How to Be Like Mike (20 page)

If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go into business because we’d be cynical. Well, that’s nonsense. You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time, and build your wings on the way down.

—Ray Bradbury
AUTHOR

“We had beaten the Bulls regularly through MJ’s first six seasons,” said former Detroit Pistons general manager Jack McCloskey. “After we beat the Bulls in the 1990 play-offs in Detroit, I saw Michael outside the arena, leaning against a pole. I stopped and talked to him. He was really dejected. He said, ‘Jack, are we ever going to beat you guys?’ I told him to hang in there. The rest is history.”

“I will die with no bullets in my holster,” Jordan said. “Like with injuries, you have to ask yourself what they mean. How bad are they? One time I sprained my ankle, and my whole foot was huge. It happened in a game, and I retaped it, laced up my shoe and kept playing. We traveled home and I kept it in ice and elevated it, iced it the whole next day, and that night I scored sixty-four against Orlando. . . . It’s all a mind game. Maybe some of it is genetic. I don’t know if you can teach it, because it’s internal. . . . I hope people who hear my stories can look inside themselves and maybe push a little harder.”

When I was in college, I found out that the MVPs and all-league team and all that are hugely political. So I decided that if I win every game, that becomes historical fact, not anyone’s opinion.

—Bill Russell

Early into his second year as a professional, Jordan broke his foot. The Bulls wanted him to sit out the season, many observers said, because they wanted to improve their status in the NBA draft lottery. Jordan refused. He couldn’t accept the idea of purposeful defeat. Even though the Bulls were nearly twenty games under . 500, he still thought he could lead them to the play-offs. And he did. And in a play-off series against the Celtics, Jordan had his first transcendent moment on the national stage, scoring sixty-three points in defeat.

His mind-set was at least part of what made him as successful as he was. He was completely uncompromising. This kind of mind-set, this obsession, fuels winning in sports. Grove couldn’t accept the idea of losing.

—Jim Kaplan,
AUTHOR
ON
H
ALL OF
F
AME
PITCHER
L
EFTY
G
ROVE

He played to win. His urge was strong enough to deny sickness and pain, to turn them from debilitating factors into kindling for his fury. Once he left a play-off game against Atlanta on a stretcher and came back to score twenty in the fourth quarter for the win. Before the legendary Sick Game at Utah in the 1997 finals, Jordan’s anger was directed toward the Bulls franchise, toward the team doctors who couldn’t heal him fast enough, toward the choice of team hotel in the suburbs of Salt Lake City, which led Jordan to eat the lousy pizza he’d consumed the night before, and which, in Jordan’s mind, had made him sick. “He used all this stuff to motivate himself,” said Chicago sportswriter Rick Telander. “To play with an edge.”

Sports columnist Mike Lupica once had a Jordan motivation experience: “In 1996, MJ was back from baseball and came to NewYork for a game. The Bulls practiced at the Reebok Club on the west side of Manhattan. Michael came out and headed to the bus when he saw me off to the side. We chatted and then he said, ‘Last year on your television show, you said I’d lost a step. Do you still think I’ve lost a step?’ I said, ‘No, I don’t. ’ He smiled like a ten-year-old and walked to the bus. I thought, ‘There is nothing he won’t do to motivate himself. ’”

On Valentine’s Day 1990, Jordan’s uniform was stolen before a game at Orlando. “I’m not mad at you,” Jordan told Magic trainer Keith Jones, “but you all will have to pay.”

“And we did,” Jones said.

When the Bulls played the Nets one night, with the Nets streaking and the Bulls in the midst of a lull, New Jersey Nets broadcaster Mike O’Koren declared to Jordan during a pregame interview that the Bulls would lose.

Jordan was tying his shoes. He looked up and said, “What?”

“The Nets are going to beat you tonight,” O’Koren said.

“No,” Jordan said. “That’s not going to happen.”

He had thirty-five points after three quarters. The Bulls won easily. Late in the game, he hit a shot to seal the victory and backpedaled downcourt and looked over at O’Koren and shook his head.

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.

—William Shakespeare

He wore a small pad on one of his knees, and if his knee hurt, he’d switch the pad from one leg to the other so the other team wouldn’t know if he was injured. He would come back and play the next day on sprained ankles, on sore feet, on bad knees. “His pain threshold was remarkable—so far beyond normal players,” said former Bulls general manager Rod Thorn. “He just wouldn’t be left out. He had to compete and beat you.”

