Michael Jordan And The World He Would Make Became Evident Right Away

Perhaps fittingly, it started in Peoria.

You know the line — “Will it play in Peoria?” — the old shorthand for what the American people will accept. Well, it sure played that night. Michael Jordan’s first professional game, an NBA exhibition between the Bulls and Pacers, took place there in the fall of 1984. Jordan put up 18 points in 29 minutes. Bulls won. Hardly anyone noticed.

Why? The Cubs were busy blowing their shot at the World Series in San Diego. Cubs heartbreak and Jordan heroics — both became Chicago staples for the next decade.

Back then, the NBA spent the preseason barnstorming non-NBA towns, showing off the goods. Jordan instantly understood his role. Even then, fresh out of North Carolina’s system, he knew that he was the show. But he said all the right things.

“This is not going to be the Michael Jordan show,” he kept saying. “I’m just another rookie. I’m here to fit in.”

Yeah, sure, Mike.

You knew otherwise. Especially when the shoes hit the floor.

That preseason, Jordan and Nike rolled out those red-and-black Air Jordans. Changed the sneaker game forever. They looked outrageous, and illegal. NBA rules said shoes had to match team colors. The Bulls were red and white. Jordans were red and black. The league warned him. Fined him. Jordan wore them anyway.

And with every fine, every dunk, the legend — and the brand — grew.

Classic moment: Jordan goes on David Letterman. Letterman cracks, “There’s no white in them — just like the NBA!”

Jordan laughed. So did everybody else. And just like that, the Air Jordan phenomenon was born.

Meanwhile, Jordan wasn’t slowing down. Game two of the preseason? 32 points against the Kansas City Kings.

Even in games that barely counted, he knew that there was a responsibility to the game, to the fans, to the dream.

Jordan later wrote in For the Love of the Game: “There’s no such thing as a perfect basketball player… greatness is an evolutionary process… Without Julius Erving, David Thompson, Walter Davis, and Elgin Baylor, there would never have been a Michael Jordan.”

Yep, he got Walter Davis in there. Loyalty mattered to Mike. Still does. Rod Higgins, his first NBA buddy, is still running with him today. Charles Oakley? Frequent travel partner, golf partner, everything partner. Fred Whitfield? In the Charlote Bobcats’ front office when Jordan owned the team. Jordan never forgets his people. Even if he was tough on them.

It’s why today’s NBA preseason can feel a little… empty. I remember a Cavs exhibition game in Rochester, New York. LeBron James teased the crowd by pretending he was going to play, then peeled off his warmups, had a good laugh with teammates, and sat back down.

Jordan? He didn’t want to play every night either. But he understood: fans were there to see him. To see the game. And even if he didn’t want to, he would play. He had to.

He hated to lose. He couldn’t sit and watch.

Kevin Loughery, Jordan’s first NBA coach, once said in practice it didn’t matter who you put with Jordan — that team would always win. Years later, Doug Collins tried to tweak the score to mess with Jordan’s team in practice. Jordan stormed out. Stopped talking to Collins for a while. His dad used to say: “Michael’s got a competition problem.”
Understatement of the century.

Game 1, officially: October 26, 1984. Chicago Stadium. Bulls beat the Bullets, 109-93. Jordan? 16 points on 5-of-16 shooting. Not amazing. But you could feel it.

Chicago fans weren’t sold yet. Only 13,913 in attendance. For the next month? Crowds often didn’t even hit 10,000 unless Boston or Philly was in town. People came to see Larry Bird and Dr. J.

But the players? The players knew.

Larry Bird was MVP at the time and said, “At this stage, he’s doing more than I ever did.”

That was before the 63-point playoff game when Bird famously said Jordan was “God disguised as Michael Jordan.”

Game 2? In Milwaukee. Jordan shot for the tie — air ball. Game over. A rookie moment, sure. But also a sign. He wasn’t afraid to fail. The late Kobe Bryant also threw up airballs in Utah in ’97. Same lesson. Miss. Learn. Grow.

Jordan’s famous quote says it all: “I’ve missed over 9,000 shots… lost almost 300 games… missed 26 game-winners. I’ve failed over and over and over again. And that’s why I succeed.”

Two nights later?

Bulls hosted the Bucks. Jordan went for 37 points, five assists, six steals, and 20 of the Bulls’ last 26 points.

Yeah. It was on.

The Bulls, a 27-55 mess the year before, started 6-2 on the road. Jordan dropped 45 points against San Antonio in Game 9. Chicago cooled off a little during the circus trip west, but Jordan still pulled off late-game heroics in Los Angeles, beating both the Clippers and the Lakers.

Back home against the Knicks? Jordan hit his first game-winner. A 20-footer. Just over 8,000 fans there. A few million people claim they were, of course.

Jordan wasn’t a global icon yet. He was a college kid living his dream.

He crushed McDonald’s, caught up on his soap operas, and lounged around in sweats. Life was good.

He was asked early that year how things were going.

“Best time of my life,” he said, grinning like a kid who couldn’t believe it was real.

Midseason, Portland came to town. The Trail Blazers were already taking heat for drafting Sam Bowie over Jordan. Portland’s traveling media — usually an extension of the team –defended the Bowie pick hard.

Jordan? Classy as ever. Said Portland made the right call, they had Clyde Drexler, they needed a big man. You don’t often get that kind of grace.

Collins had his own favorite story. In 1987, Jordan torched Portland for 46 points — in a loss. Portland GM Bucky Buckwalter said Drexler made teammates better, Jordan didn’t.

Collins’ reply? “Ask Bucky if he’d trade Drexler for Jordan. And if he says no, he’s got brain damage.”

Gotta love Doug.

Jordan’s toughest early nights? Against the Sixers. Dr. J still ruled the NBA show. Jordan struggled both times early on.

Quintin Dailey, displaced by Jordan, threw some public shots, claiming Jordan got special treatment. Coaches cheered him even when he screwed up.

Sure. Whatever.

Dailey had his own issues. The team — and the city — moved on quickly.

The low point for Jordan that year? The All-Star game.
Jordan made it, which was a big deal. His college dream. But the veterans froze him out. Didn’t want the rookie stealing the spotlight.

Typical NBA drama.

Jordan remembered.

And Jordan got better. The world soon found that out. But it all started one night in Peoria, a night no one really noticed. Until they did.