7. Number seven is actually four particularly memorable regular season games from his second tenure with the Bulls, all of which were a product of Michael taking umbrage at some perceived slight and/or sending a message as he deemed necessary. They seem particularly apt in light of his HOF speech from earlier (much more on this later), in which he basically ran down the list of things from which he drew motivation throughout his career. He'd always been known to take even the slightest affront and use it as a personal challenge, a motivational tool that he seemed to use more and more in his later years. It got to a point where a number of coaches would tell their younger players to just keep their mouths shut when it came to Jordan. Unfortunately for some of those coaches, they apparently didn't get that memo themselves...
As a sidenote...a big thanks to the growing contingent of MJ fans on Youtube who are kind enough to post his games, and which are linked here...from Hoopsencyclopedia, to Korone79, to ForEmily23, Starks23, Balthus23, and all the others -- thanks guys.
January 13, 1996, Bulls @ 76ers
Rookie Jerry Stackhouse, fellow UNC alum and the latest "Next Jordan" decided to mention to the local media how he had been beating MJ up in pick-up games down at UNC during the offseason. Guess what happened next?
Ah, yes. 48 points on 18-28 shooting in just over three quarters of work, while holding Stackhouse to 13 points on 4-11 shooting. My favorite moment? Check the 3:04 mark. Hopefully Stack didn't crush some poor kid while flying into the second row.
November 6, 1996, Bulls @ Heat
Fourth game of the 1997 season against Miami, one of the few Eastern Conference teams thought to have even a prayer of unseating Chicago. And of course, one of Jordan's favorite victims, Pat Riley. Statement game?
Message sent: 50 points, including some laugh-out-loud retro moves from MJ. The highlight? The sequence at the end of the first half when, after a Pippen three with time winding down, MJ stole the inbounds pass and drilled a 30-footer at the buzzer, which had me and my buddy Thong jumping up and down and screaming like little girls. Good times all around. 3:21 mark.
January 21, 1997, Knicks @ Bulls
The famous "con-man" game, in which Jeff Van Gundy claimed that Jordan would pretend to be friends with other players and then kill them on the court. Anyone could have seen what came next from a mile away: 51 points, including some choice words for Jeff after a game-clinching jumper.
February 2, 1997, Bulls @ Sonics
George Karl apparently didn't get the memo either. Pre-game remarks that Jordan was just a "jump shooter" now, and seemed to be "protecting himself." The funny thing was, it was kind of true -- MJ was basically a jump shooter at that point in his career. That included jump shots from half court, apparently. 3:20 mark.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
MJ Moment No. 8
8. The scene: Game 7, 1998 Eastern Conference Finals against the Indiana Pacers. Chicago hadn't been pushed to a Game 7 since 1992 against the Knicks, and this was one of the few games in which I've felt more anxiety/stress than general enjoyment as I normally did whenever I would watch MJ play. However it had gotten to that point (a complete meltdown in Game 4 that had Phil invoking the 1972 Munich Olympics, including an unbelievably blatant push-off by Miller on his game-winning three, and then a no-call in Game 6 on the last play when Jordan had so obviously been tripped) -- there was nevertheless an uneasiness and uncertainty about the Bulls that I'd rarely seen in them during their three-year run since Jordan had returned from his first retirement.
It was that way much throughout the game, and even Jordan wasn't immune. His shot wasn't falling, and the Bulls were down by as much as 13 at one point, 5 with only a few minutes left. I can still distinctly remember sitting stock-still on my couch at one point, wondering in disbelief if Chicago's run at a sixth title and second three-peat was actually going to end this way.
After all, this wasn't 1992 anymore, when he tossed up a seemingly effortless 42 points as if on command, in leading the Bulls to a blow-out victory over the Knicks in that Game 7. Signs that age and fatigue were finally catching up to him had started to show throughout the year, and never had he looked more like a legend on his last, weary legs than in that series against Indiana.
And then, as he had so many times before, Jordan went to work. But this time, it wasn't the dunking, twisting through three defenders for an impossible lay-up, dropping jumpers from everywhere Jordan -- or what I like to call the "F*** you, I am taking over this game by myself and there's nothing you can do about it" Jordan (always good times when that Jordan would come out, by the way). It was the "F*** you, I don't have to be the hero, but we are not losing this game no matter what" Jordan.
And in an odd way, that Jordan was even more compelling and beautiful to watch. Putting his head down, driving into the lane, and getting absolutely killed by three Pacer defenders for a couple free throws. And then doing it again. And then again. Not hesitating for a moment to drop the ball off to Luc Longley (Luc Longley!) for a tie-breaking jumpshot. Out-fighting two Pacers on a missed free throw by Pippen for a critical offensive rebound. Absolutely sucking wind in the game's final moments, as gassed as I'd ever seen a man who for so many years had seemed indefatigable.
