Chương 58: Chapter 57: The Bloodbath (06/19/1984)

DATE: Tuesday, June 19, 1984 LOCATION: New York City | The Felt Forum LOCAL TIME: 07: 45 PM EST I sat on the carpet of the Carlsbad living room, a bowl of cereal balanced on my knees. The 1984 NBA Draft broadcast hummed in the background—a predictable, slow-moving ritual. Doug was on the sofa behind me, his pen scratching against a script, half-listening.

"With the first pick," Commissioner David Stern announced, "the Houston Rockets select Hakeem Olajuwon." The crowd cheered. The script was holding. Then, Stern stepped back to the mic, looking visibly rattled. He held two slips of paper.

"We have two major trades," Stern said.

"The Portland Trail Blazers have traded the number two pick to the San Diego Clippers for Terry Cummings and the number eight. Furthermore, the 76ers have traded the number five pick to the San Diego Clippers for Norm Nixon and the number fourteen." You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The broadcast booth devolved into shouting. Doug dropped his script. Stern waited for the silence, then delivered the blow.

"With the second pick, the San Diego Clippers select... Michael Jordan." I took a slow, deliberate bite of my cereal. The room went dead silent. The Bulls were on the clock at three. They were a franchise desperate for an identity, and without Jordan, their draft room was clearly in a state of frantic collapse.

"With the third pick," Stern announced, his voice tight, "the Chicago Bulls select... Sam Bowie, from the University of Kentucky."

"They're panicking," Doug whispered, watching the Bulls' GM on screen, who looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

"They just took the center because they were terrified of walking away empty-handed."

"With the fourth pick," Stern continued, "the Dallas Mavericks select... Sam Perkins."

"And with the fifth pick," Stern roared over the mounting confusion of the Felt Forum, "the San Diego Clippers select... Charles Barkley." On the screen, a sharp-suited Jordan and a scowling, mountain-sized Barkley rose from their chairs. They weren't heading to the freezing, industrial winters of Chicago or Philadelphia. They were shipping out to the California coast. The Los Angeles Lakers thought they owned the sun-drenched hegemony of the West with "Showtime" and Magic.

They were about to realize that the center of the basketball universe had just been stolen from under their noses. It was going to be an absolute bloodbath.