The end of the highlight film?

By Sharon Lin

My Bulls memories are not just about the beauty of the game itself. I also remember cafeteria discussions, pre-game shows, the food we ate while we watched the contests, where we watched them (at an Arby's in Colorado, for example), quality time with my parents, packing after exams, the color of Dennis Rodman's hair, chewing gum, stupid mistakes, phenomenal shots, commercials, and even an old flame.

Growing up in Illinois, I genuinely loved basketball, especially the Bulls. It gave me something to talk about with junior high boys. In high school, we watched the playoffs instead of studying for exams. Then I moved to Boston--but I refused to become a Celtics fan. In June of 1993, my parents and I watched all the Bulls games on a portable TV in our temporary apartment. Those games are etched deep in my memory--especially John Paxson's last-second three-pointer to win the championship. I had a long-distance boyfriend in Chicago, and we made a ritual of calling each other before or after every game, to predict, discuss, analyze, and gloat. In thinking about the Bulls, I inevitably think about that boy.

The 1994 and 1995 playoffs were sad without Michael Jordan. My father and I were in London when the Rockets won their first of two straight titles. March 18, 1995, however, was one of the happiest days of my life. Not only did Jordan come back from retirement--the Bulls lost, as you may recall--but I also got into college that day. Additionally, my Chicago boyfriend called (coincidentally) and, just like in old times, we talked about the Bulls. I was worried about Michael. But in my diary that night, I noted that "the fire is still there."

In my house, we refer to Jackson as "The Zen Master," for his peculiar interest in Eastern spiritualism. My father, like any other Bulls fan in the world, is convinced not only that Phil can hear him from 1,000 miles away, but also that he can understand Chinese. Dad will yell something, and true to command, Phil will obediently put in Rodman or call a time out. My parents are not your average sports fans. We've only gone to a handful of professional games, and we don't paint ourselves in team colors or dance around. But we'll drop everything for any Bulls game. We will put dinner plans on hold, stop reading, stay up late. During the last game of last year's Bulls-Jazz series, I worried about the Bulls while Dad worried about my roommate Anne, who is also from Chicago, and whether she got good TV reception in her Georgetown apartment.

Although we have to explain technical fouls and the triple-double to my mother during commercial breaks, she sometimes offers Bulls trivia of her own: who stuck his mouthguard out all the time? (B.J. Armstrong.) Where did that guy with the funny glasses go? (Horace Grant, to the Orlando Magic.) What happened to that guy with the girl's name? (Stacey King--no clue where he is.)

Every family of Bulls fans has its own championship traditions. Anne's parents bought T-shirts--including the silly caricatured ones--and collected all the front pages of the Chicago Tribune the day after every Bulls championship. Another family I know gets up early to make sure they get the early edition of the newspapers as keepsakes.

I could watch those highlight tapes without tire. How Michael cried. How they ran down the clock. How that stupid confetti stuck to their sweaty heads and bodies. It didn't have to end this way, with free agency and contract politics. But perhaps better to end this way, than to fade and suddenly not appear in the playoffs one year.

Perhaps this farewell is premature. But it's one that Chicago fans have been expecting for several years. Every summer, when the contracts are negotiated, we hear rumors and fear the Chicago Tribune headlines. And every summer, they tell us, "one more year." The two Jerrys, Krause and Reinsdorf, may seem to have replaced Al Capone and his henchmen as the Chicago bad guys, but as good businessmen, they can't afford to shell out tens of millions for just a few, aging players, even if they are incredible.

Jordan wasn't such a hot baseball player, but he is an incredible athlete, and he has said himself that he "doesn't want to walk away from the game limping." I feel that it would be wrong for these guys, Michael and Toni in particular, to play for anyone but the Bulls. I don't know if I'll be able to stomach seeing Scottie in anything but red, white, and black. I'm sad that the dynasty has to end. But to the Bulls, and Phil, thanks for the memories.

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