SPRINGFIELD, Mass. -- The venue was a symphony hall, not a basketball arena, but the result was the same. Michael Jordan went out the same way he played: With no mercy. During a 73-second ovation that reverberated through Springfield's Symphony Hall, Jordan stood on stage and wiped tears from both eyes. He thanked his mother, his late father and his siblings. His voice trembled as he explained why he chose childhood idol David Thompson to stand next to him as his presenter.
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| Michael Jordan takes jabs at the people who gave him 'motivation.' (Getty Images) |
Soon, though, the gloves were off and Jordan was no longer a 46-year-old former athlete in a suit showing humility. He had his baggy shorts on and his tongue wagging and every tormentor in his sights.
And then he dunked on them all, one last time.
Neither retirement nor the glory of enshrinement robbed Jordan of his long, ruthless memory.
"They started the fire in me," Jordan said of his family. "That fire started with my parents. And over the years, people added wood to that fire."
And as Jordan soared through his enshrinement speech, he took each one of them to task again. He thanked them for being his victims.
He could've gone low-key and safe. He could've avoided controversy, as he did with the public speaking and pitchman portion of his playing career. He could've accepted the glory without detracting from the honors bestowed on some very deserving fellow Hall of Famers. David Robinson, John Stockton, Jerry Sloan, and C. Vivian Stringer all gave fine, emotional, heartfelt speeches, knowing full well that they'd be blown out of the orchestra section by Jordan.
• Jordan, Stockton, Robinson enshrined
But did His Airness have to toot his own horn this hard? Does he still need the thrill of cutting people's hearts out this badly, so many years removed from the height of his uncompromising power?
Robinson, whose speech included tear-jerking tributes to his children, didn't deserve this. Stockton, whose voice was barely a whisper when he said that his late mother "deserved to be here," didn't need it, either. Nobody expected Stringer to steal any headlines, but her solemn remembrance of her late husband -- who died of a massive heart attack on Thanksgiving Day in 1992 -- was all but forgotten by night's end. Sloan's tale of quitting his job on the University of Evansville coaching staff a year before the entire team was killed in a plane crash? Who wants to remember that when you can walk down memory lane with Jordan while he rubs an entire sport's nose in his success?
It started, of course, with the high school coach who chose a guy named Leroy Smith over Jordan for the final spot on the Laney High School varsity basketball team.
"To the coach that picked Leroy over me," Jordan said, "I wanted to make sure he knew he made a mistake."
Not even Dean Smith, a father figure to Jordan, went unscathed. When Smith offered up four starters to appear on the cover of Sports Illustrated -- but not Jordan, who was a freshman -- Jordan said, "That burned me up. ... Basketball-wise, I deserved to be there."
Jordan said his first NBA coach, Kevin Loughery, "put another log on the fire" by constantly switching Jordan to the losing team in practice. The legendary Tex Winter, whose triangle offense helped shape Jordan's career, used to cajole Jordan after he'd deviated from the team concept to win a game.
"There's no 'I' in team," Winters would tell him.
"No, Tex, there isn't," Jordan would say. "But there's an 'I' in win."
Jerry Krause? Eviscerated. The general manager who famously broke up the Bulls' dynasty after Jordan's sixth title was invited to the enshrinement but declined, saying he's boycotting the Hall until Winter is inducted.
"I don't know who invited him," Jordan said. "I didn't. ... He said organizations win championships. I said, 'I didn't see organizations playing with the flu in Utah.' Don't put organizations in front of the team, because at the end of the day, the team still has to perform. And the organization has to pay us."
Jordan proclaimed that he was going to thank some people we might not expect. Not surprisingly, the first name out of his mouth was that of Isiah Lord Thomas, seated in the first few rows and the instigator of what Jordan referred to as "the so-called freezeout" at the 1985 All-Star Game.
"You guys never froze me out," Jordan said of the professional jealousy that was boiling among some of his peers at the time. "I was just happy to be there. And from that point on, I just wanted to prove that I belonged there. And I believe that I have done that, without a doubt."
And on and on. He needled Pat Riley for not letting him go to lunch or dinner with his friends on the Knicks, Patrick Ewing and Charles Oakley. After he was done with Riley, Jordan moved on to "your little guy on the staff who became the Knicks coach after you, Jeff Van Gundy."
"He said I conned the players, I befriended them and then I'd attack them on the basketball court," Jordan said. "I just so happened to be a nice guy. ... And so to these guys, I want to say thank you very much for giving me that motivation I so desperately needed."
In taking aim at "all you media naysayers" who rankled him by saying he wasn't as good as Magic or Bird, Jordan said, "That put so much will in my fire." And just as he did on the court, he saved the deepest cuts for last.
Jordan told a story about meeting a young member of the Jazz named Bryon Russell during Jordan's first attempt at retirement. Russell told Jordan that he could defend him, and that he would shut him down if he ever decided to come back.
In 1996, a year after Jordan returned to basketball, the Bulls played the Jazz. Jordan met Russell at the center circle and asked him if he remembered what he'd said.
"You're about to get your chance," Jordan said he told him.
The speech ended with the story of Jordan's final title-winning shot over a stumbling Russell in the '98 Finals in Utah.
"I relished that one," Jordan said. "And believe me: If I ever see him in shorts again, I'm coming after him."
That was enough. He was finished. A fan in the $1,000 seats shouted, "You're the greatest ever, Michael!"
"I can't look at this night as a defining end to my relationship with basketball," Jordan said. "One day, you might look up and see me playing a game at 50. Don't laugh. Never say never."
In addition to being the greatest who ever played, Jordan also was the game's greatest salesman. And so I have to admit, I'd pay to see that. But if he comes back to give another roast afterward, I think I'll take a pass.