Talk of Jordan's competitiveness and "will to win" is always bandied about when people discuss the things that made him who he was. And even though this game is rarely remembered as one of his greatest games -- the countless game-winners and 50 point games being so much more satisfying and easier to recall and admire -- for me, at least, few games demonstrated that will to win in more stark or visceral a fashion than this one did.
It was that way much throughout the game, and even Jordan wasn't immune. His shot wasn't falling, and the Bulls were down by as much as 13 at one point, 5 with only a few minutes left. I can still distinctly remember sitting stock-still on my couch at one point, wondering in disbelief if Chicago's run at a sixth title and second three-peat was actually going to end this way.
After all, this wasn't 1992 anymore, when he tossed up a seemingly effortless 42 points as if on command, in leading the Bulls to a blow-out victory over the Knicks in that Game 7. Signs that age and fatigue were finally catching up to him had started to show throughout the year, and never had he looked more like a legend on his last, weary legs than in that series against Indiana.
And then, as he had so many times before, Jordan went to work. But this time, it wasn't the dunking, twisting through three defenders for an impossible lay-up, dropping jumpers from everywhere Jordan -- or what I like to call the "F*** you, I am taking over this game by myself and there's nothing you can do about it" Jordan (always good times when that Jordan would come out, by the way). It was the "F*** you, I don't have to be the hero, but we are not losing this game no matter what" Jordan.
And in an odd way, that Jordan was even more compelling and beautiful to watch. Putting his head down, driving into the lane, and getting absolutely killed by three Pacer defenders for a couple free throws. And then doing it again. And then again. Not hesitating for a moment to drop the ball off to Luc Longley (Luc Longley!) for a tie-breaking jumpshot. Out-fighting two Pacers on a missed free throw by Pippen for a critical offensive rebound. Absolutely sucking wind in the game's final moments, as gassed as I'd ever seen a man who for so many years had seemed indefatigable.
Talk of Jordan's competitiveness and "will to win" is always bandied about when people discuss the things that made him who he was. And even though this game is rarely remembered as one of his greatest games -- the countless game-winners and 50 point games being so much more satisfying and easier to recall and admire -- for me, at least, few games demonstrated that will to win in more stark or visceral a fashion than this one did.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
MJ Moment No. 9
9. Really a throwaway moment more than anything, but one I loved because it showed (1) how MJ always had fun with the game, even in ostensibly the most pressure-packed part of the year, and (2) the evolution of MJ and Scottie's relationship in their last few years together, into more of a friendship.
The scene: a joint press room interview with MJ and Pip, following Chicago's tight (and unusually ugly) Game 2 victory in the 1997 Eastern Conference Finals over the Miami Heat. Michael had played probably one of his worst playoff games ever, and Scottie hadn't done much better, but the Bulls had managed to eke it out in the final minutes on the strength of a couple late Jordan jumpshots.
What followed was high comedy.
Classic MJ. Seeing the two of them basically giggling like little schoolgirls still slays me to this day.
The scene: a joint press room interview with MJ and Pip, following Chicago's tight (and unusually ugly) Game 2 victory in the 1997 Eastern Conference Finals over the Miami Heat. Michael had played probably one of his worst playoff games ever, and Scottie hadn't done much better, but the Bulls had managed to eke it out in the final minutes on the strength of a couple late Jordan jumpshots.
What followed was high comedy.
Classic MJ. Seeing the two of them basically giggling like little schoolgirls still slays me to this day.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
My beloved Bears, my first true love, and a couple shout-outs.
It's been a hectic few months, and quite frankly, is as hectic as ever, but I felt compelled to re-engage here what with recent events. First, a few quick shout-outs.
To Caroline, one of my favorite people ever, as well as someone who helped me through the most difficult period of my life more than she likely knows, or will ever fully realize: a heartfelt congratulations on her beautiful baby boy! Quite honestly, just about every time that she would insist in years past that she didn't really want kids, I'd inwardly smile and roll my eyes, because if there was anything I was sure about -- having come to know her as I have over the last eighteen (!) years -- it was the fact that if she ever ended up having one, she'd be the most loving, doting mother ever. And what do you know? I was right.
To Deborah, the one person whom I can always count on to take a much-needed break with me from meet and confers, mediation briefs, and other such silliness -- a hearty congrats on her moving onto greener pastures, and concomitantly, more time to spend w/her two beautiful daughters. Difficult though I know the decision was, when one considers how fast those two little tots are growing up, not really a difficult a decision at all in the grand scheme of things. You'll be much missed, though it goes without saying that we'll be keeping in touch.
