Spring Loaded

Let’s start with a basic fact.

Michael Jordan is not the greatest basketball player of all time. Never was. Never will be.

ESPN’s choice of him for Athlete of the Century back in 2000 was a joke. There were only three possibilities for that designation: Babe Ruth, who opened the door to sports for the general public like nobody else in the first half of the 20th century, Jackie Robinson, who opened the floodgates for African-Americans and, indeed, all minorities in the middle of the century, and Muhammad Ali, who put sports on the world stage like nobody else in the latter half of the century.

Michael Jordan? He didn’t win his first NBA title until 1991. And he ruled all ten decades? I don’t think so.

Which brings us to Kobe Bryant, who will soon be fitted for his fourth championship ring, an accomplishment being touted as another rung on his climb to catch or surpass Jordan.

After all, say those making the comparison, Jordan had six NBA titles, Bryant four, as if they alone exist in the basketball pantheon.

At age 30, with the best supporting cast in the game, Bryant certainly figures to move further up the ladder of greatness, but Jordan is hardly the only rung above him.

For starters, how about Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? He also had six NBA titles. But he also won three championships in college at UCLA, while Jordan won only one NCAA title in his three seasons at North Carolina.

Kareem had such a big impact on the college game that the dunk was briefly outlawed during his reign because he was such a dominant force.

I know, I know, we’re supposed to be discussing NBA greats. But we’re also discussing basketball greats and the collegiate years should figure in that equation as well.

And finally, Kareem is the NBA’s all-time leading scorer, another distinction that should put him higher on the ladder than Jordan.

But ultimately, there are two other giants who will settle this argument, Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain.

If it’s statistics you want, the argument ends with Chamberlain.

There has never been a force in the game like the 7-1, 275-pounder. He had 100 points in a single game, 55 rebounds in one game and a single-season scoring average of 50.4 points, records that will be probably never be broken.

But the standard for greatness in sports usually comes down to championships. And in that department, Russell dwarfs Chamberlain and everyone else who ever dribbled a ball.

Russell won 11 titles in 13 seasons, including eight in a row.

An eight-peat.

End of discussion.

While the roster of the Boston Celtics changed over that period, Russell was the constant. He changed the game by elevating defense to the same level of excellence as the offenses of his day.

And, he won his last two championships as player/coach, a status none of his rivals for greatest player ever attempted.

But, the argument goes, there were only eight teams in the NBA for the early part of Russell’s era.

Exactly. All the more reason to praise him. With the best talent concentrated on only eight teams, that made each of those squads tougher than many of the watered-down teams in existence today.

Fortunately, the NBA has finally recognized Russell’s greatness, 40 years after he left the game, by naming it’s NBA Finals MVP trophy after him.

Jordan may have been the greatest shoe salesman the game has ever known, but greatest player? I don’t think so.

For Bryant, the target is much higher.

Bill Russell was the greatest of all time.

Case closed.

On the set of Wednesday night’s TNT postgame show, Charles Barkley ducked out of sight while a discussion of the just-completed L.A. Lakers-Houston Rockets playoff game was going on.

What are you looking for? asked co-host Ernie Johnson.

“Andrew Bynum,” replied Barkley.

Good luck.

Oh there’s no question where Bynum is. It’s not hard to find a 7-foot, 285-pounder. He’s sitting on the Laker bench, moving further and further down the pine. At this point, he’s about to slip past Kurt Rambis in the rotation. It’s been 14 years since Kurt last played, but he could at least still put his body between an opposing player and the basket without automatically triggering a referee’s whistle.

Bynum, it seems, cannot. In this postseason, he has become a foul machine, hacking and banging and stumbling his way through a thicket of Rocket and Utah Jazz players. In the Lakers’ first-round playoff series against the Jazz, Bynum had 16 fouls in 77 minutes. Against the Rockets, he had three in 15 minutes in Game 1 and picked up his pace with three more in only eight minutes in Game 2.

But it’s more than just fouls. It’s not Barkley in search of Bynum so much as it is Bynum in search of his game. He’s totally lost out there.

Bynum keeps fouling because he’s trying to make up for the fact that he’s slow to react on defense.

And he’s no better on offense. When the ball goes into Pau Gasol, the offense clicks, the cutting and rolling functioning as smoothly as Tex Winter designed it. When the ball goes into Bynum, forget it.

The worst part is Bynum’s attitude. When he’s called for a foul or otherwise screws up, he pouts, his shoulders drooping, his usefulness to the team lost.

I know, I know. He’s:

-- still young.

-- still inexperienced.

-- still rusty from missing 32 games because of a knee injury.

-- still not fully recovered from the injury.

-- still bothered by the knee brace he is forced to wear.

That may all be true, but it doesn’t answer the still lingering question of when -- and even if -- he will reach his potential. There’s no question the potential is there. He’s not Shaquille O’Neal, but he’s not Benoit Benjamin, either.

The one-word answer to all his problems is: Maturity.

Not only is this a 21-year-old who didn’t go to college, but he played sparingly in high school. When Kobe Bryant made the leap from preps to the pros, he was out of control. Jermaine O’Neal, who also skipped college, struggled with the culture shock as well. By his fourth season in the NBA, he was playing only around 12 minutes a game, averaging 3.9 points and 3.3 rebounds.

That’s what made LeBron James so unique. He hit the NBA hardwood out of high school running and has never looked back.

The level of Bynum’s maturity, or lack thereof, was clearly demonstrated one day in his rookie season when he disappeared -- there’s that word again -- from practice at the team’s El Segundo training facility.

No one could find him. Sound familiar?

Coach Phil Jackson dispatched Rambis to look for the wayward center.

Rambis indeed found Bynum, sitting in the trainer’s room, eating sugar-soaked cold cereal.

What are you doing, Rambis asked. You just can’t leave practice without telling anyone.

I don’t have any energy and I thought this might give me some, Bynum replied.

It turned out Bynum, on his own for the first time 3,000 miles from home, was living on fast food and depleting his body.

Although he’d never admit it, nobody on the Lakers could be more frustrated than Bynum’s mentor, Hall of Fame center Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He has constantly been by Bynum’s side, tutoring him in all aspects of the game.

Abdul-Jabbar himself knows about growing up fast. No pun intended. He was already in the national spotlight as a New York high school star named Lew Alcindor. By the time he was Bynum’s age, Abdul-Jabbar was leading UCLA to its third consecutive NCAA title.

Bynum says he has the ultimate respect for Abdul-Jabbar. How does he show it? When the NBA’s all-time leading scorer first started working with Bynum, Bynum stiffed him, showing up late for a practice session.

Nobody is suggesting Bynum doesn’t have a future with the Lakers. Look how long it has taken Lamar Odom to realize his potential. And there are still nights when he is lost out there.

Nobody is saying Bynum won’t be a productive center in the NBA.

The agonizing question is: When?