In case anyone wonders about the longterm effects of peroxide use, look no further than Dennis Rodman. Prolonged chemical seepage is the only explanation for his pregame vow to “go out there and start some (bleep) and really get my game going.”
This is how Rodman thinks. Or doesn’t.
By popping off beforehand, game refs Bennett Salvatore, Hugh Evans and Steve Javie had plenty of time to prepare. Not surprisingly, the only thing Rodman got going was the referees, who had whistles ready and waiting.
Rodman has been known to wear women’s clothes, and in Game 1 against the Utah Jazz he resembled Amy Vanderbilt–all manners and politeness. Rodman finished with 12 rebounds in 33 minutes and, for a pleasant playoff change, no technical fouls.
This upset Rodman, who prides himself on stretching the behavioral envelope. So Wednesday night he was back to his regular self, which is to say, an occasional thug in shorts.
As NBC-issued clackers chattered away like cicadas, Rodman went to work. It wasn’t vintage Rodman, but there were moments of chippiness.
He began his night with a rebound, no surprise there. He followed it with another, this time with one of his June Taylor Dancer kicks.
Then came the opportunity to send Jazz point guard John Stockton a little message. He sent a little slap Stockton’s way, though nobody seemed to notice. Later, when Javie and Co. weren’t looking, he stuck a hip on Stockton’s thigh.
Along the way the Bulls jumped to an 8-1 lead, thanks partly to Rodman’s rebounds and a goaltending call made after a Rodman shot. The goaltending decision prompted one of Rodman’s signature pointing antics. Still, no walks on the wild side. No nothing.
That would change. Rodman resorted to his familiar tactics during a hard screen set on Jazz guard Jeff Hornacek. The screen was legal, no argument there. But things got interesting when Hornacek stumbled and fell toward the floor. Rodman was nice enough to keep him there with a push of the hand.
Relatively speaking, Rodman didn’t embarrass himself. He made his share of impressive passes, collected five rebounds and was called for only one personal foul.
The ghost of Amy Vanderbilt lived. But barely.
SECOND QUARTER: SINGLEHANDEDLY
Say what you want about John Stockton, about him being the little Utah cornerstone with the $4 haircut, but everyone knows who makes or breaks the Jazz. It is, of course, Karl Malone, who holds his team’s chances of an NBA title in the palm of his hand.
His right hand.
Malone didn’t deserve this. Nobody did, especially the league MVP.
Here he was in the first NBA Finals of his distinguished 11-year career . . . and he couldn’t shoot. He could, but he couldn’t and it was sad to watch–even if you owned Bulls season tickets.
Of all the improbable injuries to suffer, big, bad Karl Malone, the Mr. Olympia of the league, the 256-pounds of biceps, was done in by a palm boo-boo.
It happened May 20, when a collision with Houston’s Charles Barkley sent Malone hydroplaning across the court, his right palm scraping against the stained wood. Malone got up, but only after bits and pieces of skin were left on the floor.
At the time, it didn’t seem like much. A floor burn. Big whoop.
But it was a huge deal at the end of Game 1, when Malone’s touch was affected by the raw, bandaged palm and he missed two potential game-winning free throws. And it was equally important in Game 2, when Malone aggravated the injury after colliding with the wispy Scottie Pippen late in the first period. Malone fell hard on his chest and made the mistake of using his right hand as a shock absorber.
There was bleeding, but no complaining. Malone walked onto the court for the second quarter and looked exactly like someone playing with one hand.
He missed his first shot of the period. Short.
He tried a running hook. Short.
Jazz Coach Jerry Sloan took him out of the game, which is where he was anyway. Malone sat on the bench and dabbed his oozing palm with a hand towel. Not good.
Malone didn’t sit for long, but he should have. He missed another short hook shot. He kneed a ball out of bounds. He had a would-be reverse slam blocked by Pippen, who was playing with one good foot.
Malone missed a turnaround jumper. He botched a point-blank put-back. There was a missed free throw and another missed jumper, leaving him with just 9 points for the game on 3-of-12 shooting.
Malone had bravely said before game’s start that the only thing affecting him from Game 1 was the two days between tipoffs.
“Because I want to play,” he said.
He meant with two hands, not one.
