The Jordan Rules (9 page)

The doctor determined that Hodges needed surgery on his ankle. And another chance to add a player went away.

The free-agent list was not deep and the Bulls had already turned down Adrian Dantley, whose style of play, Jackson felt, wouldn't fit with the passing, motion, and fast-break concepts he sought. David Falk, Dantley's agent, was relentless and would call Reinsdorf or Krause all year after Bulls losses to suggest that the Bulls wouldn't have lost if they had Dantley. Purvis Short of New Jersey was a scorer who could fit in, and assistant John Bach had coached him when Bach was head coach at Golden State, but it was determined that Short had played too many minutes over the years to do that job now. Same with Charlotte's Robert Reid, whom the Bulls had considered the previous season but rejected.

That's when the Bulls began to talk about Cliff Levingston of Atlanta. Levingston wasn't a scorer—he was known in Atlanta as “House” for putting up so many bricks when he shot—but he was active and could play small forward to back up Scottie Pippen. The Bulls had let Charles Davis go in order to have enough money available—along with Jordan's contribution—to trade for Hopson. And while Krause talked about Hopson as a possible backup to Pippen, the coaches felt Hopson would have enough difficulty trying to fit in as a backup shooting guard.

Levingston, who liked to go by the nickname of “Good News” because of his friendly demeanor, was not a favorite of Reinsdorf's. “I watched all those Atlanta games and I don't ever remember seeing him,” Reinsdorf told Jackson. But Reinsdorf left personnel decisions in basketball principally to Krause and Jackson. Krause didn't care much for Levingston either, and wanted to go after an old personal favorite, Joe Wolf, who was a restricted free agent. But Jackson was lobbying hard for Levingston. He believed Levingston, though only about 6-7, would help on defense and rebounding and fit well into the open-court style of basketball Jackson felt the Bulls had to play. Krause was resisting, saying Hopson would do as a backup small forward. Jackson believed otherwise, and he was now getting additional pressure from the assistant coaches. They all knew the Bulls simply didn't have the players to contend for a title without some additions. They couldn't go into a new season with just Hopson, if only because it would demoralize Jordan. But Jackson was hesitant to get into a fight with Krause. He'd seen Krause and Collins battle desperately over trade possibilities, with Collins going over Krause's head to Reinsdorf and even trying to get Krause fired. This proved fatal in the long run to Collins, for Reinsdorf hadn't wanted Collins as coach in the first place, and only agreed to hire him after a desperate appeal from Krause. And a year later here was this brash kid trying to get his sponsor fired.

Perhaps the dispute that had made the strongest impression on Jackson was the Collins-Krause battle over Ricky Pierce. The talented scorer for the Bucks was a holdout in 1987, demanding renegotiation of his contract. The Bucks made him available, but after dealing with the likes of Dailey, Woolridge, and Oldham, Krause wanted no part of another public holdout who might also be a clubhouse lawyer. He refused to trade Brad Sellers to the Bucks and Collins was livid, ranting and accusing Krause of trying to cost him his job. It was a common habit of Collins's, blaming either Krause or the players for team failures.

“I'd seen this organization almost come apart over Ricky Pierce,” Jackson told his assistants at a meeting. “I'm not going to let that happen here over Levingston.”

But finally Jackson, in his softer way, made Krause see the obvious: The Bulls needed help. “Jerry,” he told Krause, “you're going to blow this one.” Krause didn't blow it, but the Levingston negotiations provide a revealing look at life on the edge at the NBA.

Unbeknownst to the Bulls, Levingston was in serious financial trouble and needed to put $200,000 in the bank by the last day of September or face action by his creditors. He had been earning about $425,000 per year, which would seem to be enough to live on, especially when your room is paid for on the road and you get $55 meal money per day during road trips. Despite their garish wealth—the average NBA salary approached $1 million by the 1990–91 season—players often are remarkably stingy. They get so used to having their way paid as highly recruited high school and college stars that they often don't think about paying their own way, especially when it comes to tipping. Some coaches, like Al Attles when he was with Golden State, used to go into restaurants his teams frequented on the road and leave $50 in tips to be divided among the waitresses because he knew that invariably the players would not tip.

