The way these reporters talked about Malone and Payton blew me away. The fact that the surly 40ish power forward whose previous championship aspirations were twice trashed by the infallible Michael Jordan, as once was the pesky rail-thin point guard's, tugged at my epic tale-seeking heart's strings. I had to see how this would work. Evil dream-crushing Michael Jordan had of course been presented to me through the movie Space Jam, but more intensively (if you can imagine it so) by a long-forgotten field trip to the IMAX that detailed in all its 72-by-53 foot capacity how "Air Jordan" had greedily stolen away the ball from the hulking Karl Malone to hit a championship-winning (though, later understood, illegal) jump shot in his (supposed-to-be) final act of basketball ring-hogging.
All the emotions of the forgotten epic IMAX rushed back to me. Karl Malone was the real life human hero that I'd been searching for away from my world of sequestered intrigues. Everything about him was interesting to me, even down to what the heck he was talking to himself about for every single one of his 13,000-plus free throws he attempted. As another selling point, other people in the universe actually had a reference point to him as opposed to anyone else I would care to talk about. At the age of 13, there's only so much someone will listen to you about "Weird Al" or the dreaded card games I was finally pushing past and leaving on the back burner. I had to follow this Karl Malone character and his newfound team that gave him another chance to reach the pinnacle of the basketball universe after 5 years of failed attempts since his trip to the Finals via that huge screen I watched it on.
[to be continued]
... but do take my word for it.
... but do take my word for it.
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