Originally published June 7, 1993.
Michael spoke.
Sort of.
MichaelJordanwas about to blow out of the Berto Center after practice Sunday when he stopped his shiny black Ferrari at the parking gate.
Which is where the Chicago Sun-Times and a TV crew from Ch. 2 were waiting.
“Michael, can we talk?” the Sun-Times reporter asked.
Jordanpaused.Jordansmiled, and there had to be a glint behind those sunglasses. Then he talked.
“I’m not talking until the season’s over,” he said.
The usually accessibleJordanhasn’t spoken to the media for 11 days after angrily storming out of an interview session centering on his gambling junket toAtlanticCitybetween Games 1 and 2 of the Eastern Conference finals against the New York Knicks.
“I’m letting my basketball do all the talking,”Jordansaid.
How about the Phoenix Suns and the NBA Finals, Michael? Aren’t you excited about that, asked the TV reporter.
Another pause. A smile. Maybe he was softening.
“No comment.”
Then again, maybe not.
And with that,Jordanhit the gas and squealed down the driveway at warp speed, right past a police officer.
