Why the Grudges? MJ Being Himself

What, you expected him to suddenly morph into Meryl Streep or Beyonce or Barack Obama, gracious and classy in victory? Michael Jordan was a basketball killer. He thrived on humiliating those who even remotely doubted him, be it a player or coach or someone such as me. I won't forget standing in a parking lot by a gym on Chicago's west side, watching his neck veins bulge as he screamed at me for slamming his impending NBA comeback.

"I hang those [bleeping] articles on my refrigerator so I can read them every morning,'' he said, climbing into his Ferrari Testarossa.

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So why would Jordan be anybody but himself on the night of his induction into the Basketball Hall of Fame, an honor that is almost comical in its obviousness? We want honesty in these speeches, not disingenuous b.s. And while there's plenty to consider when weighing his place in time -- he DID have gambling issues, and he WAS a world-class womanizer -- I take no issue with his decision to call out anyone and everyone who dissed him in the game. If an appetite for vengeance is what drove him to become the greatest basketball player ever and, arguably, the athlete who made the most transcendent impact in the history of Planet Earth, then why shouldn't Jordan reflect that chip in describing his career in his words during his moment?

It's his speech, his life. Not ours.

"You guys, I must say thank you very much for giving me that motivation that I definitely needed," he told the audience in Springfield, Mass, in a 2,500-seat symphony hall filled with hoops royalty. "I just so happen to be a friendly guy. I get along with everybody, but at the same time, when the light comes on, I'm as competitive as anybody you know."Like an attack dog, he searched for enemies every day, sometimes more perceived than real, and proceeded to make each one of them hurt.

Having covered him throughout his mind-numbing era, which was the closest thing to a rock show that sports has seen, I know what inspired Jordan to unprecedented heights as a champion, showman and pitchman. Like an attack dog, he searched for enemies every day, sometimes more perceived than real, and proceeded to make each one of them hurt. Not until he grew old and carried out an unnecessary, well-beneath-him comeback with the Washington Wizards did anyone get the best of him as a player. And not until he became an executive with the Wizards, then an owner with the Charlotte Bobcats, did he show enough vulnerability in failure to become a deserving target.

If I'm surprised by anything, it's that Jordan still carries a grudge against so many people more than 11 years since leaving the Chicago Bulls and six years after he retired for keeps. After all, he won the war.

Every ... single ... battle.

He overcame the coach who cut him from the Laney High School varsity team as a North Carolina schoolboy. But Mike still remembers. "I wanted to make sure he knew, 'You made a mistake, dude,'" he said of Leroy Smith, the player who earned the last roster spot, whom Jordan invited to the ceremony.

He overcame Dean Smith, the legendary coach at the University of North Carolina, often cited as the only man who could hold Jordan to under 20 points a game. But Mike still remembers. "He wouldn't let me be on the cover of Sports Illustrated with the other guys because I was a freshman," he said.

He overcame Isiah Thomas for freezing out Jordan in his first All-Star Game. But Mike still remembers. "I wanted to prove to you, Magic [Johnson], Larry [Bird], George [Gervin], everybody that I deserved to be there just as much as anybody else, and I hope over the period of my career, I've done that without a doubt."

He overcame Jerry Krause, the general manager in Chicago who feuded with Jordan and became the target of his fat-man barbs, such as the nickname "Crumbs" for the food particles on his clothes. It was Krause who made the comment, though he debates the intent to this day, that "organizations win championships," which Jordan took as a direct insult as the Bulls were facing a premature breakup before their sixth NBA title. Mike still remembers. "Jerry's not here. I don't know who'd invite him. I didn't," he said. "I hope he understands it goes a long way. He was a very competitive person. I was a very competitive person. He said organizations win championships. I said, 'I didn't see organizations playing with the flu in Utah. I didn't see it playing with a bad ankle.' Granted, I think organizations put together teams, but at the end of the day, the team's got to go out and play. I think the players win the championship, and the organization has something to do with it, don't get me wrong. But don't try to put the organization above the players."