Former NBA player Kenny Smith remembered, “When I played at North Carolina, all the NBA guys would come back to play in the summer. During the scrimmages, Michael would never leave the court. Not even for a drink of water. Between games, he’d stand out at mid court. I asked him why and he said, ‘I don’t need water. I don’t need anything. I’m not leaving the whole time. ’”

When we learn to take chances, when we learn to see past our fears, we reach a point of near-invincibility. Certainly, we cannot avoid losses, and we cannot eliminate setbacks, but they will begin to slide off our backs. And then anything is possible, because we believe it ourselves.

Wayne Gretzky’s statement about Tiger Woods confirms that thought:“When I watch golf and hear other players interviewed, most of them sound like they can’t believe they won. Then you hear from Tiger, and he either expected to win or he can’t believe he didn’t. It’s a different mind-set altogether.”

“I was with Minnesota and checked into the game to guard Michael,” said NBA player James Robinson. “He said to Scottie Pippen, ‘I’ve got a guinea pig on me. ’Then he said to me, ‘I’m going to score on you. ’ Next three plays, he posted me up and hit three straight hoops. I left the game and Michael patted me on the butt and said, ‘I’ll see you later. ’”

“One night when I was an assistant with the Hawks, we were playing the Bulls in Atlanta,” said NBA assistant coach Johnny Davis. “Dominique Wilkins made a sensational shot to give them the lead late in the game. No time-out for the Bulls. They cleared a side for Michael. He took the ball, turned his head toward our bench and winked at us. He faked baseline, turned back the other way and slammed it down over everybody.

“Then he ran past our bench and winked at us again.”

A Con Game

A
ll of these stories make Jordan sound like a ruthless soldier, like a merciless man without the capacity for friendship or compassion. But the truth is a great deal less rigid than that. Jordan’s effervescent personality, that subtle upturned smile—these were weapons as much as anything else. NewYork Knicks coach Jeff Van Gundy once called Jordan a “con man.” Although Jordan was very angered by the accusation, it was meant to be a compliment. “He was so into winning, he’d befriend the other players and the refs and they didn’t even know it,” Van Gundy said. “He knew every button to push. The guys wanted to be liked by him so much they had a hard time competing against him.”

“He had the competitive arrogance,” said University of Connecticut coach Jim Calhoun, “but it didn’t leave the court.”

It wasn’t that Jordan played nice on the court. In fact, he was one of the most prolific trash-talkers in NBA history. Even in pickup games, where Jordan was (and still is) known to resurrect his magic just because he can (one Chicago fan remembered Jordan singing his own Gatorade theme song—“Sometimes I dream, that he is me . . .” —after winning a pickup game); and even in his own fantasy camps, where Jordan once joined a team that trailed by twenty points with five minutes to play and led them into overtime.

One of his teammates in Chicago, Michael Holton, was guarding Jordan in practice shortly after he returned from his foot injury in 1986, and Jordan yelped, “Don’t make me open that can!”

Holton didn’t respond. Next day, Jordan said the same thing to him. Holton began to guard Jordan more closely, and Jordan got madder until finally he said, “All right, I’m opening the can.”

“What’s in the can?” Holton said.

“A butt-kicking,” Jordan replied.

“That was the highlight of my time with the Bulls,” Holton said. “I made Michael open the can.”

During Erick Strickland’s rookie season with Dallas, he saw Jordan in a restaurant. Strickland introduced his aunt to him. Jordan said, “Make sure to get him home right away, because it’s going to be a long night for him tomorrow.”

Once, against Boston, the Celtics were beating the Bulls in their home opener, and the Celtics were talking a little too much. They were lined up for a free throw and Jordan said, “I’m getting this rebound.”

The free throw was missed. Jordan got the rebound. He scored and was fouled.

I was with Boston, playing at Chicago. I’m alone on Michael and he said, “Watch this.” He started to back me down, and before he jumped, he shouted, “Aaaah!” Like I fouled him. And the ref called the foul.

