The latest destination suggested by Scottie Pippen for Jerry Reinsdorf, while a popular recommendation, is not on most scheduled tours, although certain parts of Utah and Nevada, and certainly South Florida in the summer, would pass.
I doubt there is a direct route to hell, and to get there, as anywhere, one must invariably change planes in Chicago.
In that regard, Reinsdorf–Pippen, for that matter–is halfway there.
Michael Jordan may have his own itinerary and is keeping it to himself, though he has lately not been reluctant to deliver road maps and ultimatums for the franchise he does not own, so I assume he is in agreement with Pippen, his good friend and essential running mate, on just where Reinsdorf may go.
Where all of them–management and majesty–should be headed, of course, is to a sixth NBA title, a common journey.
They may arrive there together, but it will be on separate buses.
The Bulls, the franchise, need the Bulls, the team and coaches, and the other way around too. But it is obvious that Jordan, et al., would rather win this for somebody else and Jerry, et Jerry, would rather win it with somebody else.
Yet here they are, stuck by circumstance and ego with one another, so in the grip of the struggle and the challenge that they are posturing and fretting about doing it all over again.
Is this gripe-and-snipe method any way to win another championship? It has worked pretty well so far. But if hating your boss was enough to guarantee success, the Bears would have been in several more Super Bowls and the White Sox would be a dynasty.
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A more reliable formula is to start with the greatest player of all time and ride him as long as his back is strong and his shot is falling.
Who won’t miss the Bulls? I miss them already. And there is still a sixth championship to be had. What shall we do when all the pieces are scattered, when all the squabbling parts get their fondest wishes?
Pippen to wherever. Phil Jackson off to Montana. Jordan to a fairway bunker. Dennis Rodman on an exhibition tour of Ripley’s.
Jerry Krause, like leaky plumbing, will find his own level, and Reinsdorf, the luckiest man to ever buy into a sports franchise, will be stuck with the souvenir hardware of Jordan’s special genius.
What caused Pippen’s travel suggestion was speculation that Reinsdorf may relent and return–this being pretty much every sane person’s wish–all of them for another year, on single-season contracts.
Jordan wants it. Jackson could be talked into it. Rodman will take what he can get. None of the others matter.
How Pippen turned this into an insult is not clear, though trying to apply logic, or consistency, to the Pippen mind is a slippery project, like trying to hold water on a cue ball.
What they all should agree to is how providential this all has been, how fortunate they were to have one another, the whole mix of them, owners, players, coaches, this city.
Obviously, they have all been around each other too long, but it will never be any better for any one of them than it is right now.
Any Bulls player who thinks he has been mistreated or disrespected ought to be comparing his lot with a Clipper or a Cavalier. Any management mope who resents having to humor so many separate and selfish temperaments ought to be looking at the standings and the banners in the rafters.
And the whole bunch should realize how temporary and remarkable it all is.
If the Bulls needed to see the end, they did not have to look any further than Houston, the team across from them Sunday.
The last of it should be as cherished as the rest of it, and for us as well. For when this ends, we will not see another soon.