Great Leapin' Lizards! Michael Jordan Can't Actually Fly, But

By SALLY B. DONNELLY

; Election night, 1988. In a darkened Madison Square Garden, a murmur of anticipation ripples through the standing-room-only crowd. On the floor below, the guest of honor stands, head bent, a bit overwhelmed and maybe a bit embarrassed by the spectacle. "Ladies and gentlemen," booms a voice as the spotlight rakes the now cheering audience, "No. 23, Miiichaaael Jooordaaan!" As one, the 19,591 men, women and children rise to pay thunderous tribute to . . .

To what? Has the Chicago Bulls' star been traded to the host New York Knickerbockers? Nice dream, if you're a New Yorker; nightmare, if a Chicagoan. Is he retiring and, like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, making his farewell appearances? Maybe he'll hang up the Air Jordans in a decade or two, but certainly not now. So what's all the fuss about? Simply that this is the first time during the 1988-89 season that the world's most exciting basketball player is visiting New York. A JORDAN FOR PRESIDENT sign even appears in the stands, a semiserious calling to a higher order.

For now, Michael Jeffrey Jordan is high enough, thank you. As he enters his fifth year in the National Basketball Association, he is the hottest player in America's hottest sport. Only 25, Jordan has already won every major individual award the NBA has to offer. He was Rookie of the Year after his first season. After his third, he became the first player not named Wilt to break the 3,000-point barrier. Last season he captured an unprecedented triple crown of NBA honors: Most Valuable Player, Defensive Player of the Year and top scorer to boot. This season, averaging more than 34 points a game, Jordan could be headed for his third consecutive scoring title. He has pulled the once dreadful Chicago Bulls into the play-offs four years running and contributed mightily toward rejuvenating a deadly dull league that only seven years ago was being lampooned as the National Buffoon Association. Small wonder some sportscasters call Jordan "Superman in Shorts."

Such high-flying praise is all the more astounding given Jordan's size. At 6 ft. 6 in., he is a full inch shorter than the average NBA player, but he transcends his handicap by spending most of his time above the others. His perfectly proportioned frame (his 205 lbs. include a minuscule 4% body fat vs. 7% for most well-conditioned athletes and 15% for an average male in the U.S.) soars up, around and over the mere mortals he opposes. Most guards, being "smaller" men, prefer the quiet of the perimeter to the violent collisions of leviathans under the hoop. But Jordan is most dangerous around the basket, with his arsenal of double-clutch lay-ups and hyperspace dunks over men very nearly a foot taller. Through it all, Jordan's tongue dangles from his mouth, his universally recognized trademark and a testament to his intense concentration.

For Jordan, the world of basketball is a world without bounds. He gyrates, levitates and often dominates. Certainly he fascinates. In arenas around the country, food and drink go unsold because fans refuse to leave their seats for fear of missing a spectacular Jordan move to tell their grandchildren about. Bulls assistant coach Phil Jackson admits that the Jordan Freeze affects seasoned veterans. "Even I get caught up in Michael's show," he says. "I try not to, but sometimes I just sit back and enjoy."

When he is not on the court, or on the golf course preparing for his next pro career (he has an eight handicap), Jordan is perpetually on the go. "If I lost my talent tomorrow, I'd say I had a great time and move on. I live for today but plan for the future." Usually surrounded by a herd of adoring friends, fans and family, Jordan is a nonstop flurry of activity. Minutes after a game, a fashionably clad Jordan heads out of the locker-room door for a few hours (and a few nonalcoholic drinks) at choice night spots.

Sometimes, Jordan admits, it is difficult to judge the real intentions of many people he meets. This is especially true in the case of women. Love- struck females swarm around the charismatic Jordan as insistently as do NBA defenders. A few years ago, there was a short-lived romance with actress Robin Givens. Today, despite the hassles, Jordan enjoys an active, and private, social life.

When he decides to stay at home, Jordan does so in splendid style in his new five-bedroom house in the Chicago suburb of Northbrook. In his first-floor "entertainment center" he can choose among 80-plus buttons on three remote controls and switch from the Bang & Olufsen stereo system to the large- screen TV set, to the VCR or CD player, and back again. The basement offers a Jacuzzi, poker table, small black pool table and six-hole putting green.

Jordan's appeal shines through on the bottom line: he may be the biggest draw in professional sports. Since he entered the NBA after helping the U.S. basketball team win the Olympic gold medal in 1984, the association's gross revenues have nearly doubled, to $300 million, and average attendance is up . nearly 4,000 seats a game, to 13,420. At home the Bulls sold out more games over the past 18 months than they had during their entire 22-year history. In a sport that too often becomes sheer drudgery -- the season begins around Halloween and can end as late as mid-June -- Jordan is one of only a handful of NBA players who truly seem to enjoy themselves. Jordan plays as if what he calls "the best job in the world" might be gone tomorrow. He even has a "love of the game" clause written into his contract, which allows him to play basketball anytime, and anywhere, the urge strikes, especially on the playgrounds back home in North Carolina.

