Catching Up

After last night, I’m just two episodes behind the rest of the world in watching “The Last Dance” ESPN documentary on Michael Jordan and the 1997-98 Bulls.  Now someone tell me why Jerry Reinsdorf consented to be part of this.

 

I ask because Reinsdorf comes off as the smug jerk he was back then, not caring about what other people had to say about Jerry Krause, his choice for general manager. Reinsdorf was right to let Krause build a team around Jordan, wrong to sit by and let him then destroy that creation.

 

Maybe Reinsdorf was too busy doing his own destroying to notice.  He talks about the seven-year contract he negotiated with Scottie Pippen, the one that at its end left Pippen the 122^nd highest paid player in the NBA.  Reinsdorf apparently told Pippen he wouldn’t sign the contract himself, as if that absolves him of blame for helping create the resentment Pippen would feel as he saw other players making more, ridiculously more, money than him.

 

Reinsdorf and Krause could’ve renegotiated the contract once they saw how it was affecting one of their star players, but, No, Mr. Reinsdorf does not renegotiate.  Too bad he didn’t offer an opt-out, either.  A form of one freed the White Sox of the malevolence known as Albert Belle after just two seasons.  Renegotiating or an opt-out would have been the right thing to do, but what does right have to do with being a sports’ owner?

 

Lucky for Reinsdorf there’s no baseball season; reporters would be crawling all over the owner’s box at Guaranteed Rate Whatever seeking comment on the documentary.  Rod Stewart’s right—some guys have all the luck, and Jerry Reinsdorf’s one of them.

 

I watched both episodes with Michele, and I know my daughter is watching with her husband Chris.  It’s interesting how the same thing affects two people—in this case, mother and daughter—differently.  My wife, whom I once took to see Rudolf Nureyev perform, remains in awe of Jordan’s artistry.  Clare, I think, appreciates Jordan’s dedication to his craft, but she doesn’t wish now any more than she did as a six-year old to “be like Mike,” as the commercials urged.

 

I watched Jordan and the Bulls, so my child did, too.  We also watched Frank Thomas and the White Sox together.  Only one star made an impression on her, and it wasn’t the one with a career .202 batting average in the minors.