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THIRD QUARTER: YOU DON’T TUG ON SUPERMAN’S CAPE
You have to hand it to Jazz center Greg Ostertag. Down by 16 points entering the third period, the big galoot decided something drastic had to be done to wake up his team.
This isn’t unusual. Coaches sometimes try to draw technical fouls, hoping that a sideline temper tantrum might cause his team to stage a furious comeback. At least, that’s how it works in those Gil Thorp comic strips.
Ostertag thought he was doing the Jazz a favor when he decided to muscle up on the first person who got in his way. Ostertag can do that. He’s 7-2 and somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 pounds. If he pops you, you know it.
Problem is, Ostertag picked the wrong guy to pop. He picked Michael Jeffrey Jordan, who takes shoulder shivers personally.
As Jordan made his way down the baseline, Ostertag stuck a shoulder in No. 23’s chest. Error. Error.
No foul was called, but Jordan knew what was going on. So he filed the incident away in his personal Rolodex and bided his time. Someone would pay, whistle or no whistle.
A 47-31 halftime lead began to gain weight as Jordan took control. He had that look of his, the “stop-this” look. Shots dropped faster than Utah’s chances of winning Game 2.
The jump shot worked best. A 19-footer. A 17-footer. Then two free throws.
The Jazz were helpless as the Bulls extended the lead, 66-47 with 3:42 remaining in the period. By then, Ostertag and his right shoulder were on the bench.
Utah Coach Jerry Sloan pretended the Jazz still had a chance, clapping his hands, yelling encouragement, trying to will a miracle. But Jordan would have none of it. He had a point to prove.
You’ll see the shot again and again and again. It was that special, even by Jordan standards.
Jordan took the ball on the right side of the lane, squirmed his way through purple jerseys, moved under and the past the basket and then, tongue wagging, sent a no-look left-handed flip shot toward the backboard. This thing wasn’t going in, was it?
It did, giving him 10 points for the quarter and 30 points through the game. He also had 2 rebounds, 1 assist and another few frames to add to his highlight reel.
As usual, there was a lesson to be learned by watching Jordan. For Utah’s sake, let’s hope Ostertag was paying attention.
FOURTH QUARTER: IN SEARCH OF THE TRIPLE-DOUBLE
For a while there, the biggest question dealt more with Jordan’s pursuit of a triple-double than a victory over the Jazz.
The United Center was clacker crazy as Jordan kept building up his personal statistics. Everyone could read the center scoreboard, the one that kept telling the crowd of 24,544 just how close Jordan was to double-digit points, rebounds and assists.
Jordan doesn’t save room in his trophy case for plaques commemorating triple-doubles. They’re nice, but not necessary.
But through most of the fourth quarter, Jordan’s quest for big numbers was about the most interesting thing to watch. The game was a blowout, so the crowd began keeping count of Jordan’s totals.
Midway through the period, the Bulls were up by 21 points and you almost had to stifle a yawn. Some fans thought of getting a jump on the traffic.
The Jazz probably was thinking the same thing, especially when the lead grew to 89-68. Start the bus, get directions to O’Hare.
But then something happened. Sloan’s fellas began to resemble the Jazz of Sunday night, and the Bulls didn’t seem to notice. They still seemed too busy trying to get Jordan a 10th assist to complete the triple-double.
“I was aware (of it),” Jordan said later with an embarrassed smile.
He was aware of it because Scottie Pippen promised to make good on Jordan’s next assist. Pippen had missed a gimme that would have given him 10, so the two stars laughed about it as they jogged up the court.
Then the Bulls’ lead slowly tumbled, from 21 points, to 20, to 19, to 18, to 15, to 12, and then, with 1:34 left to go, to 8 points when Jeff Hornacek hit a three-pointer. All of a sudden, a triple-double wasn’t such a big deal.
The Bulls survived, though nobody is going to stick this one in a time capsule.
“It wasn’t a scintillating game, at least not the finish of it,” Bulls coach Phil Jackson said.
Maybe not, but a 2-0 series lead is a convenient item to pack away when you’re heading toward the land of mountains and Mormons for at least two more games. And so what if Jordan finished with 38 points, 13 rebounds and, alas, those 9 assists. He’ll live.
The same can’t necessarily be said of the Jazz. It was hoping for a split in Chicago. Instead, it got two losses and another view of Jordan’s contrails.