The Jordan Rules (23 page)

It would be a period of ambivalence for Craig Hodges. He's a Muslim and was sympathetic to elements of the Iraqi cause, but he knew he had to remain quiet to protect his family. Actually, he was quite popular on the team, and he often debated religion and politics with Paxson and Grant. He believed this was Armageddon. “We've been in it for a while, but this is just the physical manifestation,” he told Grant. He said he was ready to die if necessary and wasn't worried because he knew he had lived a good life. Hodges was a student of black history and often tried to rally his teammates, but he found it wasn't easy to gain sympathy among blacks who were doing so well.

Hodges had become a follower of the controversial minister Louis Farrakhan. When Hodges was playing in Milwaukee, he had tried to get his teammates to attend a Farrakhan rally. He was the only one who attended. Less than a week later, Hodges was traded to Phoenix, and word got back to Hodges sometime thereafter that the Bucks were worried he might try to start some kind of black-nationalist movement among the players. Hodges wasn't sure what to believe.

Although Hodges shielded his politics from public view, there was concern, too, in the league office as plans were made for the All-Star weekend. Hodges's appearance as defending three-point-shooting champion was being greeted with very little enthusiasm. League officials were worried that with the nation at war with a Muslim nation, Hodges might say something embarrassing if he won. There was talk of asking Hodges not to mention Allah in any postgame speech if he won.

Hodges was very tolerant and was a source of enthusiasm for the team. Jackson thought long about working him into the lineup more to take advantage of his passion and drive. He could be encouraging while remaining a good sport, so he was often the subject of kindly ridicule for his beliefs. Some players called him “the Sheikh,” and one time on the team bus after the war had started, a player farted and Jordan, militantly chauvinistic throughout the campaign, yelled, “Hey, Hodg, that's a bad one. Is that one of them Muslim farts?”

Hodges thought his detractors foolish, for he had studied the Koran and believed the end was near; he said the Koran offered symbols of the end that were evident in this struggle. He believed Ronald Reagan was the devil, noting that there were six letters in his first, middle, and last names, and that the address of his California home had been changed because it was 666. But Hodges preached nonviolence and respect, often leaving teammates to wonder whether he made more sense than the government, which was at war.

It was undeniably hard for anyone to concentrate on the game. Orlando led by 7 late in the third quarter and the game was tied with about nine minutes left when former Bull Sam Vincent completed one of the most extraordinary sequences for a point guard anyone could remember: He went seven straight possessions without letting anyone else on his team touch the ball. After Vincent missed three shots and committed four turnovers, the Bulls were ahead by 10, and they would win 98–88. Soon, Vincent would lose his starting job for the rest of the season to Scott Skiles, his college teammate.

The outbreak of hostilities in the Middle East and what it could mean remained in the players' thoughts throughout. Before the war, Saddam Hussein had threatened to send out assassination squads if the United States attacked his country. During the first time-out, Hodges looked around the stands and said to Grant, “You know, the General [Jordan] is considered a national treasure. If they're going to try to get anyone it would be him.” Grant and Hodges moved a few steps away from Jordan. The word spread in later time-outs, and by the time the game was over Jackson was standing next to Jordan shouting plays and advice while the other players leaned away.

The Bulls moved on to Atlanta the next day; thanks to their charter plane, they were unaffected by the newly tightened airport restrictions that would force most teams to spend hours in airports before their flights. Jackson, an antiwar activist from the sixties, wanted to make a statement, but felt he had been blackballed once for his activism and couldn't take the chance again, especially when this was the last guaranteed year of his contract. “I'm trying to figure out how to do something without it being too public,” he said. He was frustrated and angry. He felt it was no more possible to win a war these days than to win an earthquake. For now, though, he'd concern himself with the Hawks.

