The bait at the end of the maze is changed daily, although it all smells like stale cheese.
Still, like lab rats, the Bulls run the course to find the prize, whatever it turns out to be, misery, a sixth title, a reunion, a Jerry with two faces, two Jerrys with one face, a farewell to all of that.
Who are the Bulls trying to beat, clerks, jerks, quirks, all of the above?
Last night it was the purple people, a bunch of stumps and Glen Rice. The reward is getting to do it twice more.
As Michael Jordan said the last time, the curves keep coming.
“The flurry that surrounds this team and the high drama that is sometimes provided just by the scenario that is the future of this team,” said Phil Jackson, “it’s just great to get out on the floor and do what we do, which is play basketball.”
A weekend in the Carolinas, which ever Carolina this is, is the easiest obstacle for the Bulls to solve. Jumps shots. Rebounds. Slam dunks. That’s the easy part, that’s the incidental part.
Look at Dennis Rodman clean the boards. Rodman seems as ill-equipped for the job as one of those intersection helpers with a used rag and his own spit.
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See Michael Jordan lift and shoot. See Michael Jordan called for traveling. In North Carolina? Jordan doesn’t get speeding tickets here.
See Michael Jordan given a technical foul for exercising his freedom of speech, an amendment not indulged by Dick Bavetta. See Jordan trot off a winner.
There is Ron Harper being dared to shoot, shooting and hitting. Toni Kukoc flailing at shadows, an inarticulate semaphore, faultless at least on effort.
Enjoy Luc Longley, the big galoot, out-galooting Vlade Divac, and especially relish Longley gliding end-to-end in some sort of weird Outback fast break. Air Luc, mate.
“You don’t expect a big guy to dribble all the way,” said Charlotte coach Dave Cowens. “I thought for a second B.J. (Armstrong) might get in his way, but he opted not to.”
Notice Scottie Pippen making man-to-man defense look like Michelle Kwan’s short program, making every one of Rice’s points irrelevant. You can even hear the music if you listen.
“What’s the rumor?” asked Jordan.
You mean there’s another one?
“The rumor is when you lose in the playoffs at home, that’s when the playoffs start.”
Oh, basketball. Yes, it thankfully always gets back to basketball.
Cherish this. Time and games grow less for all of it, except when the Marquis de Reinsdorf drops hints it may be allowed to continue after all. Win it all again and we’ll see?
Has ever a sports franchise proprietor deserved less than all that this one has been gifted?
Take this next trophy and shove it.
“This team is not distracted by that,” said Jackson, “we’ve carried that around with us through the course of the year.”
Believe it or don’t. What can be believed is the Hornets are navel lint compared to the psyche twisters in the Bulls’ own house, the owner one day, the general manager another, the coach, the star, the soon-to-be-hallelujah free agent.
They all take turns, don’t they? Mess with me. Mess with you. Mess with the community’s humor.
This mix is some screwy cocktail and that doesn’t even include the heavy spice that is Rodman, a wall of sanity, a graffiti-covered wall but solid nonetheless.
And who ever would have believed that?
Now, Torquemada Reinsdorf is going to hire the next coach instead of Jerry Krause. Such an abrupt stop by Reinsdorf might have injured something on Krause, though in any traffic court it still would be Krause’s fault for making a career out of tailgating.