No Cheering in the Press Box is the title of an old book by former Tribune sportswriter Jerome Holtzman, and as something of an old-school sportswriter myself, I follow that edict. My record is exemplary but for the odd groan when Jose Valentin boots a grounder or an oooh for a Sammy Sosa homer, not to mention the ohmigawd! I remember uttering in the auxiliary press box in the rafters of the old Chicago Stadium when Michael Jordan executed his famous tomahawk-dunk-transformed-into-a-left-handed-layup in the second game of the 1991 NBA finals against the Lakers. I know I’ve worn an uncontrollably goofy grin as a member of the working press–as when Jordan climbed the Stadium’s scorers table in ’92 after the Bulls won their second title–but clapping is definitely out.
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So Friday night I stood at my seat in the back of the mezzanine level, deep in the bowl of the United Center. I was a few rows behind John Stroger and a few more behind Ed Paschke and in the same row as Tom Boerwinkle, with old Bulls like Bob Love and Cliff Levingston down to the left and almost every seat above us filled and standing room likewise crammed–23,215 in all. And when Jordan was announced as the last Washington Wizards starter I applauded with everyone else (everyone not on press row, that is, where they were busy looking at their watches to time the ovation). The applause rose and fell through a series of crescendos, and when Jordan offered a couple of claps in return the fans went wild. It rolled on with no sign of abating until Washington coach Doug Collins ran a mike out to Jordan so he could quiet the crowd with a few remarks. He spoke, but he didn’t quiet the crowd. He obviously hadn’t prepared anything on the order of Lou Gehrig’s “luckiest man on the face of the earth” address, but he spoke eloquently and emotionally, thanking the fans and saying, “I love you all”–not the sort of thing one often hears from an athlete. Fans responded with even more applause, and only grudgingly allowed the game to begin.
They’d been burned twice before by the hype brought on by Jordan’s return. Last year the Bulls lost Jordan’s only game in Chicago during his injury-shortened comeback season, and they embarrassed themselves earlier this month at the UC with a tentative performance against the Wizards. Coach Bill Cartwright, Jordan’s old teammate, had made it clear he wasn’t feeling sentimental about Jordan’s farewell and wanted it over–preferably with a victory. This attitude seemed to have been impressed on all the Bulls, especially Jalen Rose, who guarded and was guarded by Jordan most of the night. The fans, I think, wanted a few glimpses of the Jordan of old, but most of them also seemed to want the current Bulls to prove their worth by stymieing him. Rose covered Jordan like a film of soap all night long, and enough of the other Bulls followed his lead to make the difference. This time it was the Wizards who seemed distracted.
Cartwright put his starting lineup back on the floor to open the second half, with Robinson on the bench and Rose on Jordan. Rose was determined to deprive him of any new poster moments, and Jordan got frustrated. He faked Rose into the air, drew a foul, and jabbed a pointed elbow for punctuation. Midway through the third quarter came a vision from yesteryear. Christian Laettner, looking particularly addled, dropped a Jordan pass in the lane, and Jordan swooped in, scooped up the ball, raised it in his left hand, and in one smooth, soaring motion floated it off the backboard and in. If Marshall’s early basket had been a guy heaving dirty laundry, Jordan’s was a Bernini sculpture come to life. The crowd oohed its appreciation, as if to say, “There it is! What we came to see!” and there was both dread and delight at the thought of him dropping one of those game-turning quarters on the Bulls. Moments later, however, Jordan took a long turnaround over Rose and the ball clanged off the back rim. The Bulls led 74-71 through three quarters.
