0110120487
DETROIT FREE PRESS
011012
Friday, October 12, 2001
METRO FINAL
1D
MITCH ALBOM FREE PRESS COLUMNIST
Copyright (c) 2001, Detroit Free Press
JORDAN STILL LOOKS LIKE HE BELONGS
How'd he look? He looked sweaty. He looked bald. He looked bald and sweaty and
muscular and quick. He chewed gum. He sipped water. He did that familiar jog
after sinking a shot, with his head looking back over his shoulder, his big
hands dangling toward the floor, as if to say, "Yep, it's me, and I'm in town
again." Did he smile? I think he smiled. Yes. He definitely smiled.
How'd he look? He looked busy. He swiped a big right arm across a Ben Wallace
lay-up try and smacked the ball away. The crowd went nuts. He reset his jaw.
This was 20 seconds into his third debut as a pro basketball player. First
statistic: one block. Yep, it's me, and I'm in town again. How'd he look? He
looked like himself. If this were the first preseason game of another Michael
Jordan year, no one would flinch. People would say, "What did you expect?"
Except this was not just another year, this was his Lazarus moment, from the
ashes of retirement, a three-year layoff. And now here he was, at age 38, the
greatest player ever to play the game, suiting up alongside a 19-year-old
rookie teammate, Kwame Brown, who was literally young enough to be his son.
How'd he look? I'm inventing a new word here. This is how he looked:
Michaelish.
Jordan: 'I surprised myself'
"I surprised myself," Jordan said when it was all over Thursday night. "My
energy level was pretty good -- I'm getting my legs back under me. I haven't
jumped in three years. I'm not going to try and touch the top of the backboard
just yet."
He was dressed in a tailored gray suit, black shirt, silver earring, tinted
charcoal glasses. All the tones of a high-rise CEO's office. For the game, he
played 17 minutes. He shot eight times, made four baskets. Three of the four
were jump shots with pump fakes.
So he still looks as good as he leaps.
There was a moment in the second quarter when he turned on the jets, hit a
couple of shots, the crowd exploded -- this was a Detroit crowd, remember --
and he seemingly had the inside lane on every other racer out there. But a
minute later he was called for palming -- Jordan? Palming? Is that allowed? --
and a minute later he was done for the night.
"I'm a rookie," he joked about the palming call.
How'd he look? He looked smooth. He looked buff. He looked like a health club
ad. And he looked lost in a forest of Washington teammates who haven't a clue
as to what to do with him. Richard Hamilton is not Scottie Pippen, Kwame Brown
is not Bill Cartwright.
But Michael is still Michaelish.
Not that anyone should be surprised. For one thing, he has always been a
specimen. For another, he doesn't do things unless he's ready. Like a diva who
owns the key to the dressing room, no one sees him until he wants.
As Pistons coach Rick Carlisle said, "He is not one to make timid entrances."
Then again, this was a preseason game against the Pistons. Not Game 7 of the
NBA Finals.
"I'm on schedule," Jordan said.
How'd he look? He looked content.
He never really left
About the night? It was packed, electric, and preseason games are never packed
or electric. There were some 300 media credentials issued, a ridiculous
number. The Washington Post has a full-time Michael Jordan reporter, and he
was at the Palace. International news outlets were there. I personally sat at
a desk spot that read, "The Pistons Welcome Mitsuhiro Nizuno, from
Dunkshoot-Japan."
Dunkshoot? Isn't that an oxymoron?
But then, so is a Michael Jordan comeback. The truth is, he never really left.
His spirit hovered over the NBA, his style spawned countless wannabes, and his
commercials popped up during every break from the action.
He didn't return out of nowhere. He just started playing again. He's a big
face, the biggest in the business.
On the other hand, the game was stopped in the first quarter so fans could
hear President Bush speak about the war.
So there are bigger faces than Michael's right now.
"How am I different?" he said, his hands folded professionally. "I'm wiser.
I'm more patient. I'm more thankful. . . . When you guys see me play, you'll
see it's for the enjoyment of the game."
Is that the truth? Who knows -- or cares? The fact is, there is one more
fabulous player to watch in the NBA, and he carries everything he always did
on his shoulders -- for better or for worse -- whenever he takes the floor.
How'd he look? He looked like there is no other place on earth where he feels
this much at home.
Maybe that's why he's here.
Contact MITCH ALBOM at 313-223-4581 or albom@freepress.com. Catch "Albom in
the Afternoon" 3-6 p.m. weekdays on WJR-AM (760) and simulcast on MSNBC 3-5
p.m.
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