I’m
strolling down
Congress Avenue, rationalizing this as my exercise for the day. Covering every
square inch of downtown, like so many pigeons, are small children. The public
school kids are precipitously close to totally out-of-control. In little groups
— bright tykes from Montessori schools — teachers patiently explaining
exactly why it’s not nice to hit. And following behind steely-eyed
teachers, walking in rigidly silent double file, eyes straight ahead, blue
shorts and shirts immaculate, holding hands with another same-sex child, are
the Catholic School Kids.
In my back yard, I have two dogs. Boxers. A boy (Floyd) and a girl (Roxy).
Floyd’s a young pup, very large, very strong, very dumb. Roxy is older, sleek,
fawn, small, a potent package of spite and cunning. Their personalities are as
diverse as any human couple. Occasionally they quarrel, but all-in-all, they’re
a bonded pair.
As members of the same species, Canis familiaris, they play in the same
mud, chase the same squirrels, bark at the same wind, eat the same food, and
pull on the same rope toy. When a boy dog comes over to visit, Floyd doesn’t
ditch Roxy and go do guy things. When a girl dog comes over, they don’t go
under a tree, avoiding any mud, to muse about butterflies. No, they chase the
same squirrels, find the same mud, and pull on the same rope. Because they are,
basically, the same.
Can you say that about homo sapiens? These children, frolicking at the
Capitol, are proof of the problem. All the boys are involved in some
form of aggressive, basically anti-social behavior. The air is pierced with
screams, shouts, guys being jumped and tossed to the ground. From a cruel,
unprovoked fight to general, disorganized mayhem to the really dangerous
ones: the lone stick-throwers and stone-kickers.
The girls are totally separate. They’re in groups beneath trees talking about
whatever seven-year-old girls talk about. There was no — zero — social
interaction between the sexes. The two genders of the human species had less
interest in each other than a pig and a buffalo.
So, a large cosmic joke? Good chance. Really the same species? Mmmm, tough
one. Hundreds of thousands of dollars for future therapy bills? Absolutely.
In Chicago, the Bulls
and their fans are dealing with a similar issue. Dennis Rodman, now a Bull,
has Bull shoes, a locker near Michael, and has even dyed his hair a bright,
Bull-red. The question remains: Can Rodman — antithesis of the team-concept
player the Bulls’ supposedly covet — really be a species of Bull? Like a staph
infection, will he be fought and eventually rejected by the BodyBull of
skeptical teammates and fans with long memories at the United Center? First,
some remedial NBA history.
If you just caught Rodman’s act in San Antonio and believe him to be simply a
colorful, anti-establishment fellow with an entertaining, quirky streak, here’s
Dennis — The Early Years: Rodman was drafted late in the second round
in ’87 by the Pistons, as Detroit was commencing a five-year domination of the
Eastern Conference. There was nothing cute or iconoclastic about Dennis as a
Piston. He was a dirty, malicious player. He wanted to hurt people. The Bulls
were also on the rise with two young stars named Pippen and Jordan. The rivalry
was beyond intense — each game close to all-out war. Rodman, with his filthy
play, became the focal point of Chicago hatred. Teammate Pippen will sport
forever a badly mangled chin, courtesy of Rodman throwing him six rows into
Chicago Stadium as Pippen was in the air, finishing a lay-up. Nothing out of
the ordinary, just typical Rodman.
Now, he’s a Bull. A point: At the upper echelons of the league — the Knicks,
Pacers, Orlando, Houston, Seattle, to name a few — 60 wins is not enough. A
loss in the conference finals is not enough. A courageous performance in the
championship round is not enough. Simply put, anything short of a championship
is failure. Viewed from this cynical but clean position, the move of Rodman to
Chicago, seemingly as incongruous as Mickey Mouse piloting the Dark Star, makes
perfect sense. Point two: This lays to waste forever the party line teams spout
about only wanting “good people.” Forget the disingenuous warm and fuzzy PR
talk, and professional sports teams will do anything to win.
To wit, after Jordan retired, Chicago let all of the team’s muscle, all of its
rebounding strength, drift away. The Bulls, realistically, no matter how good
Jordan comes back this year, could not regain their championship form without
muscle. Rodman = muscle + rebounding in its lowest common denominator. If
Rodman reverts to being Dennis, Chicago will stagger and, like the
Spurs, implode. They will be no worse off than before he arrived, since they
were not going to win a championship anyway. If Dennis is kept in check,
as he was in Detroit by take-no-shit veteran players, if Dennis plays
defense and rebounds, then the Bulls become very real contenders to win
a fourth title in six years. And if this happens, Rodman will be
accepted by the BodyBull and hailed as a Bull-of-all-time. Bull-eev-it!
E-mail me: coach@auschron.com
This article appears in October 27 • 1995 and October 27 • 1995 (Cover).