| Can't Knock The Mailman Authored by Ben Wilkinson - February 11, 2005 - 8:35 pm
Karl Malone did not want to go out this way. His fans didn’t want him to go out this way. We all had visions of how Karl Malone would retire and all of them were variations of this: it would be a Game Seven of the NBA Finals, the final horn just got done blaring over the loudspeakers in the Delta Center, the brown, leather ball just touched the last piece of twine, and the scoreboard read: Jazz 99 Bulls 98.
This was all that we wanted. It was a simple request that never materialized. As fans, we could always overlook the bickering that took place between Larry Miller and the Mailman. Several times, Karl emphatically stated that he had “Played his last game in Salt Lake City.” To us, the threat had as much weight as parents threatening to turn the car around in the middle of a vacation if their children didn’t stop misbehaving in the back seat. As long as he brought us our Championship, he could demand the entire GNP of Switzerland and it wouldn’t matter. Pay the man.
And then the rumors started. “Did you hear the Mailman put his house up for sale? He’s asking $7 Million!” Followed up with, “Did you hear Kay (Karl’s wife) is selling the bed and breakfast?” Then there were all the sightings of the Mailman kickin’ it in SoCal with Shaq. He wasn’t really going to leave Utah, was he? A man who owned a palatial home that overlooked the entire city? A man who said that if the Jazz ever won the Championship, he would run for Governor of Utah?
When I watched the press conference last year of GP and the Mailman, I had an ugly queasiness about me, similar to the feeling one gets when they see their ex walking into a movie in the arms of another guy or girl. The Mailman was happy, excited even giddy. I hadn’t seen him like this since John Stockton nailed The Shot that sent them into their very first Finals appearance against Chicago. What was he thinking? This guy was going Hollywood Hogan on all of his fans back in Utah.
Watching Malone last season made me appreciate his seasons with the Jazz even more. It proved not only how good he was, but it further demonstrated how good his long time teammate John Stockton was. As good as Kobe is, he can’t deliver a pass like Stockton. He could never feel the Mailman trailing on a fast break. Shaq never could (nor would) kick the ball back to Malone after getting it on the low block. Malone was a sideshow, a decoy, the garbage man. He didn’t care. He had his eye on the prize.
I happened to be watching the game Karl was injured. It didn’t seem like much at first. Seen that happen to him bunches of times while he was in Utah. Usually, he bounced right back and played the game. Not this time. The Mailman was grimacing. He was in pain. For the first time in his career, someone had to help him off the floor.
In the days and weeks after the injury, I didn’t think much of it; after all, the man was 39 and in spectacular physical condition. Sprained tendon, lots of rest, 3 to 4 weeks, blah, blah, blah. But as the weeks turned into months, something was wrong. Every two to three weeks the team doctors from the Lakers put out the same announcement, “We expect Karl to be at full strength in 2 to 3 weeks.” But it never happened. He never recovered. A man who prided himself on workouts, staying in shape (hell he had his own line of workout videos), and had 4% body fat, he couldn’t defend himself against what naturally happens to all of our bodies: it begins to break down.
I hoped against hope that Malone would redeem himself in the Finals. It was his first Finals experience in 6 years and from what everyone was predicting, he would finally get his ring. Chauncey and ‘Sheed had other ideas, as did Malone’s knee. You all know how the story ends.
I remember meeting him a few times for autographs when I was a kid. He also came to my elementary school to speak a couple of times. His hand easily enveloped mine. Even now, he is a full nine inches taller than I. The first time he practiced with the Jazz, I was there. My dad tried to point him out to me by saying, “There’s the Mailman.” Me, being all of 5 years old, looked for the old guy on our street who dressed as a postal employee.
There won’t be any question as to whether or not he gets into the Hall of Fame. And there will be no question that he goes in there as a Jazz player. He was one of the NBA’s 50 Greatest in 1996. He helped the United States obliterate the World in the Olympics, twice.
There were the questionable times in his career, like the time he elbowed Isaiah Thomas, causing Thomas to get eight stitches. After the game, people wondered whether or not the elbow was on purpose. There was the time that he publicly declared that he was scared to play against Magic in an All-Star game because of his (and society’s) fear of HIV/AIDS. And there were the constant pissing matches each off-season between he and Larry Miller about how much Malone thought he was worth.
Will he ever come back to try and overtake Kareem Abdul-Jabbar as the all-time scoring leader, or to win that elusive Championship? I hope not. I’m glad that he turned down San Antonio. I hope that he, like his buddy Stockton, will filter to the back of the stage and become an ordinary member of society. But that’s not Karl’s style. We will see him again. Perhaps, not as a player, but as an analyst similar to that of Charles Barkley on TNT or even hopefully as an assistant coach somewhere.
The NBA will miss Karl. The fans will miss Karl. The Jazz have been missing Karl for the previous two years. If I’m lucky and Karl’s reading this, I’ve got two words for him:
Thank you.
|
