The Jordan Rules (48 page)

The Bulls would slump some after the All-Star break. But they went into the playoffs in the first year after Jordan with more than fifty wins, which is something the Lakers could not do after Magic Johnson retired, the Celtics could not do after Larry Bird retired, and their respective teams couldn't do after Wilt Chamberlain, Bill Russell, and Jerry West retired. Finally, Bulls coach Phil Jackson was getting credit for his equal-opportunity offensive concepts combined with his defensive teachings, much as Pat Riley received credit after he left the Lakers for the New York Knicks. And players like Pippen and Grant finally were getting their due as more than mere Jordanaires.

As for Jordan, much like with the loss of a loved one, much of sporting America continued in denial. The belief, like for a loved one who had died prematurely, was that Jordan would return. He must return. But if Jordan was consistent about anything in the months after his retirement—even as Magic Johnson became coach of the Lakers—it was that basketball was in his past.

“That's over,” he'd say again and again. “That's the past, and I don't miss it at all. When there's a game on TV, I sometimes watch. Sometimes I don't. I can just watch and then walk away before it's over. I'm retired.”

But hardly inactive.

T
HE FIRST DAY
C
HICAGO SAW
M
ICHAEL
J
ORDAN AFTER THE
B
ULLS
won the 1991 NBA championship, he'd lost his smile.

“It's none of your business,” Jordan snapped at 100 reporters at the team's practice facility Thursday, Oct. 3—a day before the Bulls were to open training camp for the 1991–92 season—in answer to a question about just where he'd been Tuesday. “I don't have to tell you. I have to live my life the way I want to. I might want to know what you did, but I'm not asking you. So don't ask me. You're not my father.”

Perhaps Jordan's father would have told him to go to the White House with the rest of the Bulls, but he wasn't saying and neither was Jordan. At least one of Jordan's teammates, Horace Grant, was having his say.

“I think he showed disrespect for the President and his teammates by not showing up,” said Grant. “We came together as a team [to win the title], but if one guy wants to isolate himself, we're not going to win another championship. He's a spectacular player, probably the best in the league, but I'm not going to let him destroy the team.”

And so the cauldron of turmoil, its contents bubbling beneath the surface for years, seemed about to spill over once again at a time when the Bulls should have been sailing the calm seas of sporting success. But that may be the Bulls' legacy as much as is Jordan's oncourt brilliance. The more tumult, the better the team seems to perform. And already there was a fuss, even if the Bulls had yet to assemble for their first practice.

Jordan and Scottie Pippen were selected in the summer of 1991 as two of ten NBA players to represent the U.S. in the 1992 Olympics, but word leaked out that Jordan had played a role in keeping Detroit's Isiah Thomas off the team. Feelings were strained even more between the teams now after the Pistons' abrupt departure at the end of Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Finals. The Pistons' two titles were being quickly overshadowed and the team was being broken up. The remaining players blamed the Bulls.

Jordan had not planned to play in the Olympics, but under pressure from fellow stars such as Magic Johnson and from his commercial sponsors, he eventually acquiesced. He was still unsure when approached by an emissary from the selection committee. Would he play? Jordan was asked. Jordan hesitated, but as is his custom, he joked, knowing Daly was coach and assuming that meant a spot for Thomas, “I don't play on no teams with Isiah.”

The selection committee had been leaning against Thomas anyway, so Jordan didn't change the verdict. But word got out that Jordan had denied Thomas a spot when Utah's John Stockton got the point guard spot behind Magic.

That would have been a minor blip on the NBA screen if not for the White House “snub.”

The Bulls had been unable to arrange the traditional White House trip for sports champions when the players scattered so quickly after the season, so they agreed to accept an invitation just before training camp opened. But several players, including Jordan, had prior commitments. He had planned a golfing trip, he said, with family, to his Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, home. It would be disclosed months later that it had been a gambling weekend with North Carolina friends, one of whom was a convicted drug dealer and another who would later be robbed and murdered. Those disclosures would exacerbate the foofaraw accompanying Jordan for much of the 1991–92 season. Word filtered back to the Bulls—Jordan said he told the team; General Manager Jerry Krause denied Jordan had, and the team was working feverishly to assure attendance by everyone else. John Paxson had an anti-drug speaking engagement and was excused, and Grant had a scheduled—and highly paid—appearance, but was told by the Bulls it was off. Grant felt the Bulls had cancelled it and grew angry. Pippen, too, was threatening not to go. And Jordan had heard of some of the plans, which convinced him he'd made the right choice: The Illinois congressional delegation was demanding an autograph session with the team; the White House wanted a special meeting with Jordan.

