15 years ago the Chicago Bulls were completing the most dominant and successful season in the history of professional sports. It was their 72-win, NBA Championship season, and working as the weekend sports anchor for the NBC television affiliate meant I was on the floor, and in the locker room for most of those wins. To say it was a great experience would be like saying Betty White should not star in the remake of Black Swan.
I did a special TV series during the month of January where I followed the Bulls around on a road trip that went through Denver, Sacramento and LA. It was obviously an incredible, exhilarating ride, unless hanging with Michael Jordan for a week in his prime and watching the behind the scenes nut job antics of Dennis Rodman doesn’t sound like fun to you. Well, it was.
However— I have one, major regret from that year that I still kick myself over at least 9-11 times per half year. Because covering and following the Bulls was such a larger than life experience, and the fact that a photo op could occur at any moment, I never went anywhere without carrying a camera in my briefcase. Seriously, I was going to be ready if Rodman tried to French kiss Benny the Bull or if Jordan wanted me to babysit his Lamborghini. If something memorable was going to happen, I would have a picture of it!
Fast forward to the NBA Finals in 1996: the Bulls were hosting the Sonics in Game 1 at the United Center. NBC was doing the pre-game show and broadcasting the game of course, and we had wrapped it up and we were waiting for the game to start in our courtside seats on the baseline near the visiting team’s bench. (Side note—that was when NBA broadcasts during the playoffs were magical. I don’t know how you’ve completely sucked the incredible joy out them ESPN, but congratulations, you have!) All of a sudden there was a stir in the arena. I figured that could only mean one thing– Rodman had gotten nude and was trying to give Oprah a tattoo while Jerry Springer was piercing her belly button. Actually that wasn’t the case—what was causing the roof to rise before the game had even started was ‘The Champ’, Muhammad Ali was on the floor, heading to his seat, and the crowd was going absolutely bonkers just being in the presence of him. Well, he kept walking right towards me and my friend, and was within four feet of us when I reached into my bag, grabbed my camera, and —–choked on the magnitude of the moment and froze. I did not ask Muhammad Ali if I could get a photo with him.
Good God, I was a television anchor and reporter, I annoyed people for a living, and I didn’t have the guts to ask the Champ if he’s pose for a quick photo? It wasn’t like I didn’t have a camera. It was in my freaking hand!
Well, he walked by me. Luckily I’d have other opportunities to be with Ali, but it would be 12 years later when I was fortunate enough to ride in a helicopter with him (a separate story for another day).
The saddest thing about me blowing it at that Bulls game that day— is something I learned as I wrote the cover story for the January/February issue of Jetset Magazine on Muhammad Ali, which is currently out right now. Do you realize that Muhammad Ali has never turned down a photo request in his life? Ever. He’s also never turned down someone who’s asked for his autograph. I hope you can check out the story in Jetset Magazine because you’ll learn why he never ever says no. Which makes me look even more like an idiot when you realize I didn’t ask him when I had that golden opportunity back in 1996.
