Ethan Simmons
History as Fiction
Mitchell 3
April 27, 2016
Introduction
Michael
Jordan’s basketball career is perhaps the most decorated and illustrious of
any. However, it is undeniably ridden with some degree of mystery and
unpredictability. Just after winning three consecutive championships, he
suddenly retires and plays baseball for the White Sox. He returns only a year
and half later with a slightly retooled team and wins three more rings,
seemingly without skipping a beat. Later, when he is 40 years old and the
general manager of the Washington Wizards, he tries to aid the sorry team he
constructed by suiting up himself. The last decade of his career has been
managing the Charlotte basketball team, in which he has selected some of the
worst draft busts of all time. What’s the explanation for all of this? How do I
intend to fill these obvious holes in Jordan’s historical narrative? Simple,
it’s the basketball-crazed Kim dynasty pulling the strings. Kim Jong-Un and his
family are shrouded in a deep blanket of censorship-controlled mystique, and
they only seem to pop up in the cultural multiplex once in a blue moon due to
their isolation from the rest of the world. What we have found is some serious
evidence of Kim Jong-Un’s Jordan fandom. This seems to answer a question all by
itself. How have North Korea and the United States remained unprovoked by each
other for so long? Basically, Jordan was sacrificed in the late 90s to the
child Kim Jong-Un in order to keep the peace, as an extension of tension-resolution
from the Korean War. And of course, the Bad Boy and North Korea visitor Dennis
Rodman is the middleman of this operation, tying the two worlds together even
tighter. I hope to tell a story that is entertaining but strangely convincing,
deeply rooted in the past but carrying all the way to the present. Enjoy.
The Last Call
Jordan woke
up, hearing the phone ring. Not the house phone obviously, that would be too
risky. He had a special phone for these sorts of things. Jordan had thankfully
fallen asleep in his office where the device was located. He wasn’t expecting
the call, though they were much more frequent as of late. He had fallen asleep
watching some game tape. That was also becoming a more frequent occurrence.
“Good morning
Mike. I hope you slept well. You looked a little uncomfortable.” Jordan
wondered how he forgot there was a live camera attached to the rotary phone. He
thought about when he first installed it. It was supposed to look inconspicuous
in the late 1980s.
“I’m fine, a
little crook in my neck. How’d you sleep, Dave?” Michael twiddled with the
phone line.
“I didn’t.
New developments Mike. We have work to do.”
The
world-worn ex-commissioner had found surprising new life in the government
intelligence agency. Operation AIR was his inherited brainchild. Stern’s personality
was better equipped for the position anyway; he had always liked pulling the
strings on his projects to fit his vision of fairness. Admittedly, this was undesirable
for an executive of a multi-billion dollar competitive sports league, where
playing by the rules dictated the future of fans and franchises.
“Mike, in
short, the rooster has rustled the nest. We might need to send you in.”
Jordan racked
his brain to decipher this ancient code. They had him memorize some key phrases
for phone conversation, in case they needed to discuss uber-classified plans
while being wiretapped. However, the success of Operation AIR (up to this
point) had rendered them completely nil. Besides, Michael was still a quite
groggy from his displaced slumber.
“What the
hell is that supposed to mean, Stern?”
Jordan heard
the line close. A moment later, he heard his pocketed phone twinkle with a
Messenger notification.
“Sry Mike.
Don’t want higher ups 2 hear us. Did u forget the codes???”
Michael
picked his phone up and began tapping away.
“Yeah sry
about that. Is this convo safe tho?”
“Wer fine
Mike. I havent registered this phone yet. This app delets the txts after u send
them 2! V handy.”
“Ok Dave.
Gimme the skinny.”
“Kim has gon
rouge. He refuses to pick up his calls or communicate in any other way. He’s
been isolated in his palace for almost a week now. 1 of our informants said
he’s ‘planning something huge’, whatever that means. However, he is still loyal
2 the Kim Dynasty, so he won’t give further details.”
“Sounds
interesting, but how does this concern me?” Michael added an inquisitive
emoticon to get the point across.
“We might
need 2 send u in. If we do, we’ll give u backup. Someone pretty familiar, 2 u
and 2 the environemtn.”
“Stern I
don’t need any surprises for this stuff. Who is my backup?”
“The Roam!”
“Stern, I
don’t remember these codenames. What’s that supposed to be?”
“The Worm*.
