Two Years Ago Today

I wrote this.

Amazingly, Ovie's only gotten better.

His Airness?

I had mixed emotions tonight watching Michael Jordan's induction into the basketball hall of fame.

I loved—LOVED—Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls when I was a kid. I mean, devotion like I've given few things in my life. It was Michael Jordan who first turned me on to basketball, who first got me seriously interested in sports (even more so than the Redskins, if you can believe that). I was just 9 years old, as far as I can recall, and had no reason to root for him other than he was greatness personified (and, I'm proud to say, my fandom began before he started winning championships—I suffered through those Pistons playoff series). With his induction, I'm sure you can go any number of places on the Internet and find gushing praise of his prowess, so I'll spare you here.

In the years since his retirement (from the Wizards, you may recall, not the Bulls—the coda to his career conveniently forgotten by the video montage tonight), my devotion to Jordan hasn't just waned, it's all but disappeared. Now the stories about his ruthlessness—as both an opponent and a teammate—I ignored as a child strike a different chord. The sordid details of his messy divorce hold greater meaning than the championship trophies.

But seeing those highlights, I was swept up all over again in those beaming childhood memories. He was amazing, wasn't he? I've seen those clips literally hundreds of times—many of them I witnessed live (on TV, of course). They still give me goosebumps.

Those are fantasy. Michael Jordan the Reality was in full view tonight during his acceptance speech. A man obsessed with competition—winning, more specifically. As the glow of his athletic accomplishments fades from present day into history, the unsavory aspects of Jordan's personality shine brighter, and the glare is harsh.

I don't know Michael Jordan personally. Maybe he was just nervous. But he came off like a jerk tonight. A bitter former shorts-clad god who still holds grudges. He aired old grievances (here's lookin' at you, Jerry Krause), ripped former opponents (hello, Bryon Russell), and ridiculed ex-teammates in justifying a lifetime spent destroying every obstacle in his path. I would not want to be Michael Jordan's friend. I wonder how many he really has. He only mentioned a few, and only in passing (Scottie Pippen, Dean Smith, Phil Jackson—sorry, Charles, even though you're sitting right down front, no shout out from MJ).

He did make me laugh a few times. Of course he did. Jordan didn't become a global icon just because he could play ball—he's a charmer. But he's not nearly as personable anymore away from the dazzling dunks and game-winning shots.

So, in the end, tonight's induction of the greatest basketball player of my lifetime left me pondering a question I don't know if I'll ever be able to answer: How do you make the most out of what God gives you and still make room for God in your life? Whether he knows it or not, Michael Jordan was a blessed man. And he took what God gave him and made the absolute most of it—perhaps more than any other basketball player who's ever lived. Because as amazing as Jordan was physically, he may have been even more impressive mentally; his devotion to his craft was unparalleled, and that's what made him great. That's what he talked about tonight—the "competitive fire."

But at what point does making the most of what God's given you become contrary to His divine purpose for your life? How do you find the line between wasting your God-given abilities and allowing them to become your god? Did Michael Jordan's six championship titles cost him too much? Should I be doing more with my life than sitting here on a Friday night tapping away at a keyboard?

I have no idea.

But I do know Michael Jordan did not come across as His Airness tonight, the man who inspired millions and millions of kids just like me by floating high above the hardwood. Never has he seemed more stuck in the ground—a bitter middle-aged man looking for something, anything to fill his life the way basketball used to. It was a sad thing to watch, really.

So I guess he's inspired me again. In 16 years, when I reach his current age, I don't want to be like Mike.

Who'da Dunk It?

Tonight, a legend was born, and his name is Dwight "Superman" Howard.

What the 6-11 Orlando Magic center did in the 2008 NBA slam dunk contest will be talked about for as long as the National Basketball Association continues to exist. It was the best series of dunks I've ever seen. At least as good as Michael Jordan in 1988. Better than Vince Carter in 2000. Better than … everybody else. Any other player would have won the whole thing pulling off just one of his throwdowns, and Howard gave us four masterpieces back-to-back-to-back-to-back.

