A month before the Giants game in San Francisco, I wrote game story with shaking hands after Pippen charged at me from across the locker room in Vancouver. He had been ejected in that game, and had been sulking in the locker room, attempting to extinguish his ire with Coors Lights. In the postgame locker room I started asking questions about the team's downfall, and I could see him eyeing me from across the room.
I was trying to understand why a team so talented could lose for the second time in four days to the lowly Grizzlies, and look so unattached in the process. I was getting mixed messages from the players, some seemed to be getting irritated with the unreliability of Wallace, and some seemed to be losing faith in coach Mike Dunleavy. But nobody would give me anything concrete that I would feel comfortable writing. Soon, there was just three of us: Stoudamire, myself, and Pippen -- still stretch out on the wooden bench across the locker room, eyeing me warily. There was no locker room chatter now, and any words carried throughout the room.
When I asked Stoudamire whether the team was still behind Dunleavy, Pippen sprang like a panther. The next thing I knew, I had Coors Light spittle in my face.
"You haven't been around long enough to be poking around like you are!" Pippen screamed.
I said something along the lines of people deserved to know what was going on, but in truth, I was trying to maintain my composure while trying to stand my ground. Somewhere between Pippen's first words and my retort, Stoudamire bailed. It was just me and the 6-foot-8 legend and his booming voice. And boy did he let me have it.
It created enough of a stir that locker room attendants rushed in and got between us, pushing me out the door. My hands were shaking so hard when I got to my computer that I'm surprised I was able to even write my byline, let alone a story.
The next day, it was like nothing happened. Not a word from Pippen. Not a peep from Stoudamire.
The next year, Dunleavy was gone, Maurice Cheeks was hired and the dysfunction continued. During the height of the Blazers' frequent run-ins with the law, I appeared in a segment on a national NBC halftime show, which chronicled the team's problems and fall from grace. The team watched the segment on the flight home from their game, and Pippen became enraged. He informed the media relations staff that I was not to be allowed access to him.
Despite the warnings, the next game I did what I always did: Popped my head through the media scrum around Pippen's locker and asked him about the game. Pippen gave me a cold stare, looked around for the media relations director and blurted, "I told you to keep him away from me!" before abruptly ending the interview session after three questions, much to the chagrin of the gathered reporters.
