Nov. 19--Despite what you think you're reading, I'm not writing a column today. But you don't have to worry about me. I'll still get paid just as surely as advertisers and subscribers had to pony up in expectation that I would, that something would fill this space. Because I am a superstar, a model employee, I know everyone wants what's best for me.
It's just not worth subjecting my fingertips and keyboard to the stress and strain of typing in midweek, what with the big Sunday edition coming in just a few days. I'll warn you now, I may be a bit rusty then, but still. Besides, I only have so many ideas. I'd like to have a few fresh ones left when my children become adults, just in case they ever ask me what I think.
You can be like Mike, as the old Michael Jordan ads for Gatorade said. For a day, I'm going to be Derrick Rose.
Just Tuesday morning, I asked my almost-11-year-old what he thought about Rose, who once was his favorite Chicago Bull and whose moves he used to try to imitate practically every day in his room, at the playground or in the gym back when Rose had everyday moves.
The boy said he didn't think anything lately about Rose, whose return from injuries that sidelined him for most of two seasons has been staggered this fall by what seems an abundance of caution in deference to lesser injuries. As I'm not a doctor, let alone Rose's doctor, I would be hard-pressed to have an opinion either.
But surely anyone in practically any workplace can relate to the dilemma, right? Push your most talented employees to push themselves and you might push them over the edge if not right out the door.
Some might say we get stronger the harder we try. But how strong is strong enough and why in the world would anyone ever need to find out?
Reliably good isn't great, but greatness isn't reliable.
Rose was great, the league's youngest most valuable player, and where did it get him? A seat on the bench in street clothes.
He can settle for good and still wind up in the same place, as he has demonstrated on so many occasions for ticket-buying fans this season.
It's a good thing I'm not writing today as I'm obviously still wrestling with this.
Surely, any boss would ask more -- or the most -- of such a highly paid employee. We all work in environments in which there are ramifications to announcing we won't do what's expected of us.
Some people look at the Rose situation and complain he is acting like the late opera star Luciano Pavarotti, whose legacy is a string of canceled appearances in an effort to protect his voice or his legacy, both of which lost some of their impressiveness over the years in his inconsistency. Rose's reputation is taking a beating, too.
Star performers of any stripe aren't ordinary people. They're not paid like it either.
So Rose is now a hot house flower. Orchids are pretty and they don't have thorns. You wonder if Adidas would consider selling his lucrative shoe deal to Hush Puppies. His pride might be wounded but at least his ankles and knees wouldn't give him trouble later in life.
You can focus on grabbing the brass ring, or you can simply grab a seat.
The effect of all of this is to make Rose more human and ordinary -- and that's not necessarily a good thing for millions of reasons.
The only part of Rose that seems fully intact this season, the same as before, is his astronomical pay -- $19 million guaranteed salary, not counting endorsements -- which I, like anyone else with a job or just hoping to get one, surely can continue to daydream about.
The irony is that the only reason he gets to make this choice night after night is because he is extraordinary. Or was.
My son is far more captivated lately by Joakim Noah and Jimmy Butler. He sometimes will ask why the Bulls don't get rid of Rose. I try to explain it, but salary caps and the costs of eating a contract are even less interesting to a fifth-grader than Rose has become.
If he wanted to imagine himself as someone sitting around just watching basketball, he always has his old man.
philrosenthal@tribpub.com
Twitter @phil_rosenthal
