Michael Jordan 1984-85 Game Worn & Signed Rookie Jersey

Michael Jordan: Transforming Ugly Into Beauty

The Chicago Stadium was a dump. But it was our dump.

We loved the Stadium the way you love your untrainable dog—unconditionally, but with moments of massive frustration, especially frustrating when it got really smelly. But considering the ancient arena’s myriad issues, how could we not be frustrated with that West Side barn, a building that, for a variety of reasons, was known as the Madhouse on Madison? 

On game nights, after we made the trek from the ‘burbs to the Stadium, the first thing we had to deal with a parking lot filled with loose gravel, yards-long cracks, and foot-deep Chicago-style potholes. When we strode up the ticket booth—back in the day, we were able to buy tickets at the door, and good tickets at that—there was always a surly cashier awaiting us. The creaky hallways smelled like a combo platter of old popcorn oil and high school locker room…and sometimes, after the annual appearance by the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, it was eau de elephant. The tunnels leading into the seating area were half-lit due to the Stadium staff’s neglectfulness re: burnt-out light bulbs. The paint-chipped seats were barely anchored, and the floors were sticky with spilled Schlitz beer from the previous night’s Blackhawks game.

In those early 1980s, Chicago’s on-court basketball product as iffy as its surroundings. But it was our iffy on-court product, so we dealt with it. We weren’t thrilled, mind you. But we dealt.

The Bulls, circa the first half of that decade were, more often than not, not great at basketball. Between 1981 and 1986, the franchise’s winning percentage was .382 (yuck). Even with a roster that was coached for a bit by Hall of Famer Jerry Sloan, the 1981 squad could only manage a record of 34-48. (Sloan was let go midway through the season after compiling a record of 19-32.) To be fair, even Red Auerbach would’ve had trouble winning with a roster comprised mostly of, oh, let’s go with defensively-challenged wings like Reggie Theus and David Greenwood.

When the Bulls were at home, the fans stayed away in droves, in part because they were fed up with the entire Chicago sports scene. Aside from Walter Payton, the Bears were wobbly until around 1984. Apart from a magical 1984 season that ended in tears (read: Leon Durham), the Cubs were their usual heartbreaking selves. The White Sox were an interesting team—for instance, the majority of their starting pitchers were lefties, and the majority of their home run hitters (Carlton Fisk and Ron Kittle, most notably) had zero muscle tone—but they were the White Sox, and, let’s be honest here, the vast majority of Chicago sports watchers circa 1982 weren’t watching the White Sox. As for the Blackhawks, they were a consistent playoff team, but their fan base consisted of the 20,000 people who watched their home games at—wait for it, wait for it—the Chicago Stadium.

As for the city itself, Chicago wasn’t faring much better. The national recession had hit us hard—between 1979-1989, the work force decreased by 2.8 percent—and thousands of employees were being regularly laid off, from doctors and nurses, to mass transit workers. The traditionally segregated city’s racial divide had entered uncharted territory, as Harold Washington was elected as mayor, the city’s first ever African-American leader. Washington is now a beloved figure in Chicago, but at the time, he earned mixed reviews at best, further muddying the city’s oftentimes messy racial juju.

It wasn’t an ideal time to be a Chicago sports lover. Or, for that matter, a Chicagoan.

Our city—a city that, despite the problems, we adored with all our hearts—needed something. We just weren’t sure what.

The 1983-84 Bulls posted a record of 27-55, at the time the second-worst in franchise history. During an NBA era in which defense was optional, they could manage only 102.4 points a game, good (or bad) for 20th in the league—and please note that at that point, there were only 23 teams in the Association. Their roster was filled with reluctant rebounders—center Dave Corzine was the only player to average more than 7 boards a night—and forward Orlando Woolridge was their lone regular rotation player to put up a field goal percentage that topped .500.

Nonetheless, we trekked out to that jacked-up stadium, despite the fact that it was an Isle of Misfit Hoopsters. Why did we so often make the drive from the Wilmette to the southwest side? Because we were basketball lovers, and that’s what basketball lovers do—support their team.

On the plus side, entry into the Isle of Misfit You-Know-Whos was dirt cheap, and we had our pick of tickets. Since the sight lines in the lower level of the Stadium were suboptimal, the first row in the first balcony was our favorite place to sit. Tickets were so easily accessible that a center-court seat up in the 200 section—which now costs upwards of $150—set us back a mere ten bucks. It eventually rose to fifteen.

That said, the Association had more than its fair share of greats, and we took advantage. We watched our hometown semi-heroes lose to, among others, Isiah Thomas’ Detroit Pistons, Sidney Moncrief’s Milwaukee Bucks, and, of course, Larry Bird’s Boston Celtics.

Those 1983-84 Bulls finished with the second-worst record in the league, which led to them owning the third pick in the draft, and man, the 1984 draft class was stacked. We’d watched Akeem Olajuwon do scary things at the University of Houston, and goodness gracious, did we want to see him in a Bulls uni. We were all but certain he’d be gone before we picked, but we were cool with that (sort of), as we would’ve been content landing either of the studs from North Carolina, Michael Jordan or Sam Perkins…but, to our credit, we thought that Jordan had more upside. We also liked Auburn’s Charles Barkley, but we were concerned about his lack of height and excess of weight.

The only wild card was Sam Bowie, who none of us liked. The University of Kentucky center was slow, awkward, and fragile, but for some reason, a goodly number of NBA scouts thought he was going to be the next Bill Walton. We hoped and prayed that the Bulls didn’t employ one of those talent evaluators.

Luckily for us, the Portland Trail Blazers—who had been looking for another Bill Walton since they had, y’know, Bill Walton—owned the second pick of the 1984 draft, so after the Houston Rockets, to nobody’s surprise, grabbed Olajuwon at one, the Blazers snatched up Bowie, who they were praying would become Walton 2.0.

So Jordan to the Bulls it was.