This is no longer about the Cavaliers ‘learning experiences’. They got here on a fluke and Anderson Varejao’s next ill advised shots will only be to keep Cleveland from being swept. If they learned anything, it’d be that things work out better when the ball goes in the basket. This isn’t even about the premature crowning of LeBron James. The King’s reign is on hiatus after an anti-climactic performance in these Finals and an unpromised encore. If he learned anything, it’d be that things work out better when he puts the ball in the basket.
For now, this is about one thing: *
Yeah, that thing again.
After the dust settled in the 80’s only two teams were left standing, Magic’s Lakers and Bird’s Celtics. Boston had certainly maintained it’s reputation as a perennial contender with five trips to the Finals and three victories, but L.A. was the team of the decade. Showtime made eight Finals appearances from ‘80-’89, with five championships and the league’s first repeat in 19 years. They were a dynasty.
The Bad Boys back to back on the heels of this rivalry established Detroit as a great team, but they would merely serve as history’s prelude for the Bulls. Michael Jordan’s shadow loomed so large over the NBA from ‘91-’98 that his absence cloaked Houston’s consecutive championships in doubt. He separated himself from his predecessors with the league’s first threepeat in 27 years. Then he retired, came back, and did it again. Chicago witnessed a dynasty.
After the dust settled in the Staples Center only one man was left standing, Kobe Bryant. But before Star Wars went nuclear, Bryant, Shaq and Phil maintained a brief, but convincing rule over the league. Three straight titles is a dynasty. Right?
Then there’s the Spurs. And the lockout. And the fallout from Star Wars. And a Game 7 with Detroit. And no matter who you blame, there will always be this year’s suspensions heard ’round the world.
The San Antonio Spurs have proven themselves to be the leagues preeminent franchise yet again, but is this a dynasty?
Discuss. And don’t forget to turn the lights off on the way out.
val·u·a·ble [val-yoo-uh-buhl]–adjective 1. having considerable monetary worth; costing or bringing a high price: a valuable painting; a valuable crop. 2. having qualities worthy of respect, admiration, or esteem: a valuable friend. 3. of considerable use, service, or importance: a valuable player. 4. apparently not Jerry West. (But he got the logo, so it's all good.)
NBA greats are a unique breed in the sporting pantheon. No athlete can impose pure will on his respective sport like a basketball player. There’s no disconnect between offense and defense, which gives a player more influence over his teammates on both sides of the ball. They’re the only athletes who can make a play for the crucial score and inasplitsecond make a stop that seals the win. In fact, most times they are expected to. Basketball players carry a heavier burden than their contemporaries. This is what makes the NBA’s Most Valuable Player so special. A Podoloff Trophy is the mark of greatness.
How is greatness measured? By the media. Every year, 125 pen, pad and agenda carrying sportswriters and broadcasters-with legends to build and stories to sell-decide upon whom to bestow the game’s crowning individual achievement. Truth is, if you locked those guys in a room a until they could decide upon a criterion for the award, they’d die in there. The MVP is a popularity contest, an award for modern marvels and sentimental favorites. Analysis of voting totals over the past twenty plus years reveal neither rhyme nor reason. There are numerous instances of both personal and team improvement having been in vain, while post and perimeter players are alternately fawned over and ignored. Players in contention are expected to take their teams to the postseason, yet postseason play doesn’t factor in the award? Practically every year reflects a different rhetoric.
So what is the formula? Carpe diem. Since 1984 there have been a dozen different Podoloff winners. Three men laced ‘em up and forged their own destines. Others labored to receive their due recognition. There were a couple guys you couldn’t help but love, and a few just got fucked over. Using the playoffs as a litmus test, let’s reminisce...
Before him, when a player was trapped in the post by an aggressive double team, he either passed the ball into a corner, called a timeout, or forced a shot. He didn’t throw it blindly over his head and through the outstretched arms of the defense directly to a teammate under the basket for an easy bucket. Before Earvin Johnson the game had flair, but no Magic.
His lengthy 6′9″ frame inhaled rebounds, his vision and dexterity maneuvered the court in bullet time, and his immaculate touch blessed those passes which always found a teammates hands in the shooting position. But it was his smile that explained it all. It was that smile that said, “I didn’t go behind my back for a lookaway pass to show off, I did it cause the defender in front of the hoop was trying to deny me the left, and it was the best way for me to hit my streaking teammate on the right without the D being the wiser.”
Before him, when a 6′10″ forward attacked the baseline only to be met midair by the extended arms of the opposing center, he either got blocked or traveled. He didn’t toss the ball overhead off the backboard, box out the center during his landing, catch the pass-to himself-and finish off the play with an easy lay in. Larry Bird was pretty good his damn self.
His size made him a post presence and he only needed the smallest window of space to get his shot off thanks to those thick, strong, wrists but other than that, he played a game of athleticism with no physical gifts. Regardless, he dominated with an ease and confidence of men with twice his ability. Actually, calling it confidence is an understatement. “In your fuckingface” might have been his middle name. Bird’s perpetual swagger was that of a man who had immersed himself in the game, a man who had seen and done it all. So whether he was tiptoeing the baseline-behind the backboard-or was trapped in a corner behind a double team, when he shot it over them, he knew it was going in. And he’d let you know too, before, and after it happened.
Their impact was immediate and widespread. They not only improved their respective teams, together they changed the game and saved the league.
It was almost cruel to choose between them, but from the beginning, to the powers that be Bird was the word. French Lick’s finest had bested Buck to capture Rookie of the Year in 1980, and finished fourth in that years MVP balloting. The winner? Magic’s supposed benefactor, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, whose scoring went up a point (23.8 to 24.8), but averaged two less boards and one less assist per game than the previous year (12.8 & 5.4 to 10.8 & 4.5). After replacing his injured center in an unforgettable Game6, Johnson won his first Finals MVP, but wouldn’t crack the top five on the regular season ballot until 1983.
