The Last Enforcer, page 5
So by my third year in the league, players knew that I could play, and they knew that I would protect my guys. Dennis Rodman knew it. Charles Barkley knew it. Mention my name to Barkley today and he’ll go the other way. Everyone thinks I’m Michael Jordan’s bodyguard, but the truth is I provided protection for all my teammates.
Also, just because I looked out for Michael, that doesn’t mean he was soft. He was mentally and physically tough. He had to be to survive.
I remember doing a radio interview a few years ago and the host asked me, “What made Michael Jordan so tough?” I looked at the guy, paused, and said, “I did.” I’m not taking credit for his skill level or work ethic. I had nothing to do with that. I always tell Michael: “You’re God’s first child. I don’t know who the second is, but you’re the first.” I just think that I helped him learn that mindset of toughness that he needed to play basketball as his game and superstar status developed, and to be a leader in the way he became.
* * *
There were only twenty-three teams in the league in 1987–88 and only two divisions for each conference. The Atlantic Division had five teams, but in our eyes only one of them really mattered: the Celtics. We still thought of them as the clear team to beat in the East. They’d made it to the NBA Finals the past three consecutive years, losing to the Lakers in 1985, then defeating the Rockets in 1986 for the championship, and then losing in 1987 to Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and the Los Angeles Lakers again. The Celtics had experience, talent, tradition, and the best front line in the league with Bird, McHale, and Parish. They were a force.
But they weren’t the only strong team in the conference. The Central Division, which we played in, was the toughest division in the league. It had six teams: us, the Detroit Pistons, the Atlanta Hawks, the Bucks, the Cleveland Cavaliers, and the Indiana Pacers. Atlanta had Dominique Wilkins, Kevin Willis, and Doc Rivers, and the Bucks were still a good team with Terry Cummings, Sidney Moncrief, and Paul Pressey. We thought we could handle Atlanta and Milwaukee, and that Boston was who we’d need to contend with to make a run in the playoffs. But the Detroit Pistons were another team on the rise, and we had to worry about them, too.
In today’s NBA you play teams in your division four times. When I joined the league, we played each team in our division six times. Six games is a lot. That’s how rivalries start. That’s good for the league. It also leads to bad blood, which leads to fights, which in theory isn’t bad for the league either. When it came to blood, fights, and general contempt, the Pistons stuck out for us above all the rest. There wasn’t much we liked about them or they liked about us. Both of our teams wanted to prove that we belonged and were the threat to Boston in the East. The Pistons had made it to the Eastern Conference Finals in ’87, where they pushed Boston to seven games, so they had a leg up. Every game between us was going to be a battle.
The Pistons weren’t the Bad Boys just yet. They got that nickname when they won back-to-back titles in ’89 and ’90. But the key players were already in place: Isiah Thomas, Joe Dumars, Adrian Dantley, Vinnie Johnson, Rick Mahorn, John Salley, and Dennis Rodman. That’s a lot of talent. They also had Bill Laimbeer, who was an asshole.
We opened the 1987–88 season by winning seven of our first eight games. Michael was having a great start to the season. Two weeks in, we had a home-and-home series with the Washington Bullets. That’s when you play each other in home games, one in each team’s city, over consecutive days. In the first meeting Michael scored 11 points in the last six minutes to carry us to a victory. The following night he scored eight points in the last two and a half minutes and we won again. Two nights later against the Atlanta Hawks, Michael sank two free throws to give us a 94–92 lead. He then blocked Dominique Wilkins’s jumper to preserve the victory. Michael was getting it done on both ends of the court.
Our next game was at home against the Pistons on November 21. We were feeling confident in our chances to compete in the East. It was a close game, which you would expect. We went up 122–119 after Michael made two free throws with seven seconds left, but Isiah, playing in his hometown, hit a three-pointer with two seconds remaining, and we went to overtime. We blew our chance. The Pistons went ahead on back-to-back baskets from John Salley and Dennis Rodman, and we were done. Adrian Dantley scored 6 of his 45 points in overtime. Isiah had 27. Michael scored 49 before fouling out in overtime.
