From Air Jordan to Err Jordan

To some, the news that came sweeping out of Chicago on Monday afternoon was sweet and cleansing.

To me, it carried only a chill.

In a curbside conversation with reporters, Michael Jordan finally dropped the poker face and essentially made it official.

He’s back.

He didn’t use those exact words. But, when the topic of his comeback arose for the umpteenth time, he did use these words:

“I’ll be ready to go.”

And these:

“I want to play for years.”

And these:

“I know there are a lot of naysayers out there.”

And these:

“I’m doing it for the love of the game. Nothing else. For the love of the game.”

Jordan, who acknowledged to the reporters that he had given them a story, said he would hold a news conference in Washington, D.C., within the next 10 days. You don’t need to be a wizard to know to what he’s going to announce.

He’s back.

What a shame.

A Van Gogh that has hung so royally on our tacky sports landscape, coming down.

A precious souvenir we had saved for our children, tarnished.

A right hand, disappeared.

So, it turns out, the final shot of the greatest basketball player in history will not be the 17-foot jumper with 5.2 seconds remaining that lifted the Chicago Bulls to the 1998 world championship over the Utah Jazz.

Rather, it will probably be some desperation jumper at the end of a desperate season for the desultory Washington Wizards.

Instead of stretching toward greatness, the right hand will be swatting at time.

In retiring as he did in the winter of 1999, Jordan became that rare athlete to meet the sort of expectations that ancient civilizations once placed upon their gods.

In coming back, he is proving to be just another human.

He misses the sport. He needs the competition. He feel unfocused in retirement. Like anyone else.

Good for him that he has the ability and will to return to the battle.

Bad for us that we have to watch it.

Jordan had already flown away, off that Utah court and forever into our memories. Now that he’s walking back toward us, what are we supposed to think?

Here’s guessing that watching him step on to the Madison Square Garden court on Oct. 30 for the season opener against the New York Knicks will be like watching an old flame step into a high school reunion.

It will initially be a thrill for us to see each other again. But we will tire quickly.

It is, in many ways, unfair to criticize his decision. Nobody asks why the lawyer comes out of retirement to take tickets at the Cineplex. Jordan should have the right to follow his heart without bystanders poking at it.

He does.

But those whose imaginations have become melded to him through his many moments of grace also have a right to mourn.

He has not played in three seasons. He will be 39 in the middle of the upcoming season. His recent comeback workouts stalled because of broken ribs and tendinitis in his knee. Even his personal trainer has said he feels Jordan’s body might not be strong enough to withstand the rigors of an NBA season.

The only thing that will take a bigger beating than his body is our memories.

Remember the dreamy speculation about a matchup between Jordan and a mature Kobe Bryant? Now we will see it for real, and it will not be pretty.

Jordan against heir apparent Vince Carter? Ouch.

Jordan’s team playing the students of former guru Phil Jackson? The Wizards might not beat the Lakers with three Michael Jordans.

In that Monday conversation, Jordan told reporters that on a scale of one to 10, he was a 71/2 or an 8.

And some say 80% of Jordan is still better than 100% of others.

But it is still 80% of Jordan. It is Pavarotti at a lower octave, Baryshnikov with a flatter foot.

In a sports world filled with phony underachievers and idle braggarts, there has been only one Michael Jordan.

Is it too much to ask that he could have just stayed Michael Jordan?

At his news conference, Jordan will probably remind everyone that he didn’t necessarily retire on his own terms, that he leaped from the Chicago Bulls just before they went rolling off a cliff.

He will undoubtedly note that he became involved as a Wizards part-owner and director of basketball operations because he missed the game.

And he will probably say that when his buddy Mario Lemieux successfully returned to the ice for the Pittsburgh Penguins this winter after a 31/2-year retirement, he was convinced he could do the same.

Lemieux’s return was successful. But even though his hockey skills can be breathtaking, Lemieux doesn’t viscerally amaze the way Jordan amazes.

Take away even a bit of that amazement, and, like pulling one card off that house on your kitchen table, the entire vision is lost.

Jordan will tell us that what is making him return is precisely what made him great; his desire to excel, his need to win.

All I will be able is think is, somebody finally did it.

Somebody finally grounded Air Jordan.

I never dreamed it would be him.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.