THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, May 3, 1996 TAG: 9605030496
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: GUY FRIDDELL
LENGTH: Medium: 61 lines
Basketball is an essentially witless sport of 10 players running up and down a court trying to throw a ball about the size of a small pumpkin through a hoop which was, at the start, a peach basket without a bottom nailed to a barn door.
Nevertheless, you will find me just now immersed in the championship playoffs for the National Basketball Association for one reason: Michael Jordan of Chicago.
He is, peers agree, the best. With him, any team, even the worst, would be a contender for the crown. Magic Johnson said that Jordan is not only the greatest basketball player, ``we only dream about the things he can do.''
Jordan's presence dispels divisive envy in the ranks. He's tops, no point in others arguing who's next best. He thrives on challenge.
An opposing coach best tells players: ``Don't upset Michael. Tell him how nice he looks. Give him a stick of gum, offer to put it behind your ear when he gets tired of chewing it.''
Now he has the ultimate test, playing against the very best, himself. In Game 2 of the three-game sweep with which the Bulls breezed past Miami, Jordan, lunging after a ball, sprained his back.
The spectacle of an injured Jordan, face in a grimace, his usual fluid grace stiffened, an old man easing out of a rocker, was a reminder of mortality we hadn't envisioned in airborne Jordan.
In the third game, in which the Bulls ousted Miami from the playoffs, a foe wrested Jordan with both hands around the middle and hurt him again. In both contests, under pain, he led the Bulls and left the floor only when it was plain Miami could not overcome the deficit.
In the third game, a teammate threw an alley-oop pass toward the basket, and Jordan leaped into the air to tip it in - and missed.
The ball was slightly off course, but a whole Jordan, as the commentator observed, would have made the basket, somehow, a twist of the body, an inch or two frenzied extension of a fingertip.
Despite the injury and the risk of jarring his back in coming down, Jordan rose toward the rim, the weightless one that fans fancied soaring in their minds, and alongside that image, the real Jordan but a shadow of himself.
Any maneuver he made tempted the prospect of that dramatic contending of old and new selves. Once, impatient, he drove through a cluster of five Miami players, as if threading trees, and scored.
In another, coming down with his back to the basket, he tossed the ball over his shoulder casually as a fan making like he's Michael Jordan, flinging a balled-up piece of paper to an office trash truck, and made it.
Missing was the quick grin, the sticking out of his tongue at fate. He was fierce concentration, this pitting of Jordan vs Jordan.
Next, on Sunday, the Knicks. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
ASSOCIATED PRESS
Chicago Bulls star Michael Jordan lies on his back trying to stretch
his lower back muscles during a break Wednesday in the Miami game.
by CNB