I heard the commotion long before Michael Jordan turned the corner. There was a rustle of anticipation, then muffled squeals, rising as he neared. It was like the gust of wind that precedes a sudden, violent storm.
I was in the United Center during the 1997 NBA Finals when Jordan entered the house. He came in underneath the stadium, where most of the regulars are players, family, security, building personnel and media. In other words, those who aren't easily impressed by fame.Yet even there, the anticipation was nearly tangible. As he turned the corner and headed for the locker room, a half-dozen TV cameras appeared. Chicago police officers stared. A cluster of bodyguards swept alongside, clearing his way.
Michael was looking good as always. That night it was an electric blue suit, a perfectly pressed shirt, silk tie and slip-on Italian leather shoes. As the chaos continued to build, Jordan serenely gazed ahead, polite but focused. It was nearly showtime.
There were probably 50 people close enough to have seen him come in, and each followed with their eyes. Conversations stopped in mid-sentence. It was as though all were trying to freeze the moment in memory, so someday they could recount how they stood right over there as the greatest player of all time came by.
It came as no surprise, then, that Jordan's impending retirement this week was treated with such fanfare. There's just one Mona Lisa, only a single Eiffel Tower. And, of course, only one Michael.
Given the circumstances, it's amazing how well Jordan handled his fame. As I interviewed him prior to a regular-season Jazz-Bulls game, he admitted the attention can be disconcerting, or even frightening. Women would lie down in front of the team bus, or his car, trying to get his signature. He recounted hearing screams and commotion outside his hotel room door the previous week. He peeked out just as two security guards were dragging a man down the hall, shouting that he had to see Michael.
Jordan survived for 13 NBA seasons, most of them under those types of circumstances. It wasn't an easy way to live. He was not only basketball's best player, but its best ambassador, actor, role model and spokesman. He had the best hoop talent, but he also had the best everything else. To watch him work, to hear him talk, to see him smile, made you want to give up in dismay. I'd end up going home and telling my kids that nobody's perfect, nobody has everything . . . and feeling like a liar.
He has a deep, resonant voice that will serve him well if he ever decides to go into broadcasting or even singing. And he has those looks. It wasn't until Michael started shaving his head that everyone else decided it was a good idea. He did something humankind had been unable to do since the beginning of time -- make baldness look cool. He even had people going bald who didn't have to.
When he did interviews after games, he always came out of an adjoining room fully dressed. He wore a tailored suit and an ear-ring. Sometimes it was a small hoop ring, others it was a diamond-studded No. 23. In either case, he made you feel silly and backward if you didn't have one, too. His head glistened with just the right amount of glamour sweat.
His on-court persona was equally dramatic. He succeeded so often, in so many situations, we'll never remember the times he failed. We'll have a hard time recalling that during the 1997 NBA Finals he was terrible in Game 4 in Salt Lake. Yet no one will forget how he came back to score 38 points in Game 5, despite a high fever.
We likely won't remember that there were whispers last year during the Finals that he was slowing down, that he couldn't carry the Bulls any longer. But he did. And so when all looked lost in Game 6, and the Jazz had the ball and the lead, it was Jordan with the steal and winning basket.
And so when word got out this week that Jordan was leaving, I laughed. He'd nailed the Jazz again. He beat them twice in the Finals, now he's cast a cloud over whatever they do this year. If the Jazz get their title, they'll know they did it without going through Michael.
They'll know he's getting the best of them, even when he isn't playing.