To my good friend Franklin: he recently acquired his very own ball and chain (just kidding JH! You know I love you!) and I can't begin to describe how genuinely happy I am for him. That the ball in chain in question happened to be a girl whom he secretly pined for throughout most of high school only makes it that much sweeter (insert picture here of me and Precious Flower patting ourselves smugly on the back for getting them to meet again, years later). Just as important through all this is how glad I am to have reconnected with him as I have. Sharing a cigar over a single malt and a companionable silence up by the lake -- that's longevity at its best.
Finally (for now, at least), to my older brother, Dr. Doolittle: without going into much detail, a simple and sincere thanks for being who he is, and all that he's doing of late. Words really can't express how proud or thankful I am to be able to call you my brother.
Now that the unabashedly sentimental drivel is out of the way, a couple more quick things.
First, my beloved Cal Bears, for whom it took about two and a half quarters against Maryland to erase any lingering anxieties I had about this unfolding season. At this point, I'm waging a full-on assault on the Wife that if we're blessed enough to have a son in the future, his name need be Jahvid. As for 2009-2010, I'll tread carefully as possible here so as to avoid jinxing anything...but let's just say that I've never quite been so confident. If there's anything that has me feeling the way I am, it's got to be that which I feel was somewhat overlooked in the midst of such a resounding opening-game victory: namely, the seemingly incredibly genuine way in which the players on the team were congratulating each other after this play or that. For all the pre-season talk of improved chemistry and whatnot, I’m not sure how much of it I really believed until I saw how genuinely everyone was congratulating each other. From Vereen and Best chest-bumping after every big run or touchdown, to the receivers’ reactions anytime one of them made a great catch -- it was awfully good to see, and one of those intangible things that I think just might add up to a pretty memorable year. Go Bears!
Last, but certainly not least: my first true love, who is 6'6", bald, black, and is entering the basketball Hall of Fame this Friday (what a shock). Even though the basketball Hall of Fame is considered somewhat of a farce, I thought this would nevertheless be a good time to look back on a guy I've never met, and probably never will meet - and yet was such an important part of my life during my formative years, in ways that often transcended mere basketball.
As a sidenote, I would venture that the last, which I'll expand upon in due time, may serve to sober some of my cheekier friends, who have long rolled their eyes at my seeming obsession with the man. Stay tuned on that...
So, in honor of MJ's induction into the Hall of Fame this Friday - and keeping in mind that these are my own particularly memorable personal experiences - I'll be counting down my top ten Michael Jordan memories over the next week or so. Here's number 10.
10. One of my biggest regrets in life was never getting to see Jordan play in person when he was on the Bulls, in his prime. It was a combination of factors - geographic location, being a poor student, etc. - but I still kick myself about it today. And so, when he came back to play for the Washington Wizards, I decided that seeing a 40 year old Jordan play in person (despite being half the player he used to be) was better than never seeing him play in person at all, and ventured to Oakland with my buddy Jessoo to catch the Wizards play the Warriors.
From the beginning, it was quite the spectacle. It wasn't all that surprising, in some ways, as I'd both seen and heard in the past how crazy people can get when it comes to Jordan. Still, it was somewhat jarring. Here we were in Oakland, California, for a completely meaningless regular season game between two pretty lousy teams. And yet it was sold out, with seemingly everyone -- and I mean everyone, from toddlers, to little girls, to 50 year old men -- wearing some type of Michael Jordan paraphanelia, with a buzz in the air that made it seem like it was Game 7 of the NBA Finals.
Once we were in our seats, that buzz seemed only to intensify, crescendoing when Jordan was announced in the starting lineups. Let's just say that even for me -- then at a point in my life where an ugly cynicism seemed to bleed into all that I said or did -- things got a little dusty (to steal one of the Sports Guy's favorite lines) when I heard, saw, and found myself fully participating in the crowd reaction to his introduction -- no exaggeration, a two to three minute standing ovation, with grins a mile wide seemingly everywhere you looked. And all this for an opposing player.
As big a Jordan fan as I'd grown to be over the years, it was only at that moment that I think I realized how much of a vacuum it had all happened in. I'd always been aware, if vaguely, of the purported impact that Jordan had on people around the world, but I'd never fully experienced it until that day. Seeing 20,000 people on their feet applauding and whistling for literally two to three straight minutes (and I'll tell you right now -- unless you've ever been a part of something like this, you simply do not realize how long a time that is for something as repetitive as simple applause)...seeing fathers hold up their kids -- boys and girls alike -- and excitedly point Jordan out...and perhaps most tellingly, finding myself and my buddy clapping right along with huge goofy grins on our faces, all cynicism and notions of being cool thrown by the wayside...well. Let's just say it was more than enough of an experience to wiggle itself into this particular Top 10.
To Caroline, one of my favorite people ever, as well as someone who helped me through the most difficult period of my life more than she likely knows, or will ever fully realize: a heartfelt congratulations on her beautiful baby boy! Quite honestly, just about every time that she would insist in years past that she didn't really want kids, I'd inwardly smile and roll my eyes, because if there was anything I was sure about -- having come to know her as I have over the last eighteen (!) years -- it was the fact that if she ever ended up having one, she'd be the most loving, doting mother ever. And what do you know? I was right.