He was sidelined by an injured knee in ‘81 resulting in only 37 games, and was besmirched by scandal in ‘82 after demanding a trade. Instead, Jerry Buss fired coach Paul Westhead, who favored a more conservative offense over Magic’s freewheeling play, and entrusted another visionary in Pat Riley. The Lakers regrouped and won 57 games in(50-21 w/ Riley) ‘82, best in the West, but the damage to Magic’s image had been done. He missed a triple double average by fractions (18.6, 9.6, 9.5), jacked a lig leading 2.7 steals, and it didn’t matter at all. The man finished eighth. He’d have to settle for another chip, and another Finals MVP.
Since the addition of Robert Parish & Kevin McHale in ‘81 (Championship year), Larry Bird was the MVP runner-up for threestraightyears. He claimed his first Podoloff in ‘84 and promptly propelled the Celtics into the Finals for the second time. Magic Johnson had three Finals appearances, two rings and two Finals MVP awards when he collided with his nemesis in the 1984 NBA Finals, but Bird was still seen as the better-and more valuable-player.
1984 NBA Finals, Game 7, Lakers @ Celtics
Magic didn’t do enough to change that perception.
1984-85-The Celtics (63-19) and Lakers (62-20) marched through the regular season towards the inevitable Finals rematch. Haunted by the mistakes of last year’s Finals, Magic answered critics questions about his leadership with a healthier season of increased scoring(18.3,6.2,12.6) as the Lakers took the West for the fourth straight year. Bird responded with career highs in points and assists, (28.7,10.5,6.6) including a 60 point masterpiece-only the 10th player in league history to do so.
Terry Cummings (23.6,9.1,2.9), Moses Malone (24.6,13.1,1.6), and Alex English (27.9,5.7,4.2) led the Bucks (59-23,+9 games), Sixers (58-24,+6 games) and Nuggets (52-30,+14 games) respectively as the league’s only other 50+ win teams. What could have been a close race turned out to be a landslide for Bird.
Four of the league’s top five clubs had teammates that received votes. Even the 24-58 Knicks squeezed two guys in. How is Bird the only Celtic? McHale (19.9,9.0,1.8) and Parish (17.6,10.6,1.6) were hardly slacking.
Why wasn’t Magic similarly recognized as the de facto leader of the Lakers? Was it Bird’s scoring?
English & Natt combined to make the Nuggets the league’s most improved team and won their division. Where’s the love? Especially when there’s two Bucks in the top ten?
Bird probably should have won, but by so much? Magic gets only one first place vote? Even the rookie got two!
What happened when the immovable object met the irresistible force? Magic Johnson earned the first Honorary T.R.O.Y. Retroactive M.V.P. 1985 NBA Finals, Game 6, Lakers @ Celtics
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar may have been the MVP of this series, but he was also 37 years old at the time. His performance was certainly worthy, but primarily ceremonial. He became the playoffs all time leading scorer during the series and the cognoscenti were feeling nostalgic. The man was past his prime and everyone knew it. Magic was the driving force behind that team, he was Showtime. He was the one who had improved his already exceptional game, resulting in an eight game improvement in the win column. He was the one with demons to face. Who would’ve shouldered the blame if the Lakers lost again? So let him reap the benefits. The Memorial Day Massacre should have crippled their confidence. Instead they became the first-and only-visiting team to celebrate a chip in Boston Garden. Kareem was a workhorse, no doubt, but Magic (15 APG in the Finals!) was the glue that held the team together.
1985-86-Not much of a contest. Widely considered to be one of history’s ten best teams, the Celtics went 67-15 and after some minor hiccups…
1986 Eastern Conference Playoffs First Round, Game 1, Bulls @ Celtics
1986 Eastern Conference Playoffs First Round, Game 2, Bulls @ Celtics
…they cruised to their second title in three years.
Bird’s third consecutive MVP was legit, but there’s still a few lingering questions.
Showtime went 62-20 and Magic comes in third? Not one first place vote?
Dominique Wilkins (30.3, 7.9, 2.6) carried the Hawks to 50 wins and finished in front of Johnson wiht five first place votes. Granted, there was a sixteen game progression, but still a dozen wins less than Los Angele, a perennial contender. Are the voters saying ‘Nique did more with less?
Again, why were Magic (18.8,5.9,12.6) and Cap (23.4,6.1,3.5) sharing votes when Bird (25.8,9.8,6.8) and McHale (21.3,8.1,2.7) weren’t? Because Cap was a legend and McHale was in his fourth year? They were both All Stars that year. Because Cap finished the plays and Magic only passed it to him? Despite all of his brilliance, Magic was a guard. Guards didn’t win MVP. Right?
1986-87-The takeover. This season was the first time in the history of the MVP award that the winner and the runner-up were both guards. It just didn’t happen. Since the game’s inception, big men-particularly centers-were deemed higher in the game’s pecking order than their counterparts. The big man’s ability to score from the interior with a high field goal percentage, in addition to an imposing defensive presence and steady rebounding was crucial to team success. Their overall impact on a game was greater than that of smaller players dependent on their jumpshots and ill equipped to battle in the paint. The name of the game was to put the ball in the basket, and the man at the basket controlled the game. From Russell to Moses, post players won championships, so they were inherently more valuable. Right?
The efficiency of the game was with the big men, but they had their limitations. They couldn’t handle the ball as well and their decision making in the open court was generally suspect. They were considerably slower than guards and more predictable due to their limited range and movement. Post players were chained to the basket and needed the ball fed to them.
The soul, the creativity, the artistry, the future of the game was with the guard.
Magic Johnson (23.9,6.3,12.2) had a statistical buffet, gorging on the competition in 65 Laker victories. Onlythefourth guard to win the Podoloff in it’s 31 years, he certified his value in another iconic postseason.
1987 NBA Finals, Game 4, Lakers @ Celtics
Then there was Michael Jordan (37.1,5.2,4.6). A streaking explosion of coiled muscles. A barrage of pivots, pump fakes, reverse pivots, jab steps, pull ups and fallaways. A cavalcade of double clutches, up and unders, baby hooks, runners, reverses, teardrops and bankshots. Then there were the dunks. It was endless.
February 26, Nets @ Bulls
March 4, Bulls @ Pistons
March 24, 76ers @ Bulls
He only stopped because the schedule did. Jordan had torched the NBA for it’s first 3,000 point season in 24 years-from the two spot. Finishing second, he would have joined Kareem AbdulJabbar and BobPetit as the only players from losing teams (40-42) declared MVP. That year’s ballot indicated a changing of the guard.