—Ron Mercer
NBA
PLAYER

He could talk up a storm himself, but he couldn’t stand others taunting him. Brian Shaw, then with Golden State, once had a good night against Jordan and started jabbering too much, and Jordan turned to Warriors coach P. J. Carlesimo and said, “Tell Brian Shaw to be quiet.” Shaw kept talking. Jordan said to Carlesimo, “I’m warning you.” And then he scored twelve straight points to win the game. And as he walked off the court, he said to Carlesimo, “I told you to leave me alone.”

Ric Bucher of
ESPN
magazine has a vivid memory of Jordan the competitor: “In 1998 I went to a Bulls shoot-around and saw an amazing sight. Michael was going one-on-one with Scott Burrell at the highest level of intensity. MJ was down 9–7 but won 11–9 and was talking the whole time. As Burrell walked toward me I asked, ‘What did you do to deserve that?’ Jordan heard me and said, ‘Talking. ’ I was stunned— here was Michael at the end of his career and got his hackles raised to the point he had to whip up on a journeyman player at a shoot-around!”

Former NBA player Sam Bowie observed, “MJ could talk trash with you, but it was positive trash. It was almost complimentary, and not belittling or degrading. Mike would score on you and then pat you on the butt, and it made you feel you almost liked what he’d just done to you.”

If being an egomaniac means I believe in what I do, then, in that respect, you can call me that. I believe in what I do, and I’ll say it.

—John Lennon

The closest I came to talking trash with Michael Jordan was when I played in Charles Barkley’s charity golf tournament in Orlando one summer. Our group was one foursome ahead of Jordan’s group. We got backed up on a tough par three that looked down into a valley, and by the time I teed off, all of Jordan’s followers had gathered around the tee to watch. I was petrified; I hadn’t hit a decent shot all afternoon.

From behind me, Michael muttered, “Let’s see what this guy can do.”

I steadied myself and swung. Somehow, I managed to land my drive within five feet of the pin. As I walked off the tee, I heard Michael say, “You can tell that Pat doesn’t spend much time at the office.”

Jordan knew how to play the game within the game. The psychological war. He knew exactly how far to let it go. “MJ would never play dirty,” said referee Hubert Evans. “But he’d always react when it started.” When New York’s Chris Childs threw a basketball at Jordan in a fit of misguided anger, Jordan flashed, for an instant, a burst of raw rage. And then he backed away.

During my rookie season in Charlotte, I tied up a loose ball with Jordan. Then I won the jump ball. Greatest jump ball of my career. It’s probably something I’ll brag about to my kids someday.

—Malik Rose
NBA
PLAYER

“A killer in control,” Pat Riley has called him.

“My grandparents used to always say, ‘Think before you act, and always be in control at all times, ’” Jordan said. “I always remember that.”

And so he could attack when needed and he could make friends when needed. Either way, he’d maintain control. Either way, he’d win. And there was a part of him that cultivated friendships and encouraged opponents because he didn’t want to discourage his opponents entirely; he relished the aftermath of a difficult victory. He once thanked his friend Buzz Peterson for being named North Carolina high school player of the year because it gave him a reason to outdo him in college. The reason that he retired the first time was because all of the challenges were gone. “I really think MJ wanted the other players to play up to his level,” said veteran pro Hersey Hawkins. “It was more challenging to him to have other guys competing at his level.”

Still, there were those who saw through Jordan’s amiable nature. George Karl tried to counteract it in the 1996 NBA Finals. He told his Seattle Supersonics team that he didn’t want to be friends with Michael, and that he didn’t want them to be friends with Michael, either. He delivered a ten-minute speech, giving specific instructions to everyone from point guard Gary Payton to his son, a ball boy. Jordan never shook Karl’s hand the entire series. Never even looked at him. “I thought I was the macho guy,” Karl said, “but MJ outraged
me.
”

Cultivate a healthy respect for your competitors, but never overestimate or underestimate them. Never forget that, no matter how highly one or more of them may be regarded, if you make the mistake of holding them in awe, you will lack the will to beat them.

—Al Kaltman
AUTHOR

“One night when Michael was sick, I scored twenty-four and he scored twenty-one,” said former NBA player Craig Ehlo. “The next day, Sam Smith quoted me in the
Chicago Tribune:
‘If you’re sick, you should stay home from school. ’ Our next game against the Bulls, Michael scored fifty-five on me. I should have kept my mouth shut.”