Chicago Bulls Dynasty
From Hoopedia
The very definition of a dynasty requires a franchise to be rooted in endurance, consistency, and, above all, excellence. It is one thing to win a championship by capturing the fleeting combination of chemistry, talent and luck; it is quite another thing to be able to sustain that exquisite, delicate balance. Only a few teams in basketball history have been able to do that.
Perhaps that is why the dominance of the Chicago Bulls, who won six championships from 1991 to 1998 was so exceptional. At a time when parity ruled the sporting world, the Bulls emerged as the invincible force of the ’90s, the team of the decade, and, arguably, a team for the ages.
Michael Jordan, the most compelling athlete of his era was at the epicenter of this collection of competitors, who varied in ages, backgrounds and temperament. Like any champions, they needed time together to nurture and grow, to allow their roots to take hold.
How do you measure when a dynasty is born?
Was it a balmy night in Richfield, Ohio in 1989, two years before the first championship was actually won, when Jordan, only 26 years old, soared above the outstretched arms of Cleveland guard Craig Ehlo, and willed in an 18-foot jump shot through the strings so neatly, it left the favored Cavaliers frozen in stunned disbelief? The basket secured a 101-100 Chicago win, and eliminated Cleveland from the playoffs. For Jordan, it was validation that his gaudy individual skills could lead his team to greatness.
Although the Bulls would later fall to their nemesis, the Detroit Pistons, in the Eastern Conference Finals, Air Jordan’s shot on May 7, 1989 elevated himself and the Bulls to a new level.
And, yet, wasn’t the evolution of another key figure, Coach Phil Jackson, equally important to the cause? Jackson, a free-spirited basketball junkie, was once considered too liberal for the palates of the button-down NBA owners. He was a man who experimented with LSD, shunned neckties and drove the team van of his Continental Basketball Association team, the Albany Patroons, who won a 1984 title under him. Jackson’s CBA training taught him how to handle the unexpected, to juggle personnel, to practice infinite patience, to understand sacrifice.
He was hired as a Chicago assistant to Doug Collins in 1987; two seasons later, he moved a few inches to the left of the bench, and became the league’s resident Zen master. Jackson burned incense, chanted ancient Indian rites, passed out paperback books, massaged egos and laid down the law. The Bulls won 55 games in his first season as head coach, more than any other rookie coach had before him. Jordan grew to trust Jackson completely.
The Coach and the Player each had their offshoots. Jordan’s ally in this dance through history was Scottie Pippen, a wiry forward with long arms whose exceptional ballhandling skills and defensive instincts complemented Jordan’s athletic gifts. Jackson’s sidekick was an old-time basketball legend Tex Winter, the architect of the Triangle offense, a man who demanded cooperation, selflessness, and above all, the commitment of his players.
The assembly of this central cast cemented one firm fact from 1991 forward: As long as Jordan and the Bulls were prowling the NBA, everyone else was playing for second.
The NBA saw how special he was when he dropped 63 points on the Celtics on April 20, 1986, in storied Boston Garden. Yet he was dismissed as a preposterous individual talent that simply had not been able to grasp the team concept, or make others around him better.
Jordan dedicated himself to proving that theory incorrect; understanding the only way to eradicate that criticism was to win a title. By the 1990-91 season, Chicago had become more comfortable with Winter’s Triangle, which centered on players cutting, passing, waiting for the most opportune place on the floor where they could score. Winter promised his players if they completed the cycle of cuts, the team would benefit, yet too often Jordan would identify a clear path to the basket, and break the rules. More often than not, he’d score successfully, but, as Winter admonished him, throwing up his hands in disgust, he’d explain the offense was designed to get Jordan optimal shots – but to provide his less talented teammates with their most high percentage chance.
When Jordan finally bought into the concept, the others quickly followed suite. Horace Grant, the prototype power forward who was a solid defender and excellent rebounder, was a key piece of the 1991 title team. Veteran John Paxson, Jordan’s close friend, epitomized what Winter was striving for – a player who made the right pass, the right cut, the right decision. Center Bill Cartwright, whose awkward gait and soft demeanor made him a favorite Jordan target of abuse, was happy to assume whatever role was asked of him.
