On the way to work, I listened on ESPN to yesterday’s press conference announcing the nominees for the NBA Hall of Fame. Michael Jordan seemed none to anxious for it, joking about putting his uniform back on and heading out onto the court. Going into the Hall of Fame, to him, meant officially admitting, “I’m done. I don’t have it anymore.”

Mike&Mike mused about what it must be like to have been the best in the world at something, but not the best anymore. A writer, painter, sculptor, composer can remain the best until he dies. But not an athlete. Can anything fill the void once filled with extreme adrenaline rushes, glory, and triumph?

For some reason, I thought of Audie Murphy, America’s most famous soldier of World War 2. I read a superb article about him years ago in Esquire. Murphy enlisted at age 16, weighing 110 pounds and standing 5’5″. The Army tried to turn him into a cook, but he insisted on combat.

You see, Murphy was a natural warrior. He fought in numerous campaigns from Sicily to Italy to France, and won every medal available to an American soldier, some of them several times. Many men rise to the occasion in combat, but not many are natural warriors. 

After the war, Murphy received national acclaim for his heroics, and became a movie star, making 44 movies. But in the article, written during those Hollywood years, he talked about the emptiness, the dullness, of his post-war life. Nothing, for him, could match the adrenaline rush of combat, with every sense heightened, your life on the line, reaching your limit and still pushing forward, being wounded (three times!) yet battling on. He was the best; he was made for battle. To fill the void, Murphy turned to alcohol. He finally died in a plane crash in 1971. 

Michael Jordan seems to be doing just fine in filling the void. And yet, I’m sure he looks back over his playing career and thinks, “I was made for Game Seven, made for the last-second shot. Nothing I’ve done since, or will ever do, can equal that.”