On The Edge

Portland had seemed ready to play at the outset of Game 1, building a 17-9 lead, when, suddenly, Jordan turned himself into a version of teammate Craig Hodges on All-Star weekend, albeit minus the ball rack and music. Jordan converted six three-point shots—Air Mail—in the first 24 minutes to propel Chicago to a 66-51 half time lead from which Portland never recovered. Last year's Finals produced a Jordan replay for the ages, the up-on-one-side-around-on-the-other layup he made in Game 2 against the Lakers, and so did Game 1 this season. This time it was the shrug. Heading upcourt late in the second quarter, after having converted the last of those six first-half three-pointers, Jordan looked at Magic Johnson, who was broadcasting the game for NBC, turned his palms upward, shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

Jordan's detractors undoubtedly read the gesture as calculated arrogance, but he later said that it was spontaneous and that he simply meant to convey an I-can't-believe-this-either feeling. Nor was the gesture meant to show up Drexler, who has set the art of trash-talking back about 30 years. Among the spicy woofings he hurled at Jordan during Jordan's record 35-point first-half outburst (the Lakers' Elgin Baylor had the previous championship series one-half high of 33 points in 1962) were, "Aren't you going to miss?" and "Nice shot" and "Good play."

On the other hand, in comparing his abilities with Drexler's before the Finals began, Jordan used an interesting choice of words at one juncture: "Clyde's a better three-point shooter than I choose to be." Perhaps Jordan was not merely "taking what the defense" gave him, as he claimed.

Actually, the first three minutes of the third period, when Jordan didn't score at all, were much more important to the Bulls' mental health than was Jordan's play in the first half. He assisted on baskets by Paxson, Cartwright, Pippen and Paxson again, as a 15-point Chicago half-time lead grew and grew, and the Blazers, no matter what they later said to the contrary, simply gave up. Pippen was brilliant after intermission (he finished one rebound short of a triple double), and thus Jordan's performance (39 points, 11 assists) was not the only topic of conversation in the locker room. That's important, for Pippen is still inflicted by, as one Bulls insider puts it, "the green-eyed monster." After Game 1 of Chicago's previous playoff series, against the Cleveland Cavaliers, Jordan turned down a request from TNT for a postgame interview. When Pippen was asked to come in his stead, he declined. "You wanted Michael, not me," he said. That may be Pippen's epitaph.

However, the weight of Jordan's performance obviously fell most heavily on the shoulders of Drexler. His play in Game 1, in which he made only 5 of 14 shots and was invisible on defense, showed very little Glide and a lot of hide. No one could blame him for all of Jordan's three-pointers, but even Jordan's midrange jumpers—of his 16 field goals, only two were scored inside—were rarely contested. Drexler said that he had put a hand in Jordan's face "most of the time," but he didn't sound as if he believed himself. "Michael jumps away from the defender a lot, so it looks like he's taking open shots," said Drexler. Oh.

Ainge, the only Blazer with a championship ring, supplied some perspective. He was a Celtic in 1985, when Boston pounded the Lakers 148-114 in Game 1 of the Finals—the famed Memorial Day Massacre. But then the Celts lost Game 2 and, ultimately, the series. Said Ainge, "This isn't the Tour de France. We don't start out Game 2 down 33 points."

And, oh, how the Blazers loved it when the Bulls beat themselves down the stretch in Game 2, even though Portland was without Drexler, who had fouled out, for the final 4½ minutes. Years from now thousands of Trail Blazer fans will relate the tale of the famous Jordan technical foul that helped cost Chicago the game. Jordan committed a stupid reaching foul on Porter with 4:25 left in regulation, and then even more stupidly mouthed off to referee Jess Kersey, who assessed the T Jordan claims he only said, "That was a——call." Kersey, in keeping with league policy, would not comment.

But no matter how Portland fans may mythologize it, Jordan's indiscretion had relatively little effect on this game. After Porter's three free throws cut Chicago's lead to 92-85, Cartwright converted a jumper that made the score 94-85 with 4:09 to go. The Bulls had only to execute on a few possessions to seal the win. They didn't. They stood around, dribbling in place until the shot clock demanded an urgent heave. Chicago assistant coach Tex Winter says the most inviolate principle of his triangle offense is that the man with the ball must hit the first man who is open. That's precisely what the Bulls, particularly Jordan and Pippen, often don't do, and what they didn't do late in Game 2. Jordan might be forgiven, because something good usually happens when he has the ball, but Pippen needs some serious lessons in half-court basketball.

Then again, so do the Blazers, whose Game 2 effort can be criticized on all fronts except heart. Consider the main characters. Center Kevin Duckworth, this postseason's designated unhappy camper, has spent more time with a road atlas than with the Portland playbook, so sure is he that a trade is forthcoming. He was a brooding nonfactor in Game 1 and most of Game 2. But with 13 seconds remaining in regulation time he came off a pick-and-roll (actually it was more of a pick-and-flare; Duck invariably goes to a spot and faces the basket rather than rolls toward it) and made the jump shot that tied the game at 97.

Or take Porter. Not only did he not get an assist for the first 47:46 of the game, but he also was responsible for Drexler's sixth foul. It occurred when Pippen intercepted Porter's lazy pass and Drexler wound up reaching in to prevent a breakaway. Yet Porter fed Duckworth the pass that led to the tying basket and then made a key three-pointer with 1:31 left in overtime to put Portland ahead 108-102.