Dominique Wilkins (29.0) was the L’s second leading scorer and the Hawks (57-25) conquered a Central Division with two other 50+win teams and the Bulls. Atlanta had the third best record in the league and the next highest scorer on that team was Kevin Willis (16.1). He was supported by Doc Rivers (12.8), Randy Wittman (12.7) and Mike McGee (10.4). He took less shots (24.3 to 22.6), had less turnovers (3.2 to 2.7) and more assists (2.6 to 3.3) Drowned out by cheers for Jordan, he didnt get one first place vote, and even Kevin McHale finished with twice as many points as him (254/128). So was Nique rewarded for lifting his team the previous year, or just reaping the benefits of Jordan’s absence?
Speaking of McHale, he did improve that year, but shouldn’t that be a testament to Bird’s influence as it was in the past? He only had three points last year, having played only nine less games. Did this mean the voters suddenly couldn’t tell who was responsible for the Celtics success?
Bird (28.1, +2.3 on ‘86) was the Lig’s fourth leading scorer, and averaged a career high in assists (7.6). The Celtics (59-23) held down the Atlantic-and the East-again. How does anyone from a sub.500 team finish with twice as many points and a ten to one first place vote ratio? Isn’t this the reigning three time MVP?
Isiah Thomas (20.6,3.9 & 10.0)? 52 wins? Anyone? Only 17 total points? Anyone? Anyone?
“It would have been tough, if not impossible to keep scoring like I did during the 86-87 season. I attacked from he opening tip until the last whistle for 82 games. That was my mentality. In terms of physical talent we probably has less on that team than any other Bulls team I played on. I knew I needed to score if we were going to be successful. I’m pretty sure Doug Collins felt the same way. I had one streak of nine straight games with 40 or more points. You have no idea how much energy it takes to score 40 points one night. The difference between averaging 32 PPG over an entire season versus a little over 37 is significant. Think of it this way: If I scored 32 one night then I had to score 42 the next night to get even. But that was a different era. Very few teams were as sophisticated defensively as they are today. And no team, with the exception of Detroit the next season, geared its entire defensive gameplan to shutting down one player…
In the early years I compared myself to Magic and Larry. What could I do to elevate my game past theirs?”
1987-88-The blueprint. He already left defenders helpless. But it was his defense that terrorized opponents for the breadth of the court. He was a one man press. His strength, quickness, leaping, anticipation and recognition made him a more intimidating defender than men twice his size. He filled passing lanes, blocked shots from the weakside, stripped penetrating dribbles, skied for rebounds and started countless fastbreaks-which he emphatically finished.
Michael Jordan recorded more than 200 steals and 100 blocks for the second year in a row, a feat never acheived by any other guard even once (236 & 125 in ‘87 to 259 & 131 in ‘88. ). This garnished him the 1988 Defensive Player of the Year Award. Silencing critics who claimed that he was a one man show, Money made a concerted effort to involve his teammates which resulted in a scoring dip (37.1 on 27.8 SPG to 35.0 on 24.4SPG), but also an increase in assists (4.6 to 5.9) and shooting % (48.2 to 53.5). Aside from a paltry 3P % (13.2), his game was utterly flawless.
The Bulls (Seriously, look at that roster. Now.) somehow went 50-32 only to be matched up against a talented Cleveland squad, far better than their 42-40 record after the addition of veteran Larry Nance in a midseason trade. Outmatched and unfazed, Jordan opened the playoffs with consecutive 50 point games against the Cavs, another first in NBA history.
1988 Eastern Conference First Round, Game 1, Cavs @ Bulls
1988 Eastern Conference First Round, Game 2, Cavs @ Bulls
He would goon to average a record 45.2 PPG in the five games and win his first playoff series before falling to the Pistons (4-1) in the next round.
His performance in ‘88 was valuable not only to Chicago, but to the entire league. It was transcendent.
“…They were great all-around players, but they were never known as great defenders. I realized defense could be my way of seperating myself from them. I decided I wanted to be recognized as a player who could inflence the game at either end of the floor. The one thing people saw in me that they didn’t see in Magic or Larry was the athletic ability. They had great talent, but in terms of raw athletic ability I think I had a little more. To some extent I think it was hard for people to believe anyone eho jumped and dunked could also be a complete player. But that’s what I did at North Carolina and that’s what I was trying to do in the NBA. After the 1987-88 season the critics had to say, ‘This kid can have an influence at both ends of the court. He’s not just a scorer.’ Now when they talked about Magic and Larry they also had to talk about defense. I felt like I made the seperation, at least individually, to some extent that season. But I knew I’d never completely be recognized as their equal until we won championships.”-For the Love Of the Game, by Michael Jordan
Kevin McHale played in 13 less games, and saw a decrease in his averages (26.1, 9.9 & 2.6 to 22.6, 8.4 & 2.7) . Bird took two more shots a game that year, and all of McHales MVP votes?
Once again, Dominique Wilkins (30.7, 6.4 & 2.9) is a complete afterthought. Sixth place, huh?
1988-89- The Lakers had become the lig’s first back to back champions in twenty years and despite the reduced minutes and production of Cap’s farewell tour (10.1, 4.5 & 1.0 in 22.9 MPG), Magic considered that year’s team to be the deepest and most talented of his career. Assuming more of a scoring role in the offense, he also increased his assists and rebounds (22.5, 7.9 & 12.8), leading Los Angeles on a collision course with friend and rival, Isiah Thomas.
Magic Johnson broke the mold of the traditional point guard with a size and versatility that impacted the game more than his smaller contemporaries, but Isiah Thomas more than matched his adversary in skill and will. Zeke valiantly fought off a severely sprained ankle with a historic 25 points in the third quarter of the previous years Game 6, bringing Detroit within arms length of a championship, only to succumb to Showtime in seven games. The memory of such a narrow defeat drove Thomas and the Bad Boys to a franchise best 63-19 record in ‘89, securing the all important home court advantage for their Finals rematch.
In an anticlimactic twist of fate, both Magic and Byron Scott would injure their hamstrings, clearing the way for a Pistons sweep. Though Johnson had captured the season’s MVP, the vindication of a title helped Thomas forget that he only received one vote and one point on that years ballot.
