Rose worthy of superlatives -- on and off court
LINCOLNSHIRE, Ill. -- This wasn't the story I wanted to write. It's not the one you were supposed to read. Derrick Rose of the Chicago Bulls just won the MVP, and you were going to read about the burden facing him now. You know the burden: It's championship-or-bust for Rose now. That's his mandate. Like the MVP's that came before him, that is how he will be judged.
But not today. Not here. Not by me.
Not after the show Derrick Rose just put on. I was at the United Center on Monday night when Rose had 24 points, 10 assists and three turnovers against Atlanta in the playoffs. It was a hell of a show, but it did nothing for me. Didn't give me goose bumps or anything, because those kinds of performances happen all the time. I've seen Kobe Bryant score 40. I've seen LeBron James put up a triple-double in one game, and score his team's final 25 points the next. In the playoffs. When it comes to the game itself, I've seen far better shows than the one Derrick Rose put on Monday night.
But the show he put on Tuesday in a conference room at a Marriott about 30 miles north of Chicago? I've not seen many shows better than that one.
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I'm going to try to make you understand what it looked like. Going to try put into words what I just watched. I could use the words of Bulls coach Tom Thibodeau, who said that "as good as Derrick Rose is as a player, he's an even better person" -- but that sounds like so much crap. The moment Thibodeau said it, I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Better person than player? Come on. Derrick Rose is one of five players in the history of the NBA to put up 2,000 points, 300 rebounds and 600 assists in a season, and one of just seven to average 25 points, 7.5 assists and four rebounds. Only four names are on both lists:
Oscar Robertson. Michael Jordan. LeBron James.
Derrick Rose.
And he's a better person? Come on, Tibs. Tell me something I can wrap my head around.
But I was intrigued. So I started watching Rose during this ceremony, watching him harder than I watched him Monday night against the Hawks. Thibodeau is at the podium talking about him, and Bulls general manager Gar Forman is at the podium, and emcee Matt Winer of NBA TV is at the podium. Me, I'm watching Rose.
And he's not comfortable at all. All these people, talking about the greatness of Derrick Rose? That's not fun for Rose. Some people eat that stuff up like ice cream, but Rose looks like he wants to crawl into a hole. When Winer announces that only 28 players in NBA history have won an MVP trophy, Derrick Rose -- minutes away from becoming No. 29 -- stops staring at the ground and looks at his mother in the front row. The look on his face says, "Can you believe that?" It's not one of pride. It's one of shock.
Eventually Rose is summoned to the podium himself, where he talks about God and family and basketball. In that order. He speaks about himself in monotones, perking up only when he talks about someone else. Anyone else. He gestures to his teammates in the background, almost all of whom made it to this hotel, in this suburb, in rush-hour traffic, a long way from their homes, to watch Rose receive his MVP. Rose thanks the Bulls management for giving him such fine teammates, guys who care only about winning.
Rose gestures to his brothers in the front row, thanking them for keeping him out of trouble as a kid in Chicago, noting that "when I was in high school they built a wall around me. It was love."
Rose gestures to his mother. He wants to thank her, but now he's crying. Eventually he calls his mother "my heart." He says "she's the reason I play the way I play." He talks about her for two or three minutes, his longest commentary about any one topic, and he stares at her the entire time.
Rose is asked about Michael Jordan, who won five MVP trophies with the Bulls. Rose is asked, now that he has his first trophy, if he hopes to catch the man who ...
"I'm not even touching that man right there," Rose says, shaking his head and laughing in embarrassment at a question that would dare such a comparison. "I'm far away from him."
Rose is asked about Chicago fans, and he has the awareness to realize that the Bulls have so many fans -- he has so many fans -- because of the contributions of players like Jordan and Scottie Pippen, who's standing in the back of the room. Rose is a millionaire now, and will be a millionaire 100 times over before age 30, but he giggles as he mentions the generosity of Bulls fans, marveling about the times he has seen them in a restaurant and noting that, "Sometimes they pay your bill!"
While this is going on, I head to the back of the room where Rose's teammates are standing. Starting center Joakim Noah is there, hooting at Rose from the back, calling him "Duck." It's obvious, Joakim Noah really likes Rose. I ask him why.
"He's for real," Noah says. "Everything he's saying up there, he means it. He's not playing you. That's him. That's why the guy has the world in his hands right now."
Derrick Rose is 22, the youngest MVP in NBA history. After thanking his high school coach and his brothers and his teammates one final time, he shuffles away from the podium. He is replaced behind the microphone by the emcee, Winer, who goes off-script to blurt out something that has occurred to me as well.
"Derrick Rose," Matt Winer says. "What a humble superstar."
