235: 108: During the transaction, the influence of the old King visibly declined (Vote for monthly ticket!)_2 235: 108: During the transaction, the influence of the old King visibly declined (Vote for monthly ticket!)_2 “He said Dennis actually listens well, but the precondition is, you have to be able to convince him, control him.”
At that moment, the restaurant door was pushed open.
A person with dyed green hair, wearing a nose ring, sunglasses, an LV bag slung over their forearm, and dressed in a women’s camisole walked into the restaurant.
This avant-garde cross-dresser was none other than Dennis Rodman, the disruptor avoided by the entire league.
He saw Jordan and Phil Jackson and walked toward them.
“God…” Phil Jackson covered his head as he saw Rodman’s attire.
Jordan didn’t say anything.
He just stared into Rodman’s wicked eyes.
The Worm casually sat down and then waved for the waiter, “A black pepper beef pasta.
Jordan and the Zen Master didn’t blame him for being late, but went straight to the point, “Dennis, we need you to win games.”
Rodman also got right to the point:
“Fine, I’ve had enough of that wuss, David Robinson, and the deceitful, spy-like Gregg Popovich.
Damn it, the Spurs team all sold me out, leaving me stranded on a desolate island, blaming all losses on damn Dennis and all wins on not defending Dream properly.
I just wanted what they once promised me, why treat me this way!?”
Rodman burst into curses, getting emotional as he wiped the corners of his eyes.
His heart was actually very sensitive.
Growing up unloved by his mother and sisters, he’d long felt he was intersex, and had considered suicide more than once.
The Pistons saved him; he found a sense of home there—Chuck Daly was his father figure, Laimbeer, the assassin, and Dumars were his brothers.
What should have been a happy family ceased to exist.
He had to look for the next home, thinking the Spurs would be it.
But it was filled with deceit, filled with Popovich’s scolding and rejection from teammates.
He was utterly an outsider there, finding no sense of belonging.
At first, he trusted David Robinson until he realized the guy was a complete pushover who never stood up for him.
The Zen Master patted the back of Rodman’s hand, “Michael and I, we just need you to win games.
We don’t care what you’ve said or done; we’ll still give you a good contract.
Whatever you do outside is your business, all you need to do is knock down every opponent, grab every damned rebound for Michael.”
Jordan spoke up, “I don’t care about others’ opinions because I know what you can do.
I only need that part of you on the basketball court.
The rest, you can do whatever you want.
But we must win, we have to take down everyone in our path and bring back the championship!
You have to stay 100% focused on the court, you must!”
It had been a long time since Rodman felt this—an intense, victory-hungry team.
Most importantly, they were willing to give him freedom.
Unlike that old bastard Popovich always constraining him, even criticizing him for chatting about his liaisons with Madonna.
But it was the Zen Master’s next statement that truly calmed the anxious Worm, “We’ve almost got Joe Dumars.
I believe he will help you find that old feeling.
You can find all your passion in Chicago!”
Having someone familiar around eased the sensitive Rodman quite a bit.
The green-haired guy looked at Jordan, his former adversary, and nodded, “You’ll win the championship, Michael.”
At this point, the server brought the black pepper beef pasta Rodman had ordered.
Just as Rodman was about to start eating, he suddenly stopped and called the server back, “Come here, switch this plate, I don’t eat beef!”
Alright, he really was a nutcase.
But, still better than those useless normal types like Webber!
Thus, the NBA’s trading season began.
This year’s first deal was very special because the one being traded wasn’t a player, but a coach.
That was because Riley had resigned without the Knicks’ approval and signed with the Heat, which infuriated the Knicks to the point of refusing to release him.
Well, that figures, marrying someone else before the divorce papers are even signed—how could anyone tolerate that?
Eventually, after league mediation, the Heat gave the Knicks a first-round 1996 draft pick and $4 million in cash to officially sign Riley.
It was essentially like trading for a head coach.
Of course, the Heat’s payment was not just this much.
They made Riley not only the head coach but also the president, and moreover, they provided him with properties in Los Angeles and New York, a credit card, and a daily $300 allowance.
Most importantly, they had to sell him 10% of the Heat’s shares.
See, Riley might like making his players take pay cuts, but he himself wouldn’t give up a single dime.
The master strategist never put himself into trouble.
The Heat agreed to all these demands out of helpless necessity because, after the Orlando Magic’s success in Florida, the Heat’s already low profile inevitably became even lower.
Continuing this mediocrity meant Miami Heat could become even more pitiful than the Los Angeles Clippers.
The team needed results quickly, and given the current roster couldn’t attract stars, the only option was to first attract a star coach, then let him manage the team.