But Michael Jordan (32.5, 8.0, 8.0 & 2.9) was more valuable than both of them.
Jordan spent a significant portion of the season at the point dominating smaller guards and during a three week span (3/28-4/14) recorded a triple double in ten of eleven games. However trading away their rebounding enforcer in Charles Oakley caused the Bulls to take a step backwards as a team during the ‘89 regular season. Chicago struggled to stay competitve while incorporating the awkward low post game of Bill Cartwright and developing second year talents Scottie Pippen and Horace Grant. Their modest record of 47-35 was buried in the Central Division and as they stumbled into the playoffs losing eight of ten, playoff expectations were nil.
The Cavaliers (57-25) had taken all five games of the season series and were hungry for playoff revenge. Jordan opened a can of whoop-ass instead, stuffing Cleveland with 39.8, 5.8 & 8.2 before putting them to bed with “The Shot”.
The Bulls won their semi-final matchup with New York (52-30) and handed the Pistons what would ultimately be their only two losses of the postseason in a suprsingly tight six game series.
If the objective of the game is to win a championship, then shouldn’t the most valuable player be the one who gives his respective team the best chance to win? Magic and Zeke steered their talented squads towards June, while Jordan maximized the potential of a team that shouldn’t have lasted past April. An elite player on a mediocre team is needed more, expected to do more, and the fact that the opposition knows this only increases the burden. Off nights aren’t allowed. There is a distinct difference between leading a team and being the team.
With that, I present Money with the second Honorary T.R.O.Y. Retroactive M.V.P.
“He looks determined without being ruthless. Something heroic in his manner. There’s a courage about him, he doesn’t look like a killer. He comes across so calm, acts like he has a dream. Full of passion.”
“You don’t trust me, huh?”
“Well, you know why.”
“I do. We’re not supposed to trust anyone in our profession anyway.”
What up, yo. Time is runnin’ out.
AP-“It was really embarrassing to come in here and lose such an important game the way we lost it,” Odom said. “…We need to think about some things as a team. It’s kind of sad, but I don’t know that we’re as close as a team right now as far as camaraderie and things like that. That’s the only way you lose games like this — when you’re not close.”
Bryant downplayed the impact of losing by such a large margin.
“In the playoffs, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s a loss, either way you cut it.”
As an unabashed member of Laker Nation, I currently find myself unable wade in the shallow waters of ‘the right way’. I’m incapable of concealing my feelings for the Purple and Gold, and any attempts to marginalize them to project a sense of even-handedness are half-hearted and ultimately counterproductive. You’re not here for that, and neither am I. Right now, I’m not a sportswriter, or even an aspiring one. I’m a fan. Fans pick a side and stay there.
That being said, we’re fucked.
As hard as it was to watch, there was a hint of foreshadowing in the fourth quarter of last night’s game. (I took around three quarters worth of notes, but I don’t have the stomach to go through the autopsy right now, and I doubt anyone wants to relive such bloodshed. Except Suns fans, and well, fuck them.) Kobe Bryant, the same player accused of tanking last year’s Game 7, left the bench to subject himself to more ridicule-and a twisted ankle. What was he doing in the game? Maybe trying to develop some synergy amongst his teammates and give them something to build on for Game 3. He certainly wasn’t going to sit there and watch. After subsequently leaving the game for treatment, the Lakers plodded on. Phoenix’s entire rotation had been taken out of the game and replaced with the likes of Marcus Banks, Jalen Rose, Eric Piatowski, and Pat Burke. The Lakeshow countered with Shammond Williams, Sasha Vujacic, Mo Evans, Brian Cook and Andrew Bynum.
As a team trailing by upwards of twenty points-and one healthy star- in the fourth quarter of a Game 2, it seemed L.A. should’ve conceded the inevitable and gone to their garbage players too. Except those are the Lakers garbage players. Seriously, there are no lower men on the roster. These are some of the same guys who have been playing all year, and will be logging significant minutes for the rest of this series.
Half assed crews get demolished and bruised.
As Phil and Lamar were getting lifted in the staircases after the game, Kobe was left to simmer and contemplate his latest nickname. The incarcerated Scarface.
As a certified Kobeologist, I’ve blessed him with an assortment of aliases, (Anakin Skywalker, for obvious reasons. The Prince, for his eternal second banana status, Machiavellian image- and similarities to Pac, a.k.a Makaveli-another talented soul who tried too hard to be someone he’s not. There’s more, but don’t get me rambling…) however this one is probably the most appropriate given the circumstances.
As any self assured, goal oriented, immigrant would, Kobe’s natural inclinations when cornered are to go down swinging. No surrender, no retreat. Long ago, his focus on a dream materialized into a red beam willing to take out anyone in front of it. That focus is legendary, but hazardously singular. But isn’t that Kobe’s current dilemma, that he’s all alone? He has a definitive legacy to consider and needs to win, yet he’s surrounded by neophytes and ne’er do wells with nothing to lose. Yo, they be foldin' like envelopes under pressure, like Lou Ferrigno on coke. Compounding his problems are a considerable phalanx of character assasins in the form of a rabid media, ready to pounce on him whenever his shot totals exceed their comfort.
As we all know, through a well published-and well spun-series of events, three years ago Kobe was essentially branded as a villain. The bad guy. A man high on a power trip, considerate of no one and respectful of nothing. He either shoots too much, or his extraordinary achievements are belittled by a lack of resulting postseason success. He is in an inescapable situation, attacked from all angles and unable to fire back. He has been shackled, or incarcerated if you will. Six shot attempts in the last three quarters of Game 2.
As the media continues to ignore the hypocrisy of craving team play in a star driven league-and from a star with no team at that-from the agendaless perspective of a fan, I can see quite clearly. This team may fall, but not without a fight, especially from the only man who will be held accountable. Kobe is about to explode.
As the countdown to Game 3 passes, he thinks of LBJ, Nash, Dirk and others who will be showered with the praise of May. At that point, Kobe will pause and say to himself, “You’re all a bunch of fucking assholes. You know why? You don’t have the guts to be who you wanna be. Youneed people like me so you can point your fucking fingers and say ‘That’s the bad guy.’ So what does that make you? Good? You’re not good, you just know how to hide. Me? I don’t have that problem. I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So say goodnight to the bad guy! It’s the last time you gonna see a bad guy like this again, I tell you…”
Michael Jordan’s playoff record of 63 points will fall before this series is over.
