Basketball Legend: When Pride Still Matters

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"He is either Michael Olowokandi or Magic Johnson, no in-between,"

As Sonny Wakaro savored Jerry West's words, he felt they were pointed.

He knew exactly why West mentioned Olowokandi—because here was a player who, before entering the NBA, made huge improvements every year, so much so that in 1998 the Clippers foolishly believed he could progress just as well in the NBA. They chose him with the first overall pick of the 1998 draft, expecting him to become the Clippers' own Olajuwon.

As beautiful as the Clippers' dream was, the shatter was equally dazzling—Olowokandi raised Elgin Baylor's blood pressure in just one month.

But why would Magic Johnson come up in West's speech?

"Magic?" Wakaro expressed his confusion.

A scarcely perceptible sneer appeared on West's lips, "1979 wasn't like now; back then many people questioned whether a big man like Ervin could play point guard professionally, and I was one of those who had great doubts. I preferred Sidney Moncrief to him."

"Whenever I have doubts about such players with great unknowns, it turns out that I am wrong. It was so with Ervin, with Kobe, and with Frye?" West said indifferently, "Who knows."

West was a stubborn man, and Wakaro didn't know how many young players could be looked upon favorably by him without reservation.

He didn't believe Magic Johnson would make it, was skeptical about Kobe, whom he personally drafted into the team, and felt the same about Fei.

But if West started comparing Yu Fei with Kobe and Magic Johnson, did it mean this kid indeed had some qualities that West saw favorably?

"I get your point, Jerry," Wakaro laughed, "Adidas will sign Frye."

West played a bit of cold humor on Wakaro, "Maybe Frye prefers Nike? He is of the 'I wanna be like Mike' generation."

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"Speaking of Mike... I haven't seen him for a while. Is he doing well in D.C.?"

At this, West's brow furrowed seriously, "A mess."

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Some people have abysses in their hearts that even love and honor cannot fill — unreachable inner voids.

Michael Jordan was restless, having gained 30 pounds since his retirement because he believed he wouldn't play again, a conviction shared by most sports superstars at the onset of their retirement.

To an athlete off the court, retirement seems like an endless summer vacation—golf, parties, business partnerships... Jordan could recklessly gamble at casinos day and night, smoke endless cigars, drink limitless brandy, and never have to train at 7 AM again. No annoying teammates or irritable coaches. No buzzing reporters. The quiet days were a balm, a respite after two decades of incessant busyness and relentless pursuit of victory. It was very good for him until one day, it wasn't.

Sitting in his office in Washington, Jordan found it hard to settle down, crazed for his ex-wife to come back. He felt that void. It was the precise moment he wanted to return to that thing he thought he had left behind for good three years ago.

This feeling had been bothering Jordan since the end of the last year, and now, several months later, he started letting the media speculate about a possible comeback. This caused such a stir that The Washington Post had its Wizards beat reporter request an exclusive interview with him.

Jordan agreed to the interview.

For about half the time, he talked about what being a player meant to him and how much he missed it.

"It's an unmatched feeling," Jordan said longingly, hinting at his regret for leaving the court, dissatisfied with the honors of his playing days. The peacefulness of his executive life, once eagerly sought, had become a gilded cage.

At that point, The Washington Post's reporter Steve Wyche asked, "Then why did you retire in the first place?"

"I didn't want to retire," Jordan muttered, shrugging, "I never wanted to retire."

With that, he looked out the window, and Wyche realized he was sitting on a chair across the president's office desk from Jordan, who, as a minor shareholder and president of basketball operations, reigned over the lowly Washington Wizards—with their standing in the NBA, Jordan was akin to a dwarf kingdom's king. Against any team, the home attendance hardly ever reached half capacity.

Without meaning to, Jordan waved his cigar and stroked his bald head. "I miss competing."

As he spoke, he put down his cigar and patted his waist subconsciously, feeling a layer of fat.

By appearances, he was still that Jordan—the man with a slightly knock-kneed walk, the one who would stare at others with a polite yet somewhat distant gaze, who wrapped himself in a little world, a global celebrity who never wanted his privacy pierced. What was worst for Jordan was that his own legend was rusting away because the public was eager for a new face to take his place, trying to seat stars who hadn't achieved a tenth of his successes in that chair.