But Jordan's delight in the sport is not the main reason he plays basketball. Competition drives Michael Jordan. Incessantly. Whether on the court or weaving his bright red Ferrari Testarossa in and out of Chicago's midday traffic or even putting golf balls on the Astroturf green in his basement, he is constantly testing himself and the opposition. Sometimes that burning competitive drive overrides Jordan's legendary coolness. Last year during a full-court scrimmage with teammates, Jordan stormed out of practice after angrily accusing coach Doug Collins of miscounting the score. Jordan finds motivation for the court each night by imagining his opponent's point of view. "Someone is trying to take something from me, to make a name for himself by outplaying Michael Jordan," he explains in a quiet but firm voice. "I can't let anyone do that." Few ever do.

That ferocious competitive drive has propelled Jordan since his boyhood in Wilmington, N.C., where he grew up the fourth of five children in a close-knit middle-class family. Although his parents James and Deloris pushed education, not sports, Michael developed into an athlete for all seasons, successfully competing in baseball, football and basketball. Larry Jordan, one year his elder, would prove a motivating force. Though Michael eventually outpaced and outgrew Larry, who still plays semipro basketball, he credits his elder brother for his aggressive style of play. "When you see me play," he says, "you see Larry play."

By the time Michael entered Laney High School, he was known primarily as a baseball player. But within a year basketball had become his No. 1 priority. Recalls Fred Lynch, Michael's coach at Laney: "Michael is one player who could have been very good and not worked as hard. But he is the hardest- working athlete I have ever been around."

+ It was in high school that Jordan began a lifelong obsession with basketball shoes. "There is something about new basketball sneakers that makes you feel better and play better," he says. Nike, Inc., was smart enough to exploit that passion. The firm had done reasonably well with its running shoes, but his namesake black-and-red Air Jordan sneakers put Nike on the basketball-shoe map in 1985 and sent its revenues into orbit, helping to generate more than $70 million in sales the first year. During the season, Jordan satisfies the dreams of dozens of admiring fans by giving away a pair of his size-13 Nikes, new or used, after nearly every game.

Jordan first became a national sensation on an evening in March 1982 with "the Shot," as appreciative locals still call it. Jordan, then a freshman at the University of North Carolina, nailed a 17-ft. jumper to win the school's first national championship in 25 years. Over the next two seasons, as accolades and awards poured in, Jordan maintained a healthy perspective. Dean Smith, the coach at Chapel Hill, had a lot to do with that. "Coach Smith challenged us on the court," says Jordan, "but also encouraged us in the classroom."

To a basketball player who lives an unreal life as an athletic icon, North Carolina remains much more to Michael Jordan than just his home state or alma mater. In Chicago he is unable to attend his local Methodist church because of the commotion his presence creates. "But in Carolina I feel at ease. My real friends keep me straight -- they don't praise me or ask favors." With characteristic modesty, he adds, "I would probably be unreasonable without my friends and family to keep me in balance."

In 1986 Jordan went through a six-week initiation period to join a national black fraternity, Omega Psi Phi. Omega is the third oldest black fraternity in the country and has 700 chapters nationwide that coordinate social, political and business activities. Among its 80,000 initiates, Omega counts such notables as Jesse Jackson, N.A.A.C.P. director Benjamin Hooks and Philadelphia's Mayor Wilson Goode. "It is another sort of community for me," says Jordan. "It is an organization made up of men who want to give something back to society." An omega tattoo on the left side of Jordan's chest symbolizes his commitment to the fraternity.

Jordan does not see his support for Omega Psi Phi as detracting from his goal to be a role model for youngsters of all races. "I try to be seen as Michael Jordan the person, not as black or white," he says. "I guess I am a pioneer, and at some time I may come up against a racial barrier, but at least I have cleared the way a bit."

Throughout his athletic career, Jordan has rarely failed to overcome obstacles and reach his potential, but there is one major gap in his resume: he has not been part of an NBA championship team. Jordan is painfully aware that the Los Angeles Lakers' Magic Johnson and the Boston Celtics' Larry Bird have eight crowns between them. He has become increasingly outspoken on the Bulls' need to attract a competitive core of players. For the first time in his basketball career, frustration has led him this season to criticize his teammates' play publicly. Ironically, the premium that the Bulls pay for Jordan's services inhibits the club from acquiring other high-quality, and high-priced, talent. Jordan recently signed an eight-year contract with the Bulls worth some $25 million, making him the NBA's fourth highest-paid player.

As impressive as those numbers are, basketball is only the launching pad for Jordan's accelerating financial rocket ship. Thanks largely to his agents at ProServ, a Washington-based sports marketing firm, Jordan will earn an estimated $5 million off the court this year. His list of corporate endorsements keeps growing: Chevrolet, McDonald's, Coca-Cola, Johnson Products (personal-care items produced by one of the largest black-owned businesses in the U.S.), Nike. And last fall Jordan became the first basketball player ever to appear on a box of Wheaties.

David Falk, a senior vice president at ProServ who has orchestrated the marketing of his client's wholesome image, says there was plenty to work with when Jordan signed on in 1984, but "there is also an undefinable quality about him that if I could identify, I would bottle and sell." It would probably be an instant best seller, but don't expect Michael Jordan to give away the secret. What, and let the competition gain an edge?