Even in the loss, we, and Michael, felt we had made a strong statement. Detroit caught a break because we were playing our fourth game in five nights. And we went to overtime. That’s a worst-case scenario. Michael played forty-four minutes and would have played forty-six of the fifty-three minutes had he not fouled out. Our thing was if you were healthy you played. It’s pretty simple. Shit, some people have to go to work seven days a week and don’t even make that much money. In the NBA the money got bigger and the game got weaker.
As I mentioned, in our day there was no such thing as load management. That’s something Kawhi Leonard started with the San Antonio Spurs. In Michael’s third season, my second, he played all eighty-two games and averaged 37.1 points per game. He also averaged forty minutes per game. That’s pretty remarkable when you think about it. Mike had only played eighteen games the previous season due to a foot injury, yet the next season he was at forty minutes a game for all eighty-two.
Today’s stars play fewer minutes and the league has fewer back-to-backs. But they need more rest? Guys were hungrier back when I played. We knew what it meant every night to be on the floor. If you weren’t playing, you were showing weakness. You didn’t want anyone to see that. If you were at 70 percent, you still played.
In that November 21 overtime loss to Detroit, I played thirty-six minutes. I also finished with 21 points, 12 rebounds, and 5 assists. Those are good numbers, but I didn’t give a fuck about that. The goal is to win and we didn’t get the job done.
Three weeks later, on December 15, 1987, we went to Pontiac, Michigan, to play the Pistons at the Silverdome. The arena was thirty miles north of downtown Detroit, and it was too big for basketball—a huge stadium where the Detroit Lions once played. The Pistons played there for ten years starting in 1978, before moving into the Palace of Auburn Hills, another suburban arena, for the start of the 1988–89 season. They won three championships in the suburbs before moving back to the city, where they belonged, for the start of 2017–18 season.
On this cold December night, the Silverdome had 23,729 fans come see the Pistons and the Bulls. In those days that was a great crowd for an NBA regular season game. In fact, it still is.
We played another competitive game that night, only to lose again in overtime. Michael scored 38 points, and it was clear that even though the Pistons had already beaten us in the first two meetings, they knew Michael was becoming a big problem. They had to do something about him. Really, it was Isiah Thomas who wanted to do something about Michael.
Isiah was always trying to fuck with Michael’s head, but those mind games weren’t working. Michael is mentally tough. He was one of the most focused players to ever put on the uniform. Isiah and the Pistons knew that Michael couldn’t be messed with.
But they damn sure tried.
On January 16, 1988, we played the Pistons again, at home. Our record was 19-14, while the Pistons were in first place with a 20-10 record. Every game was more intense than the last. Laimbeer had taken a shot at Scottie Pippen in December, so it was pretty obvious where this was headed. Tensions boiled over in the third quarter when Rick Mahorn fouled Michael by grabbing him around the waist and throwing him to the floor. Mahorn was big and strong and wanted to send a message.
We had no choice but to go right back at him. I immediately went after Mahorn, and two of my teammates, Mike Brown and Brad Sellers, were pushing Mahorn as well. The fight drifted toward our bench, where our coach, Doug Collins, went to grab Mahorn around the neck. I give Doug credit for sticking up for Michael, but Mahorn tossed Doug on the scorer’s table like a rag doll. Both benches ended up on the court. It was crazy.
Me and Mahorn were immediately ejected from the game. Mahorn wound up being the only player suspended: he got one game plus a $5,000 fine. I got fined $2,000, but I wasn’t suspended. Doug Collins was hit with a $1,500 fine, while a few of my teammates—Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, and Granville Waiters—were fined $500 each for leaving the bench. The Pistons’ John Salley and Vinnie Johnson were also fined $500 each for leaving the bench.
