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His Airness lacks front-office prowess,

The murmur in Charles Barkley's 314-pound gut whispers that Michael Jordan is 95 percent certain a comeback is in the cards (and he's not referring to the blackjack deck that cut a swathe through Jordan's pocketbook and image during the 1993 playoffs).

Washington Wizards majority owner Abe Pollin won't pin it down to a specific figure, but he gets that same uneasy rumbling deep down in his digestive track.

Even "His Airness" himself, who ballooned to 240 pounds after retiring, modified a previous statement in which he insisted he was 99.9 percent sure he would not suit up for the 2001-2002 season.

After a few weeks of trashing rec center weekend warriors, combined with enough training sessions to reconstruct his amorphous frame, Jordan trimmed the probability to only 80 percent.

Believe whomever you choose regarding whether Jordan wants to come back. But I am 100 percent sure that Jordan needs to come back, and my conviction has absolutely nothing to do with the NBA's longing for Jordan to purge the league of the notorious punks littering its once halcyon hardwood.

Michael Jordan is, indisputably, the worst owner in professional sports today. He's worse than Donald Sterling, worse than Georgia Frontiere, even worse than Mark Cuban.

 
Related Links
  • Official Washington Wizards website

  • Jordan is not singularly stupid, nor is he solely slimy. He's both: ignorant yet manipulative, unorganized yet lowballing.

    Just last week, the same Jordan who promised that his beloved Wizards would qualify for the playoffs, fired Leonard Hamilton, the man he wooed out of a distinguished 28-year college career to navigate his club into the promised land.

    Jordan forked over $8 million to snare Hamilton - far too much for a virgin NBA coach thrust into a lose-lose situation.

    Lose the Wiz did - 63 times - which won't even get you in the Eastern Conference playoffs these days.

    Shortly before season's close, Jordan gave neither Hamilton nor the media any indication that a change at the top was imminent.

    Comfortable with his standing, Hamilton assured his family that there would be a second season.

    Then, moments after the Wizards' pancake-flat performance against Toronto to end the season, Jordan summoned Hamilton to his luxury box.

    Only he didn't. Instead, he asked a pair of MCI Center security guards to carry out the order for him.

    After the meeting, Hamilton casually strolled into the pressroom and promptly resigned, stressing that the decision arrived purely on his own accord.

    You're asking us to believe this, Michael?

    Just admit it, Jordan: For once in your life - a life young men would jump in front of a train for - you turned the ball over in game seven of the NBA Finals. You made a mistake by bringing in Hamilton, then exacerbated the error by pushing him out so you didn't have to own up to your own misjudgment.

    Oh, but there's more.

    Jordan turned right around like a man without a conscience and inked his former boss in Chicago, Doug Collins, a deft tactician whose excessive intensity nearly drove Jordan mad.

    Yet an ebullient Jordan then welcomed Collins to Washington's other dysfunctional family (this is not a column about the Clintons). Jordan, however, never bothered to tell anyone that he negotiated Collins' package almost two full weeks before Hamilton's exodus. He also failed to inform Hamilton of his grim future.

    If something smells, it's not Jordan's cologne, but Jordan himself.

    Now he's planning to put his cape back on.

    This, however, begs a couple of questions: Is Jordan returning to single-handedly win Washington a title, or is he restarting his dormant career to lure a few prominent free agents to town (say Vince Carter and Chris Webber)? Will he then replant himself firmly in the owner's chair, suit on and stogie in hand, to reap the benefits of what his on-court presence sowed?

    This isn't "owning" ... it's cheating. It's a convenient cop-out for a man who can't pull the strings in the boardroom like he used to singe them on the court. Talk about a sordid idea.

    I wouldn't put it past him, though.

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