He overcame the media, most of whom were warm and fuzzy to the point of worship. Sometimes, we had to question why he was exposing himself to possible extortion by hanging out with sleazy golf/gambling partners. In the early years, the question was why he took so long to win a championship, unlike Johnson and Bird. Mike still remembers. "I had to listen to all that, and that put so much wood on that fire that it kept me each and every day trying to get better," he said.

Finally, in his ultimate snapshot, he overcame Bryon Russell. Who knew that Russell, when Jordan was playing minor-league baseball during his NBA hiatus, met him one day and said he'd have no problem covering him? Fast forward to 1998, when Jordan shoved off of Russell -- fess up, old man -- and hit The Shot while keeping his wrist flexed for posterity. Mike still remembers. "I was in Chicago in 1994 ... and at this time I had no thoughts of coming back and playing the game of basketball," he said. "Bryon Russell came over to me and said, 'Why'd you quit? You know I would guard you. If I ever see you in a pair of shorts ...' When I did come back in 1995 and we played Utah in '96, I'm at the center circle and Bryon Russell is standing next to me. I said, 'You remember the [comments- you made in 1994 about, 'I think I can guard you, I can shut you down, I would love to play against you?' Well, you're about to get your chance.' "

He also overcame Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf, who restricted his minutes during his injury-riddled second season and suggested he might regret paying Jordan more than $30 million a season when he returned from baseball. And Pat Riley, who tried to have his players maul Jordan as coach of the New York Knicks and Miami Heat. And even the Hall of Fame, which he ripped for raising ticket prices for his induction year. Somehow, Mike had something to say to all of them.


What you have to understand -- especially the writers who have castigated him for being selfish, egomaniacal and bitter -- is that the man isn't the most outgoing out there. I won't call him shy, but Jordan never has been a charmer as much as the largest presence in any building. I recall Charles Barkley and Oprah Winfrey dominating a three-way discussion on her TV program, leaving Jordan as a third conversational wheel. When it came time to thank people, he certainly did -- his former Bulls teammates, coach Phil Jackson for "challenging me when I needed to be challenged" and mother Deloris for being "a rock" and "an unbelievable woman." Some of Jordan's grudge talk was shtick, and obviously, some folks didn't get it. If you think he's a jerk, examine his answer when he was asked if he's the best player ever.

"When people say that, I cringe a little bit," Jordan said. "I never played against Jerry West. I never played against Elgin Baylor. I never played against Wilt Chamberlain. I would've loved to, though."

In any final analysis, of course, he'll be remembered as the most competitive S.O.B. in the history of athletic competition, a crunch-time maniac who never failed when it mattered most. He isn't steely cold, proving it by crying before the ceremony, just as he cried on the locker room floor at the United Center when he won the NBA title after his father was murdered. But like no one else, Michael Jeffrey Jordan oozes of self-pride, unapologetic if he sounds arrogant. He recalled a moment when Tex Winter, a longtime assistant with the Bulls, scolded him for scoring 20 points in the final minutes of a victory.

"Tex reminded me that there's no 'I' in team," Jordan said. "And I looked back at Tex, I said, 'There's 'I' in win.'"

Touche. Where does he go from here? With weight in his midsection and circles under his eyes, it's time to tackle new challenges, such as becoming a better decision-maker in the basketball operations department. He has a young girlfriend, Yvette Prieto, as the Internet voyeurs know. Now, he needs to get serious in Charlotte, save a wobbling franchise and reach the playoffs. Or does he have something else in mind, pray tell?

"This isn't something I'm looking at as a defining moment. It is simply a continuation of something I started a long time ago. One day you might look up and see me playing a game at 50," he said, as the crowd chuckled.

"Don't laugh,'' Jordan fired, flashing a very real scowl. "Never say never, because limits, like fears, are often just an illusion."

At that point, I wanted to shake him by the ears, hand him a cigar and tell him to enjoy his legacy. Really, how many other people can say they've conquered the world?

I'd just like him to realize that he has.