Michael Jordan was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

I have trained myself to be suspicious about hyperbole. Everywhere we turn, there is a seemingly authoritative person claiming that something or someone is/was the most this, the best that, and so on. A blip was raised on my anti-blather radar back in 1982 while watching a college basketball game on television. Al McGuire, a man whose opinion I tended to respect, made a reference to Michael Jordan, then a slender freshman at the University of North Carolina. McGuire opined that the Tar Heels’ young star might turn out to be the greatest basketball player who ever lived. With more than 30 years’ perspective now, we can see that far from being a yammering fool, McGuire was right on target. There has never been a hoopster quite like Michael Jeffrey Jordan of Wilmington, NC.

One more thing about McGuire’s broadcast observation: it took place before the 1982 NCAA championship game when UNC beat Georgetown on Jordan’s 17-foot jumper with 32 seconds left. He had taken a pass from teammate Jimmy Black and without the slightest hesitation went up for the shot. His form was perfect, it was all net and the Jordan legacy had begun to take shape.

Jordan spent three years in Chapel Hill, and he benefitted enormously. Under the tutelage of Dean Smith and his assistants, he honed every part of his game—offense, defense, passing, rebounding, leadership and most of all, winning. (Contrast this with what I wrote about Pete Maravich at LSU from 1968 to 1970. With his father’s encouragement, the Pistol focused almost exclusively on fancy passing and shooting. Maravich averaged 44 points per game and Jordan less than 18.)

People tend to forget just how woeful the Chicago Bulls were before Jordan was taken with the third pick in the 1984 draft. They were perpetually in the middle and bottom of the pack in the NBA. During the early years of Jordan's pro career, some writers said he was unlikely to ever get anywhere close to a title. But with blinding talent and determination—and later, some high-quality teammates like Scottie Pippen, Ron Harper and Dennis Rodman—he pushed, pulled, intimidated and forced his club to the top. They overcame the Knicks, 76ers and Pistons to win the first of six NBA championships in 1991. Others followed in 1992, 1993, 1996, 1997 and 1998. I must state the obvious here in pointing out that the Bulls did not win in 1994 and 1995 when Jordan was off on his ill-advised pursuit of success as a baseball player.

I was living in Austin during that time, and I just wish I had made the effort to go to San Antonio for even one game between the Spurs and Jordan’s Bulls. Nevertheless, I saw him on the tube many times, and what a thrill it was. What could this basketball genius not do? His every act on the court was beautiful, spectacular and yet efficient. Marv Albert was often the TV announcer for Jordan’s games. I would be watching and see him make a difficult but successful shot. Perhaps he drained a three-pointer or stripped the ball from an opposing guard, hurried to the other end and threw down a rock-a-bye dunk. Albert would exclaim, “Michael Jordan!” with a few other descriptive words, and I always had some of my own. He soared, and I roared.

Jordan scored 32,292 points, grabbed 6,672 rebounds and had 5,633 assists in his 14-year NBA career, which included two seasons with the Washington Wizards following a second brief “retirement.” His numbers were still quite good at the end—he went for 45 points one night against New York—but he was relying on smarts and experience since he had lost some speed and spring in his legs. Father Time does not wait, even on the best of athletes.

Jordan knew hoops, studied it and applied his considerable energy to it. He had a fanatical desire to compete and win. This makes his post-playing career all the more puzzling. He was essentially the Wizards’ general manager in 1999 and 2000, but he chose to live in Chicago. His comfort was more important than building a winning team, which led to the first real criticism he had ever heard (other than that he could not, while a member of the Birmingham Barons, hit a curve ball to save his life). Jordan made numerous bone-headed moves that set the Washington franchise back considerably. After those final two years on the court, he was fired by owner Abe Pollin. He played a lot of golf, gambled and enjoyed the enormous sum of money he had made from his NBA salary and endorsements; his Nike royalties alone still bring in more than $60 million per year.

Since 2006, he has been a part-owner of the Charlotte Bobcats. While it is unfair to lay their lack of success (a .106 winning percentage in 2012, worst in NBA history) at his feet, they have been consistently awful.

Notwithstanding Jordan’s poor record as an executive, I would rather recall him as the leaping, slashing, hyper-driven man he was at Carolina and Chicago. If there has ever been a better basketball player, I would merely ask: who? Wilt? Julius? LeBron?

Mike.