Some of Jackson's players had the war on their minds, too, after an off-day in Atlanta. Several of them went to see the Martin Luther King, Jr. Center, and Cartwright said later his palms were sweating when he got to meet Mrs. Coretta King. “The first time I've ever been nervous like that meeting someone,” he said. The visit had been set up by the TNT cable network as a media event, but the media and team officials were cleared out and only the few players who went, including Cartwright and Hodges, got to see Mrs. King. She wanted to talk with them about the state of black America and the war. Why, Mrs. King wondered, did the U.S. government pick January 15, Martin Luther King Day, as its deadline to begin a war in the Persian Gulf, a war in which, she noted, more than 50 percent of the combat troops—those most vulnerable—were black. It was a question Craig Hodges had raised, too.

For most of the team, a day off in Atlanta meant far less lofty thoughts. Atlanta is one of the players' favorite towns for its night spots, especially some of the X-rated kind. Knowing this, Tim Hallam, the team's PR director, thought he'd have some fun. He knew Cliff Levingston wanted to go to one of the strip bars so popular among the players here. He also knew Jim Durham, the Bulls' longtime play-by-play announcer, was a devout Southern Baptist who usually adjourned to his room early to meditate and read the Bible.

“Cliff,” Hallam said as the bus rolled toward the downtown Marriott, “I think J.D. would like to go tonight.”

“Great,” said the gregarious Levingston, and he turned across the aisle to Durham. “Hey, J.D.,” said Levingston, “we're going to the Gold Club tonight. Want to come?”

“Uhhhh, no, I don't think so, Cliff,” said Durham.

“Aw, c'mon, you'll love it,” said Levingston, flashing his characteristic inviting grin. “They stick their titties right up there in your face.”

“Well, no,” protested Durham. “I'm kind of retired from that kind of stuff.”

Behind the pair, fellow broadcaster John Kerr, Durham's best friend, and Hallam were holding their sides trying to keep from bursting out hysterically.

“Okay,” said Levingston. “But it's gonna be great.”

The game turned out not to be so great for the Bulls, who were up by 10 midway through the second quarter, but were overwhelmed by Atlanta's fast break and led by just 1 at halftime. Jackson admired the job Bob Weiss was doing as coach of the Hawks, a team of disparate parts Weiss was somehow getting to play together. As Collins had with Jordan, Weiss's predecessor, Mike Fratello, had told team management they'd never win with Dominique Wilkins because he was too selfish. Fratello was fired after the 1989–90 season and replaced by Weiss, who had Wilkins rebounding more, had turned Moses Malone into a reasonably agreeable role player to the surprise of everyone in the league, and had gotten Spud Webb to become an offensive threat at point guard. Weiss used perhaps the only system of leverage left to men who coach athletes who earn three times their salary or more: If the players wouldn't do what he asked, he'd cut their playing time. “The two most important things to athletes,” agreed John Paxson: “playing time and money.”

The Hawks gradually took over the game in the third quarter and then blew out the Bulls early in the fourth to win 114–105. Jordan scored 30 and Grant had 10 rebounds again, but the bench was outscored 47–20, and Jackson grew more and more frustrated as the game went on at the 29–15 disparity in free throws. And even though Jordan took 28 shots, lead referee Darell Garretson and his crew sent Jordan to the free-throw line just twice in the forty-one minutes Jordan played.

The Bulls trailed by 13 points with fifty-nine seconds left; still, Jackson called three time-outs. Jackson resented Garretson's sometimes abusive behavior toward Jordan on the court, and he told his assistants, “I'm going to make him stay out as long as I can.”

At the broadcasting table, Kerr, a former NBA coach, joked about the coach who was about to die and uttered his last words: “Hey, I've got one time-out left.”

Garretson was considered something of a little dictator and seemed to resent star players like Jordan, although Jackson admired his ability to call a solid professional game. But Jackson hated to see Garretson get a Bulls game because of Garretson's conflicts with Jordan. It was the second Bulls game this season for Garretson, and the Bulls had lost both. The first one had been in Milwaukee in December and that one, too, had angered Jackson because Garretson's son was on the crew and Garretson spent much of the game telling his son where to stand. Jackson was among the most quarrelsome coaches in the league, spending much of the game debating calls, but often with a sense of humor that kept him from getting assessed too many technical fouls. When Wally Rooney called a foul on B.J. Armstrong for bumping John Salley in a Pistons game, Jackson leaped up and yelled: “For God's sake, Wally, he's a hundred and six pounds.”

