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Understanding Michael Jordan
Why it's reasonable for MJ to want to come back
by Erik Rydholm
A few years back, a hero of mine retired from his legendary career. Although he was at the pinnacle of his profession, the man ultimately didn't leave it on his own terms. His contract up, the owners opted for new blood. Pressed into an awkward spot and facing few options to befit a man of his stature and accomplishment, he reluctantly surrendered.
The hero is my father. He worked in advertising for forty years. He says he understands why Michael Jordan is contemplating a comeback at age 38.
"I know how he feels. It's like 'wait a minute -- I can still do the things everyone else does.' It's just that those people who are being offered the chance to do it are younger. Owners like to bring in younger talent. That's just life. But it’s harder to accept when you’re on the other end of it and you know you can still do the job."
I wonder about all of the pressbox patterers who lament the comeback attempts of the aging athlete, who scold Jordan for writing checks his body won't be able to cash, who selfishly beg him not to return to the NBA to tamper with their memory banks -- I wonder how easily they will be able to put down the pen a few years down the line when they find themselves growing long on years and short on options. Retirement isn't easy for anyone.
And like most everything else, that goes double for professional athletes. The career arc of an NBA player is not fundamentally different than yours or mine -- merely an exaggeration from which we can learn a bit about what the future holds for all of us. The average pro career starts younger, peaks sooner, and falls off faster. Professional athletes command far higher salaries than most of us, but also have much shorter careers and less job security. On the job, their contribution to team success or failure is brutally clear, measured daily and laid bare each morning to millions. The successful ones derive comfort from that clarity. In fact, they derive identity from it. Out on the court, Jordan always knows exactly where he stands. Off the court, he takes on the dimensions of any mortal, navigating the ambiguous dynamics of interpersonal relationships in which success and failure are judged more subjectively.
Dad knows the feeling. "I went from measuring myself by clients, billings, and my creative contribution to the team, to being evaluated by my wife about how well I do things around the house -- things I've never done in my life," he explains. "That's why so many guys say, 'I've got to find something else' and they go play golf. I think so many of them choose golf because they're used to competition, but they no longer have arenas in which they can compete against other people. Golf is great because you compete even when you're by yourself." The ugly truth of retirement: golf is not a reward; it’s a coping mechanism.
Whether you're an athlete, an ad-man, or anything else, if you enjoy what you do and are reasonably good at it, chances are you'll pursue it until someone stops you. When Jordan retired after the Bulls won the title in 1998, he said he had "nothing left to prove." It was the perfect rationale from the ultimate professional. Unfortunately, it wasn't wholly true. If the Bulls’ owners had wanted to keep Jordan on the court, they could have. They took a calculated business risk. They looked at the age of the players on their championship roster, the salaries they would demand, the strong season ticket sales, the promising pool of young court and coaching talent becoming available, and opted for new blood. Like my father, Jordan couldn’t find a suitable alternative and surrendered.
Successful people just don't volunteer to walk away from the top, primarily because the skills, relationships, and knowledge base they’ve built sculpt their sense of self. Walking away from that investment can literally feel like an abandonment of identity. A year after retiring from the CEO post at Citibank in 1984, Walter Wriston reflected: "When you retire … you go from who’s who to who’s that." When Jordan first left the game in 1993, he went from MVP to bush leaguer. Within two years, he returned to the game that defined him, as a revelation of reinvention -- a post-up, turnaround jump-shooter. After his second retirement, he toyed with playing golf full-time before turning back to the league once again -- this time as an owner and general manager.
It's a pattern my dad is familiar with. "You miss being evaluated by your peers," he says. "And that's why so many retired executives do anything they can to keep a hand in the game -- as a consultant, if nothing else. Because what it says is that you're still valuable as the part of you that was the greater part of you for all those years."
The greater part of my father for many years was a business strategist, and he warns not to underestimate Jordan’s passion for the executive post. In fact, Dad believes Jordan's decision to return may be as much about competing and winning in his new role as it about trying to recapture the glory of his old one. "Most people are looking at this like he can't give up the limelight. And he probably did quit too soon," he says. "But think about it -- it's a great business decision. First of all, he's an owner, so he can grant himself the opportunity to come back. No matter how good you are in another business, it's difficult just to get that opportunity. But here, he can come back in a big event that he can choreograph -- an event that can materially affect the performance of his business. He can attract more talent to his franchise to give it a longer-term competitive edge."
In other words, Jordan the owner can use Jordan the player as bait for a youth movement of his own. And what would be sweeter than building a champion faster than the Bulls’ owners, who decided they could do it without him?
If he returns to the court next fall, Jordan may kick dust on our memories of his greatness. If you don't like it, don't look. But don't throw stones. Because chances are, you'll find yourself in the same situation somewhere down the line. When it's over, it's never really over. For any of us.
Although he misses the big pitches, the client dinners, and the electricity of the workplace, my dad is keeping himself busy and says he’s beginning to embrace the retired life.
He just spent the last four months converting the first floor of the house into a beautiful office.
