Unchecked Greed Not Among Heroic Virtues

A week ago, a salesman at a local sports store called with a message for my son, Mani, 13: The item he’d requested - Michael Jordan’s Chicago Bulls jersey No. 45 - was finally in.

“Ask your son to let me know if he doesn’t want it,” added the salesman. “These things are hot.”

Frankly, so was I.

“But you have a Jordan jersey - No. 23,” I reminded Mani. “It’s your decision, but think hard about why you’d spend most of your savings on another one of this guy’s shirts.”

Mani decided to pass on the jersey. So my irritation upon seeing Jordan flout NBA rules to wear his formerly retired No. 23 jersey in the playoffs - and instantly render the “hot” No. 45 jersey ice cold - wasn’t personal.

But I was still irritated. I’ll let Louis Hoelman, a gym teacher at my younger son’s elementary school - who knows several kids who bought the now-defunct jersey - explain why.

“When Jordan switched numbers,” says Hoelman, “one fourth-grader told me, ‘I went out and spent $45 on this jersey. And now it isn’t worth anything.”’

Kids don’t care that the No. 45 jersey could become a collector’s item. For them, the jersey’s sole value is derived from the world’s most popular athlete wearing it. And now he isn’t.

As a father of three, Jordan must know that. But he clearly doesn’t care - which truly is irritating.

Jordan often has that effect on me. If I’m not gasping over his athleticism, I’m cringing at his avarice. Which makes sense because his ruthless single-mindedness spurs both.

The same radar that guides Jordan to the precise location of an opponent’s most exploitable weakness also informs him of how best to make a buck. As the mother of impressionable, basketball-addled boys, I sometimes feel like just another Jordan opponent.

Like I haven’t a prayer.

Take the shoes. Jordan knew that media hoopla over his abandoning No. 45 Wednesday would make that the ideal night to unveil the latest Jordan-endorsed sneakers.

Wearing the shoes that night - amid speculation over how much the NBA would fine the Bulls for allowing their superstar to wear white sneakers rather than black ones like his teammates - ensured millions of dollars in free, prime-time publicity. Which ultimately will mean more money for Jordan, and for Nike.

The move was pure brilliance - or unadulterated greed, depending on your view.

One thing isn’t arguable: As an athlete, Jordan is without peer. Other players’ “natural” gifts equal his - but their industry, focus and determination fall short. As a result, they are merely excellent.

Jordan is genius. His artistry immeasurably upped the ante on an already eye-popping sport. But there’s more.

I admired Jordan’s retirement at the height of his gifts and believed that his exit was due to grief over his father’s death, not, as some suggested, to escape scrutiny of his gambling.

I loved the humility with which he tackled baseball, a sport in which he was merely mediocre.

So why can’t I relax and love him? Because I wonder if what I’m seeing is real.

There’s the Jordan who says one thing and means another, who claimed he was leaving basketball for good to spend time with his family - and who then committed to another life-consuming sport, before returning - surprise! - to basketball. Who retired his original jersey because it was the last number in which his father saw him play, but who today flaunts the same “23.”

There’s the businessman who’s unbecomingly beholden to a company for whom he makes - and from which he earns - millions. While every little boy wants to be like Mike, the real thing wants to be liked by Nike.

So, in 1992, he joined several other Nike-contracted Dream Team players in draping the American flag over a competitor’s tiny logo during the Olympic medal ceremony, thus muddying a moment that should have transcended product loyalties. Today, he’s seemingly incapable of facing a camera without brandishing the Nike logo.

Jordan breaks the rules, capitalizes on every opportunity, because he can. Most people would - but that doesn’t make it admirable.

But these are the ‘90s. As role models go, Jordan is no Jackie Robinson or Muhammad Ali - who was stripped of his title and was prepared to go to jail for his beliefs.

But Jordan isn’t bad. My own sons think I’m nuts for not adoring a decent enough guy who’s the best at what he does and who makes a mint. Why want more?

Because my kind of superstar would think of them - and their precious allowances - before he thinks of himself. Because anyone who makes millions off kids should be committed to more than just his bank account. Because I reject the notion that physical prowess, plus a shrewd business sense, equals true greatness.

Because selfishness isn’t heroic, no matter what number you put on it.

xxxx