Originally published June 7, 1993.
Michael spoke.
Sort of.
Michael Jordan was 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.
Jordan paused. Jordan smiled, 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 accessible Jordan hasn’t spoken to the media for 11 days after angrily storming out of an interview session centering on his gambling junket to Atlantic City between Games 1 and 2 of the Eastern Conference finals against the New York Knicks.
“I’m letting my basketball do all the talking,” Jordan said.
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, Jordan hit the gas and squealed down the driveway at warp speed, right past a police officer.