He's immortal now. Omnipresent. A source of inspiration for faithful legions, a daunting thought for non-believers. He haunts all who dare take the path to greatness, his face flashing before their eyes, his name ringing in their ears. Michael Jeffrey Jordan may still draw breath among the rest of us in this mortal coil, but Michael "Air" Jordan ascended to the height of basketball deity long ago.
There will never be another. I hope.
The distinctive legacy of Michael Jordan is reflective of much more than late night workouts and last second heroics. It is built upon satellites, sneakers and sports drinks. Upon savvy marketing. Jordan used his rocketing stardom and a sprouting media to cultivate and manipulate an image that made him more than an icon. He became a brand of his own.
Playing for Keeps: Michael Jordan and the World He Made, by David Halberstam--First and foremost, David Stern was determined to turn around the league's image. Stern believed that the league's financial and psychological stability depended upon its corporate connections. he saw and envied the tight, almost symbiotic connection between the National Football League and corporate America, so skillfully engineered by Pete Rozelle. He desperately wanted some of the same corporate endorsements to give his shakier league some badly needed legitimacy. He wanted the best of America's heartland companies as his sponsors, nothing less; he wanted companies such as Coke and McDonald's, signature companies of the postwar nation. If they came aboard, so would everyone else. And so he set out, very early on, to try and bring those companies in.
But when he visited the offices of the nation's great advertising firms, the gatekeepers to the great name-brand companies whose sponsorships he coveted, he found a stone wall of resistance, though many were enthusiastic sponsors of college basketball. One Madison Avenue agency representing an auto company was particularly blunt about it-the ad man said he had been instructed by the head of the auto company to sponsor college ball because the pro game was too black. The answer came back, yes, we know your surveys, but the head of the company-my boss-thinks you're too black. When Stern tried to show the demographic studies that the league had put together, studies that showed that the audience for the professional game was not that different from the college game and that blessedly the viewers were young, he received the blankest of stares. Perception, Stern realized was everything, and the general perception of blue-chip American companies was that the game was tarnished, too much a reflection not of sports but of something most Americans wanted to know as little as possible about: black America...
...The college game was almost as black, but perceptions were important, and the college game was perceived, perhaps, unconsciously, as still operating within a white hierarchy, under powerful white supervision, a world where no matter who the foot soldiers were, the generals were still white. (That was at least part of the reason why many people in the world of sports did not like John Thompson and his Georgetown team, a sense that the white hierarchy did not include or control his particular team. Not only was Thompson himself black, but despite Thompson's insistence that all his players go to class and graduate, the team projected a sense of nascent black consciousness.)
...Stern, like Welts, was absolutely convinced that the core of the resistance was about race. He believed that if the NBA could show some discipline and limit the worst, or at least the most noticeable, of the current excesses, then people would be able to see the truly compelling parts of the game: the unmatched athletic ability of the players and the fire with which they competed...
...For better or worse, by the eighties America exported not its machine products or its cars but its culture: its fast foods, Cokes and Big Macs; its more relaxed and informal dress codes; its popular music, movies and television shows. And its sports. The ascending new sport in the world, one that was winning ever greater popularity with the young, was not soccer, though that reigned supreme in many parts of the world, but basketball...
...In retrospect, it was inevitable, therefore that the player catapulted forward as the signature commercial representative of this great new athletic-cultural-commercial empire would be an American and a basketball player. The other dominant American sports were eliminated because of the nature of their footwear. There were no international commercial battles to be fought over football cleats or baseball spikes like those waged in the eighties for the right to be the sneaker king of the world. Nike and Converse and Adidas were ar war with each other, and the NBA was the beneficiary. Hamburger and soft drink companies followed...
...As Nike and other companies featured individual players as stars, and as the league and the network became co-conspirators in the promotion of stars, a major new direction, barely understood at the time, was being charted for the league. It was part of a larger new phenomenon taking place in sports, and in society in general, but most nakedly and obviously in basketball. The game and its top people made a fateful choice: They would go with this modern way or their league would perish as a big time sport. Individual players were now being promoted rather than teams. Something that would have been anathema to owners, coaches, and many athletes in the past, the cult of personality, was now, however unconsciously, becoming mandatory as the sport sought to broaden its fan base. Its advocates, owners, and sponsors no longer saw themselves competing against rival teams or even rival sports. Now they were competing in a far larger and more cutthroat arena-against rock stars, movies, and all kinds of other forms of modern entertainment-for a slice of the entertainment dollar...
...So it was that when Michael Jordan came in the league, a vast number of changes were already beginning to take place in terms both of technology and of international economics that would affect his future and of which he was to become a principal beneficiary. David Stern himself later noted that he had barely noticed Jordan's arrival because he was so caught up in the mundane legal and commercial issues that dominated the daily calendar of a commissioner. In fact, what he remembered most about the draft that year was fining Portland for tampering with Akeem Olajuwon. Still, the arrival of Jordan in the very prime of Stern's career was to be one of the great determining factors in the commissioner's singular success. If Stern had sought no just success but a new kind of respectability for his league, then the arrival of Michael Jordan was like the answer to a Dream.
His singular talent made him an immediate draw, but it was his upbringing that laid a foundation for his marketability. Jordan was the child of an upper-middle class family that stressed hard work and education. He was a product of the NCAA's basketball monastery, North Carolina. He avoided any public dialogue on racial matters and was decidedly apolitical, effectually rendering himself appealing to everyone . He learned from youthful mistakes like wearing his Nike warmups and gold chains in the '85 dunk contest. The veterans saw him as a prideful rookie and Magic allegedly conspired with Isiah to freeze him out of the All-Star game.
SLAM 46, Nov. '00--Common interacted with pro hoop royalty while working as a ball boy for the Bulls from '83-87, just as Jordan entered the League. Common's tale of MJ's first day is a classic: "When he first go to the locker room he was playing 'Friends' by Whodini on this little red radio. They weren't really into him playing rap music in the locker room so they asked him to stop. After a good two exhibition games he could have played 'Fuck The Police' if he wanted to.
