The Other Fifteen

Jordan fooled us early by making us think that his arial exploits would be his defining characteristic. Then he started winning.

Today Michael Jordan will be inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame, along with John Stockton, David Robinson, and Jerry Sloan.  Since every sports program on Earth is discussing Jordan’s best moments, my brother and I talked about our favorite Jordan memories last night.  It should be noted that we’re both huge Bulls fans, being born and raised in Chicago, and both old enough to remember Jordan’s rookie year on.  Also, our family had season tickets for the last three Bulls championships.  My brother had trouble nailing down his number one Jordan moment, but for me, it was clear.  But before I get into what I think is Jordan’s defining moment, I would like to share my favorite in-person Bulls story.

The greatest sporting event I have ever attended was the 96 to 54 massacre over the Jazz in game 3 of the 1998 Finals.  Read that score again.  96-54.  A 42 point difference.  We almost doubled them in points.  It was, in my estimation, the biggest ass whooping in the history of professional sports, and it happened in the NBA Finals.

When I got home, my friend called me and said that it must have been the most boring game since it wasn’t even close from the first 5 minutes on.  My immediate response was, “Actually, that’s the greatest game I’ve ever seen in my life.”  I then went on to explain how satisfying it was to watch our superstars embarrass theirs.  How Jordan was scoring at will.  How Pippen drew three offensive fouls against Malone in the first half.  How, Malone and Stockton only played 4 or 5 minutes of the 3rd quarter, then never came back onto the court, because there was no point.  They couldn’t make a difference.  The game was already over.  How we were screaming for blood as Steve Kerr, Toni Kukoc, Jud Buechler, and Scott Burrell were raining three pointers down upon them in the 4th quarter, proving that, not only were our starters vastly superior to their, but that our bench could light up their bench to a shocking degree.  We were toying with them, like killer whales flinging seals into the air.  The Jazz thought it was cruel, and Jerry Sloan said so in his press conference afterward.  It wasn’t.  We were just asserting ourselves and teaching them a lesson.  That lesson was that our team was superior to theirs in every way.  Our Hall of Famers were better than theirs.  Our starters were better.  Our bench full of Sixth Man Award winners was better than their bench.  Our Hall of Fame coach was better than their Hall of Fame coach.  It proved that no matter what, they were not walking away with that trophy.  They might win a few battles, but the war was already won.

And that’s what brings me to my defining Jordan moment.  It was in game 6 of the 1998 Finals.  But, no,  it was not his game winning shot.  It was the events that led up to his calmly sinking a championship-winning jumper despite everyone on the planet knowing he was going to take it.  The Jazz have the ball, up by one with the clock ticking down.  They are trying to kill a little time before taking a shot that will hopefully put them up by three, and give the Bulls only a chance to tie with a last second three pointer.  But these circumstances don’t sit well with Michael Jeffrey Jordan.  He refuses to let his destiny rest in any hands other than his own.

So while Karl Malone posts up on the left block, Jordan comes around baseline to his blind side.  I once saw an interview with a Jazz fan who was at the game.  He said it all happened like in a horror movie cliche, “Look out!  He’s right behind you!”  And then in slow motion, “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” Everyone knows what’s going to happen, yet are powerless to stop it.  They can only watch in horror (or if you were a Bulls or Jordan fan, pure delight).  Down comes Jordan’s hand like a bloody axe into a cute camp counselor.  He slaps the ball away from Malone, a man much larger and stronger than he, and who had both hands on the ball.  Jordan then collects the ball and calls time out.

I used the full picture instead of a closeup specifically so you could see how many people already have their head in their hands despite the ball still being in mid air.

What happens next is what everyone remembers, and what is probably his most famous play: sinking the game winning shot of his last title even though everyone knew he’d be the one taking it, and somehow everyone knowing he’d make it despite all of those heaped-on expectations.  But without that steal, none of that would have happened.  I’m not saying this to hype up Jordan’s defensive skills, or his all-around talent instead of his scoring or clutch abilities.  What I’m illustrating is just how much better he was in the most important moments than even one of the other greatest players of all time.  That was supposed to be Karl Malone’s moment.  But Jordan would have none of it.  He will snatch your moment right out of your hands.  He will steal your dreams.  He will calmly snuff out your hopes with a killer instinct that has yet to be matched in sports.  His will to win is vastly unparalleled.  Other great men are merely his foils.  The footnotes to the history that he will write.  That trophy is his, and there is nothing you can do about it.  Nothing.  The best description I can think of for Jordan is that he was the guy for whom winning was a guaranteed thing regardless of the circumstances, and purely because he would accept no other outcome.  And somehow, no person of force in the universe could stop this inevitable victory from happening.  He constantly willed himself into impossible outcomes, even long after people had expected the impossible from him and had done everything they could to try to prevent it.  But what can you do to stop the inevitable?  How do you break an iron will?  You don’t.  And that’s what makes great men great.