That’s a bargain by today’s NBA standards. If you leave the bench now, you get an automatic one-game suspension. We might not have made a lot of money when I first came into the league, but the league office also didn’t take a lot of money when punches were thrown. I’m not saying the league encouraged hard fouls and fighting, but they were treated differently. It’s too costly to fight now, and as a result, the league has gotten less physical, and players have gotten softer. When Joel Embiid of the Philadelphia 76ers and Karl-Anthony Towns of the Minnesota Timberwolves got into a fight early in the 2019–20 season—nothing but a “pillow fight,” as I call it—they were both suspended for two games, and Embiid lost about $40,000 in wages. It’s especially not smart to fight in the playoffs. When I was on the Knicks, we learned that lesson the hard way during our 1997 playoff series against the Miami Heat. Our fight in Game 5 cost us the series, as well as my last legitimate chance at winning an NBA title. The NBA’s stance on fighting was getting stricter at that time.
But in the late eighties, the league viewed fighting differently. The fines for our fight with the Pistons were announced by Rod Thorn. In his statement to reporters, Thorn said: “The Board of Governors adopted a resolution in October making it clear that flagrant fouls in half-court play will not be tolerated and will be subject to the most severe penalties. This was a blatant example of the very type of action the Board of Governors was trying to eliminate.”
Rod said I was fined for “escalating the incident” and Doug was fined for “acting as other than a peacemaker during the altercation.” I look at it as money well spent. We had to defend ourselves, and these are the types of moments that bring a team together. I always stuck up for my teammates. If I was wearing the same uniform as somebody, I got his back.
I knew Michael appreciated how we responded to the foul in that moment and throughout the game. Two things happened that night: we didn’t let the Pistons push us around, and we won the game, 115–99. Of course, the focus afterward in the media was on the melee featuring the two heavyweights, myself and Mahorn.
When the fines were announced, Michael told Chicago reporters: “I think my teammates really cared about the way I was being treated. Charles Oakley is a very caring person. I’m very grateful he came over and tried to take up for me.”
Michael wanted to return the favor by offering to pay our fines, but Doug and I declined. Doug wanted to pay his fine to make sure the league knew that he stood against fighting. He said: “I don’t incite my players to fight and I don’t condone fighting. Fighting isn’t a part of basketball.”
Well, not exactly. Maybe guys in the NBA didn’t go into a game looking for a fight, like they might in hockey. But in basketball you have to be ready to stand up for yourself if someone knocks you or your teammate down. We couldn’t let the Pistons intimidate us. I remember telling the reporters after the game, “If it didn’t get through to them, it will if they ever do it again. If they do something wrong they’re going to get checked. No matter what player they mess with, somebody will retaliate. In Detroit earlier this year, Bill Laimbeer hit Scottie. I ran out and told him the next time it happens, something is going down. I knew something was going to happen. The fine will get paid and then it will be forgotten. But you’ve got to protect yourself at all times.”
Over the years, the Bad Boys took more cheap shots than anything. Isiah was usually the one egging guys on. He knew how to get Mahorn and Rodman going.
Guys know who to pick on and who to avoid. It’s part of the game. Your response is to not let anyone punk you. They were going out of their way to get to Michael. Mahorn thought he could go after Michael, but he got me instead. And Mahorn knew what I do. I’m the police. I was never going to start the fight but I would end it.
We lost two of our final three regular-season meetings with the Pistons, although on April 3, 1988, Michael had one of those magical performances. He went off for 59 points. It was similar to the game he’d had thirteen months earlier against the Pistons when he scored 61 points by making twenty-two of thirty-nine shots. Me and Mike combined for 68 points that night. Michael said after that game on March 4, 1987: “Nobody’s ever really unstoppable but I felt close to it tonight.” You know that drove the Pistons crazy.
We were coming. We finished with a record of 50-32 in 1987–88. It was the Bulls’ first 50-win campaign since the 1973–74 season. And things only got better. Our first-round opponent was the Cleveland Cavaliers, and in Game 1 Michael scored 50 points, and we broke our team’s seven-game playoff losing streak. In Game 2, Michael went off for 55.
We were on a roll with Michael. Even after we lost Game 3, the headline in the Chicago Tribune the next day told the story about where the series was headed. It read: “Cavs bring Bulls back to earth… Limit Jordan to 38 points.”