And it wasn't just about Howard's size. It's amazing enough to see a 265-pound behemoth fly through the air and ram the ball home, but Howard completed his attempts with a style, grace, and sense of the moment that equaled Jordan. Like Jordan, Howard not only did things we've never seen before, but things we'd previously thought no human was capable of. Throwing down a blind, left-handed jam from behind the backboard? Seeming to defy gravity and hanging in the air for a windmill slam—after plucking the ball off a stationary perch on the board? Tipping the ball to himself off the glass after leaving his feet? Donning a freaking Superman cape and then taking off from the foul line?!?! It was the kind of thrilling exhibition I wished would just keep going until Howard couldn't leap anymore. I hope he defends his title for the next decade because, watching tonight, it felt like he has a whole bag full of tricks left. He just made it look so easy.

It would be rash to predict that this one performance will change the course of basketball like MJ did back in '88. But one thing's for sure: Howard's name is now emblazoned on the game in a way few others' are. He is now synonymous with the slam dunk contest, and he will never be the same.

If Jordan made us believe a man could fly, Howard tonight made us believe giants can, too.

I Have Seen the Future of Sports on TV …

… and its name is NHL hockey in high-definition. More specifically, Alex Ovechkin in HD.

For reasons I still don’t quite understand, I was a passionate hockey fan as a child. I followed the Caps on a game-by-game basis, even though they were only slightly better than mediocre and always seemed to lose to the Penguins in the playoffs. My favorite player back then was powerful defenseman Dino Cicarelli, who owned one of the hottest slapshots in the entire league.

I also don’t know when my passion for hockey faded, but by the time I left home for college, I could care less. And why should I? By that time the National Hockey League was beginning a long downward spiral that eventually led to contentious labor negotiations and the cancellation of the 2004-05 season. The NHL was left for dead.

HDTV may just be its defibrillator.

Hockey has always been known for its thrilling in-person experience, but the energy, speed, and violence never quite translated to television—until now. Believe me when I tell you the game looks completely different in high-def. It’s a revelation. Under the old broadcasting system, the camera zoomed all over the rink in an attempt to keep up with the puck, a narrow focus that oftentimes left hardly any players in view; with HD’s significantly wider camera angle, the entire zone (from the blue line to the goal) is in the picture at all times, and you can actually see the plays develop. You can see a brawny defenseman line up a bone-jarring hit from the other side of the rink. You can see a wily winger move into an empty hole and wait for a perfect pass.

Which brings me to one Alex Ovechkin.

Ovechkin is the Capitals’ 22-year-old Russian phenom. A left winger, Alex the Great (to pick one of about a dozen nicknames), leads the NHL in goals (42), points (70), and power play goals (16). Last night against Montreal, he scored 4 goals, including the game-winner in overtime (he also assisted on the team’s other goal).

He is, quite simply, Michael Jordan on ice skates. And anyone who knows me should also know I don’t make that comparison lightly. Like Jordan, Ovechkin makes every other player around him look slower, less coordinated, … dimmer. Like Jordan, Ovechkin seems to be able to enforce his will on his competition, and seemingly with ease. Like Jordan, Ovechkin is magnetic to watch, and you expect him to do something spectacular on every shift—he seems to make plays on a regular basis most other players could only dream of accomplishing once in their careers. The intensity of the game picks up when he jumps on the ice, and he puts incredible pressure on opposing goalies.

And, perhaps most important, like Jordan Ovechkin may have found his own Scottie Pippen in center Nicklas Backstrom, a rookie from Sweden who is helping to take Ovechkin’s game to a new level. Since he moved to Ovechkin’s line, Washington’s been on a tear; the Caps won nine games in January, the first time the team’s earned that many victories in a month in decades. The Caps’ scoring is through the roof, sparked by the dynamic duo’s aggressive play. They are pure joy to watch.

I certainly have no idea if the NHL will ever regain even a semblance of its previous popularity. What I certainly do know is that watching Alex Ovechkin play in high-def is downright intoxicating. If you don’t believe me, check out the video below. Then imagine that looking about a million times better.



Can you say Bulls vs. Lakers, circa 1991? Yeah, you know the play.

If anything can save this league, it’s No. 8 in full, glorious HD.