To Deborah, the one person whom I can always count on to take a much-needed break with me from meet and confers, mediation briefs, and other such silliness -- a hearty congrats on her moving onto greener pastures, and concomitantly, more time to spend w/her two beautiful daughters. Difficult though I know the decision was, when one considers how fast those two little tots are growing up, not really a difficult a decision at all in the grand scheme of things. You'll be much missed, though it goes without saying that we'll be keeping in touch.
To my good friend Franklin: he recently acquired his very own ball and chain (just kidding JH! You know I love you!) and I can't begin to describe how genuinely happy I am for him. That the ball in chain in question happened to be a girl whom he secretly pined for throughout most of high school only makes it that much sweeter (insert picture here of me and Precious Flower patting ourselves smugly on the back for getting them to meet again, years later). Just as important through all this is how glad I am to have reconnected with him as I have. Sharing a cigar over a single malt and a companionable silence up by the lake -- that's longevity at its best.
Finally (for now, at least), to my older brother, Dr. Doolittle: without going into much detail, a simple and sincere thanks for being who he is, and all that he's doing of late. Words really can't express how proud or thankful I am to be able to call you my brother.
Now that the unabashedly sentimental drivel is out of the way, a couple more quick things.
First, my beloved Cal Bears, for whom it took about two and a half quarters against Maryland to erase any lingering anxieties I had about this unfolding season. At this point, I'm waging a full-on assault on the Wife that if we're blessed enough to have a son in the future, his name need be Jahvid. As for 2009-2010, I'll tread carefully as possible here so as to avoid jinxing anything...but let's just say that I've never quite been so confident. If there's anything that has me feeling the way I am, it's got to be that which I feel was somewhat overlooked in the midst of such a resounding opening-game victory: namely, the seemingly incredibly genuine way in which the players on the team were congratulating each other after this play or that. For all the pre-season talk of improved chemistry and whatnot, I’m not sure how much of it I really believed until I saw how genuinely everyone was congratulating each other. From Vereen and Best chest-bumping after every big run or touchdown, to the receivers’ reactions anytime one of them made a great catch -- it was awfully good to see, and one of those intangible things that I think just might add up to a pretty memorable year. Go Bears!
Last, but certainly not least: my first true love, who is 6'6", bald, black, and is entering the basketball Hall of Fame this Friday (what a shock). Even though the basketball Hall of Fame is considered somewhat of a farce, I thought this would nevertheless be a good time to look back on a guy I've never met, and probably never will meet - and yet was such an important part of my life during my formative years, in ways that often transcended mere basketball.
As a sidenote, I would venture that the last, which I'll expand upon in due time, may serve to sober some of my cheekier friends, who have long rolled their eyes at my seeming obsession with the man. Stay tuned on that...
So, in honor of MJ's induction into the Hall of Fame this Friday - and keeping in mind that these are my own particularly memorable personal experiences - I'll be counting down my top ten Michael Jordan memories over the next week or so. Here's number 10.
10. One of my biggest regrets in life was never getting to see Jordan play in person when he was on the Bulls, in his prime. It was a combination of factors - geographic location, being a poor student, etc. - but I still kick myself about it today. And so, when he came back to play for the Washington Wizards, I decided that seeing a 40 year old Jordan play in person (despite being half the player he used to be) was better than never seeing him play in person at all, and ventured to Oakland with my buddy Jessoo to catch the Wizards play the Warriors.
From the beginning, it was quite the spectacle. It wasn't all that surprising, in some ways, as I'd both seen and heard in the past how crazy people can get when it comes to Jordan. Still, it was somewhat jarring. Here we were in Oakland, California, for a completely meaningless regular season game between two pretty lousy teams. And yet it was sold out, with seemingly everyone -- and I mean everyone, from toddlers, to little girls, to 50 year old men -- wearing some type of Michael Jordan paraphanelia, with a buzz in the air that made it seem like it was Game 7 of the NBA Finals.
Once we were in our seats, that buzz seemed only to intensify, crescendoing when Jordan was announced in the starting lineups. Let's just say that even for me -- then at a point in my life where an ugly cynicism seemed to bleed into all that I said or did -- things got a little dusty (to steal one of the Sports Guy's favorite lines) when I heard, saw, and found myself fully participating in the crowd reaction to his introduction -- no exaggeration, a two to three minute standing ovation, with grins a mile wide seemingly everywhere you looked. And all this for an opposing player.