Cleveland was tougher at home and forced a Game 5 back in Chicago. But in that fifth and decisive game, on May 8, 1988, Michael had his postseason breakthrough. He scored 39, Pippen scored 24, and I grabbed 20 rebounds for our first playoff series victory. I felt I had won the battle, and the war. The player the Cavs traded me for on draft day almost three years earlier, Keith Lee, missed the regular season and the playoffs with a leg injury.
“Nothing against Keith Lee, but Cleveland had to get up on the wrong side of the bed when they made that trade,” my former teammate, Gene Banks, once said.
Lee never played another game for the Cavaliers. The following season he joined the New Jersey Nets, and after one year his career was done. My career was just getting going, and I was excited about having another crack at the Pistons, who we were up against next in the playoffs.
* * *
We lost Game 1 in Detroit, then managed to tie the series by winning Game 2 as Michael scored 36 and Sam Vincent 31. That game from Michael was something of a wake-up call for the Pistons. When we went back to Chicago for Games 3 and 4, the Pistons Hall of Fame head coach, Chuck Daly, introduced “The Jordan Rules.” The Rules were a defensive strategy to slow down and bruise the best player on the court. According to Daly, the Pistons would try and force Michael left and double-team him. If he was on the right, they would run a double-team late at him. And they would send a big man at him any time he went in the box.
“The other rule was, any time he went by you, you had to nail him,” Daly said. “If he was coming off a screen, nail him. We didn’t want to be dirty—I know some people thought we were—but we had to make contact and be very physical.”
That’s exactly what the Pistons did in the first quarter of Game 3. Mike tried to fight through a Bill Laimbeer screen at the foul line, and the next thing you know, Laimbeer slapped at Mike’s arm. Michael retaliated by throwing a punch, and I immediately jumped in and shoved Laimbeer away. Isiah Thomas wrapped his arms around me to guide me away from the fray and the thing calmed down pretty quickly.
Since this was the 1980s, the only punishment referee Earl Strom handed out was a technical foul on Michael and an offensive foul on Laimbeer. I didn’t get anything. But the Pistons set a tone. Michael scored 24 on eight of twenty shooting with five turnovers and Detroit beat us easily, 101–79. We lost Game 4 and scored only 77 points.
I had a strong Game 5 with 19 points and 15 rebounds, but what did it mean? I even got into a shoving match with Mahorn because that’s what he and I did. We both received technical fouls and that was it. We lost, and our season was done. The Pistons had successfully shut Michael down enough over the last three games to do the trick. He averaged 24 points as the Pistons dared the rest of us to beat them. It worked. Ultimately, it turned out that we weren’t ready to beat the Pistons in a best-of-seven series.
The season was over, but we definitely felt as if we had accomplished something and that our future was bright. Scottie was the real deal. And Michael was a true superstar. The Pistons went on to beat the Celtics in the next round, which told us that the Celtics were fading. Our main competition was now Detroit, and we were ready for that challenge. If they wanted to get nasty, we were down for that. Next season couldn’t come soon enough.
Little did I know, however, that when I walked off the court in Detroit, it would be my last game as Michael’s teammate with the Chicago Bulls.
5 THE BOMB SQUAD
Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
I’d like to take credit for that line, but those words belong to Mike Tyson, the former heavyweight champion of the world. It’s a great quote because it applies to everybody in all walks of life, not just boxers and professional athletes, and it sums up a valuable lesson: your life and your situation can change at a moment’s notice. The key is to be able to react and adjust.
Michael Spinks and I learned that the hard way on June 27, 1988.
That night Spinks was fighting Tyson in Atlantic City for the undisputed heavyweight championship. Both fighters were undefeated, and the fight promoters were calling the bout “Once and for All.”
I enjoyed going to the fights. When I was young, there was nothing like a big fight. Muhammad Ali, Joe Frazier, George Foreman, Marvin Hagler, Thomas Hearns, Sugar Ray Leonard, Evander Holyfield, and “Iron Mike” Tyson were the guys you wanted to see. Today, mixed martial arts has taken some of the attention away from boxing, but back in the late eighties and early nineties a Tyson fight was where you wanted to be.
