During Jordan's first three seasons, the Bulls were a sub-.500 team that nevertheless stumbled into the playoffs. Jordan missed most of the 1985–86 season with a broken leg, so it's not fair to hang that one on him. But the idea of a team for whom the postseason was a given despite obvious deficiencies was a fitting, even snide, commentary on Jordan's position in the league then. He was viewed as sublime but entitled, lacking the gravitas that eventually made his prowess seem earned. He returned in time for the 1986 postseason, putting up a playoff-record 63 points in a double-overtime Game 2. Jordan's outlandish effort, which came against the gritty, proud Boston frontcourt of Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, and a rejuvenated Walton, was in vain, as the Celtics swept the Bulls. In 1986–87, Jordan averaged 37.1 points per game for the year but again lost to the Celtics, in three games, in the first round. The losses to the Celtics today are seen as the growing pains of a brilliant young star trying to carry an entire team by himself because he had to. Jordan was, according to the legend, as fated to fall to the Celtics as he was to one day overcome them. But at the time, these battles were about more than waiting for the torch to be passed.
Many older players thought of Jordan as a showy punk meaninglessly piling up point after point against the consummate respectable vets. That it was so easy for Jordan but so hard for his team, was the ultimate sign of tastelessness. You just didn't leave the boys behind like that, having so much and spreading so little of it around. You wouldn't exactly call MJ irreverent. He showed respect to no one not because he felt destiny would prove him right, but because his play let him get away with whatever he wanted. That's the paradox of Jordan's career, and while the early years have been carefully reinterpreted, it nevertheless felt this way at the time. While he had yet to prove himself to the older generation or win any titles, he was already, in a sense, godlike. The mantra of hard work and determination was at odds with the effortless exuberance that marked the days before Scottie Pippen (who was drafted in 1987) and Phil Jackson (who joined Doug Collins's staff as an assistant that same year). He would also never get a chance to say "I told you so," because to win championships, he had to accept the triangle and Phil's guidance.
While the Celtics were NBA royalty looking down their noses at a petulant Jordan, the Pistons presented a more evenly matched battle. When the Bulls and Pistons met, it was also a final battle of sorts, a clash of basketball civilizations in which Detroit represented the true believers. The Bad Boys were mean, even sadistic, earning their two titles with hard-nosed, physical play. Coach Chuck Daly's expensive suits gave him the air of a mob boss directing hired toughs. Center Bill Laimbeer wasn't just physical, he was a thug in the Blackshirt sense who took the court with the express goal of agitation. Even the Pistons' most lyrical player, point guard Isiah Thomas, was a bastard who had orchestrated a boycott of Jordan at the 1985 All-Star Game. Jordan started the game but finished with only 7 points; it's long been rumored that Isiah asked his Eastern Conference teammates to keep the ball out of the rookie's hands. This virtual embargo not only spoke volumes about how MJ was seen by his elders, but also set up an opposition between him and the Pistons.
In 1988, the Bulls got out of the first round for the first time; in 1989, Jordan hit the Shot, his high-flying game winner over the Cavs' Craig Ehlo, officially beginning his pro tenure as a winner. But in 1988, 1989, and 1990, the Pistons stood in their way, beating the Bulls in the second round once, and then twice in the Conference Finals. When the Bulls finally got past them in 1991, en route to their first championship, the Pistons left the court without shaking hands. That's now regarded as the ultimate display of both poor sportsmanship and the subhuman place the Bad Boys occupy in NBA history. However, that's in a post-Jordan world. At the time, it represented the frustration, even disgust, that older players felt at the thought that Jordan had superseded them. They were hung up on what he represented and ignored what Michael Jordan had lost along the way. It's almost like the Pistons won after all.
That young Jordan, for whom all things seemed possible, had to give himself up for the story as we know it to continue. He's a hiccup, a roadblock, one that—like the embarrassment of Hot Butterfly—had to go away for the legend to ring out. Jordan even seemed to recognize this at the time. The greatest dunker the world had ever seen, the man whose logo was himself midflight, competed in (and won) his last dunk contest in 1988. Then Jordan claimed he didn't want to be known as a dunker anymore and went so far as to compete in the three-point contest in 1990 to officially signal a shift in his game. No longer the madman who could level any arena with his dynamism, he was now a shooter.
