We don’t have “Playoff Jimmy” on our side. We don’t have “Wemby” to look forward to.
We’ve got Bobblin’ Chuck, but more on that in a bit.
Have you ever leaned in close and spit directly into the face of a high-pressure industrial fan just to see what the heck would happen?
No? Same here.
But I suspect the experience pretty closely approximates what it’s like to be the Chicago Bulls — and certainly one who roots for the Bulls — nowadays.
We’re all watching former Bull Jimmy Butler eviscerate everyone in his path during this NBA postseason. Since scoring 31 points against the Bulls to help knock them out of the play-in tournament, Butler has been every bit as MVP-quality ruthless as Denver’s Nikola Jokic, Boston’s Jayson Tatum or anyone else. Butler scored 98 points in the Heat’s last two victories to eliminate the No. 1-seeded Bucks. He tallied 35 in Game 1 of the Eastern Conference finals to help steal home-court advantage from the Celtics.
Why the hell did the Bulls trade Butler in 2017 again? Will they ever live it down?
And not that the Bulls had much of a statistical chance to win the No. 1 pick in Tuesday’s draft lottery, but they didn’t win it. To the Spurs shall go 7-4 French phenom Victor Wembanyama, considered one of the draft’s greatest prizes in decades. To the Bulls will go, well, nothing. They have no draft picks now, it turns out, not to mention not a lot of salary-cap space to strengthen a roster that has been, well, spitting into the wind.
But have I mentioned the new Chuck Swirsky bobblehead doll that went on sale Friday at the National Bobblehead Hall of Fame and Museum’s online store, celebrating his 25 seasons as an NBA broadcaster?
We’ve got that.
“Put him in the Hall! Put him in the Hall of Fame!” are among the longtime radio play-by-play man’s catchphrases the doll will say at the press of a button.
“Onions, baby! Onions!” and “To the rack! Count it, and a foul!” are among the others. Look, I don’t know which Swirskyisms are your favorites.
But I know this looked like the closest thing to happy Bulls news lately when I saw it in my email inbox. And I know Swirsky is the kindest, nicest, least big-timey person I’ve come across in our city’s sports media. I figured maybe he’d have a sense of humor about the whole thing. Because without that, what do Bulls backers have?
“I think Chicago and the Bulls franchise would much rather have Wemby than this bobblehead, as I would,” he said in a Thursday phone call. “I’d trade myself for Wemby.”
It isn’t even Swirsky’s first bobblehead. There were a couple made for him back when he was calling Raptors games, and one of them talked, too. “Salami and cheese!” it said, a Raptors thing.
Everybody who comes across Swirsky appreciates him for his friendliness, thoughtfulness, encouraging words and support of aspiring broadcasters and dusty old scribes alike. His goodhearted gestures are countless. But more than that, he’s the antithesis of an unlikable media archetype: not at all slick, utterly unpretentious, way more like the neighbor next door than a guy in a suit on the air.
Swirsky, 69, tweets videos of himself dancing — terribly — after every Bulls win. His real head just might bobble a bit when he does it. It’s the very peak of unselfconscious behavior, truly charming and heartwarming if you aren’t a cynical lout.
“No. 1, let’s face it,” he said, “the bobblehead looks a lot better than I do.”
His doll is dressed in a black sportcoat with a red-and-black striped tie — Bulls colors — and a headset over its bald head. Aren’t bald bobbleheads the best ones?
“Do I have a choice?” he said with a laugh. “Listen, I think they did a really good job. And remember: Bald is beautiful.”
In Seattle in the 1960s, Swirsky encountered his first bobblehead at 12 or 13. A friend from school owned it, a figure of a Triple-A Seattle Angels player. Swirsky would knock on the door and ask to see it. Yes, he was mesmerized by it.
He actually really digs the things and keeps several of them in his office. There’s an Ernie Harwell, the legendary broadcaster who was a hero and mentor. There’s a Joakim Noah, his favorite Bull ever. There’s a Derrick Rose, a player like no other. Will the new Bobblin’ Chuck take its place among those?
“No way,” he said. “I’m not worthy of them. Who knows where I’ll put it?”
Swirsky’s radio partner, Bill Wennington, has three NBA championship rings but precisely zero bobbleheads in his likeness. The obvious question: Will Swirsky lord his bobbliciousness over his dear pal?
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “But let’s put a package deal together. Let’s call Gregg Popovich and tell him I will send my bobblehead and Bill’s three rings for Wemby.”
Soup for the soul, Swirsky is. It’s possible I’ve called him that before.
He’s going to give any proceeds that come his way to Bulls charities. For a wonderful human, that was a no-brainer.
As for all the Bulls problems? They aren’t his.
“Every day,” he said, “my goal is to lift someone up. That’s all. That’s it. We’re all in this together.”
