Do It, for the Love of Mike!
You expected someone to flick the lights in Chicago's United Center on and off a few times, as if to tell the reporters and well-wishers and hangers-on what they already knew, that the party was over. A sadness filled the building as Michael Jordan finally announced his retirement last week, not for him but for the fans and for the league he was leaving. When he made it official, there on the floor where he had built so much of his legend, it felt as if something even more monumental than Jordan's career had come to a close.
It's not often that we know when we're witnessing the end of an era; it's usually only in retrospect that we realize the significance of such a moment. But as the black shroud fluttered down from the rafters of the arena on Jan. 13, revealing Jordan's once again retired number, it was obvious that the two best decades of the NBA's life were over. The banner that hangs in the United Center reads, MICHAEL JORDAN, 23, 1984-93. (The years of his second coming, 1995-98, will have to be stitched in later.) Next to it there should be another one: NBA, GOLDEN AGE, 1979-99.
The pessimists are right about at least this much: The league will in all likelihood never enjoy an extended stretch as successful, both financially and artistically, as the one just concluded. When Larry Bird and Magic Johnson entered the NBA in 1979, they joined Julius Erving in refurbishing the NBA's image. Jordan's arrival five years later was the final catalyst for an unprecedented rise in the league's popularity. That one of the most compelling individual and team rivalries any sport has ever produced, between Bird and his Boston Celtics and Johnson and his Los Angeles Lakers, was accompanied by Dr. J's artistry, then enhanced and finally outstripped by Jordan's exploits was one of those happy accidents of history that can't be planned. Nor can it realistically be hoped to be repeated. "Jordan was the last of the gunslingers of the '80s," says former Detroit Pistons point guard Isiah Thomas. "There was Bird, Magic, me and Michael. Now the league really starts anew."
But if this is the end of the NBA as we knew it, that isn't necessarily all bad. The league has gotten sloppy in recent years, which can indirectly be attributed to the 35-year-old Jordan, who was such a magnificent crutch that the NBA let too many of its muscles atrophy. His departure will force the league to come to terms with its shortcomings, all of which are solvable. It may never reach the heights attained during the Golden Age, but there's no reason the league has to plummet precipitously, either.
Fan apathy, engendered by the six-month lockout that concluded seven days before Jordan's announcement, must be overcome, as well as the absence of a supreme player or team to galvanize the public's interest. There are also more fundamental concerns that have to do with the style of the NBA game and the people who play it; both have become increasingly easy to dislike.
Jordan's presence for another year would have softened these blows, particularly the lockout-related backlash, but the NBA would have had to cope with them eventually. It may be healthier in the long run to absorb one big hit from Jordan's retirement and the fans' anger than to take two smaller shots, with the second one coming while the league was still recovering from the first. "Whenever he was going to leave, there was going to be a huge void," says Pistons guard Joe Dumars, one of Jordan's noblest adversaries. "Maybe it's better to deal with all of this at the same time--just get it all over at once and move on."
From the NBA's standpoint Jordan's departure could never have come at a good time. His exit means an instant drop in TV ratings, the sales of Bulls merchandise and global marketability. But there certainly could have been worse junctures than the one he chose. Imagine the position the NBA would have been in if Jordan had retired a year ago, as he contemplated doing, with a labor dispute on the horizon instead of in the rearview mirror. Or think about what would have happened if he'd retired before the league had closed its $2.6 billion television deal with NBC and Turner Sports in November 1997, a pact that extends through the 2001-02 season. Now the league at least tackles the difficulties of the post-Jordan era in a period of labor peace and financial prosperity.
"This league is loaded," insists NBA commissioner David Stern. "We've had tremendous players retire, and the NBA takes a hit. But fortunes change, for teams as well as leagues. I'm very optimistic, and in July, when you tally up how we did this season, I think you'll find we've done better than the doomsayers predicted."
If so, the NBA will have done it without a transcendent star or a clearly dominant team for the first time since 1979-80 (save for Jordan's first retirement, from October 1993 to March 1995, during which it was widely believed that he would return). The race for the title is wide-open, which may be exciting to the hard-core fan, but for a league that's trying to keep its hold on the casual follower enticed by the glamour of Jordan and the Bulls, it isn't good news. The NBA has many outstanding teams and players, but none of them are in the must-see category, at least not yet.
