No News Isn’t Good News

In the cab ride down Madison Street for Michael Jordan’s retirement news conference, more reminders of his influence on this city popped into view. It has gotten to the point that practically everywhere you look around here, you’re reminded of Jordan.

The United Center loomed in the distance. It was the house Michael built, stocked with more than 200 luxury boxes to cash in on his appeal.

It used to stand out like an island, cut off from the skyscrapers of the Loop a couple of miles away, surrounded by run-down houses, liquor stores and check-cashing outlets. No banks, no grocery stores in sight.

Now there are townhouses and luxury lofts being built. A nice Boys & Girls Club, named after Jordan’s slain father, is a couple of blocks from the United Center. The area has more restaurants, including a second location of the famed Billy Goat Tavern (inspiration for the old “hamborger, hamborger, cheezeborger, cheezeborger” sketch on “Saturday Night Live”).

This area was nothing before Jordan came to town in 1984. Now it has a much better future than the Bulls team Jordan leaves behind.

And what was the primary reason to drive down Madison at all over the last 14 years, the main reason for anyone to want the real estate? Jordan, of course.

About 800 to 1,000 members of the media made the trek one more time Wednesday. People flew in from all over the country and around the world, then headed for 1901 Madison and walked through Gate 3 1/2, the strangely numbered press entrance that is the only carryover from Chicago Stadium that used to stand across the street.

This time there wasn’t anticipation, no expectations of a great performance awaiting inside.

We all knew what we’d get: Jordan announcing his retirement. Again.

There wasn’t that same sense of disbelief that accompanied his news conference when he retired in October 1993. That time he hung it up in the prime of his career, at age 30, with no warning. The news conference came the day after word first leaked about his retirement. Most people were still too stunned to know what to make of it.

We can’t say we weren’t forewarned this time around. We’ve been bracing for the possibility of this moment since the buzzer sounded to end Game 6 of the 1998 NBA finals. The longer the lockout lasted, the stronger the indications of Jordan’s retirement grew. The first hint of an official word came Monday night, giving reporters a full day to prepare and travel to Chicago for the official announcement.

Jordan came down from the stands and to the basketball court--put in place complete with baskets on both ends, specially for this event--with his wife, Juanita, by his side, and walked past a group of friends and associates seated to the left of the podium.

Jordan is so large his entourage has gone beyond a bunch of faceless hangers-on. They grew into individuals in their own right. Those familiar with the Jordan story could recognize George Koehler, the man who gave Jordan a ride from the airport on his first day in Chicago and became a close friend. He doesn’t even need to be with Jordan anymore to get VIP treatment at restaurants and clubs.

There was Adolph Shivers, a buddy from North Carolina who now hosts parties at major events like the Super Bowls, again without any sponsorship from Jordan.

They’re like spinoffs from a hit TV show. They were all there, plus agent David Falk and Nike representatives. They’re so much a part of Jordan’s family that no one really noticed the absence of his mother and siblings until Jordan mentioned that they couldn’t be there.

It was a news conference without any news. By the time the appointed hour arrived, the whole thing had more of an air of a ceremony.

“I feel like I’m getting married,” he joked to a couple of friends. “Who’s got the ring?”

Jordan did get a ring, his sixth championship ring, handed to him by Bull owner Jerry Reinsdorf with very little fanfare.

It seemed lacking, the same way the re-retirement of his No. 23 fell flat. Those things are meant to be done in front of thousands of adoring fans, not hundreds of blase journalists.

A bank of 25 video cameras on tripods filmed every action. Those who couldn’t fit on the platform went up into the United Center stands and shot the high angle.

The reporters sat in front of them. So many Jordan news conferences have turned into shouting contests, with reporters scrambling to get their question in first and get his attention. This session was unusually orderly. There weren’t too many questions to ask, really. Just when did you decide to retire, why, and is there any chance you’re coming back?

He was asked that last one about five different ways. Leaving himself a little wriggle room by saying he was 99.9% sure he was through. No one asked him to carry it out another decimal place.

There’s still cause for skepticism, of course. When Jordan retired the first time, he said repeatedly that he would not come back. The simple act of him sitting in the United Center was an example of going back on his word; he loved the old Stadium and had vowed never to play in the new building. He wound up playing the final 3 1/2 seasons of his career there.

Wednesday represented the culmination of what he became over his 13 years in the NBA. He became bigger than the league itself. I doubt there will be as many reporters at this year’s NBA finals as there were at the news conference. This was an Event, complete with its own special media credentials.

That’s one of the things Jordan hated about his life. Sometimes it seems as if it’s nothing more than a series of events. When you’re Michael Jordan, it’s not enough to simply say goodbye. You have to speak it into the microphones and have it beamed out by a fleet of satellite trucks parked outside and aimed around the country.

Being a superior basketball player has meant Jordan has been asked if he can fly, if he is an alien, or if he is a god. Wednesday he was asked if he would use his newfound spare time to help solve the world’s problems.

“I can’t save the world, by no means,” Jordan said.

If nothing else Wednesday, we learned that.

J.A. Adande can be reached at his e-mail address: j.a.adande@latimes.com