You want to retire a number in the NBA? Here's the only one

LeBron James' suggestion in New York last week -- or was it a coy diversionary tactic to shift media attention away from his future free-agent whereabouts? -- that the NBA retire jersey No. 23 across the board sparked an enormous number of nods. And an even greater amount of head shaking.

Honoring Michael Jordan the way Jackie Robinson is honored across baseball for "breaking'' the sport's racial barrier -- no one (other than grandfathered-in Yankees reliever Mario Rivera) wears Robinson's No. 42 -- has an almost instinctive appeal. It's a way for the NBA, circa 2009, to keep Jordan alive in arenas across North America, to recall his hardwood exploits and feel a little more connected to this incredible player missed dearly. A corporate job, business suits and long-distance management of the Charlotte Bobcats doesn't quite scratch the itch for fans who, in James' plan, could gaze into the rafters everywhere in the league and re-tell their favorite Jordan moments. Or just sit back and ... remember.

But there are at least three significant caveats to such a move. Each by itself might be reason enough to pull back; in sum, they make a compelling case that the NBA should not go there. Not in this way, not at this time.

But I can think of one number, one player, who should be thusly honored.

First, the Jordan cautions:

1. There were great players before Michael Jordan and there will be great players after Jordan.

Few longtime fans ever imagined that Wilt Chamberlain would lose his spot as king of the NBA hill (many feel he still has not). Others think James is the guy who in time will topple Jordan from that very throne. Bill Russell, Elgin Baylor, Oscar Robertson, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Julius Erving, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant also have made cases for various forms of greatness. All got or still get into the debates in some measure. And so it will go years and decades into the future with guys wearing a vast array of jersey numbers.

Remember, baseball didn't blanket-retire the number of its greatest player. Babe Ruth's 3 still is available most places beyond the Yankees. Henry Aaron's 44 is sacred to the Braves and its fans but not to most franchises. Robinson, on stats and diamond achievements alone, doesn't get mentioned as one of baseball's greatest. This sort of tribute is way bigger than talent, highlights or even rings.

2. Jordan wasn't a pioneer, he was a collaborator.

Robinson was alone in what he did, facing down haters and showing courage in a way that no professional athlete has had to before or since. He had help -- Branch Rickey, Pee Wee Reese, other Brooklyn Dodger teammates who supported and defended him -- but ultimately no one could walk in his shoes as the majors' first black player. Jordan, by comparison, designed the sneakers he soared in but didn't invent the shoes. Each of the guys mentioned a few paragraphs ago cleared a path of some breadth and depth -- Jordan, magnificently and memorably, simply blazed it further.

If the NBA were going to honor Robinson's equivalent in race relations, it would have to show more new-millennium love for Chuck Cooper, Earl Lloyd, Nat (Sweetwater) Clifton and Hank DeZonie, the four black players who made their debuts in the 1950-51 season. The tricky part is that none of them reached legendary status, none of them resonates much today and, of course, there were four of them. Four jersey numbers to retire.

3. Jordan is still, y'know, alive.

Genuflecting in such a profound way for someone who still is capable of besmirching his own name, legend and yes, jersey number is too risky in these gotcha, TMZ days. Hall of Fame enshrinements are risky enough; what if Pete Rose or Barry Bonds had been inducted before their respective scandals broke? Then there's O.J. Way back in 1994, during the Houston-New York NBA Finals, the Rockets held a lower Manhattan practice at the Downtown Athletic Club, fabled sponsor and original home of college football's Heisman Trophy. Simpson's honored spot at the club already was generating perverse interest because of his wife's slaying that week -- and this was a day or two before the Bronco chase.

None of this is to suggest that Jordan will do anything to tarnish his image or make his 23 less worthy of reverence. Still, a safer way might be to revisit this in 50 or 60 years, when the iconic former Chicago Bulls star is no more a moving target than his bronze likeness outside United Center.

Which brings us to my suggestion, hardly necessary but possibly quite worthy: If the NBA wants to retire one player's jersey number and hold it apart from the rest as special for all-time, that number should be 42.

For Jackie Robinson.

Some of the league's biggest and wisest names basically said it themselves the other night. On an NBA TV studio segment Tuesday, announcer Ernie Johnson and analysts Kevin McHale and Chris Webber scratched at it in weighing the pros and cons of James' idea for 23. Each comment came back to Robinson.

"It's tough because Jackie Robinson's number is retired in baseball,'' Webber said. "That's a much bigger reason.''

McHale: "If Michael had broken the color barrier, did something spectacular [like that], as good as he was, I would understand. But no, I don't think so.''

Johnson: "To me, no player, from what he did on the court, is bigger than the game itself. But Jackie Robinson, what he did is bigger than sports ... What he did transcended any sport.''

Any sport.

Since April 1997 (the 50th anniversary of Robinson's arrival), baseball has paid tribute. But what of the NBA or the NFL? They were as segregated as the big leagues before Robinson. His Hall of Fame courage, class and achievements did more than open one sport to black athletes -- it made that possible in others.

"He allowed a lot of the guys who are playing today, what you're seeing on television ... without Jackie Robinson, who knows where it goes?'' McHale said.

Said Webber: "A lot of young kids today don't realize why that 42 is retired around the league.''

The NBA can educate them, helping with the back story that led to Cooper, Lloyd, Clifton, DeZonie, Russell, Baylor and Chamberlain. And, for that matter, three great players -- Nate Thurmond, James Worthy and Connie Hawkins -- who actually wore 42 and had it retired by their respective teams. The NFL could do likewise, providing context to its own black pioneers such as Woody Strode, Kenny Washington, Bobby Mitchell, Marion Motley, even James Harris and Doug Williams.

Given Robinson's impact across all pro sports, his 42 rightfully could hang from rafters or flagpoles in all major venues. Even rinks.

Steve Aschburner has written about the NBA for 25 years. You can e-mail him here.

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