As big a Jordan fan as I'd grown to be over the years, it was only at that moment that I think I realized how much of a vacuum it had all happened in. I'd always been aware, if vaguely, of the purported impact that Jordan had on people around the world, but I'd never fully experienced it until that day. Seeing 20,000 people on their feet applauding and whistling for literally two to three straight minutes (and I'll tell you right now -- unless you've ever been a part of something like this, you simply do not realize how long a time that is for something as repetitive as simple applause)...seeing fathers hold up their kids -- boys and girls alike -- and excitedly point Jordan out...and perhaps most tellingly, finding myself and my buddy clapping right along with huge goofy grins on our faces, all cynicism and notions of being cool thrown by the wayside...well. Let's just say it was more than enough of an experience to wiggle itself into this particular Top 10.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Big Day, Part II.
Some more pictures, courtesy of our friends...
The Wife, being escorted by her father. She was THIS close to losing it her first few steps down the aisle.
Almost looks as if the Big Fella Upstairs is bestowing his blessing on our union, doesn't it? This was taken by the Wife's cousin, Anthony...he might need to think about a career in photography!
She jumped me! Actually, no, I totally jumped her. I'd venture it ranked right up there among the raciest kisses in the history of weddings.
The Wife, being escorted by her father. She was THIS close to losing it her first few steps down the aisle.
Almost looks as if the Big Fella Upstairs is bestowing his blessing on our union, doesn't it? This was taken by the Wife's cousin, Anthony...he might need to think about a career in photography!
She jumped me! Actually, no, I totally jumped her. I'd venture it ranked right up there among the raciest kisses in the history of weddings.
Our first tentative, happy steps into what's sure to be a wild ride ahead...
Another terrific shot by the Wife's cousin. Kid's got talent!
Another terrific shot by the Wife's cousin. Kid's got talent!
Enjoying a moment of levity during our first dance. We danced to "When I'm With You," by Sheriff. It was ultimate 80's cheese, and awesome.
Let's just say that people didn't need to clink their glasses very much all night...
The Ninja Wife, and the Dork Husband.
Doing the traditional Korean ceremony (pye-baek) was actually pretty fun, aside from the fact that I looked the biggest dork ever, and was sweating like a stuck pig.
Our cake. Nice, eh?
We were just a tad impaired by this point, so I have zero recollection as to what had the Wife so surprised.
The salad, courtesy of the Kitchen for Exploring Foods. These guys are great!
Bone-in rib-eye for dinner...delicious.
The Ninja Wife, and the Dork Husband.
Doing the traditional Korean ceremony (pye-baek) was actually pretty fun, aside from the fact that I looked the biggest dork ever, and was sweating like a stuck pig.
Our cake. Nice, eh?
We were just a tad impaired by this point, so I have zero recollection as to what had the Wife so surprised.
The salad, courtesy of the Kitchen for Exploring Foods. These guys are great!
Bone-in rib-eye for dinner...delicious.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Big Day, Part I.
After some deliberation, I've decided that I'll post some items regarding my personal life from time to time. And, recent circumstances being what they are, I figured there was no better place to start than with my recent nuptials!
The Wife and I had our wedding at a venue called the SmogShoppe. Before it was renovated for use as an event venue, it used to be.....wait for it.....wait for it.....that's right -- a smog shop! Beautiful venue, beautiful day, beautiful open bar...needless to say, it was a day to remember.
Our friend Hee made all of these terrific flower arrangements from scratch, saving us mucho $$ and earning herself entry into our "Awesome Friends Who Have Useful Talents" Hall of Fame.
As for the daintily folded napkins, those were the product of some major slave labor foisted by the Wife upon her poor cousins.
The Wife and I had our wedding at a venue called the SmogShoppe. Before it was renovated for use as an event venue, it used to be.....wait for it.....wait for it.....that's right -- a smog shop! Beautiful venue, beautiful day, beautiful open bar...needless to say, it was a day to remember.
This is going to be the Cliffs Notes version, with much more to come later. Incidentally... RIP Cliff Hillegass. You saved me more than I can remember.
As for the daintily folded napkins, those were the product of some major slave labor foisted by the Wife upon her poor cousins.
Here is my beeee-yoooo-tee-ful! bride cooling her heels before the big "I Do."
To the left, with my family.
And to the right, with the Wife's family.
Here's me and the Wife enjoying a quiet moment before the (good) chaos to come.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Kobe Bean, Big Chief Triangle, MJ, and other thoughts.
First and foremost, a sincere -- if somewhat grudging -- congratulations to the Lakers. People can say what they will about the lucky breaks that they got along their way to the 2009 title, but those who really watch basketball know that rarely are NBA championships won solely on the basis of talent and hard work -- more often than not (though in the case of some, more so than others), it requires a little bit of luck.