Sorry Mike. No codename, just Dennis Rodman. I h8 autocorrect. He’ll come to ur
house when the time is appropriate. You’ll have som catching up 2 do. GL and Ttyl
Air J.”
Michael
closed the app and reopened it. As Dave had said, all the texts had disappeared.
That was enough middle-aged texting for today. He thought about Rodman. They did have quite a bit of catch up to do.
Jordan closed his phone and went back to sleep.
Rodman
trotted towards the door of Jordan’s mansion. Some government official had
picked him up several hours ago in Philly. He didn’t ask many questions and
practically slept the whole way through. Jordan heard the door open and climbed
upstairs to greet his guest.
“Ever heard
of knocking, Dennis?”
“Got any acid
reflux meds? Had a contest yesterday, not feeling so hot.”
Jordan weakly
smiled. Some people never change.
“I think the
maid has some in the cabinet across the kitchen counter. What kind of contest
was this?”
“Hot-wings,
Mike! I eat as much as I can, meet women, and get cash. Just a little burning
in the chest afterwards.”
Michael felt
a few questions tug at the back of mind, but suddenly remembered they have a
job to do, whatever that meant. He raised his voice to carry on conversation
with his cabinet-sifting cohort.
“Alright
Dennis. You know what you’re here for?”
“Eh, yeah.
It’s about Kim right? That’s all I picked up though. I wasn’t listening too
hard. But I was kind of shocked that you had anything to do with any of it.”
His smoker’s
drawl had a lighthearted tone, but Michael noticed his surprised inflection.
Come to think of it, Jordan hadn’t explained his situation to anyone for a very
long time. He told Phil and Pippen first, then a few members of the Dream Team,
and his very first pick as “GM”, poor Kwame Brown. Jordan tried to put that
away from his mind. Right now, he needed to get Rodman invested and on his
side, just like he did two decades ago in Chicago. Even if he didn’t like it,
he needed to know the full story.
“Dennis, what do you know about Kim Jong-Un?” Rodman
walked back into the foyer with medication in his palm.
“A lot of things Mike. He’s a great guy. Fun-loving.
Amazing leader. And he loves basketball just like you and me. He’s pretty good
actually.”
“I don’t know about the first part, but that last thing,
that’s exactly right. Kim Jong-Un loves basketball. Did he ever tell you about
me?”
Rodman crinkled his face, like someone had played the
wrong heartstring and the note came out sour. Jordan was glad he had caught his
attention.
“No. Why would he? He’s only seen Olympic ball from what
I know. He said I was the best basketball player he’d ever come in contact
with.”
“Rodman, that’s mostly true. You’re the only American
basketball player to have ever met him in person, which is why you’re here and why
I need your help. The government, the Kim Dynasty, and the NBA go way back.
Think over 60 years here. You following me?
Rodman nodded.
“From what I know, the aftermath of the Korean War
included a secret peacetime pact between Kim Il-Sung and the FBI. They promised
to ‘heed to the whims’ of the next rulers of North Korea as long as the
socialist state would never attempt a war involving the United States.
Obviously, the treaty was faulty and has had its ups and downs, but in terms of
what could have happened between two nuclear-weapon possessing countries with
opposite ideals, Operation AIR has worked extraordinarily well. Kim Jong-Il was
granted a massive American-held bank account, and among other things, access to
international media. As you can imagine, the curious young Kim Jong-Un partook
in these resources and discovered us in the NBA. In 1990, just days after we
lost to your Pistons in the playoffs for the third year in a row, Stern gave me
my first call. He told me about this experimental government program that
needed my help, which would maintain peacetime with our greatest international
threat in North Korea. If I chose to accept, the U.S would provide me the best
trainers, equipment, and unbelievable marketing to ensure long-term success.
However, the deal would surrender complete, lifetime control of my career to
the Kim dynasty, specifically to the basketball-obsessed child Kim Jong-Un. I
toiled for weeks on this Dennis, but I decided that winning was far too
important to me. It seemed inevitable with what they promised. So here I am.”
Rodman was silent. Jordan couldn’t read the expression
behind his thick sunglasses. Suddenly, bellowing, wheezing laughter.
“All those years, all those championships, and you’re a
fraud? You had a little Asian guy ordering your ass around for the ENTIRE time?
That’s funny shit Mike…”
Wasn’t
“Whatever. We got ours I guess. Three chips to take home.
But Kim man, what the hell…”
Dennis momentarily stopped his chuckling, looked up, and
took his shades off.