"I don't want to sound angry," Jordan mumbled, "I just want to say that when Michael Jordan is not on the court—" He suddenly stopped, realizing what he wanted to convey and thinking about the hype surrounding Kobe, Carter, and McGrady, "if someone—for example, Kobe recently scores 51 points in a game. That's big news. Then the media starts comparing him with Michael Jordan. But people often forget that Michael Jordan once did the same thing for three consecutive games. You know what I mean?... People tend to follow current players because they haven't seen Michael Jordan on the basketball court for two years."

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Suddenly, Jordan became his own most steadfast supporter, beginning to elaborate on the achievements of this player he called "Michael Jordan," discussing himself at length. This made Wyche uncomfortable, for in Wyche's perception, Jordan was rational and serious. It was only the arrogant fools, full of themselves, who referred to themselves in the third person, and this image had never been associated with Michael Jordan.

It seemed to show that even the gods of the basketball world have their vulnerable sides.

Wyche kept silent, the interview was less of an interview and more of a vent for Jordan, because Wyche was his man, and this man would never put what they discussed today into the newspaper tomorrow.

"I read some reports about Kobe or Vince Carter, and they ignite the competitive desire inside me, you know," Jordan said. "And I hear things that make me uncomfortable. Someone plays outstandingly, like Vince, like Kobe, and the way people on television talk about them is as if they talk about Michael Jordan. It lights up my competitive desire because they don't understand that Michael Jordan has done all of this — and done it better."

Jordan paused, examining himself.

"I miss that crazy feeling. Wild, insane, everything hanging in the balance at the deciding moment. I really want to play against those guys. But I —"

"Bang bang!"

The assistant general manager of the Wizards, Rod Higgins, interrupted His Airness's reverie, "Michael, our scouts have found something at the ABCD Camp."

Jordan asked, "The one run by Sonny?"

"Yes."

Jordan was not interested in this year's ABCD Camp, as only DeAngelo Collins from the top ten seniors nationwide had participated. Although Collins ranked fifth nationwide, Jordan had seen his AAU games and was not impressed. The so-called "Mini Shaq" was nonsense – not only had he played against Shaquille O'Neal, but he was also buddies with the real "Mini Shaq" (Barkley), and he knew what Shaq was like. Collins was at best a matured battler whose development far exceeded his peers.

This kind of player would be exposed once they entered professional basketball.

Therefore, Jordan really did not want to see the scouting reports from the ABCD Camp.

But if the scouts had found nothing, Higgins wouldn't bring the report to him; he knew his own temper.

His time was precious, especially during office hours in D.C., considering he didn't even live in D.C. and came to the office less than five times a month – how could he afford to waste it?

Jordan took a look at the scouting report, which highlighted an Asian youth named Frye Yu. The Wizards' scouts believed he was the biggest surprise of the ABCD Camp and had the potential to be ranked in the top ten nationwide after the camp ended. Moreover, he had not yet chosen a college, pointing to a possibility of entering the NBA Draft early. As for his playing style...

Jordan focused on the bolded template: a taller Scottie Pippen.

Even someone as formidable as Jordan could not imagine how a taller Pippen would play. The scouting report seemed more like mindless hype for a newly risen star, with very obvious immediate effects.

Yet the Wizards had already secured a spot at the draft lottery; could they really overlook someone like that?

"Has the camp ended?" Jordan asked.

Higgins replied, "Today is the second day of the camp, there's one more day of games tomorrow, and the day after will hold the All-Star game."

Jordan was aware that Sonny Vacarro had a fall out with Nike, and being Nike's lifetime partner, he wasn't supposed to attend the ABCD Camp, but times had changed.

In addition to being Nike's partner, he was also the president of the Wizards. Nike would not make things difficult for him over this, and given that the D.C. media had recently blamed him for not taking his presidential duties seriously, treating it as a part-time job – it was time to show them what Mr. President looked like when he was serious about his work.

"Tell JD (Wizards' scout) that I'll be in New Jersey tomorrow; let him give Sonny a heads up and make preparations," Jordan commanded, his tone like the Emperor directing his eunuch.

Higgins respectfully responded, "No problem."

Then, Jordan turned towards Wyche, "Where were we in our conversation?"

Wyche glanced at the time; there were still a few hours before the Wizards' game tonight. Jordan seemed busy; perhaps it was time to end the interview.

"Am I disturbing you too much?" Wyche said. "You have a game tonight."

"No," Jordan whispered, "not at all."

The Wizards were to host the Philadelphia 76ers and Allen Iverson in approximately four hours. But Jordan was right: he did not have a game.