The first time I saw Derrick Rose play live was in the 2008 NCAA Tournament. He was serving his one-year obligation at Memphis on the way to the NBA. I have never seen anyone jump the way he jumped.
You’ve heard of a car going from zero to 60 m.p.h. in 3.7 seconds? This was a human going from zero to 40 inches in the blink of an eye. You might be telling yourself that lots of great and not-so-great basketball players can jump high. This wasn’t that. This was hair-trigger fast-twitch muscles. This was Rose’s power plant at work. That explosiveness would take him all sorts of places – past defenders, to the rim, over bigger players and to the 2011 NBA Most Valuable Player award as a Bull. Was that physical fury his undoing? Possibly. Maybe the human body wasn’t meant to put that much force on two knees.
But you wouldn’t deny Rembrandt his eye and his brush, and there was no stopping Rose from being who and what he was. We in Chicago, and anyone anywhere who loved the game, were beneficiaries of that powerful experience, even if the height of it was much too brief.
On Saturday, the Bulls will celebrate “Derrick Rose Night’’ during their game against the Knicks at the United Center. Whether they retire his number is still a mystery. Why they wouldn’t would be a bigger mystery. The top overall pick in the 2008 draft had as brilliant a first three-plus seasons in the league as you’ll ever see, winning the Rookie of the Year award and being voted league MVP at the tender age of 22, the youngest in league history. He was Chicago’s own, a product of Englewood and Simeon, and he wore that with pride.
He tore the anterior cruciate ligament in his left knee during the playoffs the following season, and the sight of him grabbing his leg is one of those images that can’t be erased from the city’s psyche.
Watching him deal with a slew of subsequent injuries was both difficult and strangely uplifting – difficult because he was never the same after sitting out the 2012-13 season and uplifting because for the next 11 years he did the best he could with what he had left. He announced his retirement before this season. For his career, he averaged 17.4 points and 5.2 assists. In his MVP season, he averaged 25 points, 7.7 assists and dozens of dropped jaws a game.
That’s worthy of a jersey being lifted to the rafters. Is it worthy of the Basketball Hall of Fame? No. There’s a distinction between having a number retired by a team and being honored with an induction ceremony in Springfield, Mass. Rose might be the perfect example of that distinction.
I know greatness when I see it, and even in those three-plus seasons, he burned brighter than 99% of the players who have ever put on a Bulls jersey. His story is worth telling for all its radiance and perseverance. It’s worth a place high inside the United Center. His No. 1 jersey has hardly been worn since the Bulls traded him to the Knicks in 2016. Might as well make it official.
But several great years and world-class resilience aren’t reason enough to get into the Hall. Neither is bad luck. Wishing things had gone differently for him is one thing. Wishing him into the Hall would be another thing, an empty thing.
Rose is an epic tale, not a place in a museum. He went from loved to disliked to loved again. All the nonsense about whether he was selfish when he wouldn’t return from his initial injury until he felt ready to play was just that – nonsense. Yet a 2014 quote followed him around for years like a leprosy diagnosis.
“I’m thinking about after I’m done with basketball … having graduations to go to, having meetings to go to,” he said. “I don’t want to be in my meetings all sore or be at my (2-year-old) son’s graduation all sore just because of something I did in the past.’’
He didn’t win the public-relations war because he didn’t know how to play it. He was let down by whoever was advising him at the time. Nothing has happened since to convince me that he wasn’t simply repeating to reporters what someone had told him about taking the long view of life. Nonetheless, some in Chicago turned on a favorite son.
The truth could be found in the loyalty of those who knew him best. Teammates and coaches at all his stops – Chicago, New York (twice), Cleveland, Minnesota, Detroit and Memphis – raved about his attitude. Saturday’s ceremony will include many of his Bulls teammates.
That’s Derrick Rose. He once could jump out of a gym. Now his friends are jumping to honor all of him, the good and the unfortunate. It’s quite a story. Uplifting, even, like a jersey being raised.