The reaction to Jordan's Hall of Fame speech has been everything from predictable stale celebration to venomous outrage, with a little "this is what you get from someone with relentless competitive drive" in-between. I parted ways with the Air Jordan kool-aid crowd a long time ago, but I wasn't offended by his speech. At first I thought it was pretty funny, but by the end I realized the whole thing was kind of sad.

Whenever I get turned down for a job, a school program, or even get rejected by a girl, there is a certain defiance that kicks in. A little part of me that says, "You just wait. One day you'll know what you missed out on." Even if I know I'm better off in the long run, wounded pride is a tough pill to swallow. It can take a long time to go away, too, especially if it takes a long time to make it to the next job or the next girl. In the heat of the moment, you may think about how satisfying it would be to confront your old opponent and wave your success in their face, to gloat in your ultimate triumph. But when you do overcome, most of the time you've gained enough perspective to find peace with your past. You just move on.

Peace.
For a while I wondered, if he's so unhappy after accomplishing all he did, what would have happened to him if he hadn't been blessed with all the natural talent and athleticism that helped him to the pinnacle in the first place? But then I realized: the pressure and insecurity and competitiveness stemmed from that talent, and the responsibility and expectation of success that it carried. Whenever Jordan failed at anything, it ate at him because he knew he had something special, and he felt that people around him weren't acknowledging it. And somehow, his incredible accomplishments still haven't measured up enough to his expectations to give him any peace on the subject. For some reason, on the threshold of Basketball Immortality, Jordan felt like telling the world "I told you so" instead of, "what a ride, huh?"
He's still searching for something. Happiness, maybe. Who knows if he's going to find it. I just wonder what his example means for the rest of us.

When the ceremony started, I felt like Jordan was the player I wanted to be, while Stockton was the player I was in reality. By the end of the proceedings, after hearing Stockton stumble through his humble remarks, I saw that in some ways, Stockton is the man I want to be, and Jordan is the man I am. Stockton doesn't care what the world thinks of him. Jordan cares way too much, and sometimes, so do I.