right there in the thick
of it with me and Larry,'' Magic Johnson said before Game 5 in
Chicago. ''See, with us, we didn't have to look for motivation all
the time. We knew right where it was—in Boston for me, in L.A. for
Larry. But Michael doesn't have the benefit of that.''
Indeed, there is no foil for Jordan, not even the shining Sun —
for all of Barkley's belligerent brilliance, he was still outscored
by Jordan by an average of 14 points per game in the Finals. One can
only wonder what at all is left for a man who has won seven straight
scoring titles while being named to the all-defensive team six
straight years. How much better can he get? Which basketball ghosts
is he chasing on his way to the Hall of Fame?
There would seem to be four players with whom realistically to
compare Jordan: Magic and Bird, both of whom were three-time
regular-season MVPs; Bill Russell, the ultimate winner, who led the
Celtics to 11 championships in 13 seasons; and Oscar Robertson, whose
versatility, leadership and coldhearted competitiveness during 13
seasons make him closest to Jordan in playing style.
The first two players are picked off by the simple fact that
Jordan has guided an average team to three titles, while Magic and
Bird made already good teams great. It's indisputable: Jordan never
had an Abdul-Jabbar, a Worthy, a McHale, a Parish. He had a Pippen,
an All-Star, to be sure, and turned him into a Dream Teamer.
Comparisons made across the ages are often unfair, but they are
most judiciously made by players from the distant era who have seen
both generations. And Jordan gets overwhelming support from two such
men, Willis Reed and Bob Cousy, perceptive observers then and now.
''There's no question in my mind that Jordan is the best,'' says
former Knick star Reed, now general manager of the New Jersey Nets.
''Bill Russell won all those championships, so you can't take
anything away from him. But if you take all the aspects of the game,
you have to say Michael is the best. The guy wins scoring titles, and
he's one of the best defensive players of all time. That says it
all.''
Cousy, a centerpiece of Celtic lore, once selected Bird as his
alltime best, but not anymore. ''As far as I'm concerned, Michael is
Nureyev against a bunch of Hulk Hogans,'' says Cousy. ''His talent is
that far above everyone else's. Russell was the most productive
center I've ever seen, and he complemented the talent we had. But you
can say that he wasn't as good a shooter as some other people. Jordan
doesn't have any area like that.''
Robertson? Well, the Big O's feat of averaging a triple double
over the course of a season (30.8 points, 12.5 rebounds and 11.3
assists in 1961-62) will probably never be matched, not even by
Jordan. But night in and night out, he did not play Jordan's brand of
defense, which on the ball is hard- nosed and off it is a gambling,
sneak-into-the-passing-lanes nuisance.
''Oscar was great defensively when he wanted to be,'' says
68-year-old Bull assistant Johnny Bach. ''But Michael is the
Tasmanian devil.''
Perhaps the most sincere, and succinct, vote for Jordan comes from
the Atlanta Hawks' Dominique Wilkins, who was asked before Game 6
to assess Jordan's place in history. Said Wilkins, ''Can't nobody
have done better.''
It's not just the obvious that makes Jordan special. Dave
Twardzik, the Charlotte Hornets' vice-president of personnel, says
that the most incredible thing about Jordan is his stamina—he
averaged nearly 40 minutes a game during the regular season, which
increased to more than 45 in the championship series. ''It was a long
time ago when the best players used to play 45 to 48 minutes a
game,'' says Twardzik, ''and that was when the game was a lot
slower.''
Paxson is most impressed by Jordan's steadfastness in accepting
responsibility. ''Night after night, year after year, he just carries
this team,'' Paxson said before Game 6. ''He never avoids it, never
shirks it.'' Incredibly, the Bulls have not lost three games in a row
since the beginning of the 1990-91 season, a statistic that is
directly attributable to Jordan's competitiveness and drive.
Then, too, Jordan simply adds a distinctive style, an elan that
only a few players in NBA history could have matched (Connie Hawkins,
Earl Monroe, George Gervin, Pete Maravich and Julius Erving come to
mind). Jordan captured our imagination, of course, with his aerial
acrobatics—the spectacular dunks, the knifing between defenders,
the switching of the ball from one hand to the other in midair. The
most distinctive facet of his game these days, however, is his
ability to create space for his jump shot. Typically, he puts on the
brakes after a full-bore dribble toward the hoop, often literally
skidding to a stop, like the Road Runner about to befuddle Wile E.
Coyote, then sweeps the ball across his body and heads in another
direction before firing away with a nearly unobstructed view of the
rim.
''The main thing to remember about Michael,'' says Bach, ''is that
God only made the one.''
But ''the one,'' as we all know, seems to have grown less and less
content over the years. Does it matter that in this series Barkley
clearly beat Jordan in the ancillary contests of Mister Congeniality
and Mister Popularity, just as Magic had beaten him in the 1991
Finals? Sure, it matters. Gone is much of the spontaneous joy that
Jordan brought to the game in 1984, when he entered the league with a
head of hair, a pair of North Carolina shorts beneath his Bull
uniform and a boyish appetite for fame and glory. But somewhere amid
all the adulation and pressure, a spark went out of Jordan—one
that, it seems, will never return.
Not long after Game 6, Jordan sat in a quiet room in the America
West Arena, having just completed an interview with ESPN. He held a
bottle of champagne and an unlighted cigar. ''O.K. if I just sit here
a minute?'' he asked ESPN's Dan Patrick. ''It's crazy out there.''
And when he finally left the room, it was indeed crazy again, with
reporters, fans, photographers, family members, even a man with a
monkey clamoring for his time and attention.
''Hey, Michael, just one picture,'' said the monkey man. Jordan
obliged him, glancing at the creature that was clinging to the man's
shoulder. ''Hey, look, it's Charles,'' said Jordan.
It was nice to see the world's greatest player, at the moment of
his greatest triumph, able to make a joke. Can't nobody have done
better.
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NBA Finals
