The Jordan Rules (39 page)

The Bulls felt the NBA had sent the 76ers a message in Game 2 with the presence of chief of referees Darell Garretson: The 76ers had better cut back on their rough tactics. It was a message the Bulls had long sought. Jackson had complained during the season that Jordan, who is generally thought to be “protected” by referees and sent to the free-throw line often because he is a star, wasn't getting his fair share of foul calls. The referees were assuming Jordan would make the shot and then when he was fouled, Jackson charged, it was too late to make the call. Jordan's free-throw totals were his lowest in five years. Jackson's remarks were generally disregarded publicly, but Jackson felt he had to continue to pound away to get the attention of the league. Rough, physical play was the one thing that could stop the Bulls. Jackson knew his team was too quick and athletic for anyone in the Eastern Conference as long as the game didn't become a wrestling match.

The referees refused to allow rough play in the first two games of the series, but Jackson was worried about the Game 3 crew. Garretson and Jake O'Donnell were considered among the best officials for a visiting team because they were least likely to be intimidated into making calls for the home team. But this crew, though competent regarding the rules, would be vulnerable. And Charles Barkley didn't help any. The referees had popped out of their dressing room and were just passing the 76ers' dressing room when the insouciant Barkley stuck his head out.

“Hey, Ed,” he yelled at Rush. “I hope you've got some Vaseline. I know you're planning to fuck us, so maybe you'll at least make it feel better.”

The Bulls were already on their way to the court and heard Barkley's comment. “Great,” Jackson thought. “This crew and now this from Barkley. We're not going to get any calls tonight.”

But, in some ways, the Bulls were not surprised. The league couldn't want another Bulls sweep. It was too costly. The league had a TV contract with NBC to honor and ticket revenues to consider for owners like Philadelphia's Harold Katz, whose team didn't regularly draw sellouts like the Bulls. If the 76ers could win two games, they'd be assured of at least one more home game. No one believed the league was trying to manipulate games for any untoward purposes. But a Bulls sweep would help only the Bulls. NBC and the TNT cable network needed the games for valuable programming, especially since Michael Jordan always drew impressive ratings and would help produce one of the highest-rated Finals in league history. Nobody would tell anyone to make sure the Bulls lost, but … The assignment of referees did come from the league office. It was too much of a coincidence, the Bulls coaches and players thought, that this crew would show up now, now that the Bulls were on the verge of putting the 76ers away.

They wouldn't, at least not tonight. The 76ers would shoot 40 free throws to 19 for the Bulls. It would be enough for a 2-point victory.

But the Bulls nearly upset all the carefully laid plans, leading by 3 points with just over a minute left. Jordan would have a chance to make it 4 points as Manute Bol was thrown out of the game for firing the ball at Rush after being called for a foul that resulted in a Jordan three-point play. But Jordan missed the technical, Andre Turner hit a jumper, and then Jordan hit just one of two free throws, missing his third in the last two minutes—a rarity for Jordan, an 85 percent free-throw shooter. Hersey Hawkins took a pass from Barkley, who was double-teamed by Jordan, and hit a three-point field goal with ten seconds left to give the 76ers a 1-point lead.

Jordan time, right? Wrong. Jordan had already scored 46 points, hitting 20 of 34 shots, including two brilliant, acrobatic drives in the last two minutes. But he was suffering a recurrence of some tendinitis in his left knee that was making it difficult for him to bend and follow through on his shots, including his free throws. So he began driving to the basket, often slicing through two or three defenders for a little stunt flying, and he would then be limping back on defense. Because of those missed free throws, Jackson called the last play for Pippen, who drove right, appeared to be fouled, and let go a wild jumper. It missed, there was no foul called, and the 76ers had some life. And a 99–97 win.

Jackson would later admit that if he had to do it over again, he'd go to Jordan. But Jackson wasn't all that happy with Jordan anyway. He'd confronted him before the game about his knee. The teams had three days off between games, so Jackson gave the team the day off Tuesday after Game 2. On Wednesday, Jordan showed up at practice complaining of tendinitis in his knee and began treatments. He had played thirty-six holes of golf on the day off. Jackson said the problem was related to his golfing, but Jordan demurred. “It's something I've had before. No way,” he said.