But he didn't. Not that he should have, there was money to made. Popularity alone didn't make superstars, Jordan understood the value of a neutral image. His thick Carloina accent, the fur coats, the chains and the music all disappeared, replaced with measured tones and immaculately tailored suits. He maintained a natural ease with the camera and a constant awareness of the public eye. Any chance encounter with Michael Jordan was to be not only a brush with athletic excellence, but a contemporary lesson in style and grace. That is what makes a superstar, talent coupled with the illusion of an unattainable superiority.
What didn't make a superstar in the 80's was hip hop. For a player headlining a league that was striving to escape the onus of being "too black", hip hop was plague. Or was it?
The sneakers were fresh. Functional, groundbreaking technology and luxurious material. Wilford Brimley could have sold them, but the Mars Blackmon ads are among the most popular in television history. A celebrity of Jordan's magnitude promoting products with hip hop was certainly a first, but the actual genius of those commercials was having Jordan play the straight man opposite Mars. It gave them true universal appeal, a nod to the buying power of the 'urban' dollar without Jordan blatantly pandering to that audience, something that would have been embarrassingly inauthentic and counter to his role as the charmer of middle America. In just thirty seconds, he had effectively cornered a demographic while avoiding its stigmas.
Mars Blackmon was a character from Spike Lee's first movie, She's Gotta Have It. Mars was diminutive and obnoxious, coincidentally identical to corporate America's perception of hip hop. The scene was still perceived as a passing fad and was relegated to the fringes of pop culture. These ads were cutting edge for their time and established Jordan as the in vogue pitchman, while boosting the worldwide popularity of hip hop culture.
In the summer of 1989 Lee released his second film, Do the Right Thing. It was a scathing critique on modern race relations that forced the discussion on the American public in a way they weren't used to. Lee's loose tongue only fanned the flames of media speculation about rioting. It was controversial, unapologetic and certainly immersed in a 'nascent black consciousness'.
It was also another Air Jordan advertisement.
The ensuing controversy regarding the movie never left a stain on Nike or Jordan, in fact, it only pushed the shoes popularity toward cult status. To the point that kids were killed for them. Nike and Jordan offered genuine concern for the victims, but not much else. Thecommercialscontinued with much success and Jordan continued to gorge on the benefits of global exposure without any of the accountability.
Michael certainly valued winning above all else, but he also knew it could only heighten his profile with corporate America. He was clean, articulate, stylish, and well mannered. He was already the most popular player and personality in the league, recruiting casual fans with an assortment of competitive snarls and reassuring smiles amidst his nightly acrobatics, but only a championship would complete his resume. After he captured his first title in 1991, Michael Jordan got what the rest of us truly craved-his own theme song.
But what was Mike really like? Sam Smith was determined to find out. The Jordan Rules was released in the middle of the following season, much to Michael's dismay. The book was stuffed with tales of Jordan's egomanical tirades against teammates and management, including the times he punched Will Perdue for an overly aggressive pick and openly derided Bill Cartwright's abilities as a man and a basketball player before attempting to freeze him out of games. The book was a comprehensive study on the ugly side of Jordan's competitive nature and the desire for these details made it a best seller. But Smith's arms were too short to box with God.
Halberstam--Michael Jordan was not pleased with the book, but he was also aware of his near invulnerability to criticism-the nature of this fame left him largely immune to any assault by a print reporter, in no small part because his team kept on winning. He had long since graduated to a world where the real media world for him was nothing less than network television, and where many television reporters, hungry for access, became as much ambassadors from their networks to him as journalists. What mattered for him was image, and his image glistened; facts were less important, because the only real fact that people cared about was that he and his team kept winning and he remained quite handsome.
Michael Jordan had become an unprecedented economical presence, growing stronger with the success of another championship and the global spotlight of the Olympic Dream Team. He had shaped himself into the mold of the consummate graceful warrior, with the attendant messages of morality and sportsmanship. Years of an appreciatively cooperative media had allowed him to ignore the consequences of building such a false image, but that very image would soon consume him. Jordan had built such a demand for himself and his sport that the once minuscule press corps he had such a camaraderie with could no longer contain it. The game had grown to be covered by an endless phalanx of media, and some did not seek to praise Michael, but to demystify him.
Michael Jordan and the New Global Capitalism, by Walter LaFeber--He told Sports Illustrated that he always tried to be a "positive image" and a "positive influence." "I never thought a role model should be negative," Jordan declared. "If you want negativity, then you wouldn't have asked for Michael Jordan. You might've asked for Mike Tyson or somebody else."
Even if only in small circles, for an athlete of any magnitude to be known as a compulsive gambler is to bear a scarlett letter of suspicion. There is no telling with absolute certainty that they wouldn't bet on their own games, or influence the outcome of games, and people tend to fear for the worst. So for the face of the league-a man of legendary competitiveness-to be known as a compulsive gambler was to risk being burned at the stake. But Michael Jordan was positive. Positive that he would win, if he didn't he was positive he could afford it. If word about his gambling spread, he was positive it wouldn't matter because of his positive image. So when the losses added up, and the word got out, and people dared question his character, he was absolutely, positively appalled.
"So much for objective journalism. Don't bother to look for it here-not under any byline of mine; or anyone else that I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms."--Hunter S. Thompson
"I just tackle the subject, get flak from the public? It's nothin', I know real niggas happen to love it. And if you don't like it, then look in the mirror-most likely, you 'aint live it, so you don't get it. You 'aint did it, so you can't envision, the picture I'm painting 'aint vivid, the language I'm spittin' is so foreign to you. See what starvin'll do to you? Growing up hard in a little apartment'll do to you? I'm just talkin' to you. I'm just talkin through you..."--Jay-Z
If you gave me three letters to describe the world of basketball, I'd say NBA. If I had four, I'd say SLAM. Pictured above is the last decade of the league, and the next one. Nearly all of them have roots in the magazine, many featured multiple times, including LeBron James who practically grew up between its pages. After 13 years, SLAM continues to comb the landscape while celebrating the progress and culture of the game.
