Chapter Seventeen: Pippen, Who Has Lost Everything!
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Thus, when Lin Tian walked off the court, the fans in the arena unexpectedly broke into a perfectly synchronized chant!
“We want Lin! We want Lin!”
“Phil! Put Lin back in!”
“Let him show us a few more!”
“Let him do another behind-the-back, through-the-legs, bounce-pass assist for Steve Kerr to throw down!”
…
The whole arena cheering in unison was something only Jordan could accomplish for the Bulls that night. Yet Lin Tian had needed only a few minutes to win over Chicago’s notoriously demanding fans!
As Lin Tian came off the court and sat down on the bench, Rodman immediately sauntered over with a grin.
“Congratulations, Lin. Congratulations on officially joining Chicago!”
“How about I help you become a man tonight?”
“Dennis, I’m sorry. You’re a good person, but I’m not interested in men! In fact, I’m rather repulsed by them!”
Lin Tian rejected Rodman’s suggestion without the slightest hesitation.
He could swear to heaven that he had absolutely no interest in this big brother with his multicolored hair.
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t like men either.” Rodman slung an arm around Lin Tian’s shoulders with a wicked grin. “But I know exactly what men like!”
“Dennis, don’t you think you’re only making it stranger—and more terrifying—the more you try to explain?” Pippen poked his head over from nearby. “Lin, it’s your first appearance. Michael’s treating everyone tonight. The whole team has to come. It’s tradition!”
“In Chicago, Michael is the only one allowed to pay. Nobody gets to fight him for it! Who can blame him, when he makes so much money every year? He ought to treat us!” Pippen added.
One look at his expression was enough to tell that he had begun suffering over that rookie contract of his again.
This season, everyone’s salaries had yet to explode, and the new broadcasting agreement would not be signed until the following summer. For the time being, Pippen’s salary still ranked fourth on the team.
But once the new, massive television deal was signed next season, once Jordan negotiated his new contract, and once the new contracts for Longley, Kukoc, and the others took effect, Pippen’s annual salary would plummet directly to sixth, seventh, or even lower on the team…
Across the league, as everyone’s pay skyrocketed and all sorts of nobodies in Pippen’s eyes began receiving contracts worth seven or eight million, or even more than ten million, His Airness would still be miserably clinging to that bargain-basement contract worth barely 2.6 million a year.
For a player of his ability, earning only a little over two million a year at a time like this was practically black comedy.
But what kind of man was Jordan? He certainly was not about to indulge Pippen now!
“Scott, if you’re short on money, just say so. I can lend you some.” Jordan shrugged, pulled a cigar from his bag, and lit it. “Of course, if you’re broke, that’s your own damn fault. I did everything I could for you back then. You wouldn’t listen to me. What was I supposed to do?”
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“Even that fat bastard Krause couldn’t bear to watch. He advised you not to act rashly, but you wouldn’t listen. What could I do? Chop off your hand so you couldn’t sign the contract?”
A single sentence from Jordan shut Pippen up completely.
There was nothing he could say. After all, who had insisted, with absolute determination, on getting a seven-year maximum-salary contract back then?
In 1991, Pippen was suffering from a serious back injury and worried that he might not be able to survive in the NBA for long. He had used every method imaginable—from threats and inducements to demands for a trade, tantrums, and rolling around on the floor—to force the Bulls to offer him a seven-year supermax contract!
That was, in other words, seven years for eighteen million dollars.
At the time, Jordan had warned him that the salary cap was going to soar. A maximum-salary deal was fine, he had said, but it should not last that long. Pippen ignored him.
Team owner Jerry Reinsdorf had also assured Pippen that he would give him a respectable deal and urged him to remain calm. Pippen ignored him too.
Even Krause, a man practically modeled after Ebenezer Scrooge, had felt a little embarrassed and hoped Pippen would reconsider.
Pippen still refused.
In the end, he signed a seven-year contract so absurd that people would ridicule it for fifty years; a contract so exploitative that even the most avaricious capitalist and the most cold-blooded general manager would wonder whether they had gone too far in squeezing Pippen.
Who was there to blame? No one.
Of course, for the next few years, Pippen continued to harbor unrealistic fantasies. In that era, the NBA actually allowed players and teams to renegotiate contracts. Magic Johnson’s legendary twenty-five-year, twenty-five-million-dollar deal, for example, had been renegotiated after the salary cap skyrocketed. The Lakers had given Magic his dignity.
Pippen wanted that dignity too. But clearly, not every team was the Lakers, and not every owner was Buss.
Reinsdorf had been able to reject even Jordan’s demand for a new contract without hesitation, let alone Pippen’s.
Dignity? He could have it once this contract expired.
Even Lin Tian had no idea how to comfort Pippen. Should he tell him to hang on for three more years, and that after those three years he would be able to sign a genuine five-year, seventy-million-dollar supermax contract?
Although that was the truth, hearing it at a time like this would hardly sound comforting. It would sound more like mockery.
So Lin Tian wisely chose to keep quiet.
He silently removed his drenched jersey and prepared to take a shower. For the moment, it was best to let Pippen be alone with his misery.
Fortunately, although Pippen’s basketball skills were inferior to Jordan’s and he earned nowhere near as much, he still possessed one supreme advantage that no one else on the team could match!
So, while taking off his clothes, Pippen began singing to celebrate that one-of-a-kind advantage of his.
“Oh-oh-oh! My favorite… FUXX! My God! Lin, what are you doing!”
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Pippen’s favorite song came to an abrupt halt.
He had seen Lin Tian, who had also come in to shower.
During the entire month of training camp, Pippen had never paid attention—or rather, hardly anyone would deliberately observe a teammate in the shower. But today, he had seen something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“I’m taking a shower. Why?” Lin Tian asked, rubbing body wash over himself as he looked at Pippen.
Then he followed Pippen’s gaze downward and understood everything.
The light vanished completely from Pippen’s face.
His salary was not going to suddenly skyrocket. He would have to keep collecting that rookie contract for another three years.
Now he had even been stripped of the right to sing. From that day onward, as long as Lin Tian was around, he would never be able to sing his favorite song again.
Being called the league’s second-best player and the league’s number-two lieutenant was already irritating enough for Pippen. If he truly had nerves that thick, he would not have sat on the bench in a furious sulk during the Eastern Conference semifinals two years earlier simply because Jackson refused to let him take the final shot.
And the events of that night were clearly not going to end there.
Pippen’s abruptly silenced singing attracted Rodman, who was nearby grooming himself one section at a time.
Rodman’s eyes flicked over. Then he immediately unleashed a roar loud enough to reach every corner of the locker room.
“Scott! Lin blew you out of the water! My God! Unbelievable! Unbelievable! Everybody, come look! Get over here!”
The moment Rodman’s bellow rang out, the system notification in Lin Tian’s mind sounded almost simultaneously!
“Scottie Pippen is experiencing an emotional fluctuation. Permanent skill acquired: Intercepting Hand Lv. 1 (0/1500).”
“Intercepting Hand: Steal ability increased by 5%!”
That night, Pippen lost absolutely everything!
…
After defeating the Milwaukee Bucks 101–70 in their first preseason game, winning by a full thirty-one points, the Bulls began to display their unmatched dominance!
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