Why it's reasonable for MJ to want to come back
by Erik Rydholm
A few years back, a hero of mine retired from his legendary career. Although he was at the pinnacle of his profession, the man ultimately didn't leave it on his own terms. His contract up, the owners opted for new blood. Pressed into an awkward spot and facing few options to befit a man of his stature and accomplishment, he reluctantly surrendered.
The hero is my father. He worked in advertising for forty years. He says he understands why Michael Jordan is contemplating a comeback at age 38.
"I know how he feels. It's like 'wait a minute -- I can still do the things everyone else does.' It's just that those people who are being offered the chance to do it are younger. Owners like to bring in younger talent. That's just life. But it’s harder to accept when you’re on the other end of it and you know you can still do the job."
I wonder about all of the pressbox patterers who lament the comeback attempts of the aging athlete, who scold Jordan for writing checks his body won't be able to cash, who selfishly beg him not to return to the NBA to tamper with their memory banks -- I wonder how easily they will be able to put down the pen a few years down the line when they find themselves growing long on years and short on options. Retirement isn't easy for anyone.
And like most everything else, that goes double for professional athletes. The career arc of an NBA player is not fundamentally different than yours or mine -- merely an exaggeration from which we can learn a bit about what the future holds for all of us. The average pro career starts younger, peaks sooner, and falls off faster. Professional athletes command far higher salaries than most of us, but also have much shorter careers and less job security. On the job, their contribution to team success or failure is brutally clear, measured daily and laid bare each morning to millions. The successful ones derive comfort from that clarity. In fact, they derive identity from it. Out on the court, Jordan always knows exactly where he stands. Off the court, he takes on the dimensions of any mortal, navigating the ambiguous dynamics of interpersonal relationships in which success and failure are judged more subjectively.
Dad knows the feeling. "I went from measuring myself by clients, billings, and my creative contribution to the team, to being evaluated by my wife about how well I do things around the house -- things I've never done in my life," he explains. "That's why so many guys say, 'I've got to find something else' and they go play golf. I think so many of them choose golf because they're used to competition, but they no longer have arenas in which they can compete against other people. Golf is great because you compete even when you're by yourself." The ugly truth of retirement: golf is not a reward; it’s a coping mechanism.
Whether you're an athlete, an ad-man, or anything else, if you enjoy what you do and are reasonably good at it, chances are you'll pursue it until someone stops you. When Jordan retired after the Bulls won the title in 1998, he said he had "nothing left to prove." It was the perfect rationale from the ultimate professional. Unfortunately, it wasn't wholly true. If the Bulls’ owners had wanted to keep Jordan on the court, they could have. They took a calculated business risk. They looked at the age of the players on their championship roster, the salaries they would demand, the strong season ticket sales, the promising pool of young court and coaching talent becoming available, and opted for new blood. Like my father, Jordan couldn’t find a suitable alternative and surrendered.
Successful people just don't volunteer to walk away from the top, primarily because the skills, relationships, and knowledge base they’ve built sculpt their sense of self. Walking away from that investment can literally feel like an abandonment of identity. A year after retiring from the CEO post at Citibank in 1984, Walter Wriston reflected: "When you retire … you go from who’s who to who’s that." When Jordan first left the game in 1993, he went from MVP to bush leaguer. Within two years, he returned to the game that defined him, as a revelation of reinvention -- a post-up, turnaround jump-shooter. After his second retirement, he toyed with playing golf full-time before turning back to the league once again -- this time as an owner and general manager.
It's a pattern my dad is familiar with. "You miss being evaluated by your peers," he says. "And that's why so many retired executives do anything they can to keep a hand in the game -- as a consultant, if nothing else. Because what it says is that you're still valuable as the part of you that was the greater part of you for all those years."
The greater part of my father for many years was a business strategist, and he warns not to underestimate Jordan’s passion for the executive post. In fact, Dad believes Jordan's decision to return may be as much about competing and winning in his new role as it about trying to recapture the glory of his old one. "Most people are looking at this like he can't give up the limelight. And he probably did quit too soon," he says. "But think about it -- it's a great business decision. First of all, he's an owner, so he can grant himself the opportunity to come back. No matter how good you are in another business, it's difficult just to get that opportunity. But here, he can come back in a big event that he can choreograph -- an event that can materially affect the performance of his business. He can attract more talent to his franchise to give it a longer-term competitive edge."
In other words, Jordan the owner can use Jordan the player as bait for a youth movement of his own. And what would be sweeter than building a champion faster than the Bulls’ owners, who decided they could do it without him?
If he returns to the court next fall, Jordan may kick dust on our memories of his greatness. If you don't like it, don't look. But don't throw stones. Because chances are, you'll find yourself in the same situation somewhere down the line. When it's over, it's never really over. For any of us.
Although he misses the big pitches, the client dinners, and the electricity of the workplace, my dad is keeping himself busy and says he’s beginning to embrace the retired life.
He just spent the last four months converting the first floor of the house into a beautiful office.
