While Jordan was working to get better in the offseason to add to his game and demanding the utmost out of his teammates during practice, Barkley wasn’t. According to sources, he didn’t pick up a basketball during the offseason unless there was international play involved, and his desire to practice was about as lofty as everyone’s desire to wear pants and shoes during stay at home orders. Having talked with multiple people who were around him during his days in Phoenix, it was pretty clear that his focus wasn’t always on the court. The stories are well documented about late night card games and rounds of golf that went far too long, but there was no denying that when it came to the court, MJ was locked in.īarkley? Well, that was a different story. Now, I’m not saying Jordan didn’t have his fun. He was driven to push his team every opportunity he got. He was the antithesis of Allen Iverson’s famous 'practice' quote. It has everything to do with Jordan’s ruthless desire and almost outright obsession to win at all costs. We’re getting a front row seat to the reason while watching the new documentary. In fact, he should have been the Bird to Jordan’s Magic during the decade. In fact, during the 1990s, I think you could argue that The Round Mound of Rebound was the second most gifted player of that era. There’s no denying that Jordan’s overall game and on-court success was superior to Barkley’s but the gap isn’t astronomical. Just how far of a talent gap was there between Jordan and Barkley? That, along with watching the first few episodes of the aforementioned Last Dance, got me thinking. While I won the initial battle, I feel I've likely lost the war for the sports soul of my daughter. That the best player that ever was, was in fact the one daddy didn’t like very much.

She quickly, and more effectively, taught her the correct answer. When I would ask her who the best basketball player ever was, at least for awhile, she’d emphatically answer ‘Charles Barkley’. I’ve shown her videos, taught her to say 'Barkley' any time she sees his poster on my office wall, or a bobble head on the shelf or even in the photo of he, Tom Chambers and I behind the bar at Majerle’s.

See, for the last few years I’ve attempted to brainwash my 3-year-old to believe that Charles Barkley is the best basketball player of all-time. It is however, at least to start, about the battle for my daughter’s fandom. This isn’t a story about my sports-related marital problems. gets mad at me, she wears her 1993 championship t-shirt to bed. Our rivalry runs so deep that when the Mrs. Yes, me, a lifelong and dedicated Suns fan, married a lifelong Bulls fan from a suburb of Chicago. X2Nvb2tpZXNfd2luPXgnIHN0eWxlPSdkaXNwbGF5Om5vbmU7dmlzaWJpbGl0ĮTpoaWRkZW4nIHdpZHRoPScwJz48L2lmcmFtZT4KPC9ub3NjcmlwdD4KCgo= VE0tTUY2UFhYQycpOwo8元NjcmlwdD4KPG5vc2NyaXB0Pgo8aWZyYW1lIGhlĪWdodD0nMCcgc3JjPSdodHRwczov元d3dy5nb29nbGV0YWdtYW5hZ2VyLmNvīS9ucy5odG1sP2lkPUdUTS1NRjZQWFhDJmFtcDtndG1fYXV0aD1LaEg2aGVDĬG9XSlVIbnFWemRFYTd3JmFtcDtndG1fcHJldmlldz1lbnYtMSZhbXA7Z3Rt ICAgfSkod2luZG93LGRvY3VtZW50LCdzY3JpcHQnLCdkYXRhTGF5ZXInLCdH Zi5wYXJlbnROb2RlLmluc2VydEJlZm9yZShqLGYpOwogICAgICAgIHdpbmRvĭy5fZGlkQXN5bmNJbmplY3RHb29nbGVUYWdNYW5hZ2VyID0gdHJ1ZTsKICAg JyZndG1fcHJldmlldz0nKydlbnYtMScrJyZndG1fY29va2llc193aW49eCc7 Z3RtX2F1dGg9JysnS2hINmhlQ3BvV0pVSG5xVnpkRWE3dycrCiAgICAgICAg 元d3dy5nb29nbGV0YWdtYW5hZ2VyLmNvbS9ndG0uanM/aWQ9JytpK2RsKycm ICAgIGo9ZC5jcmVhdGVFbGVtZW50KHMpLGRsPWwhPSdkYXRhTGF5ZXInPycmīD0nK2w6Jyc7ai5hc3luYz10cnVlO2ouc3JjPQogICAgICAgICdodHRwczov PHNjcmlwdD4KICAoZnVuY3Rpb24odyxkLHMsbCxpKXsKICAgICAgICBpZiAoĭ2luZG93Ll9kaWRBc3luY0luamVjdEdvb2dsZVRhZ01hbmFnZXIpIHJldHVyījsKICAgICAgICB3W2xdPXdbbF18fFtdO3dbbF0ucHVzaCh7J2d0bS5zdGFyĭCc6CiAgICAgICAgbmV3IERhdGUoKS5nZXRUaW1lKCksZXZlbnQ6J2d0bS5qĬyd9KTt2YXIgZj1kLmdldEVsZW1lbnRzQnlUYWdOYW1lKHMpWzBdLAogICAg

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