Tomorrow Michael Jordan will be inducted into the Hall of Fame. There will be speeches, toasts, editorials, museum displays and highlight packages befitting the best basketball player ever. He is a lock be hailed as a demigod.
Understandably brushed aside tomorrow will be the ample evidence that he is quite human ... the failed marriage, the many missteps as an executive, endless tales of gambling, carousing and treading on people.
In all the pageantry of the next couple of days, you can bet that only one blemish on the Jordan record will come up, and I suspect it will be mentioned again and again, because it fits a certain heroic narrative: Michael Jordan was once cut from his high school team.
We have been told that in this early disgrace lay the seed of his greatness. As the story goes, he became mad as a hatter, practiced furiously, and set himself on the course to greatness.
Only, it's not true. He was never cut from anything.
The story, instead, is that at his high school at that time sophomores, even the good ones, played junior varsity. As a sophomore, as planned, Jordan had a great season on the junior varsity, before progressing to varsity for his junior and senior seasons.
As it happened, a size-starved varsity team did make an exception. They took on Jordan's tall sophomore friend Leroy Smith, which may or may not have chapped Jordan.
But he was certainly never sent home.
Robbi Pickeral of the Charlotte Observer quotes Laney high school Athletic Director Fred Lynch, who was then an assistant basketball coach, on why Smith made varsity while Jordan stayed on the J.V.:
"Leroy (Smith) was not a better basketball player than Mike, he just had size," Lynch said. "We didn't have a lot of tall kids, and Leroy was 6-6, 6-7 ... and (head coach) Pop Herring thought we had plenty of guards but needed size.
"The Hollywood version is that Mike got cut, came back the next year, and was great. That's not true. He played on the JV team, was our best JV player, and played on the varsity his final two years and scored more than 1,400 points (including a triple-double average his senior season: 29.2 points, 11.6 rebounds and 10.1 assists). It was never a situation where Mike was ever a bad player."
I hear this, and can't help but wonder: Why is there a Hollywood version?
The true version is good enough. He became the best basketball player ever, possibly the most famous human being ever. He rode the hyperdrive of his competitive spirit to the point of eliminating every obstacle to his own success on the court.
It might not be as fun as some other versions of the tale, but I'm here to tell you that extraordinary relentlessness -- while socially problematic -- will indeed get you far in your chosen profession. That's a real quality of Michael Jordan, and something we can all use in our regular daily lives.
He saw just about everything as an excuse to work harder. He didn't make his varsity team ... so he worked harder. He didn't make the playoffs, so he worked harder. He couldn't beat the Pistons, so more work. He chafed in the triangle. He missed shots. He made mistakes. He lost athleticism.
But always, always, always, he was a relentless competitor.
We saw that maybe most of all in his career bookend as a Washington Wizard. Against all better judgment, and in defiance of the best advice about how to handle his balky knees, he forced himself out there night after night, not worrying so much about what it would do to his body, his image, or anything else.
He literally did not know when to stop.
It's a heroic trait, sometimes.
Of course, the time of his Washington comeback is also the time Washington Post writer Michael Leahy saw Jordan pull an all-nighter in a casino, the night before a game, wholly determined not to end the night a loser. Playing multiple hands, raising the stakes, he simply would not stop playing while he was down.
Did it hurt his performance on the court the next night? Who knows. But certainly, there's merit not only in never quitting, but also indulging in hobbies like gambling in moderation and when appropriate. Long committed to late nights out, though, Jordan didn't quit. At some age, the short sleep and hangovers aren't funny sidebar stories anymore.
But that's the real Michael Jordan. Never stopping. It's an ethic with the potential to create athletic greatness. It's also a force to be handled with care -- for us humans, knowing when to quit can be a key to happiness.
These people who tell the Hollywood version of the story, though, they want to rob the story of its nuance. They are intent on making the story of Michael Jordan one of puppy dogs and ice cream -- almost literally, with the movie "Space Jam."
They are intent on making it a story that could not possibly offend anyone, especially anyone who might be inspired to buy products he endorses.
Enough with the fish stories, already. (If you catch small fish, you exaggerate. Jordan caught whales, and needs no tales.)
I say this out of regard for the truth, but also out of regard for Jordan. He's going to be sitting there in Symphony Hall tomorrow night, as he is praised again and again. He was there for every Jordan story and knows what really happened. Imagine if half the things he is praised for are things that were a little bit fabricated? Wouldn't it turn your stomach a little to be loved for things that you know originated with some guy in an ad agency or screenwriter's office?
Now that he's older, slower, heavier and as human as ever, the adulation of the public, and the legacy of his playing days probably matter more than ever. What would it feel like to hear that the things people love you for are things that aren't real?
When it's time to praise Michael Jordan -- and it almost always is that time -- line up the accolades as thick and deep as anyone could possibly want. Call him brilliant, strategic, charming, hard-working, ruthless, competitive, extraordinary, inspiring, intolerant of mediocrity, the best ever, and everything else. Tell the stories of the amazing ways he came to the NBA with amazing tools -- speed, athleticism, drive -- and added a host more, including defense, a fadeaway, 3-point shooting and so much more.
There's plenty reality to choose from. But resist the urge to further. Don't tell us he's the best husband, an ideal role model for our children, a warm and fuzzy teddy bear or some kind of apple pie-and-ice cream American sweetheart.
And please, don't tell us he was cut from his high school team.