Jackson told the players that the signs of slippage were apparent to the coaches, but the team wasn't actually convinced. After all, they'd just won seven straight. Jackson wouldn't sleep that night, tossing and turning over the signs he was seeing.

Jordan wouldn't sleep much, either. Jordan never slept much, which was one reason Adolph Shiver was on the trip. He was an old friend of Jordan's from North Carolina, and Jordan remained close to him and to Fred Whitfield and Fred Kearns, both North Carolina businessmen who would often join Jordan on the road. Jordan has incredible stores of energy, and it would be Shiver or one of the Freds who could be found playing cards with him late into the night on the road. Jordan doesn't bear idleness well. This is not uncommon among great athletes, one thing that explains their desire to drive fast. Charles Barkley has always told friends he expects to die someday going 150 miles per hour down the road, and friends who have driven with Jordan are amazed he has avoided such a fate. He would come screeching to a halt in front of the Chicago Stadium parking lot after going 70 miles per hour down the side streets, and observers would say they'd often see Jordan gunning through stop signs at intersections, almost testing whether his reflexes were fast enough to get him past approaching cars. Athletes of such ability, it seems, need constant challenge.

Jordan had few friends on the Bulls since Rod Higgins and Charles Oakley had been traded, so he imported his own company, people who could adhere to his schedule and his manias. It wasn't surprising that Jordan didn't socialize much with his teammates, for it was particularly hard on them. Going out with Jordan can be like a trip through a high school with Mick Jagger. “It's like being with a rock star,” a Bulls rookie, Anthony Jones, had noted during an exhibition trip in 1988. Earlier in the 1990–91 season, Cartwright and Hodges were sitting in a restaurant when a boy came over and said, “Mr. Cartwright, I've been waiting five years.” He handed Cartwright a piece of paper. “Could you get Michael Jordan's autograph for me?”

Autographs were a sore subject among the players. Jordan wouldn't often sign autographs for his teammates, and when he did, he expected a favor in return. It's why the coaches had to stop asking him. Like everyone else involved with the Bulls, they were bombarded with requests for Jordan's autograph from friends, but Jordan would eventually expect some kind of repayment. Stopping the requests was “one big thing that helped my relationship with him,” explained Jackson. “He couldn't look at me as someone asking him for favors.” It would allow Jackson to tell Jordan no when Jordan wanted friends on the team plane or bus, a practice that others before Jackson were unable to stop. Likewise, Bach, though the person in the organization closest to Jordan, had also stopped asking for his autograph once he'd seen how Jordan had used the privilege.

“I used to sign [Jordan's name] myself,” Pippen said, “but now I've stopped that, too. I've got some pride, too, and I'm not going to beg him. I tell them now, ‘I'm not asking him.' I just don't get them anymore.”

Jordan is a star unlike any other in sports, both in his skill and in his earning power. Estimates of his actual income vary because of speculation that ProServ, his marketing representative, may inflate the amounts to help solicit other clients. But Jordan probably earned as much as $10 million from outside sources during 1990–91; he issued several videos which became record sellers, and he moved past the likes of Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus as the most profitable commercial spokesman in America. It was why Jordan could turn down $18,000 for a one-hour store-opening appearance, or $250,000 for a business seminar weekend, because he had a golf trip planned. All this, too, tended to distance Jordan from his teammates, because no other Bull earned any significant money in commercial endorsements. Paxson had gotten a razor-blade commercial because the company was looking for a brother trio, and Pippen had finally gotten a $200,000-per-year shoe deal after becoming an All-Star. But Hodges never received an offer after winning consecutive three-point-shooting contests at the All-Star break, and Cartwright was mostly asked to do public service announcements, which he graciously accepted. Jordan was different, everyone knew, and sometimes it was hard for teammates to accept.

Stacey King was bright enough to see what had happened. “They created a monster,” he observed.

And there was this thing about “the Jordan Rules.” Newspaper and magazine articles used the term to refer to the supposedly secret way the Pistons had of stopping Jordan. But to the players, “the Jordan Rules” were something very different.