The World According To David Stern

"Believe me, the China situation bothers me," Stern says one day, traveling between Paris and Cologne. "And a voice at home [he means Dianne, who is more outspoken about politics than he is] reminds me about it all the time." He sighs heavily. "But at the end of the day I have a responsibility to my owners to make money," he says. "I can never forget that, no matter what my personal feelings might be." Stern doesn't expand on that thought, which is atypical; his mind is nothing if not lawyerly, able to slither around and through the most vexing questions. But the road to China is littered with philosophical land mines, and as the NBA snuggles up to Beijing, it will be interesting to see if Stern speaks out when he's troubled.

Closer to home lies a neon-lit dilemma. Years ago Stern turned up his nose at the mere mention of Las Vegas because he didn't want anyone connecting the NBA to gambling. He still doesn't. But times change. He okayed the 2007 All-Star Game to be played in Vegas and--lo and behold--the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority is an official sponsor of the Europe Live tour. Which explains why the Honorable Oscar Goodman, who was a mob lawyer (his own description) before being elected mayor of Las Vegas, is a prominent figure on the tour, escorting two showgirls done up in blue and pink. Stern doesn't pal around with Hizzoner (who recently advocated cutting off the thumbs of graffiti artists who deface public property in Vegas), but he doesn't shun him either.

As one travels with Stern, it becomes hard not to compare him with another liberal and pragmatist. David Joel Stern is, indisputably, the William Jefferson Clinton of commissioners. They have met on several occasions, and Stern and his wife talk with admiration of Clinton's friendliness and his ability to expound on almost any subject. The commissioner is nowhere near as charismatic or as recognizable as the 42nd president, but he's a rock star compared with his peers: Bettman and Goodell, like Tagliabue, come across as well-dressed lawyers (which they are), and Selig is as beguiling as a small-town hardware salesman.

"Charisma is at some level the art of relating to people," says Don Luongo, a retired U.S. Secret Service agent who sometimes works as Stern's one-man security force, "and that's what the commissioner is all about." Luongo knows about charisma, having been assigned to both Clinton and Ronald Reagan, men he holds in high esteem for their ability to connect to the masses. "Plus, Mr. Stern's energy level is off the chart," says Luongo. "People feel that. I feel that. I feed off it."

At 5'9" Stern is not physically imposing, but he looks good. He has a full head of gray hair and wears expensive suits, tailored shirts and classy ties. (Purple is a favorite color.) His self-confidence is unwavering, as might be expected from a man who reportedly makes more than $10 million a year and has increased league revenues twelvefold. At every stop along the European trail he is asked to sign autographs by both young and old. He relishes the attention.

Like Clinton, Stern also relishes being the indefatigable iron man, the alpha male who outworks, outschmoozes and outlasts everyone else in the room. He could squeeze in a short nap at the Swiss�tel in Moscow, but having found the downstairs coffee lacking, he suddenly claps his hands and, sounding like a high school kid organizing a beer party, says to a reporter and two NBA employees, "Hey, let's go to my room! I've got a great cappuccino machine!" And all adjourn there. Later, en route to the ambassador's house after the game, Stern dozes, openmouthed, but suddenly cuts into a conversation with a comment about Russian basketball history.

"My only explanation," whispers Messick from the seat behind the commissioner, "is that he hears when he sleeps."

Stern's itinerary in Europe has been worked out almost to the minute by his executive assistant, Sue-Ann Pisack, who goes through her day with a cellphone in her ear, a BlackBerry in her hand and anxiety in her chest. Before each meeting, gab session, dedication ceremony, press conference or reception, the commissioner is briefed by the p.r. person on-site, an NBA International staffer or perhaps Adam Silver, the deputy commissioner. They cover everything. "We don't suggest taking the lift at the arena," Sau Ching Cheong, a p.r. person from NBA China, tells Stern before he heads for the CSKA Universal Sports Complex in northern Moscow. (The elevator is at best cranky and at worst nonfunctional.) Stern listens while others talk, but more than likely he will follow his own script and instincts (though he doesn't take the lift).

He has been traveling abroad for so long that he knows not only the names of international basketball officials and TV executives, but also their kids' names. Nonetheless, Stern all but wins the day just by showing up. "Sitting down with him says everything about the commissioner and his organization," says Carlos Campos, an Adidas Spain exec who takes a meeting with Stern in Barcelona. "We have never even met [ FIFA president] Sepp Blatter, far less had a meeting with him."

Stern's attention to detail is astonishing. As he greets Coca-Cola officials in Barcelona, his first question is, "How's Sprite Zero doing?" Perusing a notebook full of bar graphs and sales-figure charts during a meeting in Rome, he stops and points to one. "You left a percent sign out here," he says to Umberto Pieraccioni, Adidas Italy's managing director. Before the tour's final doubleheader, in Cologne on Oct. 11, the commissioner's eyes run over the seating chart. "How about if you move George Bodenheimer over here?" he says. The ABC Sports/ ESPN honcho is duly moved. On planes and in cars Stern usually decides who sits where, calling for a reporter to sit near him on occasion and, on others, exiling the scribe to a different seat or different vehicle, depending on whether or not he feels like answering questions.