“So…you said 1990 right, for when you started in? That
first retirement…that was Kim’s request.”
Michael raised his eyebrows and nodded assuredly. He
expected this type of banter even if it was a bit more undercutting than he
preferred. Rodman certainly wasn’t done.
“And the White Sox stint? The Return and our threepeat?
The Wizards…whatever that was? All of that was North Korea up your ass, huh?”
“Sure was, Worm. That and more. All those draft picks,
for Washington and Charlotte that I made? I had nothing to do with any of them.
I hear he went to a few draft combines but was too scared to talk to me. All of
horrible draft decisions tainted my reputation for sure, but if that’s the cost
of peace then I should be willing to pay it.”
“You and I both know you ain’t doing this shit for peace.
It was always about winning, and you took the easy way out. I commend you for
it actually. My background was tough, nothing came to me easy. If I had that
same chance I’d take it in a heartbeat. But you probably don’t care about the
fuckin’ Hornets or whatever they are now, even if Kim made you the GM...”
“Rodman, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the teams I’m
managing, but I do care a little about the kids. Adam Morrison at number 3?
Kwame Brown picked number 1? Decent players put way over their heads all cause
some spoiled dictator who doesn’t know a pick and roll from a flex offense
thought they would be ‘loyal to the team.’ And it all gets blamed on me, Rod!
They’ll be living with broken dreams and unfulfilled potential for the rest of
their lives. I wish I could help, but they probably still hate me for setting
them up for failure, drafting them beyond what they were.”
“Hold up, Mike. These ‘colossal failures’ are also
millionaires. Not everyone is a competitor like you and I. Poor, tortured
Michael, with his 6 rings and billions of dollars, giving some underperforming
teenage athletes shitloads of money. Get over yourself Jordan. I did that a
long time ago.”
Michael sighed and tried to heed to his directions. He
did shy away a little too far into his own head sometimes. He had never known
what it was like not to succeed, and he would try detach himself from failures
anyway. Not that it made this process any less frustrating, but Rodman’s words
did comfort his worries quite a bit.
“You’re right Dennis. I’ll try that. We have some work to
do now.”
“Okay then. What now Mike? What’s our assignment?”
“I have a jet. How’s dinner and a flight to North Korea
sound?”
“I’m down. Long as the food isn’t too heavy. I like to
save my stomach for competition.”
Michael searched for even a shred of sarcasm in his face
or voice and found none. He may be strange, but he could get the job done Mike
supposed. Just like old times, really.
Rodman was a heavy sleeper. After consuming his airplane
salad and glass of wine he was out cold for the 14 hour trip. Michael went over
the directions Stern had sent before the trip. According to David, Kim was
quite thrilled to hear of his idol’s arrival, but hung up as soon as discussion
wavered towards his ongoing erraticism and seclusion. Stern relayed locations
of Jong-Un’s agreed landing spot to Jordan’s pilots. Jordan went over the
instructions, thinking about how to “coax information pertaining to Kim’s
personal activities without giving away government involvement or jeopardizing
the elevated status you hold in his mind” as the directions said. A tall order.
He’d try his best though. They landed at around 7:00AM in North Korea’s time
zone in Northern Pyongyang. Michael nudged Rodman awake before talking to the
pilots.
“Instructions say to stay here unless asked directly by
an official. You guys know this plane better than I do though. Food in the
fridge and guns below it. Watch your back and don’t retaliate until absolutely
necessary.”
Although his tone reflected urgency, to the pilots Michael
seemed remarkably relaxed. He accepted the pressure and let his adrenaline
release, imagining the scenario as some kind of clutch moment in an old
basketball game. Jordan thought that always seemed to make things work out.
“Wake up Rod. We’re here.”
Rodman nudged around and then gathered himself instantly,
startled like a rodent on the highway.
“Why has the plane landed?! Did we crash?”
“Dennis, we’re here. Pyongyang, North Korea. You just
slept for 14 hours straight. We should get moving, your pal is waiting.”
Michael told the pilot to open the hatch. At the bottom
of the deployed stairway was the commissioned guide for the new visitors.
Jordan and Rodman walked down, turned their heads to end of the runway, and
gawked. Hundreds of soldiers formed a tremendous path all the way to Jong-Un’s
Ryongsong Residence.