But Grant's anger over his appearance being cancelled, while others skipped the event, was growing by the Thursday when the Bulls were required to attend “media day” for the opening of camp. Jordan had remained in South Carolina and wouldn't be there until almost 6
P
.
M
. Coach Phil Jackson told the other players they had to wait for Jordan.

There were some tight smiles. Pippen, now an Olympian, told reporters tartly when they wandered by for an interview that he wasn't Jordan. “I didn't miss him,” said Pippen when asked about Jordan's absence. “Michael is going to do what he is going to do. He's always done that.”

But Grant became the lightning rod in firing at Jordan. “There are other guys who feel like I do,” he said, “but I'm the only one with the courage to come forward.”

Finally, Jordan breezed in at 5:45
P
.
M
., refusing to apologize, saying he was being singled out, that he'd seen the President before, that if the team wanted him to go they should have made it during training camp. He was defiant and angry, adding that it was time “to live my life for myself. I'm tired of living for the media and everyone else.”

The players were to report the next day for a month of workouts and exhibition games before beginning their title defense. Jackson had sent them home with a packet of information with the season's theme: “Together, again.”

***

The Bulls didn't look like they'd be together again physically, if not spiritually and emotionally, during the hiatus following their glorious five-game championship triumph over the Lakers the previous June.

Negotiations with guard John Paxson were stalled. The Bulls had pretty much decided to let him go during the 1990–91 season during their pursuit of Toni Kukoc, who they believed was sure to sign. But Kukoc had signed in Italy, Paxson was now a hero from the Finals, and Jackson wanted to keep the championship nucleus together.

The Bulls offered $800,000 and were firm. Paxson could look elsewhere if he didn't like it. He'd hired Jordan's agent, David Falk, and they were convinced he could get more. The San Antonio Spurs, the team that had drafted Paxson in 1983 and sold him to the Bulls two years later, were interested. They said they would make an offer if Paxson would not try to use it to get more from the Bulls. They met in Chicago and offered $3.75 million over three years, more than $1 million over the Bulls' package, which included a vague promise that Paxson would become a broadcaster after his playing career was done.

Paxson, who'd become exasperated and angry with the Bulls' refusal to negotiate for more than a year, decided to stay. But he had told the Spurs he'd sign if they gave him what he wanted and this package was it. He suggested a minor counteroffer, which the Spurs said they'd need overnight to think about. Falk then went to Reinsdorf with the offer and the Bulls felt they had no choice but to match.

“You're getting a lot more than I want to pay you,” Reinsdorf told Paxson. Paxson smiled. The deal was for $5.2 million over four years. Paxson had made only about $330,000 the previous season.

At the time, Bill Cartwright was still in Chicago and reading about Paxson's negotiations, which seemed so quick. He, too, was without a new deal, and the Bulls were again stalling. He began talking to the Bucks, who were looking for a center but could offer just a two-year deal at something under $2 million. They would eventually sign Moses Malone from Atlanta. Cartwright wanted three years.

A month dragged on before Cartwright got close in talks with GM Krause. It would be something over $6 million for three years. The next day, Krause said no. Cartwright became angry and, knowing he was one of the few players who talked to Krause, said that even if he were to sign, he'd never talk to Krause again. Feelings were smoothed over a day later and Cartwright signed for three years—the last partly guaranteed—at $6.6 million, but as always, the Bulls would leave the player bitter over the experience.

Cliff Levingston, who seemed likely to be released, was saved both by an impressive Finals performance and Kukoc's decision to sign in Europe. The Bulls would have to hold a salary slot each year if Kukoc were to come to the NBA, and Levingston had one year left. So his $1.35 million option was picked up. Only Scott Williams, the irascible free agent, remained unsigned. He had undergone shoulder surgery, and the Bulls were squeezing him, trying to sign him for $300,000. He tried to get a deal overseas, but couldn't. Negotiations would drag through training camp as Williams worked out alone between Bulls' practices when the team refused to let him practice without a contract. They told him he couldn't come to the Stadium for the opening game to get his championship ring if he wasn't signed. Finally, he signed a two-year deal for $850,000 just before opening night and would join the team in late November.