Yao breaking his foot...George Karl not having a reliable end-game inbounds play despite being a NBA head coach for 15+ years (cut to scene of me pushing a pencil through my eye)...Courtney Lee missing that alley-oop at the end of Game 2, which, for the record, was not nearly the chippie that people were screaming it was...Van Gundy inexplicably playing Jameer to the bitter end in Game 4, and Jameer even more inexplicably back-pedaling like Melo in NY on Fisher's tying three...all of that can, and likely will, be viewed by some as ridiculously good fortune for the Lakers.
And you know, maybe it was. But none of that detracts from the fact that when the Lakers had to come through, they did. And for that, they deserve respect and congratulations.
Now, a few musings.
Phil
As probably the biggest Jordan-era Chicago Bulls fan who happened to live in LA the whole time it was happening, I found myself wondering how I would feel upon seeing Phil winning his 10th title and surpassing Red. Spurred by some indistinct sense that he had grown too big for his britches, part of me had grown to somewhat dislike him in recent years. Somewhere along the way, the matter-of-factness that had seemed so charming when he was coaching the Bulls had morphed into an arrogance and sense of entitlement that often had me rolling my eyes.
Watching him tonight, though, and listening to him deflect the praise so deservedly coming his way, I found myself for the first time in a long time, seeing and hearing the guy who had first interviewed for the Bulls head coaching job wearing a Panama hat with a feather in it, and who did all those little things for his players -- the field trips, the handing out of books, the meditation sessions -- not because he was known as 'the Zen Master' and it was almost expected of him, but because he genuinely believed it was good for his players and the mental and emotional health of his teams.
Honestly, I'm sure it's a little bit of both. I'm sure that there's a part of him -- like anyone who's been in the public eye for so long -- that's almost subconciously bought into all that's been said and written about him, to the point where he can't help but act that way. But tonight, I saw the earnest, candid guy who I remember always managed to get me to chuckle over some offhand comment or observation, and that glimpse made me quite happy for Phil, and glad that he's finally being lauded as he should be for being the great coach that he's been over his remarkable career.
And he really has been. People will forever point to the fact that he's had some of the best players to ever play the game, but the bottom line is, what coach who's had any sustained succes hasn't had great players? As I was telling the Wife earlier (who, by the way, deserves an A+ for putting up with me over the course of the playoffs, not to mention her valiantly pretending to be interested whenever I would start talking about it), coaching in the NBA isn't so much about x's and o's as it is about managing egos, enabling players so that they can contribute to the team what they're capable of contributing, and weaving together a group of disparate personalities and skill sets into a cohesive unit. And to date, I would argue that nobody has done it better than Phil.
Kobe
Well, after seven years, and all the inimitable drama that came between -- basically running out of town perhaps the most dominant big man ever and the aforementioned Hall of Fame coach with nine (now ten) titles, all so he could be the undisputed Man...taking a team that had been in the Finals only a year before, straight to the lottery...two first round flameouts in a row...demanding to be traded from the team that had invested its entire future in him...making it to the Finals after being gift-wrapped a 7-footer with perhaps the purest post game since Tim Duncan, and then losing despite being favored by most pundits, along the way allowing his team to lose a 24-point lead in a must-win game at win, and getting blown out by 39 points in the deciding game -- here's Kobe Bean Bryant. The self-proclaimed "Black Mamba." A champion again.
Now, before all the Laker fans come out of the woodwork screaming "Hater" at me (and I admit, that wasn't the prettiest way I could have painted that picture), let me be the first to say that ...well, you're kind of right. I'm not a fan of Kobe's, and never will be. That said, I am about as big a fan of basketball as there is, and that being the case...there are few players whom I respect more as a basketball player than Kobe Bryant. Without question, he's one of the truly great talents that the game has ever seen, and quite honestly, perhaps the greatest pure scorer there's ever been insofar as being able to score in every way, and from anywhere, possible. Couple that with what is, by all accounts, an almost manic work ethic, and possibly even more compulsive obsession for winning -- as a fan of the game, it would be completely nonsensical for me not to respect him as a basketball player. He's just about everything you would hope for.
Being the fan of the game that I am, watching Kobe in these playoffs has been -- fittingly, perhaps, given his undisputed place as the most polarizing basketball player ever -- an exercise in extremes. There were times when he played at such a high level, with such terrific awareness, that I would find myself smiling in spite of myself -- the fan in me who loves seeing basketball played the way it should be played -- appreciating probably the best individual talent in the game over the past several years, finally playing up to his full potential.
And then there were other times -- again, fittingly, and probably to be more apt, all too predictably -- when he would show why he is simply not as good as Jordan, and never will be. Now again...before Kobe's legion of fans start screaming for my head, this isn't by any means an attempt to diminish Kobe or what he accomplished this year, or in his career, for that matter. It's simply an observation, based on watching not only virtually every single minute of the Laker's playoff games this year, but having watched Kobe his entire career.