Bittersweet Revenge

Amidst all of Sunday night’s Redskins euphoria (and it was euphoric—I'm still stunned) a lot of people in this city probably missed two of its most beloved athletic stars sticking it in the eye of the hometown pro basketball team.
University of Maryland legends and current Portland Trail Blazers Juan Dixon and Steve Blake combined for 34 points to down their former team, the Washington Wizards, in front of a barely-there crowd in Oregon late Sunday night. It was sweet justice for Juan and Stevie, who were unceremoniously dumped by the Wizards in the offseason after giving nothing but their all for three and two years, respectively.
Wizards coach Eddie Jordan and GM Ernie Grunfeld—it was explained to us, the stupid fans—wanted more size in the backcourt. Dixon and Blake are just too small to fit in here, you see. So the Wizards went out and got two journeymen guards, Antonio Daniels and Chucky Atkins. Never heard of either ’em? I didn’t think so. Because they’re no different than a million other guys who have wandered through the NBA.
Juan and Steve, on the other hand, are hometown heroes who still receive standing ovations in D.C., even though they now play for the opposing team. Daniels and Atkins are two veterans that have done absolutely nothing in this league of any distinction, other than managing to stay in it.
Dixon and Blake were never given a fair shot by Jordan, who, apparently, is the first coach in the history of this duo’s combined careers not to absolutely love these guys. Juan received irregular minutes at best in his tenure with the Wizards, and Blake was lucky if he saw the floor once a week. I’m convinced it was all about ego for Jordan—he wasn’t about to let the fans tell him how to coach his team, and he got rid of the heroes wouldn’t have to hear the “We want Juan!” chants anymore.
So how’s that working out for you, Coach?
Playing without three starters, Portland nevertheless dismissed the Wizards Sunday night, led by the former Maryland duo playing together once again in the backcourt down the stretch. Washington’s Gilbert Arenas hit a three-pointer to cut it to one with a couple minutes to go, but Dixon and Blake combined to run off seven points in a row and put the game on ice, dropping the Wizards to a pathetic four games under .500.
If the Wizards don’t make the playoffs this year, Eddie Jordan should be fired. He’s been a mediocre coach that has stuck around because expectations were so low, making the second round of the playoffs last season was the equivalent of winning the NBA championship around here.
But Jordan has made as many mistakes with this team in his three and a quarter seasons as he has made good decisions. No one can figure out his rotation (Juan said as much this season), and he runs his stars into the ground (Arenas is continually ranked among the top minutes played in the league). He and Grunfeld essentially blew up a backcourt that last season was arguably the best in the league. I was never a big Larry Hughes fan, but the team undoubtedly misses him this season. And the Wizards certainly miss Dixon’s instant offense off the bench, as neither Atkins nor Daniels have shown any propensity that they can score and hit outside shots with any consistency (Daniels is hardly even playing nowadays).
Guys like Juan Dixon and Steve Blake—who make up for the lack of natural ability with heart, smarts, and passion—don’t come along nearly as often as faceless roster-fillers like Daniels and Atkins (heck, Dixon is outscoring the latter duo all by himself this year). The Maryland stars made coming to Wizards games worthwhile; last time I checked, professional sports teams do need fans every now and then to pay their salaries—it’s not like MCI is selling out every night.
But even more than all that, Jordan said cutting Dixon and Blake was all about winning. Well, what have you done for me lately, Coach? I thought the Wizards were supposed to be better this year after making the playoffs for the first time in two decades. Dixon singlehandedly won three or four games for Washington last season—including a clutch performance in the PLAYOFFS against Chicago—but for some reason that didn’t matter to Jordan. His ego is too big for his size and his success.
At first I questioned why Dixon and Blake went to a rotten organization like Portland. But new coach Nate McMillan has a mind to turn that whole team around, jettisoning the chaff (like, I assume, Darius Miles), and moving forward in a new, positive direction. If that is the case, he knew exactly what he was doing by bringing in Juan and Stevie. They’re not good enough to make up a starting backcourt in the NBA, but they’re two guys that every team in the league—teams with any sense, anyway—should want. All they wanted was a genuine chance to show what they could do.
No matter what the Wizards go on to accomplish this season and beyond, losing Dixon and Blake will always be an open wound. And it should be. The Wizards got exactly what they deserved tonight.

Juan and Stevie, You Have Nothing to Worry About

Michael Wilbon can be full of pretentious hot air sometimes, but his column in today's Washington Post about Juan Dixon and Steve Blake is simply fantastic. I suggest everybody read it, because it basically explains why I have three different Dixon jerseys hanging in my closet. Man, I miss those guys.
Check it out: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/11/30/AR2005113002364.html