Only rookie Mark Randall from Kansas was new. He was picked in the draft as insurance for Williams, and would be waived in late December after Cartwright returned from an injury. Efforts to trade the overweight Stacey King in the summer proved unsuccessful—he would be booed at the team's ring ceremony on opening night—and talks to deal the unhappy Dennis Hopson continued. The Bulls wanted to dump his $1 million salary. They succeeded in part when they traded Hopson to Sacramento just after opening night in November for Bobby Hansen, who earned $600,000. That was a saving of $400,000, so they figured they could release Hansen if necessary to make another personnel move, coming close only later in the season when they talked with free agent Mike Sanders.

But the nucleus now was signed for at least three years each as the Bulls began a nine-month journey.

Two practices a day continued for about a week before the Bulls began their nine-game exhibition schedule. They would win eight and become the league's No. 1 attraction, for not only did they have the spectacular Jordan, but they were the best team. At the league's annual meetings in September, Chuck Daly warned the Bulls that they “had no idea” what they were in for. “When you win the championship,” Daly said, “you're in the eye of the storm like never before.” Jordan felt he already knew.

He clearly was struggling in practices. “Obviously, Michael is not in the greatest shape of his career,” Jackson agreed. It seemed Jordan hadn't worked out all summer, merely flying around to golf outings, and a bone spur had developed from a common tendinitis condition. Team doctors said it could have been avoided with some work, but now Jordan might have to face postseason surgery. He confirmed that to the
Sun-Times'
Lacy Banks, saying: “It [tendinitis] is aggravated by a bone spur. I'll probably have to undergo surgery on it after the season. It's nothing serious at this stage, though.” Jordan would later back off and say he didn't think he'd need surgery.

The other October “surprise” was Jordan showing up for the team's second exhibition game with a mouthpiece to keep his famous tongue in his mouth. “I didn't really notice it,” Jordan told reporters, “until my kids starting doing it. I don't want to pass that along. It's something I stole from my father. It's a bad habit I want to correct.” After a few games he dropped the idea and let his tongue fly.

“I don't think anything can keep us from winning the championship except ourselves,” Jackson boldly proclaimed on the eve of the Nov. 1 season opener.

The Bulls rewarded their fans with a humiliatingly easy opening-night victory over the Philadelphia 76ers, but then proceeded to lose their next two before evening their record with an easy win in Boston. Jordan scoring 40 or more—are we back to a one-man team? the newspapers began wondering—in the previous three games seemed to be the news until the Bulls arrived home from Boston.

Larry Bird, who led the Celtics with 30, would soon be out again with back problems that placed his career in jeopardy. But bigger, sadder news was forthcoming from the greatest star of the '80s, Magic Johnson.

Johnson had contracted the AIDS virus. Jordan was one of the first people Magic called when he officially learned the news. The NBA was stunned. Jordan would later say he was in tears as Johnson tried to reassure him.

The Boston victory would begin a franchise-record 14-game winning streak that would extend through November, a time in which the Bulls would face their first serious injuries in three years, and another in a series of controversies that never deterred the team from its destiny.

Craig Hodges had knee surgery and would be out six weeks. Bill Cartwright would break his hand Nov. 15 against the Bucks—a suspicious, though seemingly accidental, injury because Cartwright had broken Fred Roberts' jaw a few years back and had always heard some revenge was planned—and he'd be out until the end of December. The big circle on the schedule was Nov. 12, the Pistons' first visit since the now-infamous walk off the court in the playoffs. Pippen would begin a season of Jordan imitations by saying after an easy Bulls win that he, too, would leave the Olympic team if Isiah Thomas were selected. But that game became obscured when excerpts from this book—
The Jordan Rules
—started to become public.

There was a front-page column in the
Sun-Times
suggesting the book would become the Bulls' biggest obstacle to repeating, and a local and national hysteria commenced: Did Jordan really punch Will Perdue? Did Jordan try to freeze out Bill Cartwright? Was Jordan a mere mortal?

Since I had written the book, I was somewhat stunned by the reaction, which even forced me to stay away from a few Bulls games. I wasn't covering the team on a day-to-day basis anymore, having taken over the entire NBA beat, but the NBA in Chicago is the Bulls, so I could never be far from the team. I felt the book was an honest, in-depth look at an NBA team going through a season and what the group dynamic was like when you were playing with the biggest star in the history of team sports. I tried to depict everyone fairly, and as for Jordan, I believed he came through strong if sometimes contentious, impatient if also earnest, sometimes selfish and self-centered, a better leader than many believed, with a quick, abrasive wit. In essence, he is a human being with flaws, just like the rest of us, except for his skill. “Be like Mike,” reviewer Bob Ford wrote in the
Philadelphia Inquirer,
“hell, we already are.”