TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/010989/01098900.003

Text File | 1992-09-23 | 12.3 KB | 239 lines

                                                                                PROFILE, Page 50

GREAT LEAPIN' LIZARDS!


MICHAEL JORDAN can't actually fly, but the way he gyrates and
orbits on a basketball court, driven by fierce competitiveness,
it sure looks that way

By Sally B. Donnelly


    Election night, 1988. In a darkened Madison Square Garden,
a murmur of anticipation ripples through the standing-room-only
crowd. On the floor below, the guest of honor stands, head
bent, a bit overwhelmed and maybe a bit embarrassed by the
spectacle. "Ladies and gentlemen," booms a voice as the
spotlight rakes the now cheering audience, "No. 23, Miiichaaael
Jooordaaan!" As one, the 19,591 men, women and children rise to
pay thunderous tribute to . . .

    To what? Has the Chicago Bulls' star been traded to the
host New York Knickerbockers? Nice dream, if you're a New
Yorker; nightmare, if a Chicagoan. Is he retiring and, like
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, making his farewell appearances? Maybe
he'll hang up the Air Jordans in a decade or two, but certainly
not now. So what's all the fuss about? Simply that this is the
first time during the 1988-89 season that the world's most
exciting basketball player is visiting New York. A JORDAN FOR
PRESIDENT sign even appears in the stands, a semiserious calling
to a higher order.

    For now, Michael Jeffrey Jordan is high enough, thank you.
As he enters his fifth year in the National Basketball
Association, he is the hottest player in America's hottest
sport. Only 25, Jordan has already won every major individual
award the NBA has to offer. He was Rookie of the Year after his
first season. After his third, he became the first player not
named Wilt to break the 3,000-point barrier. Last season he
captured an unprecedented triple crown of NBA honors: Most
Valuable Player, Defensive Player of the Year and top scorer to
boot. This season, averaging more than 34 points a game, Jordan
could be headed for his third consecutive scoring title. He has
pulled the once dreadful Chicago Bulls into the play-offs four
years running and contributed mightily toward rejuvenating a
deadly dull league that only seven years ago was being lampooned
as the National Buffoon Association. Small wonder some
sportscasters call Jordan "Superman in Shorts."

    Such high-flying praise is all the more astounding given
Jordan's size. At 6 ft. 6 in., he is a full inch shorter than
the average NBA player, but he transcends his handicap by
spending most of his time above the others. His perfectly
proportioned frame (his 205 lbs. include a minuscule 4% body fat
vs. 7% for most well-conditioned athletes and 15% for an average
male in the U.S.) soars up, around and over the mere mortals he
opposes. Most guards, being "smaller" men, prefer the quiet of
the perimeter to the violent collisions of leviathans under the
hoop. But Jordan is most dangerous around the basket, with his
arsenal of double-clutch lay-ups and hyperspace dunks over men
very nearly a foot taller. Through it all, Jordan's tongue
dangles from his mouth, his universally recognized trademark and
a testament to his intense concentration.

    For Jordan, the world of basketball is a world without
bounds. He gyrates, levitates and often dominates. Certainly he
fascinates. In arenas around the country, food and drink go
unsold because fans refuse to leave their seats for fear of
missing a spectacular Jordan move to tell their grandchildren
about. Bulls assistant coach Phil Jackson admits that the Jordan
Freeze affects seasoned veterans. "Even I get caught up in
Michael's show," he says. "I try not to, but sometimes I just
sit back and enjoy."

    When he is not on the court, or on the golf course
preparing for his next pro career (he has an eight handicap),
Jordan is perpetually on the go. "If I lost my talent tomorrow,
I'd say I had a great time and move on. I live for today but
plan for the future." Usually surrounded by a herd of adoring
friends, fans and family, Jordan is a nonstop flurry of
activity. Minutes after a game, a fashionably clad Jordan heads
out of the locker-room door for a few hours (and a few
nonalcoholic drinks) at choice night spots.

    Sometimes, Jordan admits, it is difficult to judge the real
intentions of many people he meets. This is especially true in
the case of women. Love-struck females swarm around the
charismatic Jordan as insistently as do NBA defenders. A few
years ago, there was a short-lived romance with actress Robin
Givens. Today, despite the hassles, Jordan enjoys an active, and
private, social life.

    When he decides to stay at home, Jordan does so in splendid
style in his new five-bedroom house in the Chicago suburb of
Northbrook. In his first-floor "entertainment center" he can
choose among 80-plus buttons on three remote controls and switch
from the Bang & Olufsen stereo system to the large-screen TV
set, to the VCR or CD player, and back again. The basement
offers a Jacuzzi, poker table, small black pool table and
six-hole putting green.

    Jordan's appeal shines through on the bottom line: he may
be the biggest draw in professional sports. Since he entered
the NBA after helping the U.S. basketball team win the Olympic
gold medal in 1984, the association's gross revenues have
nearly doubled, to $300 million, and average attendance is up
nearly 4,000 seats a game, to 13,420. At home the Bulls sold out
more games over the past 18 months than they had during their
entire 22-year history. In a sport that too often becomes sheer
drudgery -- the season begins around Halloween and can end as
late as mid-June -- Jordan is one of only a handful of NBA
players who truly seem to enjoy themselves. Jordan plays as if
what he calls "the best job in the world" might be gone
tomorrow. He even has a "love of the game" clause written into
his contract, which allows him to play basketball anytime, and
anywhere, the urge strikes, especially on the playgrounds back
home in North Carolina.

