What a marvelous miniature of America are these NBA Finals, all those separate and assorted parts pulling together for the common and individual benefit of you, me and, more’s the pity, pick-a-Jerry.
There is room for all among the Bulls–the rogue and the good soldier, the petty and the portentous, the luminous and the obscure, the autocrat and the bendee, foreign and domestic.
Together they march, if not always in lock step, more or less in the same direction and to astonishing TV ratings.
The 42-point blowout in Game 3 gained viewers as the carnage piled, reaching its highest point with Jud Buechler and Randy Brown on the floor. It was almost as if the Bulls were driving a white Bronco over the Jazz.
What we can agree upon is, one way or another, Scottie Pippen is the MVP of the NBA Finals so far. If he is not the Most Valuable Player then certainly he is the Most Valuable Pippen, and an MVP is an MVP, especially one trying to cash in big.
“That would be a very good thing for my free agency resume,” Pippen said, not discouraging anyone who has a vote.
Pippen is trying to get the next big contract–conceding that if it is big enough, maybe it can even come from the Bulls.
“I heard that Phil (Jackson) said if I come back, he’ll come back,” Pippen said, “and that gives Michael an open window of opportunity. I’m pretty much open to the free-agent market. I’ve said many times that I don’t want to come back here and play.
“But if I’m offered the right thing, maybe I would consider coming back–if the guys are here and they’re trying to be competitive and win another title.”
That’s the American dream, telling your boss to take his job and shove it, or pay you $50 million.
If Pippen’s quest for a career reward happens to carry the Bulls to another title, well Pippen can only hope that some generous soul notices, hopefully one frustrated by not having a Pippen of his own.
“Pip is a one-man wrecking crew,” Jackson said, adding his endorsement to the resume.
Michael Jordan, who could reach out and touch the end without extending his arm, hedges on his convictions. He has contradicted himself so often that all even he can be certain of is that if this is to be the final memory of Jordan, it will be of him waving yet another championship trophy, maybe more defiantly this time.
Of course, Dennis Rodman is the running sore on the healthy body, his chief value in being so disgusting that no one wants to get near him. The Bulls don’t miss him at practice when he isn’t there because it means they don’t have to share towels.
When Rodman bodies up Karl Malone, you can almost feel the disgust from Malone, who immediately becomes more concerned with getting into the shower than using his clearly superior talent to beat Rodman.
This is defense by contagion–or to put it in a national defense context–biological warfare, generally eschewed by civilized communities, any of which would hide Rodman under the nearest landfill during state visits.
As for Jackson, he embodies all the various facets of our society, the good: tolerance and forbearance; the petty: rancor and contempt and the human: pragmatism and success.
His is a job that will be measured finally by the number of championships, which is, after all, the only authentication necessary. And if Jackson’s greatest piece of villainy is to balance Rodman like a seal with a ball on the end of his nose, it must be remembered the trick is performed by the seal and not by the ball.
The Bulls still manage to use Rodman more than Rodman manages to use the Bulls.
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“I’d rather lose than be put in that situation,” said Utah coach Jerry Sloan of the way Jackson deals with Rodman. “There are certain things you have to deal with, guys who have problems and you can deal with it.
“But winning is the only thing? No. It’s never been that important.”
No one hangs banners in the rafters for rigidity.