“I firmly believe that respect is a lot more important, and a lot greater, than popularity.”
—Julius “Dr. J” Erving, NBA Champion and Hall of Famer
8:01 P.M. [CT]
As MJ reaches the Spartans’ bench, Coach Barker is waiting for him. He can see by the hard look on Barker’s face that he has screwed up somehow.
He figures Barker is about to hang that blown defensive assignment on him and ream him out for leaving Crispin Rice alone beneath the basket.
Here it comes, that laryngitis voice about to torture my name again, MJ thinks to himself.
“Jordan, next time you get an open shot, take it!” strains Barker. “Don’t be afraid to miss. Dealing with the hell of missing is part of the game.”
“I don’t give a damn what you hear,” says Barker, poking a finger at MJ’s head. “I only care what sinks into your brain.”
Then MJ feels himself come under Malcolm’s heavy glare. And if MJ had to put words to that look, it would be, If you take a shot instead of me, you better make it.
JANUARY, TWO MONTHS AGO
MJ couldn’t get comfortable in his seat on the bus ride back to East Lansing, after the Spartans defeated interstate rival Michigan in Ann Arbor.
“Stop squirming around. I’m trying to chill,” said Malcolm, kneeing the back of MJ’s seat. “It’s not like your body’s sore. How long did you play tonight—two lousy minutes?”
“It’s not about that, star. I go hard in the warm-ups, and then I get tight sitting on the bench,” said MJ over his shoulder.
“You know how ridiculous that sounds?” sniped Malcolm, who always sat in the last seat on the bus, as far away from Barker’s postgame speeches as he could get.
“Think he’s squirming and uptight now?” said Grizzly Bear, with his legs stretched to the side over an empty seat. “You should have seen MJ two years ago, the night we played Illinois and they had Michael Jordan’s son on their squad.”
“That’s right, I remember—Jeffrey Jordan, aka ‘Heir Jordan,’” said Baby Bear, sitting behind Grizzly and opposite Malcolm. “MJ was all like, ‘Which one is he?’”
“I warned MJ, ‘If you ask the dude for his autograph, I’ll kick your ass,’” recalled Grizzly.
“Jeffrey? That’s MJ’s middle name,” said Malcolm with a smirk.
“I didn’t know that shit,” said Grizzly.
“Me neither,” said Baby Bear.
And the three of them laughed hard over it as MJ scowled.
“Seeing him must have been like looking into a mirror for you,” mocked Malcolm.
“Yeah, it was something like that,” mumbled MJ, staring out the window.
“So, could Heir Jordan ball like his pops?” asked Malcolm.
“Nah, he wasn’t even a starter,” said Baby Bear. “He mostly rode the bench. I think he transferred from Illinois to some small school in Florida to play with his younger brother.”
“Then what was all the fuss about?” Malcolm asked MJ. “He was no better than you. Playing two-on-two, me and you would have put a whupping on Jordan’s kids.”
“It was about him and me growing up under a microscope—with the same name and pressures on the court,” said MJ, turning back to face the guys.
“Only Heir Jordan did it in a mansion with security guards, watching his father win NBA Championships and get down with the Looney Tunes in Space Jam,” cracked Baby Bear.
“So did you actually get on the court against him, or was this all drama in your head?” asked Malcolm.
“I watched him during the warm-ups. He had his game face screwed on super tight, so I didn’t say anything to him,” said MJ.
“Back in the day, his pops would have blown off any dude on the other team who wanted to yak before a game,” said Grizzly. “That’s the kind of hard-core competitor he was.”
“I was thinking about that, too,” said MJ. “Anyway, he played seven or eight minutes in the first half, but I didn’t get in.”
“What a surprise,” said Malcolm.
“But in the second half, we were ahead by something like fifteen points with three minutes left. There was a stop in play and the other coach sent Jeffrey Jordan back on the court. Then Barker yelled at me, ‘Go out there and guard him! Show him who his daddy is!’”
“Oh, Coach had jokes,” said Malcolm, slapping his knee in amusement.
“And you have to remember, Heir Jordan doesn’t have a single point in the game yet,” adds Baby Bear for Malcolm’s benefit.
“Almost right away, he gets the rock and I’m in front of him one-on-one,” said MJ, with his shoulders starting to shift, as if he were playing now. “He fakes left and then right, but I don’t budge. All of a sudden, he blasts straight at me. I had to take a step back on my heels, and he cut around. The only thing I could do was foul, but he scored anyway. Then he hit the foul shot for a three-point play.”
“And our home crowd was into it, too. They knew it was Jordan-on-Jordan,” said Grizzly Bear. “It was like a mini-game inside of our game.”
“I would have tackled his ass before I let him score,” Malcolm told MJ. “Did you get back at him?”
“I stopped him another time. Then I finally got the ball in my hands with, like, five seconds left, standing behind the three-point line. But we were ahead by ten points, and Coach told us to kill off the clock. So I just held onto the rock,” said MJ. “After the game, I wanted to fist-bump him. But he was already heading back down the tunnel towards the lockers.”
“I’ll tell you this right now,” said Malcolm. “Me and you come from two different planets. Because sure as anything, I would have shot that three-pointer to get even.”
“See, that’s the difference between us,” said MJ. “It’s not all about me—my wants, my wishes. It’s about the team.”
“I heard that crap a million times—there’s no I in team,” said Malcolm. “It don’t matter how much I play it for myself; you’re still my brother on the court. I’ve got your back over any dude wearing a different color. I would have knocked Jordan Jr. on his royal ass to get you an open shot. Coach should have had your back the same way.”
“Wait, let me get this straight. You’re my brother on the court? You’re my brother on this team?” asked MJ, with his voice slowing down twice to punctuate the same word. “Since when?”
“It’s not my fault you don’t see it. Maybe none of you do,” said Malcolm, expanding his gaze from MJ to Grizzly and Baby Bear, too. “See, you want me to be your little brother. My skills make me big brother to all of you. So when they put the plate of pork chops out on the table, I grab first. Take as much as I want. You all come after. That’s respect for me. The respect I deserve here.”
Grizzly and Baby Bear laughed, shaking their heads at each other, like Malcolm was full of bull.
But MJ looked at Malcolm and thought to himself, “At least that’s something I can wrap my mind around. I don’t completely agree with it—maybe not even fifty percent worth. But I understand where he’s coming from a little more now.”