There is a more conservative segment of basketball journalists who drape themselves in the flag of objective journalism and denounce SLAM as the insignificant ramblings of crazed fans armed with press passes. Others dismiss it as a mere cult of cliched personalities. It is not the hallowed institution that is Sports Illustrated or that mammoth conglomerate of a four letter word, ESPN, but by tailoring their focus to basketball SLAM can measure it's pulse like no other publication, with comprehensive coverage of high school, college and professional hoops. Every year the game's elite tell their stories through the pages of SLAM, and to honor it's foundation, more than half of the NBA's 50 Greatest Players have been featured in the Old School section since the magazine's inception. There have also been re-emergences-if only for a brief moment-from the doldrums of obscurity by Charlie Scott, Earl Lloyd, Jackie Jackson and Cliff Hagan, among others. Who? Exactly. SLAM is required reading for a complete basketball education.
The folly of objective journalism is in the assumption that one can speak with absolute neutrality, which requires an omniscience that is simply impossible. We're all products of upbringings that have sculpted our worldview, and those outlooks are what make us different. That is why we value a Thompson, Halberstam, or Wiley, for that unique voice which came from their sensibilities. I say that not to declare this magazine as the literary gold standard, but to assert that we can never completely understand or appreciate a subject until it's been viewed from every angle, and that comes from a multitude of perspectives. SLAM dared to take a new one, and after 108 issues they've become synonymous with the game without boring me with their wives, their parents or some fucking schmuck named 'House'. Thanks guys.
I'll say it again, Kobe Bryant is the greatest scorer in the history of the game. The numbers may never truly reflect it, since he spent almost a decade alongside another dominant scorer, but somewhere even Money's tongue is wagging in admiration. It's always been nothing less than amusing to hear Kobe dismissed as nothing more than a clone, when in fact he has improved the blueprint.
Fundamental ball handling involves a soundness of footwork and a clarity of vision. Good ball handlers recognize and attack openings in the defense off the dribble with either hand. In addition to these balanced and measured steps, keen guards are quicker in their direction and decision making with the ball, maintaining an awareness of exactly when to halt the dribble and shoot or pass. The exceptional player employs a variety of jab steps, back steps, hop steps, spin moves and pivots to acquire space for a scoring opportunity. The more moves a player has, the less decisive their defenders can be. Michael Jordan had all of these moves in spades, including a wonderful crossover jab step. But what he didn't have was a killer crossover, the ultimate ball handling weapon for a player with a jump shot and an ability to attack the rim. Kobe does. One dribble and two steps gets him to the rim like nothing. Just the thought of it made Fred Jones fall over.
Necessity is the mother of invention. Layups are a tricky bunch, you can lay them too hard off the glass-or too soft. That's if you don't have one roll out or hit the back of the rim. Everyone knows that the highest percentage shot in basketball is to just jump up there and cram it in, but the problem lies in the execution. Several basketball players can dunk, just not from either foot, with either hand, in or outside the paint over whomever they please. Kobe's size, strength, quickness and agility make him a constant threat from any angle, but when he loads his springs on the baseline, smart defenders just walk away. Slackers like Doug Christie, Andrei Kirelenko and Kevin Garnett stick around and get dunked on. Word to the wise fellas, his baseline reverse windmill is indefensible, stop jumping.
Jordan's fade away and Cap's sky hook are the two most unstoppable shots in basketball history. They either make it or they don't, they never get blocked. The difference between the fade and hook is that a player has to commit to the hook. Once a pivot foot is chosen and the initial move is made, there is no possible counter move except traveling. An ability to drop step into an easy two off of either foot on the low block opens up options for an offensive player. Turn inside and dunk or fake it, turn outside and fade away. Or fake it, turn outside, and pivot around the defender again for a layup-another classic Jordan move. Thing is, Jordan wasn't using the fade until the end of his career and he was a free throw or below player. Kobe's bigger and stronger and uses the fade away everywhere. The low block, the pinch post, top of the key, three point baseline, anywhere he pleases, Kobe will go into that shake n' fade over either shoulder and if you step into it, he'll fade back further and still make it. Or step through and have a clear shot at the rim.
Anticipating the fade away causes defenders to play off of him in catch and shoot situations, so Kobe just goes into the step back jumper. Life is so unfair.
What's really fucked up is that the scariest part of Kobe's offensive game is on the perimeter. Play him out to thirty feet and he'll still J you without even putting the ball on the floor.
Wait until he busts this one out again...
Ball handling, attacking the basket along with strong post and perimeter play all mean nothing if they cannot be summoned at will. Kobe Bryant can score when it's absolutely necessary, even when the defense knows he's the only option, under any circumstances. He has mastered the fifth element.
And now, some Classic Wiley...
Note to self: Add another nickname to the list of Kobe the Destroyer and Kobe the Finisher -- Kobe the Puppet Master.
Note to all: Kobe Bryant has become the most unstoppable scoring force in the game, in a line with Wilt, O, Zeke from Cabin Creek, Rick Barry, Abdul-Jabbar, the Iceman, Doc, David, Zeke from West Side Chi, McAdoo, Bird, Jordan.
Observing Kobe's most recent scoring jag -- 44.6 per in the last five, nine straight with 35 points or more, best scoring run-out the NBA has seen since the mid-'80s, when Mike Jordan was 24 and 25, the same age Kobe is now -- we may conclude Kobe is the greatest scoring force in the league.
Ever.
Sit down. Go with me for a minute. Understand that, just for today, we're leaving Dog and all the other Kobe-haters and Kobe-stoppers and Kobe-controllers home on this op.
We are talking raw ball here, not from the exalted seat of a fan or the controlling seat of a coach, but first from over Kobe's shoulder as he posts us up -- from playing off him as he's facing us, reading his body lean; then with him -- keeping the spacing correct, salivating as our man slides his way and we come open for the 18-footer that can win a game; and finally, from inside his head -- God, it's cluttered in here!
First, any guy who can score 42.3 over five in the NBA, and reference Pinocchio's Gepetto at the same time, is a man to be watched, studied, and possibly feared. "I felt like Gepetto," Kobe said after one of his recent exposés. He felt like the defenders were on the strings he held. Admittedly, many fans didn't get the reference. Maybe Kobe should've said he felt like Brando in "The Godfather" -- "... and I refused ... to dance on the strings, held by the big shots."