    But Jordan's delight in the sport is not the main reason he
plays basketball. Competition drives Michael Jordan.
Incessantly. Whether on the court or weaving his bright red
Ferrari Testarossa in and out of Chicago's midday traffic or
even putting golf balls on the Astroturf green in his basement,
he is constantly testing himself and the opposition. Sometimes
that burning competitive drive overrides Jordan's legendary
coolness. Last year during a full-court scrimmage with
teammates, Jordan stormed out of practice after angrily accusing
coach Doug Collins of miscounting the score. Jordan finds
motivation for the court each night by imagining his opponent's
point of view. "Someone is trying to take something from me, to
make a name for himself by outplaying Michael Jordan," he
explains in a quiet but firm voice. "I can't let anyone do
that." Few ever do.

    That ferocious competitive drive has propelled Jordan since
his boyhood in Wilmington, N.C., where he grew up the fourth of
five children in a close-knit middle-class family. Although his
parents James and Deloris pushed education, not sports, Michael
developed into an athlete for all seasons, successfully
competing in baseball, football and basketball. Larry Jordan,
one year his elder, would prove a motivating force. Though
Michael eventually outpaced and outgrew Larry, who still plays
semipro basketball, he credits his elder brother for his
aggressive style of play. "When you see me play," he says, "you
see Larry play."

    By the time Michael entered Laney High School, he was known
primarily as a baseball player. But within a year basketball
had become his No. 1 priority. Recalls Fred Lynch, Michael's
coach at Laney: "Michael is one player who could have been very
good and not worked as hard. But he is the hardest-working
athlete I have ever been around."

    It was in high school that Jordan began a lifelong
obsession with basketball shoes. "There is something about new
basketball sneakers that makes you feel better and play better,"
he says. Nike, Inc., was smart enough to exploit that passion.
The firm had done reasonably well with its running shoes, but
his namesake black-and-red Air Jordan sneakers put Nike on the
basketball-shoe map in 1985 and sent its revenues into orbit,
helping to generate more than $70 million in sales the first
year. During the season, Jordan satisfies the dreams of dozens
of admiring fans by giving away a pair of his size-13 Nikes, new
or used, after nearly every game.

    Jordan first became a national sensation on an evening in
March 1982 with "the Shot," as appreciative locals still call
it. Jordan, then a freshman at the University of North Carolina,
nailed a 17-ft. jumper to win the school's first national
championship in 25 years. Over the next two seasons, as
accolades and awards poured in, Jordan maintained a healthy
perspective. Dean Smith, the coach at Chapel Hill, had a lot to
do with that. "Coach Smith challenged us on the court," says
Jordan, "but also encouraged us in the classroom."

    To a basketball player who lives an unreal life as an
athletic icon, North Carolina remains much more to Michael
Jordan than just his home state or alma mater. In Chicago he is
unable to attend his local Methodist church because of the
commotion his presence creates. "But in Carolina I feel at ease.
My real friends keep me straight -- they don't praise me or ask
favors." With characteristic modesty, he adds, "I would probably
be unreasonable without my friends and family to keep me in
balance."

    In 1986 Jordan went through a six-week initiation period to
join a national black fraternity, Omega Psi Phi. Omega is the
third oldest black fraternity in the country and has 700
chapters nationwide that coordinate social, political and
business activities. Among its 80,000 initiates, Omega counts
such notables as Jesse Jackson, N.A.A.C.P. director Benjamin
Hooks and Philadelphia's Mayor Wilson Goode. "It is another sort
of community for me," says Jordan. "It is an organization made
up of men who want to give something back to society." An omega
tattoo on the left side of Jordan's chest symbolizes his
commitment to the fraternity.

    Jordan does not see his support for Omega Psi Phi as
detracting from his goal to be a role model for youngsters of
all races. "I try to be seen as Michael Jordan the person, not
as black or white," he says. "I guess I am a pioneer, and at
some time I may come up against a racial barrier, but at least
I have cleared the way a bit."

    Throughout his athletic career, Jordan has rarely failed to
overcome obstacles and reach his potential, but there is one
major gap in his resume: he has not been part of an NBA
championship team. Jordan is painfully aware that the Los
Angeles Lakers' Magic Johnson and the Boston Celtics' Larry Bird
have eight crowns between them. He has become increasingly
outspoken on the Bulls' need to attract a competitive core of
players. For the first time in his basketball career,
frustration has led him this season to criticize his teammates'
play publicly. Ironically, the premium that the Bulls pay for
Jordan's services inhibits the club from acquiring other
high-quality, and high-priced, talent. Jordan recently signed
an eight-year contract with the Bulls worth some $25 million,
making him the NBA's fourth highest-paid player.

    As impressive as those numbers are, basketball is only the
launching pad for Jordan's accelerating financial rocket ship.
Thanks largely to his agents at ProServ, a Washington-based
sports marketing firm, Jordan will earn an estimated $5 million
off the court this year. His list of corporate endorsements
keeps growing: Chevrolet, McDonald's, Coca-Cola, Johnson
Products (personal-care items produced by one of the largest
black-owned businesses in the U.S.), Nike. And last fall Jordan
became the first basketball player ever to appear on a box of
Wheaties.

    David Falk, a senior vice president at ProServ who has
orchestrated the marketing of his client's wholesome image,
says there was plenty to work with when Jordan signed on in
1984, but "there is also an undefinable quality about him that
if I could identify, I would bottle and sell." It would probably
be an instant best seller, but don't expect Michael Jordan to
give away the secret. What, and let the competition gain an
edge?