Chapter 1380: Chapter 31: Those Who’ve Taken a Beating Are Built Different
I first heard his name in my junior year in Arkansas.
He gave me hope, and I realized that I didn’t necessarily have to go to a prestigious school to be drafted by the NBA.
As long as someone possesses talent and dedication, dreams can still be achieved.
Dennis Rodman, his incredible journey started in a slum in Dallas, Texas, to Oklahoma State University and finally entered the Basketball Hall of Fame.
He had both talent and dedication.
I joined the league a year later than Dennis; we were rivals, then enemies, and finally teammates.
We hated the Bad Boys, and they hated us; then we mutually hated the Trail Blazers and Ah Gan.
At that time, the Pistons constantly defeated the Bulls in the playoffs; their tactics were disgraceful, but I greatly admired his defense and rebounding ability.
At the moment the ball left the hand, he knew where it was going and could snatch the rebound from players five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier (except for Ah Gan).
That wasn’t coincidence.
He studied the shooting tendencies of opponents and teammates, positioning himself perfectly for the rebound before the ball was released.
Dennis possessed an unbelievable basketball IQ; he could make a significant impact on the game without scoring points. How many players could do that?
So, in the summer of 1993, when Phil Jackson asked me what I thought about the Bulls recruiting Dennis Rodman, I nodded and said, why not?
Michael didn’t object either; his reaction was the same as mine. Why not?
At that time, Barkley was aging, and the relationship between Horace and Michael was deteriorating; he told me personally he was considering leaving, leaving our power forward position in crisis.
A power forward is a crucial position in basketball, often determining the outcome of many games.
We needed someone who could snag over ten rebounds, block opponents at the rim, and handle inside players like Karl Malone, Charles Barkley, Olajuwon, and Gan.
No one was more suited to this task than Dennis Rodman.
Although in the fourth game of the Eastern Conference Finals in 1991, he pushed me off the court, causing me to get six stitches on my chin.
But so what? We needed a championship and a better roster.
Phil assured Michael and me that if Dennis became too much of a distraction, the team would let him go, and this would be explicitly stated in his contract.
Fortunately, it never came to that.
Phil did his best to handle various personalities, while Michael and I insisted on making Dennis focus on his work, ensuring he played hard every night.
The 1993-1994 season was almost perfect; our roster underwent significant changes, not only bringing in Dennis Rodman but also Luke Langley, Ron Harper, and Toni Kukoc.
The regular season was 67 wins and 15 losses, and in the playoffs, we crushed the Miami Heat, avenging 1993.
Unfortunately, waiting for us in the Finals wasn’t the Trail Blazers and Gan, but the Phoenix Suns.
That year it was surprising enough that Gan hadn’t retired. We all thought he would, but he still stayed to give us psychological shadows.
However, from the regular season encounters, I could sense Gan had changed. Dennis Rodman also said that Sonny lacked something; his skills hadn’t declined, but something was missing that made people fear him; he wasn’t even competing for the Rebound King.
We finally won the championship, defeating the Suns. At that moment, I felt relieved and unparalleled happiness; Michael held the championship trophy and cried; I could understand his feelings at the time; we had waited too long, suppressed too long.
Michael had waited for ten years, but fortunately, he didn’t leave or give up.
The 1995 season, Michael was affected by knee inflammation, and Dennis started being himself, constantly changing his hair colors.
Yellow, green, red, until eventually he had every color. That year, in eight preseason games, he had five technical fouls. Let me emphasize, it’s preseason.
Something was happening with Dennis; the championship brought changes to each of us.
Of course, the biggest change was Michael’s injury, and that year Gan decided to retire.
We all breathed a sigh of relief, but Michael didn’t; I could feel his disappointment, his sense of loss.
Not defeating Gan and the Trail Blazers in the Finals remained a sore spot for Michael; he longed to beat Gan and win the championship.
Just like Chamberlain defeating Russell in 1967 to win the championship, the Lakers and Knicks defeating each other, Dr. J defeating the Lakers for the championship, Magic and Bird being intertwined with love and rivalry, Michael couldn’t accept not having a championship won over Gan.
But Gan retired, which shook him; he was a bit lost, and we experienced failure in the 1995 season, with the Heat’s roster almost being unfair.
But in the 1996 season, we came back, and so did Michael; I remember the summer of ’95, in Chicago, we woke up at seven every morning.
Ron Harper, and I met at Michael’s suburban home, practicing weight-training in his basement.
About an hour later, we enjoyed breakfast cooked by his chef, including pancakes, oatmeal, eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice.
We got a nickname: The Breakfast Club.
The idea was Harper’s; he thought it was a way for players to bond.
