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player ready...Spite is a loyal little snark. Always there, always ready. And a way of doing business for the Bulls. Who can argue with success? Five championships don’t lie.
So when Michael Jordan is satisfied, that is not the end of it. Reassurances are necessary that it was, after all, only money, and not as much as everyone thinks.
The richest contract in sports comes not as a reward but as a dare, string free, too, so that if things begin to fray, the sidekick, the coach and possibly all the several bouncers who hover around Jordan could be gone by Ground Hog Day.
You asked for it, Michael. You got it. This whole sixth championship thing is now in your hands and on your head.
The Bulls will not win or lose this one. You will.
Listen, even Dennis Rodman is on the way back, and if that is not the ultimate scrap of scorn, well, then, Jerry Reinsdorf and Jerry Krause are Pat Sajak and Vanna White.
Scottie Pippen remains as much collateral as ever, an injury, a slump, a snit away from the deal Krause has been itching to make for at least half of Pippen’s insufficient contract. Produce, Scottie, or Krause goes back through his Rolodex. Michael has signed and he can’t save you now.
If Phil Jackson is unable to get what he can from whatever else there is–a semi-healthy Toni Kukoc, a creaky Luc Longley, an uncertain Jason Caffey–that “this-is-Phil’s-last-year” boast that went along with Jackson’s contract could become month-to-month, week-to-week, day-to-day.
(It is beyond bizarre to consider that Reinsdorf’s other bit of bench litter, the Sox’s insignificant Terry Bevington, might be safer than Phil Jackson. Possibly the only way to get rid of Bevington would be for Frank Thomas to insist that he will not play for any other manager. Hint. Hint.)
Jordan responds to challenges, always has. But advancing age ought to be enough of a concern, not the boss’ doubt, not the cynicism of ownership.
Rodman in or out, this has to be the strangest challenge ever posed a championship bunch. Work against the wishes of the organization, an organization that wishes it could have done this another way, almost any other way but this one.
A sixth title? Get on with it, if you must.
This is not what anyone who signs the checks had in mind for the Bulls, proven winners being given another chance prove they can win.
I mean, that kind of thinking is for the Dallas Cowboys or the New York Yankees. And what did that get them? A clinical case of dynasty interruptus.
Pippen wasn’t traded. Jackson is back. Jordan gets a raise. Rodman will be humored. Anything else? Like, oh, I don’t know, a kind word, a happy-to-have-you?
The Bulls will be going into this season not just depending on the will and talent of Jordan, but fully aware that if Jordan fails, the front office may just as soon smirk as whimper. Told you so. Told you so.
How many games will the Bulls be allowed to lose? Falling just under 70 victories was reason enough for a loud and urgent threat to dismantle the whole thing. Had the Bulls not won the title, this surely would have happened.
The Bulls cannot be just contenders, not just playoff partakers, not just one of the best teams. They must be as good as ever, maybe better, for we have seen the Reinsdorf reaction to hanging close with the Sox. The Bulls had better not be three games back at the start of March.
Saddest of all, the Bulls, and most especially Jordan, are not going to be allowed the dignity of decline, that period of inevitable return from way up there to back down here.
It is simply not allowed. The Bulls must go out on top. There is no other expectation. There is no other choice.
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What a happy work place this is going to be. Contempt from above, obligation from within, raw hunger from without. Bunker in, boys. It is going to be a bumpy season.