And perhaps to show Jackson, or to steal that third win and effectively kill the 76ers and get some rest before the next series, or because he'd had so much scoring success against the 76ers in last season's playoffs, Jordan reverted to his scoring ways. Jackson wasn't quite sure what triggered the explosion for Jordan, but he knew it didn't benefit the team. And Jackson was sure it was no coincidence that it would be the Bulls' first loss of the playoffs and Jordan's biggest scoring game.

But Jordan seemed to be enjoying himself. Hawkins later said he'd talked to Jordan about one of his assaults on the basket.

“I asked him how he made one shot,” Hawkins said, “and he says, ‘When you get up, you hang for three seconds and let the defender fly by and then you release it.' He's explaining gravity to me while I'm trying to get a straight answer on how to do that.”

Later, though, Hawkins would have his own fun, doubting Jordan's knee problem. Jordan had attempted 34 shots, after all.

“Fifteen points—that's tendinitis,” said Hawkins. “I'll take forty-six points and tendinitis anytime.”

“I don't know about his knee,” offered Barkley, “but I imagine his arm is tired.”

The game had been a physical affair, as Jackson had feared. Barkley and Rick Mahorn were banging around with more impunity and Armon Gilliam, who had 1 defensive rebound in sixty-two minutes in the first two games, was getting low post position, scoring, and playing his own tune on Horace Grant's head. Grant had saved Game 2 with those 3 late offensive rebounds, but now he was getting beaten to the punch and Jackson was growing upset. It was nothing new, but Grant was feeling particularly raw emotionally. For one thing, he was tired. Jackson was barely using Stacey King anymore, and he was afraid to put rookie Scott Williams in. Grant felt he was being asked to carry too big a load against the likes of Oakley and Barkley. He felt up to the challenge, but he felt he needed support from the coach rather than criticism. Didn't anybody notice how much he was doing? he wondered.

The night before, after the team's practice, Grant had spotted a homeless man sleeping in front of the Catholic church across from the team's fashionable Philadelphia hotel. Grant, an innocent in many ways, had wandered over and asked the man if he was scared. The man said that he wasn't, that he had faith, and pointed to the statue of Jesus above his head. Grant was overwhelmed by the man's faith and decided to get him a room for the night and give him a few hundred dollars of spending money. Yet that just made Grant feel even more guilty. He knew by his renewed religious teachings that he should be helping all men, but he couldn't do it himself. So why didn't the government? Why didn't somebody? Why did it have to be like this? he wondered.

He thought of the man, Tony, often the next day. Tony was there Friday afternoon after the team returned from the noon shootaround to thank Grant. Grant could barely speak. He now felt himself guilty for all the good he hadn't done.

With just over three minutes left in the third quarter and the Bulls ahead 69–64, Gilliam elbowed Grant hard in the back, knocking him off his position. Grant turned and hit Gilliam and was caught; officials in most sports usually detect the retaliation. Gilliam went to shoot two free throws and Jackson yanked Grant from the game and called a time-out.

“Don't let him do that to you,” Jackson bellowed at Grant. “You've got to rebound and hold your position. You can't let him do that.”

But Grant would have none of it as he rested on an emotional precipice. He said he was fed up with Jackson's abuse of him alone. Jackson had finally pushed him too hard. “I'm tired of being your whipping boy,” Grant yelled at Jackson, pushing Jackson's arm away when he tried to grab Grant to talk to him. “Get over here,” Jackson demanded. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Grant screamed. He was in tears. He was angry, hurt, and now embarrassed. He never cursed. He hated Jackson for yelling at him again, for making him curse. He hated crying in front of the team and in the middle of the game. He just wanted to get out of there.

On the bench, Grant's teammates were trying to console him.

“Fuck him, fuck him,” Grant repeated.

“Tell him to shut up,” said Jackson. “Let's go.”

Jackson tried to grab Grant and Grant pulled angrily away. Jordan moved over and Grant grabbed at his hand. Later he would tell teammates he was trying to break it.

It was the longest time-out anyone had ever experienced. Paxson tried to talk to Grant and then Cartwright came up to him. Grant was perhaps the most popular player on the team, a good-natured puppy dog of a man who often said what he felt and endeared himself to everyone other than Jordan. Jackson wondered if he had gone too far.