Mark Heisler of the LA Times, one of the few basketball writers around who seems to remember that there were some pretty darn good players before this millenium, already touched on it in his recent column on Kobe, noting that "If Michael Jordan was the best ever, it was because of his consistency at a level no one had ever reached. Bryant goes to Jordan's level all the time -- and beyond, where no one ever went before -- between dips. If Jordan was a straight line across the top of the graph, Bryant is a wavy line, with the highs going off the chart."
And quite frankly, for better or worse, it's true, even if it needs to be tempered by the difference in eras (Jordan in his day getting absolutely clobbered anytime he ventured into the lane and actually having to finish a play, while Kobe today -- not to mention all of the league's perimeter stars -- more often than not getting to the free throw line before they even sniff the paint). Some of Kobe's exploits border on incomprehensible -- like the shots referenced by Heisler against Portland in 2004, or outscoring Dallas through three quarters by himself, or the 81 against Toronto.
And yet, those flashes of brilliance are mirrored, and even almost eclipsed, by moments he's had on the opposite end of the spectrum -- doggedly continuing to hoist shots against the Pistons in 2004 at a 38% clip despite Shaq shooting over 60% from the field...inexplicably refusing to shoot in the second half of Game 7 against the Suns...somehow thinking, as Boston roared back from a 24-point deficit in LA in a must-win game for the Lakers, that throwing up 22-foot fadeaways was a better idea than putting his head down, driving into the lane and getting to the line to staunch the bleeding...and even this spring, lapsing into stretches where he cost, or almost cost, his team what might've otherwise been fairly easy victories, seemingly because of his need to be the hero.
In the end, it doesn't diminish the fact that the Lakers won the title, or the fact that, at long last, Kobe was -- for better or worse -- the driving force behind their title run. But it did accentuate the gap that he's never been able to, and likely never will, bridge, between him and the legacy of the man he's spent his whole career chasing. Thirteen years into his career, it's almost certainly too late to demonstrate the type of consistency, and efficiency (an altogether different story, one to be explored in a later post) that made Jordan the best to ever play. It says here, though, at the least, that there's nothing shameful about that. If he's not there already, Kobe will go down as the second best shooting guard ever -- nothing to sneeze at, to say the least, and something he should be proud of, and that we should appreciate.
Yao breaking his foot...George Karl not having a reliable end-game inbounds play despite being a NBA head coach for 15+ years (cut to scene of me pushing a pencil through my eye)...Courtney Lee missing that alley-oop at the end of Game 2, which, for the record, was not nearly the chippie that people were screaming it was...Van Gundy inexplicably playing Jameer to the bitter end in Game 4, and Jameer even more inexplicably back-pedaling like Melo in NY on Fisher's tying three...all of that can, and likely will, be viewed by some as ridiculously good fortune for the Lakers.
And you know, maybe it was. But none of that detracts from the fact that when the Lakers had to come through, they did. And for that, they deserve respect and congratulations.
Now, a few musings.
Phil
As probably the biggest Jordan-era Chicago Bulls fan who happened to live in LA the whole time it was happening, I found myself wondering how I would feel upon seeing Phil winning his 10th title and surpassing Red. Spurred by some indistinct sense that he had grown too big for his britches, part of me had grown to somewhat dislike him in recent years. Somewhere along the way, the matter-of-factness that had seemed so charming when he was coaching the Bulls had morphed into an arrogance and sense of entitlement that often had me rolling my eyes.
Watching him tonight, though, and listening to him deflect the praise so deservedly coming his way, I found myself for the first time in a long time, seeing and hearing the guy who had first interviewed for the Bulls head coaching job wearing a Panama hat with a feather in it, and who did all those little things for his players -- the field trips, the handing out of books, the meditation sessions -- not because he was known as 'the Zen Master' and it was almost expected of him, but because he genuinely believed it was good for his players and the mental and emotional health of his teams.
Honestly, I'm sure it's a little bit of both. I'm sure that there's a part of him -- like anyone who's been in the public eye for so long -- that's almost subconciously bought into all that's been said and written about him, to the point where he can't help but act that way. But tonight, I saw the earnest, candid guy who I remember always managed to get me to chuckle over some offhand comment or observation, and that glimpse made me quite happy for Phil, and glad that he's finally being lauded as he should be for being the great coach that he's been over his remarkable career.
And he really has been. People will forever point to the fact that he's had some of the best players to ever play the game, but the bottom line is, what coach who's had any sustained succes hasn't had great players? As I was telling the Wife earlier (who, by the way, deserves an A+ for putting up with me over the course of the playoffs, not to mention her valiantly pretending to be interested whenever I would start talking about it), coaching in the NBA isn't so much about x's and o's as it is about managing egos, enabling players so that they can contribute to the team what they're capable of contributing, and weaving together a group of disparate personalities and skill sets into a cohesive unit. And to date, I would argue that nobody has done it better than Phil.