Defenders aren't the only ones dancing on the strings held by Kobe the Puppet Master. His teammates and coaches and observers are, too. This shock of the new is often exhilirating, but it invariably causes some to seek balance and comfort in the past. Why, I don't know, but it does.
And what we've seen from Kobe in this scoring streak (not to mention coinciding with Shaq's new mortality; the first seven games of Kobe's 35-plus streak were wins; the last two, against the Spurs and Knicks, were losses) is new. Or it's new to me, I should say. I just have not seen many guys make nine straight 3-pointers in competition, make them with no strain, like they were elbow jumpers; I haven't seen those one-bounce-dive-from-a-wing evasive dunks before. Have you? Oh, we've seen where they got started, but ...
I try not to fear, hate or resent him. Or lecture him, or control him, tell him how he failed at some level of hoop.
Besides, even if I'd been in a mood to try it, I didn't think I could back it up. Maybe Jerry West could talk to him like that. Maybe Broke Daddy, Ol' Jingle-Jangle-Jingle, Phil Jackson, one of my favored old Knicks, could do it, maybe. Jordan, sure. Someone should ask Jordan. Do you have any real big problem with the application of Kobe's game? What do you think Jordan would say? "Yeah, I do. He's not running the offense right, or dreaming about it enough."
Right. Last I looked, at 24, Kobe the Destroyer had won three NBA rings in a row, and now is currently looking for a fourth in a row. So me chastizing him, at my advanced age, despite my long history of watching and being on the beats and studying the NBA, from the Rick Barry, Gus Williams, Silk Wilkes, Phil Smith NBA champion Warriors of 1975 and 1976, on through Bird, Magic, Isiah, Dumars, Akeem, MJ, and on until today ... well, no. But, still, Kobe does not know that, and it would only mildly amuse him if he did.
So me telling him what he was not doing in the process of his three-ring accomplishments would be like Ron Turcotte pulling out a knotted whip and beating Secretariat with it as Big Red was in the process of winning the Belmont Stakes by 28 lengths. It would be not only grandstanding, it could even be seen as cruel. So I said what I said to him -- "Kid, you really put on a show" - and then, later on, I thought about what I'd said, a few days after last Thanksgiving, as the Lakes were trying to get by without Shaquille O'Neal.
Kobe had nodded, not as if he understood me so much as he appreciated me not using the whip on him. And while it is true that a thoroughbred responds to the whip and a mule bucks and sucks, the thoroughbred can also become sick of the whip if misapplied too often, and with too much relish.
So a human thoroughbred starts to think about spitting the bit and running elsewhere, where whips and chains and self-important appraisals are not so often forthcoming, for a man without a temper is not worth his salt. Or, if he's Kobe the Finisher, he can also become Kobe the Puppet Master, and let people rant or rave or do St. Vitus' dance however they chose as he pulls the strings and levers of his dominant basketball talents. I'd like to see what Charlie Kaufman could do with this guy's head. In an Association with at least eight other truly great players, and a good 50 or so who can drop 40 on a given night, Kobe rules. As yours truly pointed out in GQ last summer, days after the Lakes had won a third straight NBA title, if Kobe's hands were as big as Michael's, they'd have to shut down the league.
"Would you ever consider playing here?" I asked Kobe the Destroyer. We were in Memphis at the time. He had just dropped 44 on the Griz, yet the Lakes barely won. Jerry West runs the NBA club there in Memphis, as you know. Kobe looked at me strangely. Smart. Didn't say yes or no.
That Gepetto reference he used after one of his recent explosions means not just that he is atypical, but that he also has a much broader frame of reference than one suspected. He must understand what's good for the team, in a ball sense. And also, when someone is reflexively trying to jerk him. He must know that in a perfect world and game of hoop, yes, no question, the ball never touches the floor. It hits all the hands, and when the defense doubles or overcompensates, the perfect team swings it, swings it, swings it, and the last man down gets the look, and makes. So I mentioned this too. "Of course. And you also know we don't live in a perfect world," his look said, "or play on a perfect team for perfect men."
It will still be him who is expected to lift the Lakers, not Shaq, not Phil, not the spear-carriers; and when they lose -- not if, when, because Sacramento is better and deeper, and not even Jordan won them all -- it will all be brought back home to him. I saw it happen to Magic. It is what happens, in the short term, in the day-to-day coverage. The newspaper (and now the website) is going to come out every day, isn't it, Max Mercy?
Kobe the Puppet Master paused. I looked at him and said, "Look, what's good for the team is the ball in the basket."
I did not say he had played stupidly, as Kobe the Puppet Master had made Tex Winter say. I did not look askance at him. I did not feel a disconnect from him, as some fans of the hip-hop generation do, or people in Philly, who despise him because they feel he turned his back on them, or even Jerry Buss, who did not hang out with him and shoot pool and run over to the Playboy mansion or take him under his wing as a business protégé, as Buss did with his boy Magic.
In return, Kobe did not say I spoke stupidly, he did not look askance at me, or act disconnected from me or my boy Cole, also in attendance and studying our brief by-play intently. School was in for everybody.They both looked relieved that such a simple statement would be made by the doddering old man to the youth he could know but never really control, instead of an off-color harangue, or a lecture on some hoop theory on how the greatest scoring machine in basketball could make better use of his court time. He has been told enough that what's good for the team is getting everybody else looks; well, of course, in a perfect world, that is true. But what's good for the team is the ball in the basket -- if he gets his teammates shots, they have to make. It's not physics, but a much simpler kind of math.
You must understand that Kobe learned from Jordan and West that it is will that carries the day ... and so that same will that is essential to beat such good teams as the Spurs and the Kings is difficult to tamp down when teammates don't hit the open shots that your move has allowed them to see. The player of greatness will takes matters into his own hands.
Especially when you are the greatest scoring weapon in basketball, and possibly the greatest scoring weapon in the history of basketball. He is the greatest because he is the latest. He is the greatest now. He must press that edge.
You'll come to know me through my sporadic and incomprehensible posts. Perhaps one of you can diagnose my problem and prescribe something for me. I love cheesecake.
