On Sunday evening, I gleefully watched something I hadn't seen in seven years, something that I once doubted I would ever see again: the Chicago Bulls won a playoff game.
Yes, on the United Center floor where His Airness once reigned, the Bulls topped the Washington Wizards in Game 1 of their first round playoff series. Finally, in year seven AJ — After Jordan — the Bulls are back.
Well, maybe not all the way back. These are the Baby Bulls, not Da Bulls. As much fun as Ben Gordon and Kirk Hinrich are to watch, they're no Jordan and Pippen by any means. The Bulls still go through stretches where they look lost on offense and are prone to the sort of matador defense Toni Kukoc once played. And a guy named Jared Reiner — I have no earthly idea who he is or where he came from — sees playing time.
But the Bulls' confidence and sense-of-belonging is back, and pride has been somewhat restored to the imperial red and white jersey that, in the late '90s, was ubiquitous around the world.
I love the toughness these Bulls exude, a fighting spirit reminiscent of the intensity guys like Bill Cartwright and Cliff Livingston once brought. Wizards guard Gilbert Arenas called them "dirty" last week — a compliment in this era of NBA players whose sole purpose is to fire up fade-away jump shots.
I also love the fact that the Bulls, for the most part, play as a team. For fans like myself, who have begun to prefer the "purer" basketball of the college game — yes, I find the Princeton offense exciting, deal with it — it makes the NBA a lot more pleasant to watch, harkening back to the graceful elegance of the Triangle Offense.
In all honesty, I don't expect the Bulls to make it that far in the playoffs this year. I think they should get past the Wizards, but a second round matchup looms with Shaq and the Miami Heat. With starters Eddy Curry and Luol Deng both out for the year, the Bulls don't have the firepower to compete with the NBA's best. When Othella Harrington is your starting center, it's a very, very bad sign.
This is a team built for the future, though. Assuming that Curry's heart condition isn't career-ending and that the core of young players continues to mature, the Bulls should be serious contenders in the Eastern Conference for the rest of the decade.
It's a reassuring notion for fans of Chicago sports teams — we've certainly had more than our share of pain lately (the past century, really). A playoff run deep into June always took a bit of the sting off the Cubs' impending collapse and the Bears' impending, well, awfulness.
The Bulls' resurgence is also good for a league that hasn't recovered from the 1998 lockout and Jordan's retirement. Popular wisdom says the NBA thrives because of first-name-only superstars — it was Larry and Magic who saved the league, Michael and Shaq who took it to the next level — but the revelation of Kobe's ugly private life has demonstrated the glaring flaws of that strategy. A successful big-market franchise has the potential to sell just as many jerseys as LeBron does, and, with the Lakers and Knicks in utter disrepair, the Bulls are the NBA's best bet.
But most importantly, it's fun to be a Bulls fan again.
Monday afternoon, as I was putting the finishing touches on this column, I flipped on the TV to find that ESPN was showing one of those classic NBA shows — and, lo and behold, it was the story of the '93 Bulls season. For half an hour, I sat transfixed, relieving the joy I first experienced as an eight-year-old.
There was Jordan, draining a buzzer-beater over Gerald Wilkins to beat the Cavs. There were Pippen and Grant, stuffing Charles Smith half-a-dozen times to beat the Knicks. And there was John Paxson, my personal hero, knocking down the three to beat the Suns and clinch the three-peat.
When the show was over, I sat silently for a few moments, a goofy smile plastered across my face. No, the brilliance of Michael Jordan and the magical runs of my youth will never be matched. But if the Baby Bulls can win a few more games and stir up a few more memories, well, I'll be watching and cheering, just like old times.
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