by Sam Smith
Of Jordan’s first 10 playoff games, nine were losses. Jordan was now showing up on the cover of Sports Illustrated and elsewhere in the news, but he was still pretty much a local story. National writers came in from time to time to write about the dunks and the tongue wagging, but it was more to plant their flags and leave. They’d been there and saw it and now they’d let everyone know they’d been there. Mostly, Jordan played in relative anonymity.
All the coaches embraced Jordan, as it wasn’t difficult to see who was going to be the key to winning games. But they were also constructing the caste system that would become the famous play on words, “the Jordan rules.” It was originally the trapping defense Chuck Daly implemented to thwart Jordan. The theory was Jordan’s teammates wouldn’t beat you, and Jordan didn’t think they could anyway, so he wouldn’t pass to them. But as a parallel, it also became the team’s internal joke, referring to the special rules that the coaches began making to accommodate Jordan.
It wasn’t that Jordan was a bad teammate. He came from the structured, senior-oriented North Carolina system, and even at Jordan’s Hall of Fame induction he still was annoyed Smith left him out of the photo for the Sports Illustrated cover when he was a freshman. But Jordan entered team dysfunction with the Bulls. Half the players on his first two teams ended up in drug rehab programs. The coaches couldn’t count on them; Jordan couldn’t count on them. He wanted to. But he was caught in his private, competitive world. He wanted to win as a team, but he knew he’d have to do the most for the team to succeed. It would become something of a curse to him, though a joy for the fans. Jordan excelled as his teammates cringed. Hey, they wanted to have fun, too.
Professionalism finally began to set in with the hiring of Doug Collins for Jordan’s third season in 1986-87. It was coming off Jordan’s famous 63-point playoff game against the Celtics, as the Celtics swept the Bulls, when Larry Bird made the reference to “God disguised as Michael Jordan.” I always felt that series and especially that game (though I recall Jordan playing golf and getting sick before a quiet game 3 in that series) truly gave Jordan the confidence to believe he was the league’s best player. He would go on the next season to have the best statistical season (other than Wilt Chamberlain’s), averaging more than 37 points per game, and Jordan’s personal best scoring statistical season. Collins, as the new head coach, was bright and energetic, but way too young for that situation, a 35-year-old who still regretted the premature end of his playing career. His reliance on Jordan was sealed in Collins’ first game in his rookie season at Madison Square Garden. As Collins was pacing nervously before the start of the game, Jordan told him to calm down and said he shouldn’t worry, that he wasn’t going to let the coach lose his first game. Jordan scored 50. The legend was building and Collins had his security blanket.
Michael was unusually image conscious, and I probably got him in trouble in my second book, Second Coming, when he returned in 1995, as I told the story of how I was urging him to get involved in Democratic politics in North Carolina (I was the Rockefeller/Jacob Javits Republican, an extinct species now). Michael was always quick and clever, first to win a word race, and he joked to me that “Republicans buy shoes, too.” It wasn’t the political statement many have made it out to be, and I’ve felt badly I hung it on him.
But I recall asking him one time about his greatest fear. I was thinking it would be one of these weepy family stories. But he said it would be people seeing him as a vile figure and losing his cache with the public. It’s why I think he was mad at me initially about The Jordan Rules. I think he felt, based on the selective post-publication media rage about the book, it cast him as the devil incarnate. I never felt it was remotely like that, and eventually as people read it I think most agreed. And Michael managed to do okay in his career despite the book.
When I was going through the publicity onslaught after the release of the book, it did remind me of watching The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson when Jim Bouton’s famous book, Ball Four, was published. Carson was asking Willie Mays about the book, which was one of the first to pull back the iron curtain surrounding sports and athletes. Mays said he hated the book. Which part, Carson wondered. Willie didn’t know. He hadn’t read it. But he knew he didn’t like it. I got the same reaction upon the release of The Jordan Rules. There were Ditka and Roy Williams condemning me in interviews, and they were just a sampling.
I also learned about that out of context thing you hear so much about. There can be something to it. There was always this joke around the newspaper that “95 percent of what you read is true. Except the five percent you have personal knowledge about.” I was getting trapped in a version of that.
Many writers try to present their subjects as they are, though ultimately the result is based on perception. I generally appreciate people giving me time and I work my hardest to be fair. Sometimes they don’t like it. And some writers care more about a good headline and the next story. That’s why I’m proud of The Jordan Rules: It was no hit and run. I didn’t parachute in to write something with the luxury of being able to leave and never face everyone again. I stayed to face everyone, and I’m still here 20 years later.
I think Jordan feared the book might cause things to change for him, that maybe his image and endorsements would be affected, perhaps a precursor to what would happen to Tiger Woods many years later. But no, there was nothing sordid about Michael in the book. But Michael didn’t know that from what he was hearing.