Nonetheless, players often find themselves in financial problems, especially when trying to keep up with their teammates, as Levingston had tried to do with the Hawks' Dominique Wilkins, who owned almost a dozen automobiles and liked to travel home from games by limousine, a habit Levingston then acquired. That was okay on Wilkins's multimillion-dollar salary, but it was something else at Levingston's level to pay. Levingston was frustrated in Atlanta; Dominique wasn't ever going to share the scoring spotlight. He was there to rebound and pick up loose balls; there'd be none of the glamour scoring for him. In fact, point guard Glenn “Doc” Rivers once told him that coach Mike Fratello had instructed him never to pass the ball to Levingston on the fast break. And it only got worse when the Hawks picked up Moses Malone and Reggie Theus.

So Levingston decided to test the free-agent market. Levingston was the team's player representative, and union officials had told him it would be good for free agency if more players would try that route. Levingston figured the Hawks were about to start making moves anyway, and he might be traded, so this way maybe he could pick his team. Detroit had some interest, as did Indiana. Denver would later take notice, as would New York. But Levingston decided he wanted to come to Chicago.

Krause called Levingston's agent, Roger Kirschenbaum, and said the Bulls were interested, but had some other issues to handle first, including the matter of Davis. Levingston was looking for a four-year deal worth about $5.6 million. And why not? The Hawks had offered $4 million for four years and Levingston, Kirschenbaum felt, could be the missing veteran the Bulls needed. And after the Davis deal fell through, even Jordan said he'd like to have Levingston. He'd called Reinsdorf to tell him so, and Levingston and Kirschenbaum assumed that would assure a deal. That was their first mistake.

The Bulls didn't want the risk of a long-term contract with a thirty-year-old player, which was fine with Levingston.

“We're talking one point three, one point four [million dollars for one year],” Kirschenbaum told Krause.

“That's no problem,” Krause said. “Money shouldn't be a problem.”

Kirschenbaum and Levingston's second mistake was misreading Reinsdorf's business sense. Although Reinsdorf loved sports, he lived for business. Earlier in his career, he was a lawyer at a Chicago firm representing several local doctors. “They all kept getting screwed in these real estate deals,” related Reinsdorf. “I'd look at them and tell them these were shit deals, but it didn't do any good, they'd go into them anyway. Finally, one of these guys said, ‘If you're so smart, why don't you put something together?'” So he did. And it led to the start of his real estate empire and Balcor. For all his interest in what happened between the first- and third-base lines, or between the sidelines and the endlines, he never wavered in his commitment to the bottom line.

Levingston pretty much assumed he was coming to Chicago when Krause never questioned Kirschenbaum's demand. In fact, Krause told Levingston not to bother with those other teams, that the Bulls would work out something, so Levingston didn't worry when Detroit signed Tree Rollins, leaving itself little room to add Levingston also. And then the Players' Association voted for its prepension plan, effectively knocking out teams like Indiana, which needed the larger cap to sign Levingston as a free agent. Levingston still wasn't concerned, even when Atlanta was forced to relinquish his rights to sign first-round draft pick Rumeal Robinson. So Atlanta, which would have been permitted to exceed the salary cap to re-sign Levingston because he was Atlanta's own free agent, was now out of the running until at least two months into the season under NBA rules.

Still, Levingston was certain he was headed for Chicago. But he hadn't bargained on two things. One was the Bulls' fears about Scottie Pippen's salary. He desperately sought a new deal, especially when, in August, his close friend Horace Grant was awarded a new contract extension that would pay him $6 million over three seasons. But Grant was coming into the final year of a four-year deal, while Pippen still had three years remaining on his six-year deal. The Bulls had some leverage, but they knew Pippen wouldn't react well to being paid less than his backup, which Levingston would be.

Of even greater importance to the team, though, was the Yugoslav Kukoc, who wouldn't even be with the Bulls in 1990–91. Krause had never scouted in Europe before, but the Lakers' success with Vlade Divac made him think twice. Jackson had urged Krause to take a look at Divac in the 1989 draft, but Krause, like a lot of NBA general managers, doubted Europeans could play effectively in the NBA. He'd realized his error, and went to Europe in the spring of 1990 to see Kukoc, advertised as the best player there. And he came back with an obsession.