Kobe
Well, after seven years, and all the inimitable drama that came between -- basically running out of town perhaps the most dominant big man ever and the aforementioned Hall of Fame coach with nine (now ten) titles, all so he could be the undisputed Man...taking a team that had been in the Finals only a year before, straight to the lottery...two first round flameouts in a row...demanding to be traded from the team that had invested its entire future in him...making it to the Finals after being gift-wrapped a 7-footer with perhaps the purest post game since Tim Duncan, and then losing despite being favored by most pundits, along the way allowing his team to lose a 24-point lead in a must-win game at win, and getting blown out by 39 points in the deciding game -- here's Kobe Bean Bryant. The self-proclaimed "Black Mamba." A champion again.
Now, before all the Laker fans come out of the woodwork screaming "Hater" at me (and I admit, that wasn't the prettiest way I could have painted that picture), let me be the first to say that ...well, you're kind of right. I'm not a fan of Kobe's, and never will be. That said, I am about as big a fan of basketball as there is, and that being the case...there are few players whom I respect more as a basketball player than Kobe Bryant. Without question, he's one of the truly great talents that the game has ever seen, and quite honestly, perhaps the greatest pure scorer there's ever been insofar as being able to score in every way, and from anywhere, possible. Couple that with what is, by all accounts, an almost manic work ethic, and possibly even more compulsive obsession for winning -- as a fan of the game, it would be completely nonsensical for me not to respect him as a basketball player. He's just about everything you would hope for.
Being the fan of the game that I am, watching Kobe in these playoffs has been -- fittingly, perhaps, given his undisputed place as the most polarizing basketball player ever -- an exercise in extremes. There were times when he played at such a high level, with such terrific awareness, that I would find myself smiling in spite of myself -- the fan in me who loves seeing basketball played the way it should be played -- appreciating probably the best individual talent in the game over the past several years, finally playing up to his full potential.
And then there were other times -- again, fittingly, and probably to be more apt, all too predictably -- when he would show why he is simply not as good as Jordan, and never will be. Now again...before Kobe's legion of fans start screaming for my head, this isn't by any means an attempt to diminish Kobe or what he accomplished this year, or in his career, for that matter. It's simply an observation, based on watching not only virtually every single minute of the Laker's playoff games this year, but having watched Kobe his entire career.
Mark Heisler of the LA Times, one of the few basketball writers around who seems to remember that there were some pretty darn good players before this millenium, already touched on it in his recent column on Kobe, noting that "If Michael Jordan was the best ever, it was because of his consistency at a level no one had ever reached. Bryant goes to Jordan's level all the time -- and beyond, where no one ever went before -- between dips. If Jordan was a straight line across the top of the graph, Bryant is a wavy line, with the highs going off the chart."
And quite frankly, for better or worse, it's true, even if it needs to be tempered by the difference in eras (Jordan in his day getting absolutely clobbered anytime he ventured into the lane and actually having to finish a play, while Kobe today -- not to mention all of the league's perimeter stars -- more often than not getting to the free throw line before they even sniff the paint). Some of Kobe's exploits border on incomprehensible -- like the shots referenced by Heisler against Portland in 2004, or outscoring Dallas through three quarters by himself, or the 81 against Toronto.
And yet, those flashes of brilliance are mirrored, and even almost eclipsed, by moments he's had on the opposite end of the spectrum -- doggedly continuing to hoist shots against the Pistons in 2004 at a 38% clip despite Shaq shooting over 60% from the field...inexplicably refusing to shoot in the second half of Game 7 against the Suns...somehow thinking, as Boston roared back from a 24-point deficit in LA in a must-win game for the Lakers, that throwing up 22-foot fadeaways was a better idea than putting his head down, driving into the lane and getting to the line to staunch the bleeding...and even this spring, lapsing into stretches where he cost, or almost cost, his team what might've otherwise been fairly easy victories, seemingly because of his need to be the hero.
In the end, it doesn't diminish the fact that the Lakers won the title, or the fact that, at long last, Kobe was -- for better or worse -- the driving force behind their title run. But it did accentuate the gap that he's never been able to, and likely never will, bridge, between him and the legacy of the man he's spent his whole career chasing. Thirteen years into his career, it's almost certainly too late to demonstrate the type of consistency, and efficiency (an altogether different story, one to be explored in a later post) that made Jordan the best to ever play. It says here, though, at the least, that there's nothing shameful about that. If he's not there already, Kobe will go down as the second best shooting guard ever -- nothing to sneeze at, to say the least, and something he should be proud of, and that we should appreciate.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
This should be fun.
I'm about ten years late, I think, with the whole blogging phenomenon. But that's par for the course with me. Better late than never, I figure.
I'm not quite sure where this is going to go, but it should be fun.
I'm not quite sure where this is going to go, but it should be fun.
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