***
The tension began to build within the team as the disappointments deepened. Before, it was fun. Nothing much was expected, and Jordan could score as he pleased and everyone could enjoy and gasp and ask if you saw that, and then watch Bird and Magic fight it out. Michael was beginning to have a lot of trouble with this ending. He’d had his rivalry with Isiah Thomas, first about who really was Chicago’s favorite son (Isiah once was), then about the games against the Pistons and their tactics against him, and then the alleged freeze-out of Jordan in his rookie All Star game. Whether or not that actually happened, Jordan believed they tried, and that was enough. It also was the genesis of Jordan’s early feud with Magic Johnson, and Jordan’s refusal to attend Magic’s summer All Star games, which in the 1980s was the big deal of the offseason. Jordan always had a tame excuse. But he truly disliked Magic because of the connection with Isiah. Eventually, they’d get past it and when Magic learned of his HIV, Jordan was one of the first he informed. And though everyone denied it for years, it’s now become widely-accepted that Jordan kept Thomas off that 1992 Dream Team, based on the NBA-TV documentary and Jack McCallum’s fine book on the subject.
So as Jordan grew frustrated and resentful about the stars around him having so much success, he began to look inward with a more critical eye. He needed better teammates; they needed a more unselfish leader. Collins was fired, and, no, despite the speculation, Jordan had nothing to do with it. Jordan was no great fan of Phil Jackson’s at the start, as I relate in the book. Phil had a plan and a system, but, after all, Jordan noted, what had he ever done? Okay, he was on a championship team. But he was a sub. He was Cliff Levingston, Jordan said. So what. I was considering all this as the 1990-91 season was about to begin.
***
So how do you write a book and who do you call? I’m generally independent and self-sufficient and decided I could figure out how to get a book published. There was a small publisher across the street from the Tribune building, and a colleague, Don Pierson, had written a book with Mike Ditka for them. So I figured I’d go there. To me, the Bulls story was interesting, but since I was around it all the time, and I’d written it and read it and no one was asking me to write more on it, how big could it be?
I didn’t write out any kind of book proposal—I didn’t even know you had to—and just made an appointment to see the publisher. I explained what I wanted to do and he said he was interested. I thought, “Great, I’ll write a book. I’ll have it on my shelf and people will walk into m
y house and I’ll say, ‘I’m an author. Hey, look at my book.’” That was about the extent of my ambition.
The publisher offered me about $4,000, as I recall. I thought that was okay, but I said, well, I’d need my own computer as I only had the one from the newspaper and I’d need babysitting money as my son was about one and my wife worked. I said maybe $6,000. He said he couldn’t afford that. I said I’d think about it. I went back to the Tribune and was talking about it with another colleague, Mike Conklin. He said he had a friend who was an agent and told me to talk to her. So I called Shari Wenk and told her what I had in mind. She was working at a different publisher and was going into the agent business full-time. She was excited about the idea and told me to write a proposal. I asked what that was. I wasn’t quite Hemingway or Halberstam. She said basically a chapter and a description of the book. I did that and she went to work and what she initially received remain some of my favorite souvenirs.
These were letters of rejection from the top publishing houses in the country. Some rejected the proposal on the grounds of who was I to write a book. I could agree with that. Others asked who really cared about Jordan, and why would anyone be that interested in a guy whose teams never win. New York is the center of the publishing world and, yes, another reason why we all hate New York. I like the old definition of a dynasty: A family in China ruling for 1,000 years, or a New York team winning three games in a row. Jordan? Does he play for the Knicks? Next!
I kept those letters. Eventually, Shari found a big publisher and worked up to about a $60,000 advance. Which sounded great. But now I had to write a book in my spare time. I was in Oakland with the Bulls during the annual long road trip the Bulls took when the circus descended on the old Chicago Stadium. I went out to celebrate at a local seafood restaurant. I was alone. I ordered the Dungeness crab. I thought, “Geez, what have I gotten myself into? Be careful what you ask for. You might actually get it.”
***
There’s always been this mystery and guessing game about The Jordan Rules: Who was the source, the Deep Throat. I’ve always hated that since the implication is someone handed me all this information and I sat around and just waited. Real people don’t say they are insulted. Just politicians when they don’t want to answer. I was insulted, though I’ve never been considered important enough to say so. Before coming to the Tribune, I was an investigative reporter in Washington, D.C. I have an accounting degree and a Master’s. I know how to get the story.
There was no secret source. Everyone was the source. That’s the great thing about the NBA: It’s the only sports league built like a small town. The NFL is like the military filled with classified information. Baseball is insular and shrouded in obscure lore. But the NBA is Mayberry at Floyd’s Barber Shop. Did you hear what Clara Edwards said? There are basically no secrets in the NBA. Everyone talks about everybody. There aren’t that many players, and only a few who really matter. Agents tell secrets to get other clients. Backstabbing is a hobby. It’s also why all the conspiracy stories are ridiculous. No one can keep a real secret in the NBA.
And so it was that way around the Bulls. Back then, it was 5 a.m. wakeups for us all. Phil would often let me ride with the team when he decided to show them America, taking the bus between Houston and San Antonio or Portland and Seattle instead of flying like the other teams. The players never much cared, but one of Phil’s secrets was that he did. He came from a family of ministers, and to him his team was something of a congregation. He felt responsible for educating them. One of the stories I loved best in The Jordan Rules was during the first Gulf War, when the U.S. was deciding whether to go into Baghdad. Phil asked the players their opinion one day in a team meeting, and the aggressive young kids like Jordan, Pippen, and Grant were saying to go for the kill. That George Bush, the 41st president, didn’t, I thought, was one of his greatest victories. Phil asked them to think about whether such an invasion might not only cause enormous loss of life, but might also light a fuse to an explosion 20 years later that could target the U.S. and kill thousands of Americans.