The word was that Kukoc, just twenty-two, didn't want to play in the NBA yet, but the Bulls went after him anyway, betting he would want to play with Jordan, his American equal. “Great players want to play against the best, and Kukoc is going to be a great player,” Krause said, and immediately began planning to sign him. That meant they would have to keep almost $2 million available under the 1990–91 salary cap, in case Kukoc was suddenly ready to sign.

The NBA's rule for such a deal required that the first-year offer to Kukoc would have to go under the salary cap as soon as the deal was made. That meant as early as December 28, 1990, the first day the Bulls were allowed to make an offer. The Bulls tried to get Kukoc to visit Chicago before then, hoping that the crazed basketball atmosphere in the Chicago Stadium would help sway his decision. They sent him a Bulls jersey with his number, and made contacts in the Yugoslavian community in Chicago, and arranged with an interpreter to join the staff as “assistant trainer” and sit on the bench in games.

Because the Bulls needed to keep so much money free under the cap, it's doubtful that they ever considered paying Levingston as much as $1.3 million. And while the negotiations dragged, Levingston's other options were vanishing. By late August, Levingston was sure he'd made a mistake; he should have taken the Atlanta offer, the security, and forgotten about it. Now it was beginning to look like one year in Europe and another bout with free agency in 1991.

“From the start, there hadn't been a question about money,” said Levingston. “It was always Krause saying, ‘You don't need to talk to those guys,' or ‘We'll take care of you, don't worry.' I was dealing straight and he said he'd be straight. So I cut my options instead of letting them barter. Businesswise, it wasn't a very smart thing to do. But it did help me one way. I learned who my friends are and I learned who not to trust.”

And now Jordan was getting in on it. He would become close with Levingston, as close as he'd been with anyone since Rod Higgins and Charles Oakley had left the team, although the players would come to regard Levingston with some cynicism. “So how many times Cliff kiss Michael's ass today?” somebody would invariably say as the season wore on. But Levingston saw immediately who mattered with the Bulls and he decided he wasn't going to be stupid again. Jordan had told him not to take less than $1 million. But Reinsdorf had other ideas.

Levingston came in for one last negotiating session in September. A week before, he'd come to Chicago with Kirschenbaum, who didn't have any other basketball clients and wasn't used to sports negotiations; he considered himself a close friend of Levingston's and constantly told the Bulls it was important to have such a good guy on the team. This made Reinsdorf laugh. “This guy's much too personally involved in this thing,” he thought. “He's not negotiating for a client, he's trying to help out a friend.” And that was no way to do business. Business was business. This guy just wasn't going to understand.

The Bulls offered Levingston $750,000. That was less than Pippen made, so Reinsdorf figured that would hold Pippen off for a while. And that left the Bulls about $1.8 million under the salary cap to pursue Kukoc. Kirschenbaum was shocked. “What am I going to tell Cliff? What's he going to say to me?” Kirschenbaum pleaded.

“If you can get a better deal, go ahead,” Reinsdorf said.

Everyone in the room knew Levingston couldn't, at least in the NBA. He had no other options. New York could not sign him without first making a deal to free cap space, Denver had decided to make an offer to Wolf, and that September 30 creditors' deadline was approaching. “Screw them,” Levingston decided. He was going to Europe and he called Krause to tell him so.

The Bulls figured Levingston would fold—he'd told Jordan he didn't want to go to Europe—so Krause was surprised to get the call. He huddled with Reinsdorf and a deal was made. It would be a two-year deal worth about $2.15 million, but with only the first year guaranteed. They'd pay Levingston $750,000 for the 1990–91 season and guarantee to buy out the remaining year of his contract for $400,000 if they didn't want him after the season. That meant if the Bulls didn't pick up Levingston's option, which they didn't plan to, he'd be paid about $1.1 million for his one year in Chicago. If they did, he'd get his $2.15 million. They agreed to send $200,000 right away to Levingston's bank.

Training camp opened the first Friday in October. Jordan was the star, of course, back from the golf course and wearing a diamond stud in his ear. Cartwright took one look at the earring and said that if it were his team, the stud would be gone. He was presumably referring to the diamond. A press release was distributed announcing that Levingston had signed for two seasons. Terms were not disclosed, but reports were out. A radio reporter asked Levingston how he felt about turning down $4 million in Atlanta to sign for less than $1 million with the Bulls. “Good News” Levingston wasn't smiling.