That nucleus was a model of efficiency in 1990-91, winning 61 regular-season games and shooting 51 percent from the floor. The Bulls dismissed the Pistons in four games and won the championship against the Los Angeles Lakers in a matchup billed as Michael versus Magic in five games. When it ended, Jordan was weeping tears of joy, cradling the championship trophy as though it were his first born child. In between gulps of champagne, his Airness vowed, “This is only the beginning.”
How right he was. The following season, in 1991-92, Chicago won 67 regular-season games, and stormed through Miami, New York (in the only tough, seven-game series), Cleveland and Portland. By the 1992-93 season, when the Bulls ousted Phoenix in a six-game Finals, it was clear the opponent was of little consequence – this was all about Chicago and its assault on history. Mindful both the Lakers and Pistons were able to win back to back titles; Jordan sought to separate himself from their superstars, Magic and Thomas, by winning three in a row.
After the third title, Jordan suffered an enormous personal loss when his father James, a fixture in the Bulls’ locker room, was murdered. Jordan said later that he already had planned to retire, but certainly the loss of his dad sealed his departure at age 30.
Jordan, forever looking for a challenge, chased his childhood dream of playing baseball and spent on season of Double-A ball in Birmingham. Jordan had been an excellent baseball player in high school, but he found that the pros were an entirely different world. After a season of humility, Jordan took off his spikes, and re-joined the world where he was second to none. In announcing his return to the Bulls, MJ merely said, “I’m back.”
What he discovered was a line-up of new faces yet eerily similar personnel. It was a credit to Jackson and Chicago General Manager Jerry Krause that the Bulls so smoothly re-invented themselves with interchangeable parts that suited the Triangle offense the way their predecessors had.
When Paxson retired in 1994, the Bulls signed veteran shooter Steve Kerr, who was on the verge of being cut from the league. Yet when he assumed his place in the Triangle offense vacated by Paxson, he became a vital part of Chicago’s offense.
When Grant bolted for Orlando in 1994, Chicago began searching for a clone who would provide the same tenacious rebounding and defense. Equally important, the player had to be willing to accept a subservient offensive role. One year later, the Bulls found their man: Dennis Rodman, the former Pistons villain.
There were other, key additions to the “second” championship roster. Toni Kukoc, a versatile, offensive-minded European, drove Jordan crazy because he was not tough minded defensively, yet even his Airness could not dismiss Kukoc’s considerable contributions. Conversely, Jordan’s good friend, Ron Harper never proved to be a consistent offensive threat, yet he endeared himself to Jackson and his teammates by willing doing the “little things” lsuch as taking charges, jumping in front of passing lanes and slashing to the hoop in traffic.
With the new cast, the Bulls won a league record 72 games in 1995-96. Their fourth trip to the Finals, this time against Gary Payton and Seattle, was as lethal and proficient as the first three had been. In 1997, the Bulls defended their championship against Utah, but not before Jordan shook off a case of food poisoning with the series tied 2-2 and knocked down 38 points, including a game clinching three-pointer in the final 25 seconds.
Would the Bulls Reign of Terror ever end? Chicago showed signs of vulnerability in the 1998 Eastern Conference Finals when a rejuvenated Indiana team led by rookie coach Larry Bird, pushed them to the brink in a thrilling seven-game series. Again, the experience of the Bulls prevailed.
That set the stage for a rematch with the Jazz in the Finals, the first time in the Jordan era that Chicago played the same opponent twice. One June 14, 1998, in Game 6 of the Finals with six and half seconds left on the clock, Jordan pulled up at the foul line and stroked in a game-winning jumper.
As the ball dropped through, he exaggerated his follow through, punctuating a career and a dynasty so extraordinary that only the greatest player and team of any future era would even dare dream of matching it.
