Bernie Lincicome
Rocky Mountain News
10-31-01
NEW YORK — Who was that unmasked man? Michael Jordan? No, way. No, sir.
Please tell me that was, oh, Danny Glover pretending to be Michael Jordan. Or Billy Bob Thornton having a wicked Halloween laugh. Or the Maytag repairman killing time.
That thick-necked, heavy legged, wide backed, play trailing, jump shooting, game dawdling, stationary, inflexible traffic cone wearing No. 23 was not Michael Jordan. What’s that on his shirt? Wizards? Figures. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.
This was Ali in the Bahamas, Mays mystified by fly balls, Unitas running out the clock.
“I feel good about myself and I feel good about my game tonight,” said Jordan.
We had to look. Now we do not have to look any more. We have seen what Jordan is, just another player, without magic, without expectation. We look away and wish it were not so.
We do not want to see seven of 21 for 19 points, playing more minutes than any other Wizard. We do not want to see him with the ball in his hands, with a chance to win, and not win.
“The shot was kind of rushed,” Jordan said. “I didn’t have a real good look. It could have been a great situation.”
We still applauded Sinatra when his voice was a murmur and he couldn’t remember the words, but we had his records at home. We tried not to notice Elvis’ pot belly. We will take what Jordan has left and always weigh it against what was.
We have Jordan, too, I guess, on tape, in memory, where he belongs. We’ll always have Utah, the last shot, the perfect ending.
And the shot that started it all in Cleveland, Jordan’s tears on the first trophy in LA and the carcasses of Patrick Ewing and Charles Barkley and Clyde Drexler and Karl Malone and Gary Payton and the all the rest who had the misfortune of occupying Michael’s time.
We do not need, as Doug Collins was trying to explain, Paul Pierce and Antwon Walker challenging the old legend, stealing with their youth what time has taken from Jordan.
“Guys will measure themselves against Michael,” Collins said. “He’ll be under pressure every night. Everyone will be coming at him.”
This night it was Laetrell Sprewell, if half-heartedly, looking more like Michael than Michael, allowing Michael to look like the muffin man.
Some 30 seconds to play, Jordan’s team down to the Knicks by three. Jordan has the basketball. Jordan loses the basketball. He loses the ball, his third turnover of the game.
The Wizards get the ball back. Sixteen seconds to play. Providence has a sense of humor. Jordan will get another chance to win the game. He used to need only the one. Jordan has the ball. Jordan shoots the three. The ball dares to clank off the rim. The ball did not used to do that.
“When he threw that trip up,” said Knicks coach Jeff van Gundy, “I thought it was in.”
Knicks win. Jordan has chipped the first chunk out of his statue.
I did not expect His Airness to come back as his acrobatic, gravity defying, breath stealing self, but I also did not expect him to come back as Will Perdue. Jordan is going to have to change his logo, from all soaring, long arms and spread legs to someone leaning on his elbow.
“Six assists, four steals, five rebounds, he makes a few more shots and we say, wow, what a game,” said Collins.
No, we do not say that. We say not bad for an old man, or not bad for a rookie, or not bad for Nick Van Exel. We do not now need to stretch the standard that Jordan invented.
This was not the third coming. This was the Antiques Road Show. What am I bid for this floor lamp? I skipped the World Series to see Michael Jordan return to us as a potted plant.
This was like Picasso coloring inside the lines, Pavarotti in biofocals reading the words, Baryshnikov in sequins moon walking. This was Sir Edmund Hillary going back up Everest on an ATV.
“I was trying to get my teammates involved,” said Jordan, and it sounded more like an alibi than a tactic.
I have seen more air under a garden gnome than under Jordan. I’ve seen better defense from a head waiter. And they move faster, too.
“Teams are not playing us,” said Collins. “They’re playing to beat Michael.”
It is very much in fashion, especially here where the nose if not the eyes reminds us of a world changed forever, to wish to turn back the clock. We can not turn it back to Sept. 10 and we can not turn it back to 1997.
Nor can Jordan. He can only indulge whatever impulse has brought him back. He can only do what he can do and it is not longer what it was he did. He will have his moments, he will have nights like Tuesday night.
“If he plays well,” said Collins, “he’ll be the old Michael. If he doesn’t, he’ll just be old Michael. That’s just the way it is.”
Today’s vote is old.