“Didn’t get this last time, that’s for sure!” Rodman
quipped, running down the stairway and attempting to high-five the soldiers’
saluting hands. Jordan tiptoed down the jet, wobbling his head and face to
assure the reality of what he was seeing. Sure enough, the tunnel of men was
still there, and their leader was at the other end.
For what seemed to him an eternity, Jordan silently treaded through the forest of motionless officers, deeply unsettled. He was used to the deification, the worship of fans, just as much as he knew to relish the boiling hatred of an opposing arena, but so many people watching him, completely ambivalent and uninterested, rattled him with unfamiliarity. Bronze sculptures of previous national leaders scraped the skyline of the distance. When he finally reached the outlet, Kim Jong-Un and Dennis Rodman were performing an intricate fist-bump ritual. The world’s most mysterious friendship had obviously not skipped a beat. Once Jordan came into his sights, Jong-Un’s smile lit up as he displayed a gratuitous bow for his visitor. The entire tunnel behind them closed up with hundreds of bows simultaneously.
For what seemed to him an eternity, Jordan silently treaded through the forest of motionless officers, deeply unsettled. He was used to the deification, the worship of fans, just as much as he knew to relish the boiling hatred of an opposing arena, but so many people watching him, completely ambivalent and uninterested, rattled him with unfamiliarity. Bronze sculptures of previous national leaders scraped the skyline of the distance. When he finally reached the outlet, Kim Jong-Un and Dennis Rodman were performing an intricate fist-bump ritual. The world’s most mysterious friendship had obviously not skipped a beat. Once Jordan came into his sights, Jong-Un’s smile lit up as he displayed a gratuitous bow for his visitor. The entire tunnel behind them closed up with hundreds of bows simultaneously.
“Michael Jordan. My idol and muse. Welcome to my home
number 23.”
Jordan stared. Then he bowed.
Jordan tried to trail behind the pair of international
brethren as much as he could. He desperately wanted to regain his composure,
which he wasn’t very used to losing, making it all the worse. His cohorts
suddenly stopped at a corner of the hallway.
Beyond the juncture was a humongous glass case, a trove
of memorabilia from the Jordan-era Chicago Bulls. Game worn jerseys, sweat
rags, used court shoes, even a championship ring from a former teammate.
“Your friends in America have granted me these precious
items upon my request, Mr. Jordan. The sector used to be my playroom as a
child.”
Sure enough, at the end of the case was an older
television set and a crayon drawing of Jordan signed ‘Pak Un’, Kim’s alias he
used as a young student in Switzerland.
“I’m glad you’ve seen this now Michael. It is so very
important to me. You two are my very favorite Americans.”
Michael finally found his ability to speak.
“I don’t know what to say…it is…truly amazing. Incredibly
thorough. I guess I’m flattered, Jong-un.”
“You can call me Kim, Michael. We are friends now. But we
have always been acquainted in a sense, haven’t we?”
Kim again flashed a boyish smile, rife with
self-satisfaction and pride. They continued down the hall.
“I have been toiling away for some time now. It is good
to have a break and have conversation with nice gentlemen like you.”
“We appreciate it Kim. What is this project you’re
speaking of?” Jordan saw Dennis nod. Hopefully that meant he was sounding
innocent enough.
“Jordan, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but did you
push off?”
“Wait, what?”
“Did you push off? In the 1998 Finals. You were playing
the Utah Jazz. Bryon Russell was guarding you. Did you push off of him before
you hit the game-winning shot?”
“Yeah Mike, did ya?”
Rodman chimed
in, chuckling to himself. Jordan thought
of which answer would best upheld Jong-Un’s lofty perceptions.
“Of course
not, Kim. I thought it was a clean crossover.”
“It didn’t look
like it to me. Strong move, just not very clean like you said. An unusually
dirty move for someone so practiced as you.”
Michael
didn’t know how to respond, so he just kept silent. He wondered about where
exactly the dictator was taking them, and how blunt his obvious topic-change
was. Some natural light shined in across the hallway. Just as the group stepped
towards it, a thunderous shaking and numerous screams emanated from the main
square just outside. While the retired athletes gained their footing from the
quake, Kim sprinted down the hall, peered out the window, and pulled out a
Bulls-themed walkie-talkie from his vest. He muttered a fast command into the
device and stood as tall as he could muster near the end of the hall.
“What’s wrong
Kim?” Dennis said. “What the hell was that?”
“Nothing of
your concern Rodman. You can follow me.”
Jordan began
walking behind them for a split-second, but as soon as his step sounded the
Supreme Leader jerked completely around.
