Opinion contends that the Bulls have been disappointingly tedious so far in the playoffs, that all the good tales are elsewhere. You know, out west, down south, hanging onto Alonzo Mourning’s calf.
Slap fights, home-court upsets, general crankiness–the NBA is just full of fresh, non-Jordan delights.
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Jeff Van Gundy being twirled around like a wet towel. How can even Michael Jordan compete with this?
Jordan can only steal the ball to win a game in overtime, light up New Jersey like he has set fire to the swamp, play with the same transcendent majesty he always has.
Jordan can only go to the basket more dramatically than at any time since he went looking for his soul in right field, since they stuck the statue of him outside the United Center.
And what is everyone talking about? That gloomy little pallbearer from the Knicks, hanging onto Mourning like a toddler to a table leg.
Let’s run that clip again, Herbie. This time see if Van Gundy’s eyes are crossed the second time he comes flying around.
Heh, heh. See. Crossed. I told you.
And what does Jordan get, besides four straight wins?
He gets accused of not looking like he is having any fun.
“If we’re winning, trust me, I’m having fun,” Jordan said.
This is what comes of stomping on ciphers–I mean the Bulls and whomever, not necessarily Mourning and Van Gundy, though that too.
This is not how it was supposed to be. This was to be Michael’s going-away party. And who gets the favored back-to-back weekend? The Knicks and Pacers.
Van Gundy vs. Larry Bird. That’s what the fight poster says.
And here’s the small print. “Fresh from his redemption against his mentor Pat Riley, not to mention his carnival ride at the bottom of Mt. Alonzo, the NBA’s brightest new celebrity continues his quest for validation against another basketball legend.”
And what of Jordan? Jordan has to play the Hornets again.
This is supposed to be Jordan’s time, Jordan’s final time, and that is always the next question, the last question, the only question.
You there in the third row, have a question for Michael?
Will you be back?
No answer Jordan can come up with (save a variation of his “I’m back” fax to “I’ll be back”) seems quite as provocative as the one put to Van Gundy.
What in the world were you doing down there?
Here’s the answer I would give. I was rehearsing for one of those spin-and-puke contests the NBA puts on during timeouts.
Has anyone ever gone farther on so short a ride than Van Gundy?
Before he was just this glum, limp noodle who lucked into the snug job of baby-sitting Patrick Ewing when Mr. Riley took his ego off to Miami and Don Nelson got fired.
Getting into the second round of the playoffs without Ewing is no small accomplishment, but riveting himself onto the ankles of a giant gives Van Gundy beanstalk story status.
Suddenly he is all of us, a foolhardy little nimrod, risking life and limb in noble failure. He is Don Quixote Van Gundy, not just tilting at windmills but running face-first into the blades.
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And what of Van Gundy’s waxed and acclaimed tutor, Riley? Does Riley see courage in his apostle’s rash stunt?
No, Riley reveals his true opinion of his former assistant. Riley scoffs at Van Gundy’s size, his non-athleticism and his complete futility in battle.
“Jeff throws spitballs,” Riley said. “His players launch grenades.”
What a feeble weasel is Riley. And may he have a miserable summer.
The playoffs will come back to the Bulls, to Jordan, but Michael has his work cut out to top all of this. However it all turns out, the lasting image of these playoffs may already be on videotape.
Let’s run it once again, Herbie, and see if Jeff bites his tongue this time around.
Stars in the NBA after Michael?
Sure. And Van Gundy is his name-o.