Phil felt it was his responsibility to open them up to more than basketball. He knew the birthdays of the wives or girlfriends. I remember him saying that even a nod as a player came off the floor or a question about something going on at home was as important as a game plan. It showed he cared, and that they mattered to him. Did I ride along to reveal secrets I wasn’t supposed to know? I believed in the what’s-there-stays-there thing with the team. I took those rides strictly off the record, which meant no reporting. I did pump Phil constantly for his theories on basketball and life. But every bit of information about things that went on behind the scenes came from interviews with people who were there and shared the stories with me. And there wasn’t anyone in the organization, including Jordan, who wasn’t cooperative.
Despite what they tell the students in school, journalism isn’t “publish or perish.” It’s creating relationships. To me, there is no relationship ever worth ruining for a story. To me, there never is one story big enough. You get your stories from working with people. It’s why I can still work with the Bulls and those players all these years later. They knew I maintained the distinction. Even Jordan.
***
As the years went on, Michael’s prickly and demanding behavior, which was doubted at publication, became widely accepted. The book didn’t end any potential dynasty and I didn’t have to feel badly about costing someone a job. But I did have a regret. At the time, with the internal difficulties plaguing the team, Bulls general manager Jerry Krause and I weren’t getting along much. Well, basically not speaking. Jerry will be viewed somewhat better by history, much like the book, as people come to accept he was the chief executive of a team that won six titles, and the way Jordan and Pippen treated him did less justice to them. But at the time, Krause was the villain.
Actually, I’d gotten along well with Jerry years before, and once in Portland, where he had lived, I spent a day with him touring around and seeing old ballparks where he worked. Of course, he did go back to the team hotel and have his room changed seven times because the bed wasn’t to his liking. There were always things like that which made the jokes too easy.
When it came to acknowledgements in the book, I said something nice about everyone. Except Jerry. I didn’t say anything bad, but I just left him out. I’ve regretted that for a long time, as despite our adversarial relationship, I realized that omission hurt Jerry. Jerry tends not to take things well, and after publication he confronted me with a list of what he said were 183 mistakes in the book. For example, I characterized his dress as “slovenly.” He said it wasn’t. He was too easy a target with his perpetual grumbling, and Jordan and Pippen relentlessly mocked him. I wish I hadn’t taken the easy way out. I wish I’d thanked him, if not for being the most cooperative executive, for being professional and allowing all of us to do our work. And he did a heck of a job. Thanks, Jerry.
***
Since I’d never written a book I wasn’t quite sure how to do it. Having grown up in newspapers, lying about my age to get a delivery job at 11 and priding myself on being a deadline writer, I’m not much of an editor or rewriter. I remember reading Hemingway rewrote the last line to A Farewell to Arms 39 times before he was satisfied. I have accepted not being Hemingway. I like to think about what I’m going to write, but once I begin I don’t like to change much. Habit, I guess, as newspaper writing, especially in sports with late night game deadlines, doesn’t allow much change or deep contemplation. We’d always joke we loved the daily newspaper because it allowed us to correct our mistakes the next day.
I know you are supposed to be more literary and accomplished when you write books. But I prefer the faster feedback. I suspect I’m more wired for the daily journalism business. I like to get a story and tell it immediately. Who wants to wait six months? What’s the fun of knowing something and then not being able to tell someone for a long time? I always considered myself a better reporter
than a writer. I liked that part the best. I loved finding out things. I couldn’t wait to tell someone. It was so much more difficult to write it down. I’d always read someone who used the word I never could quite grasp. Eventually I decided what was best for me was to have fun with the writing with a joke and a bit of my sardonic personality. But that’s rarely allowed in newspapers. Just the facts, ma’am.
I’ve always viewed writing as entertainment. I never could understand all those “classics” I had to read in school. I hated that stuff. I believe that Shakespeare movie that postulated someone else wrote those plays. A talent like Shakespeare would never take credit for that convoluted, hard-to-read stuff. My secret, if you will, is to inform and entertain. What’s the point if too many won’t read it because it’s too confusing. I never was much for writing for the other writers.
So my first interest and responsibility, anyway, remained my daily beat job with The Tribune. Plus, it was going to be an exciting and turning point season on some level—break through or break up the team—so it was to be a good newspaper story. Not only was that my first responsibility, but it also was my first love. I loved going to the games, hanging around with the coaches and a few players on the road and talking basketball. It’s just a simple game and we could talk endlessly about it, in large part because of the small town element. Every game no matter how seemingly insignificant was a test of character and ability, to see who could perform when it was most important. So you’d have as much interest in the neighbors, so to speak, as your own family. What was Ewing doing? Or Reggie? Can you believe what Hakeem was saying? Or Barkley? And how about a trade? We know I love to speculate on those permutations.