“I didn’t say
you could come with us Michael. Please stay here.”
“Why? It must
be dangerous for me to stay here. Is this all part of your plans, Kim?” he
thought of the screams he heard from the square.
“Please. It
is imperative that you remain calm, turn around, and exit the building until
further notice.”
But Michael
didn’t know his way out. He didn’t trust anything or anyone at the moment. So
he made the mistake of attempting to view the commotion against his guide’s
will. Footsteps, then from behind, he felt a prick in his back and 50,000 volts
surge through his body. The last he saw was a couple of armed officers before
he blacked out.
Jordan awoke
in complete darkness. The windows had been shut, and the overhanging lights
shut down. He had an awful headache and a piercing pain on the spot of his back
that he landed. He clicked his phone alive and turned on the flashlight
function. Jordan navigated to the nearest staircase and walked down as far as
he could go. He found a door at the bottom and pushed it open.
The sunlight
poured into the dingy stairwell and onto Michael’s bruised-up face. As his eyes
readjusted to the glare, he stepped out of the building and into the square. He
soon saw hundreds of citizens, lined up at the edges of the square on all
floors, staring at him, but also glaring at the 50 foot tall draped object in
the center. An intercom blared in the distance. It was Rodman.
“Sorry about
that Jordan. I hope your head is OK. We were waiting so you could see the
unveiling of Kim’s plans you care so much about. Well here they are.”
The object
was riveted on a large base. A 20 foot wide crater nearby looked to be the
source of the earlier noise. Did a piece from his plans create that mark? Was it
a misfiring weapon? Jong-Un took the intercom.
“Yes, Jordan.
It appears you’ve arrived just in time. My plans, my construction, it will
change how your nation sees us forever! No longer will inaction endure!”
Before Jordan
could respond, the entire assembly launched into the North Korean national
anthem, including Rodman. The drapes were pulled off by men at the ground level
as they sang. A saber of reflecting light blinded Jordan as Kim continued to
shout through the speakers.
“Let it not
just be a beacon of power, but one of North Korean grace and justice! One that
so beautifully represents you, my dear friend. Let the world know the Heavenly
Light of Michael Jordan!”
Jordan
stepped back into the shade. The towering bronze figure was him. 1998 Finals.
Game 6. Last shot. Indeed, he was pushing off.
Supreme
Leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea Kim Jong-Un felt a weight
lift off his shoulders. His project was finally finished, decades in the
making. Perhaps it would’ve gone more smoothly if that darned ball didn’t slip
off, but Jordan now knew what he was up against. Now he had time on his side.
He could keep it for himself, and he would enjoy the grandeur. Or he could gift
it to the United States. That intrigued him far more. Who’s to say what he
could do? Maybe he would gift it like the Tower of Eiffel. Or maybe, just
maybe, it would be like a Horse from Troy. Who’s to say, he thought. I’m to
say.
Annotated Bibliography
Hall, Allan. “Kim Jong Un’s Swiss
school days revealed.” Sunday Times. Daily
Mail. 25 December 2011. Web. 20 April 2016.
Although I used it fairly briefly in my
own story, the image of child Kim Jong-Un is a nuanced one, and this article
had plenty to say about his development and educational experience in
Switzerland. I used the mentions of him being good at basketball but also
having a lackluster school efforts in my narrative, which all contributed in
forming the personality of my created Kim Jong-Un.
Higgins, Andrew. “Who Will
Succeed Kim Jong Il?” Washington Post. The
Washington Post Company. 19 July 2009. Web. April 12 2016.
Contains bevy of insight as to Kim
Jong-Un’s personal life. Talks explicitly about his (very real) massive
interest in Michael Jordan and basketball, which plays a central part in my
metanarrative of the Kim dynasty and Jordan’s basketball exploits.
“Michael Jordan Committed to
Charlotte Bobcats.” ESPN. ESPN. 2
November 2012. Web. 25 April 2016.
Goes over Michael Jordan’s dubious draft
history as well as his frustrations with the franchise. I used both of those
facets to flesh out the pact set up by Project AIR and how exactly it has
affected the life of post-playing career Jordan.
“Pyongyang/North Korea.” Lonely Planet. Lonely Planet. n.d. Web.
22 April 2016.
This was my main geographic and
informational source for North Korea itself. Talks about the bronze statues of
Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il as well as the positioning of the Kim dynasty
residence in Pyongyang. `
