| | | For the second time in a couple of weeks, Michael Jordan has been spotted working out with members of the Washington Wizards, putting Jordan on the basketball court in the company of at least a couple of NBA-caliber players and giving rise to widespread national discussion and speculation.
|  | | Michael Jordan finally put on that "Freshman Fifteen" -- he just did it 17 years after he left college. |
Frankly, this is encouraging. It is important that we as a basketball-loving society come to grips with the Jordan issue before it gets any larger. And so let us at Page 2 be the first to confirm what much of hoops-following America appears already to suspect:
Michael Jordan is, indeed, fat.
Well, not fat, exactly. Not even really freighted with weight. But he's round. Michael Jordan is round in ways that the man on the Nike ads has never been round before. Can you say, "Just Do It!" with a pizza crust hanging out of one side of your mouth?
Seeing Jordan blow up to 240 pounds, which he cites as his primary reason for getting back on the court for some workouts, is actually an incredibly uplifting thing (even as it compromises Jordan's own uplift). I mean, if it can happen to the world's greatest basketball player, then Milk Duds-chomping, Mountain Dew-swilling, recliner-reclining spuds everywhere are sort of off the hook, aren't they? It's not you, fellas! It's nature!
Jordan finally put on the Freshman Fifteen -- he just waited until a little while after college to do it. It's a pretty simple formula: (1) Stop playing basketball every day of your life; (2) Continue eating like a thoroughbred; (3) Tell anyone who asks, "Oh, I'm getting plenty of exercise! I golf all the time!"
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When you're running five miles a day
or spending hours pushing around a tackling sled
or skating frenzied shifts all night long, the
thought of saying no to that piece of cake must
seem ludicrous. But out in the real world, that
might be the difference between gaining 10
pounds over the holidays and only gaining, say,
nine pounds. |
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Actually, the history of sports is replete with shocking images of former athletes who, two or three years out from their playing days, appear to have swallowed large inflatable rafts during some Outdoors Expo stunt gone horribly wrong. I could name names, but Charles Barkley has already milked a season's worth of attention out of his eating himself out of house and home, or perhaps simply eating house and home.
At the San Francisco Giants' home opener Monday, the first pitch was thrown out by recently retired first baseman Will Clark, who already appeared to have a jump on adding that extra belly-roll. Then again, Clark was a bit pear-shaped as a player, as many baseball types are, and extra poundage or no, he threw a nice strike, which many active major-leaguers can't.
That didn't stop a friend from commenting, "Wow, you see the Coors empties around that guy?" But the point is this: The man said it enthusiastically. Hey, we love it when the stars turn out to be just as capable as we are of layering.
For the most part, this is all very reassuring. The casual gaining of weight marks the elite and pampered athlete's gradual re-entry to normal society, by which I mean that portion of the world that steps on a scale one day in the bathroom and says, "I weigh WHAT? But I bought those cool cross-trainers last year!"
Pro athletes must be shocked when they discover how comparatively little their everyday, run-of-the-mill, ticket-buying counterparts eat -- and remember, we're talking about a U.S. society which most studies have deemed to be hideously out of whack on the (over)weight scale. But compared with in-your-prime elite athletes, we're downing the equivalent of a celery stick and an Evian daily.
When you're running five miles a day or spending hours pushing around a tackling sled or skating frenzied shifts all night long, the thought of saying no to that piece of cake must seem ludicrous. But out in the real world, that might be the difference between gaining 10 pounds over the holidays and only gaining, say, nine pounds.
And Michael Jordan is fast coming to that recognition. There's no future in slamming down a postgame spread when you didn't play a game. And so Michael faces the tough choice that so many middle-aged Americans eventually confront: He's going to either have to stop eating so much or do something really drastic.
He could be going back to the Wizards as a player. That sound drastic enough to you?
Mark Kreidler, a columnist for the Sacramento Bee, is a regular contributor to ESPN.com and Page 2. Send this story to a friend | Most sent stories
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