From the other end of the bench, outside the huddle, Jordan retreated to watch the incredible scene. He thought back to the seventh game of last season's playoff against Detroit and Pippen's headache. The scene seemed to be repeating itself. Jordan had long doubted Pippen and Grant—not their talent, which he saw was considerable, but their maturity and ability to realize what was important. He always felt they weren't serious enough and doubted they could perform consistently at crucial times.

“Now?” Jordan began to mumble himself. “Now he's losing it? What the hell is going on?”

The bus trip back to the hotel was silent, except for general manager Jerry Krause.

Earlier that day, he'd learned that Toni Kukoc had decided to sign a contract to play in Italy. Krause had taken the call in the team's Philadelphia hotel at 5:00 A.M. He began calling around. “A terrible thing has happened … ,” he'd begin in a most lugubrious way. Everyone thought someone had died. To Krause, a dream had.

Krause had made every effort and had finally prevailed upon a Bulls player to call Kukoc. Krause had asked Cartwright. Kukoc, Krause said, was worried about TV reports he kept hearing that Bulls players like Jordan and Pippen didn't want him. Cartwright was to assure him otherwise.

Just before the end of the regular season, Cartwright made the call. Kukoc didn't say much as Cartwright explained that Kukoc would be welcome. Kukoc didn't have any questions. The Bulls said they'd get Jordan to call him. Kukoc said to forget it. Cartwright knew what that meant.

About that time, Krause did an NBC halftime interview with Mike Fratello about Kukoc. But when the cameras moved back to play-by-play announcer Marv Albert, Albert questioned Krause's credibility and said he'd heard the players didn't really want Kukoc. Kukoc would later hear the interview on a tape of the game shown in Europe.

It was Marv Albert's fault, Krause kept saying on the ride back to the hotel. This would hurt Albert's career, Krause was saying, because it wasn't true. He couldn't get away with this. He'd pay.

“Forget it, Jerry, it's over,” Jackson finally told him.

Krause never understood. Before the game, reporters had asked Pippen and Jordan about Kukoc's decision. “Great,” Jordan said, “now the guys who deserve the money will be getting it. I think you'll see some happy guys around here.”

“Maybe I'll get my new contract now,” said Pippen.

It was the last remaining distraction in a season full of them.

Jackson decided to give the team Saturday off before Game 4 on Sunday, May 12, Mother's Day. It had been a year ago on Mother's Day—“the Mother's Day Massacre,” the Bulls liked to call it—that the Bulls had taken Game 4 from the 76ers before going on to win the conference semifinals series in five games.

Jackson went for a long walk down to the river to watch the crew races. Although physical exertion remained difficult for him because of the hip surgery he'd had years earlier, it was important that he get some exercise. Jackson had a heart ailment, which he generally kept secret. It was not considered serious, but he did need exercise, so he usually ran on the treadmill or the Stairmaster at the Deerfield Multiplex. The heart ailment, known as atrial fibrillation, can be treated with drugs like digoxin and procainamide, which arrest irregular heartbeats. The only problem was that Jackson didn't believe in taking medication. He'd never had any growing up as the son of a Pentecostal minister and evangelical mother in Montana. The family believed in faith healing, as Jackson in many ways still did. When he was a child, he had what his family said was polio, and they told him he was healed by God. Jackson had agreed to take aspirin over the years for his heart ailment, but refused any other medication and wouldn't even discuss it with his family.

That weekend, President Bush was hospitalized with what was initially diagnosed as atrial fibrillation. June Jackson, back home in Bannockburn, Illinois, thought to herself, “Good.” It wasn't that she disliked the president, although she was a liberal Democrat and didn't care much for the prospect of Vice-President Dan Quayle moving up, but she also knew what a hospitalization for a heart ailment would mean. The newspapers and TV would examine atrial fibrillation in great detail.

“Now we'll know better what Phil can do for treatment,” she thought.

On his return from the walk to the river, Jackson encountered John Paxson. Paxson said he needed to get more shots after having just 3 in Game 3. Jackson agreed. Nobody pointed any fingers.