The dunk takes an instant and an eternity; it's both completely frivolous and totally domineering, a flash of light so blinding and brief that it might as well have never happened. A shot was the stuff of narrative; it was itself a story with a built-in arc, climax, and resolution. It also served as the perfect punctuation to any possession, game, season, or career. That kind of player, the one who seized the past and carefully etched the present, was the athlete MJ had learned to become.
Reprinted by permission of Bloomsbury USA. Bethlehem Shoals is a founding member of FreeDarko.com and a regular contributor to NBA FanHouse. Michael Jordan illustration by Jacob Weinstein, from the "Jordan and his Discontents" chapter later in the book. You can buy The Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball History at the FreeDarko store.
Many older players thought of Jordan as a showy punk meaninglessly piling up point after point against the consummate respectable vets. That it was so easy for Jordan but so hard for his team, was the ultimate sign of tastelessness. You just didn't leave the boys behind like that, having so much and spreading so little of it around. You wouldn't exactly call MJ irreverent. He showed respect to no one not because he felt destiny would prove him right, but because his play let him get away with whatever he wanted. That's the paradox of Jordan's career, and while the early years have been carefully reinterpreted, it nevertheless felt this way at the time. While he had yet to prove himself to the older generation or win any titles, he was already, in a sense, godlike. The mantra of hard work and determination was at odds with the effortless exuberance that marked the days before Scottie Pippen (who was drafted in 1987) and Phil Jackson (who joined Doug Collins's staff as an assistant that same year). He would also never get a chance to say "I told you so," because to win championships, he had to accept the triangle and Phil's guidance.
While the Celtics were NBA royalty looking down their noses at a petulant Jordan, the Pistons presented a more evenly matched battle. When the Bulls and Pistons met, it was also a final battle of sorts, a clash of basketball civilizations in which Detroit represented the true believers. The Bad Boys were mean, even sadistic, earning their two titles with hard-nosed, physical play. Coach Chuck Daly's expensive suits gave him the air of a mob boss directing hired toughs. Center Bill Laimbeer wasn't just physical, he was a thug in the Blackshirt sense who took the court with the express goal of agitation. Even the Pistons' most lyrical player, point guard Isiah Thomas, was a bastard who had orchestrated a boycott of Jordan at the 1985 All-Star Game. Jordan started the game but finished with only 7 points; it's long been rumored that Isiah asked his Eastern Conference teammates to keep the ball out of the rookie's hands. This virtual embargo not only spoke volumes about how MJ was seen by his elders, but also set up an opposition between him and the Pistons.
In 1988, the Bulls got out of the first round for the first time; in 1989, Jordan hit the Shot, his high-flying game winner over the Cavs' Craig Ehlo, officially beginning his pro tenure as a winner. But in 1988, 1989, and 1990, the Pistons stood in their way, beating the Bulls in the second round once, and then twice in the Conference Finals. When the Bulls finally got past them in 1991, en route to their first championship, the Pistons left the court without shaking hands. That's now regarded as the ultimate display of both poor sportsmanship and the subhuman place the Bad Boys occupy in NBA history. However, that's in a post-Jordan world. At the time, it represented the frustration, even disgust, that older players felt at the thought that Jordan had superseded them. They were hung up on what he represented and ignored what Michael Jordan had lost along the way. It's almost like the Pistons won after all.
That young Jordan, for whom all things seemed possible, had to give himself up for the story as we know it to continue. He's a hiccup, a roadblock, one that—like the embarrassment of Hot Butterfly—had to go away for the legend to ring out. Jordan even seemed to recognize this at the time. The greatest dunker the world had ever seen, the man whose logo was himself midflight, competed in (and won) his last dunk contest in 1988. Then Jordan claimed he didn't want to be known as a dunker anymore and went so far as to compete in the three-point contest in 1990 to officially signal a shift in his game. No longer the madman who could level any arena with his dynamism, he was now a shooter.
The dunk takes an instant and an eternity; it's both completely frivolous and totally domineering, a flash of light so blinding and brief that it might as well have never happened. A shot was the stuff of narrative; it was itself a story with a built-in arc, climax, and resolution. It also served as the perfect punctuation to any possession, game, season, or career. That kind of player, the one who seized the past and carefully etched the present, was the athlete MJ had learned to become.
Reprinted by permission of Bloomsbury USA. Bethlehem Shoals is a founding member of FreeDarko.com and a regular contributor to NBA FanHouse. Michael Jordan illustration by Jacob Weinstein, from the "Jordan and his Discontents" chapter later in the book. You can buy The Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball History at the FreeDarko store.
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