Like nature, however, the NBA abhors a vacuum. A team will earn the title that Chicago has taken six of the last eight years. A player will win the scoring title that Jordan has claimed 10 times. Competition tends to create heroes as a matter of course. As Atlanta Hawks guard Steve Smith says, "Someone will hit the big shot. Watch."
Even though he decided not to stay and help the NBA redeem itself in the eyes of its fans, Jordan did the league one last favor as he took his leave. The news of his retirement blew the lockout off the sports pages and, for now, out of fans' minds. For several days Jordan was the NBA. Elegies to him filled the newspapers. Highlights of his most riveting moments dominated TV screens. Just as disillusioned fans were reminded of what they will miss now that he is gone, they may also remember what drew them to the game in the first place.
The next few weeks could help ratchet up the public's interest as well. With the new collective-bargaining agreement due to be signed by Wednesday, the league was to embark on a flurry of trades and free-agent signings that are bound to pique fan interest. The first came Monday night when it was reported that the Bulls would re-sign free agent Scottie Pippen, to a five-year, $67.2 million contract, and then trade him to the Houston Rockets for forward Roy Rogers and a second-round pick. Other deals were in the air. Where is free agent forward Tom Gugliotta headed? What about Antonio McDyess and Latrell Sprewell? With Jordan gone and the Bulls breaking up, the NBA will be greatly reconfigured in the coming days. The balance of power seemed sure to shift, perhaps more than once, in the next few weeks. Fans might still be angry, but they can't deny that they're intrigued.
But even if the public gives the NBA another look, without Jordan it won't stay focused on the league for long unless there are significant changes in the product. Jordan's Bulls were one of the few teams that resisted the game's growing stagnation, in which the goal of the offense seems to be to draw an illegal defense violation and the object of the defense is to grab, push and hold the offensive players and dare the referee to make a call. The average night at an NBA arena can offer some stultifying stretches, and when the fans said they didn't miss the game during the lockout, they may well have been turned off already by the current style of play.
Much has been made of what the players and owners need to do to win the fans back, but the league rules committee has a role as well. It needs to loosen the reins to promote the fast-paced, fluid style that the NBA was once known for. Because of the lack of training camp and the warp-speed movement of players over the next two weeks, this shortened season is likely to be even more stylistically flawed than others in the recent past. Although a triumph by one of the few fast-breaking teams--like the Celtics, the Seattle SuperSonics or the Utah Jazz--might start a trend toward a more open game, the league may well have to halt coaches' reliance on isolation and banging by instituting significant changes, such as demanding tighter officiating and widening the lane or the floor. (At present NBA officials say they have no modifications on the drawing board.)
The players' role in helping the league redeem itself obviously goes beyond their on-court performance. They have to rebuild their relationship with the public, which had begun to suffer long before the lockout went into effect. The players need to spend time in the stands after games, signing autographs and mingling with fans; a solid 15 minutes by the home team each night would go a long way toward bridging the gap. Let's face it: Any player contact that doesn't involve tossing fans through a plate glass window would be a step in the right direction.
The NBA should also get away from marketing its celebrities so heavily, a strategy that even league officials tacitly admit is no longer appropriate. The NBA can't manufacture another Jordan anymore than it could the original, but it has more than enough young stars--Shaquille O'Neal, Kobe Bryant, Allen Iverson, Tim Duncan, Kevin Garnett and Stephon Marbury among them--on which to build its future. The best thing the NBA publicity machine can do for those players is not to promote them as anything resembling the next Jordan, but to protect them from such hype.
The most comforting news for all the stars who are left is that the public isn't demanding another Jordan. Fans just want a league with players they can root for without hesitation and a game that has grace and fluidity. That's a desire that the NBA, with relatively few changes, can fulfill. In fact the fastest way to win back the fans is also the most fitting tribute that the NBA could give its greatest player: to create a league that Jordan would have wanted to play in.