PROFILE, Page 50GREAT LEAPIN' LIZARDS!MICHAEL JORDAN can't actually fly, but the way he gyrates andorbits on a basketball court, driven by fierce competitiveness,it sure looks that wayBy 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?
