THE NBA / MARK HEISLER : He’s Not Quite Like Mike, but Watch Out

Batman, Superman, Rodman and Bedlam: So far the NBA finals are on track. TV ratings went through the roof. Dennis Rodman was Dennis Rodman. Chicago was loonier than he is.

However, despite Rodman’s reverie about “prissy” Princess Diana, the Sun-Times’ “Let the Hate Begin” headline, Mayor Richard Daley’s criticism of the headline, the Sun-Times’ apology (“We regret and withdraw the phrase . . . although it was intended only as hyperbole and we look forward to a friendly, exciting series”), there were some key absences.

Where’s Mike?

You can’t carp about 28 points, eight rebounds and four assists a game. On the other hand, this is Michael Jordan. In his previous trip to the finals, he averaged 41 against the Phoenix Suns.

Not only that, the SuperSonics have hurled the gauntlet down on his toe, saying he hasn’t hurt them too badly (not very smart; Jordan lives for stuff like that), talking trash to him (major no-no), and worse. After stripping him on a jump shot in Game 2 and beating him to the other end for a dunk, Gary Payton stuck his head into Jordan’s face and gave him a long stare (usually suicidal).

Jordan’s response was feeble. He made four shots after the first quarter, even after starting the game hot.

Could he be tired? He’s 33 and it has been a long season, with the 70-win chase and all.

Where’s Gary?

Except when agitating Jordan, Payton has been quiet (26 points in two games, 38% from the floor, one for seven on three-point shots), after a mighty playoff run (22 points a game, 50% from the floor, 43% on three-pointers).

In a victory for outlaws, this has been Rodman’s series to date, with all that augurs for good and bad.

He has been harmless, as when explaining his multicolored hairdo: “You got the AIDS symbol here. You got Pearl Jam on this side and you got the gay and lesbian symbol in the back. They all represent all the people that people won’t have anything to do with, so. . . .

“I told Phil [Jackson] once this is all faded and coming together, it’s going to be more of a Grateful Dead-type atmosphere. It’s going to look like Jerry Garcia memories.”

He has been risque, as when asked if he expected the SuperSonics to throw more bodies at him. “I hope they throw somebody’s wife,” he said. “Make it a lot easier.”

He has been around the bend, as when he said Princess Di “needs a little bit of roughing up,” suggesting that inside this remarkable player and this clown schtick, there’s still a sick pup trying to get out.

Tune in today when Payton takes the floor before a home crowd, and Jordan, who noted he wasn’t happy with his Game 2, reaches back for something extra, to see if this series is, indeed, friendly and exciting and will go past Wednesday.

HERE COME THE EURO-ROOKIES

Obliged to intrigue against each other to draft teenagers who’ll be free agents in three years, teams have noticed there are still grown-ups available, even if they don’t speak the language.

No fewer than four Europeans are expected to go on the first round. While they learn English, you can try to learn their names.

Vitaly Potapenko--At 21, he’s a 6-foot-10, 277-pounder from Ukraine who played two seasons at Wright State, where he averaged 20 points and seven rebounds. Nicknamed the “Ukraine Train” but largely unknown, he burned up last week’s Chicago pre-draft camp. Could crash the lottery.

Zydrunas Ilgauskas--At 21, this Lithuanian was measured at 7-3, 258. A late comer, he took last season off while rehabilitating a foot injury. Described as more like Mark Eaton than Arvydas Sabonis.

Predrag Stojakovic--He’s a 6-9, 229-pound Serb, only 18 years old. Impressed in private workouts at Chicago.

Efthimis Retzias--At 21, he’s a 6-11, 243-pound Greek. Posted modest numbers playing for PAOK in the Greek League but considered a prospect.

STERLING STILL AN IMMOVABLE OBJECT

The Clippers are still here, despite the efforts of dedicated team officials and the prayers of NBA Commissioner David Stern to move them to the Pond of Anaheim, despite such mundane factors as logic and inevitability.

When a decision is handed down that is so willfully wrong, what can one say but . . . Donald Sterling?

The Donald has a demoralized organization and a roster whose primary concern is “When is my contract up?” His team plays before crowds of 4,000, announced as 7,000, in an old, cold, dark arena that hasn’t been renovated because he’s convinced someone is about to build him a new one.

This might not be a surprise, but Sterling isn’t really in it to win it. As long as he can sit at halfcourt and entertain celebs, the team has served its purpose.

His tenacity, as well as his stewardship of this running joke, is legendary. A real estate magnate, he claims to have never sold a property. If this served him admirably in business, it made him a disaster in basketball, a man who doesn’t trust the people he puts in charge or learn from his mistakes.

Prevailed upon by all his top lieutenants to move, he turned them down again.

Everyone suspects he’s afraid the celebs won’t make the drive from the Westside. In any case, the Clippers have been sentenced to another year in the Sports Arena, despite internal projections of a hard, money-losing year (yes, they were guaranteed a $4-million annual profit in Anaheim).

“You know the saying, the opera isn’t over until the fat lady sings?” says an insider. “In this case, it’s after she takes two encores.”

NAMES AND NUMBERS

The New Jersey Nets hired John Calipari, a younger and more ruthless version of Rick Pitino, paying him $3 million a year and turning over the organization to him. Calipari was not beloved by his college peers, who claimed he’d do anything, including once telling a recruit who was also considering St. John’s that Redmen Coach Louie Carnesecca had a terminal illness. The NBA, however, has fewer rules, and more enforceable ones. Even at this price, it’s much better than recycling an old coach or bumping up an unproven assistant. . . . Thank you: Larry Brown, whose contract says he must get the average of the top four coaches, could go up $750,000 to $2.5 million. Miami’s Pat Riley and Calipari make $3 million. Phil Jackson is expected to go above $2 million. Don Nelson, still being paid by the New York Knicks, was at $1.8 million. . . . It’s official, Charles Barkley wants out of Phoenix and is trying to force Jerry Colangelo’s hand, vowing on national TV last week, “I can’t honestly say I could come back after they’ve shopped me around all summer and give 110%.” Charlie, of course, has been shopping himself too, determined to go to a team--Houston, Indiana or New York--where he can make a last title run. . . . This spring’s heartthrob, Danny Ainge, who could have gone to NBC as an announcer, or coached the Minnesota Timberwolves under old buddy Kevin McHale, will assist Cotton Fitzsimmons in Phoenix for a year, then take over. The Suns did the same thing with Paul Westphal, who served a four-year apprenticeship. Says Ainge: “I’m not as patient as Paul.” He probably also won’t take over as good a team or win as many games. . . . The Celtics have given up on their ’94 No. 1 pick, Eric Montross, are shopping him around the league, and want to draft another big man with their No. 9 pick. Like Shawn Bradley, Montross, another project with some promise, will probably pan out somewhere else. . . . Weirdest stats of the week: Heights at the Chicago pre-draft camp, where college players usually shrink, actually went up. Kentucky’s Antoine Walker, who was listed at 6-8, came in at 6-10. The Clippers worked him out and found him to be 6-8 3/4. There were so many unbelievable numbers, the NBA had the players remeasured, but by then, all the famous ones had left. “We had doctors do it,” said an NBA official. “What could I tell you? You’d think if they got through medical school, they could measure someone.”