Pippen more than just sidekick
When the world was still getting used to the idea of Dwyane Wade, LeBron James and Chris Bosh having orchestrated a superstar triumvirate, all playing on the same team, Michael Jordan made it clear he scoffed at the very idea. Why, he and Pip would never have …
Wait. He and who?
Ah, this would be Scottie Pippen, no backup dancer he. No, this Pip was the man who made All-NBA first team three years in a row (1994-96), who was first-team All-Defensive eight consecutive times. Who was one of pro basketball’s great winners, ever.
So he and Pip never would have. Except that, in effect, they did. And Dennis Rodman would have to be called at least Bosh’s equal. They were superheroes. The only difference being that it wasn’t the players who brought themselves together to win championships. It was the organiza—
Oops. Better stop talking now.
But that brings us to the great Pippen, who will be inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame on Friday. Jordan will present him, and then he’ll be an all-timer for good.
So, can we give the man his due now? Can we elevate him in our minds to where he belongs? Can he finally ascend from Ed McMahon Land?
Part of the reason a guy as great as Pippen is often seen as a second banana is that he played with Jordan, the best ever. Granted. No getting around that. But the other part is the nicknames. They were Batman and Robin. And they were. Jordan was Batman. No question. Pippen was Robin. He was. He came after the “and.”
I don’t come to argue that. But I come to argue who Robin was.
Our image of Robin is too often a green Speedo and Holy fill-in-the-blank, Batman. The (under the mask) wide-eyed kid.
But look at the record. Robin, if unquestionably a good guy, was one bad man. He punched out bad guys. He swung on ropes. He had his own Batcycle. He saved Batman’s bacon more than once. He filled up the box score. Robin was like water; he flowed to wherever needed filling.
Robin could do anything.
He was capable of the equivalent of going off for 47 points.
He would dunk on the Joker (or Patrick Ewing) and stand over him.
Oh, yeah. He would.
He would man up on the mythic (then) Toni Kukoc and take him right out of the Olympics.
Oh, yeah. He did.
Robin was nobody’s sidekick. Robin just knew his niche and filled it. Robin was Batman’s teammate. Robin did anything to win.
And Batman needed Robin. Let’s face it, without Robin, Batman would have been just some crazy dude in a cape. Batman was a little too convinced of his own greatness (the guy added the prefix “bat” to everything he owned). Batman was a little too, um, intense. Without Robin, Batman would have been out on a ledge somewhere.
OK, so Batman was always out on a ledge somewhere. That was basically the job description. That’s a bad example. Maybe this is a better example:
Did you see Jordan’s speech at his Hall of Fame induction last year?
That’s what Batman looks like without the guy with the yellow cape next to him, bringing out the best in him.
Without Pippen, we wouldn’t have wanted to Be Like Mike.
So, yeah, Pippen is Robin, and so be it. Look at the record. Robin is one of the best teammates, biggest winners, best good guys and baddest men of all time.
My son is 5 now, and he loves Batman, as he should. We all love Batman, as we should. But it’s been a long time for me, and so I’d forgotten who Robin was, what he meant. The old stereotypes clouded my mind. The sidekick. Second banana city. I tell my son not to make his friends play Robin. I didn’t get it.
The people who really know basketball, they know.
The kids do, too. They don’t mind being Robin. Robin is Batman’s friend. His teammate. Batman couldn’t be great without him. Robin saves the day. He’s a good guy and a bad man. He can do anything.
The kids would have gotten Pippen. Last night, before I started writing, I asked my son who Robin was. The boy didn’t blink.
“He’s a superhero.”
Damn straight.