This being the time of year when everyone assesses the past to portend the future, I can't help but turn an affectionate gaze toward the ol' bald guy in D.C., who is straining every fiber to make one last visit to the postseason.

	Michael Jordan still has a driving passion to reach the NBA playoffs.

Have you seen the minutes he's playing? The last nine games have been 40, 40, 38, 35, 41, 36, 41, 34 and 39. Those should be the ages of the people he's hanging out with, not the time he's spending every night on an NBA floor. If Jordan were doing to someone else what he's doing to himself, a human rights group of some kind would launch an investigation.

The real crux, for those who remember the arduous years he futilely labored against the dark forces out of Detroit before finally basking in the golden gleam of the Larry O'Brien trophy, is deciding which poses a worse ending -- Jordan walking away after usurping the Wizards' development for another failed run at a playoff spot or seeing him get there, only to be vanquished by the offspring of the dragon he slew a decade ago.

It goes without saying that his originally stated purpose for coming back -- teaching and developing the Wizards' young talent -- has been a farce. The only young talent not shunted aside by last year's push, Rip Hamilton, is in Detroit. Second-year center Brendan Haywood is starting but playing limited minutes, Kwame Brown doesn't know when or how much he'll play on any given night and Etan Thomas has been practically mothballed.

But all that's beside the point. The focus isn't on developing talent and never has been. This is a team operating, once more, to accommodate a perimeter attack orchestrated by a soon-to-be-re-re-retired 40-year-old singular talent. Even if Jerry Stackhouse doesn't opt out of his contract or gets signed to a bigger one, the playbook and approach gets overhauled the minute Jordan returns to the front office.

Which is certainly Jordan's right. He's done enough for the league and the Wizards to indulge himself however he chooses. I just can't figure out why he needs us to believe he's Mother Theresa in hightops instead of simply declaring he's going for it and to hell with everything else.

Then again I never understood why he sometimes mangled his English trying to sound erudite. (As if he needed to prove how smart he was.)

He's the greatest competitor the NBA has ever seen and once was its most feared. He had the chance to ride off into the Salt Lake City sunset with that gooseneck aloft, a fairy-tale ending if there's ever been one. Instead, he opted to come back and let us watch him lose the ball -- and games -- in ways no one every associated with Jordan before. OK, fine, but what exactly are the kids learning from that?

	Michael's Minutes
	Year	Minutes	Avg.
	'84-85	38.3	28.2
	'85-86	25.1	22.7
	'86-87	40.0	37.1
	'87-88	40.4	35.0
	'88-89	40.2	32.5
	'89-90	39.0	33.6
	'90-91	37.0	31.5
	'91-92	38.8	30.1
	'92-93	39.3	32.6
	'94-95	39.3	26.9*
	'95-96	37.7	30.4
	'96-97	37.9	29.6
	'97-98	38.8	28.7
	'01-02	34.9	22.9
	'02-03	32.6	17.1**
	*=Played in 17 games in first comeback **=Through 30 games this season

What's scary is that even coach Doug Collins has expressed misgivings about Jordan turning into the jockey from hell, who, after seeing his horse stumble a few strides out of the gate, has commenced to whip the very hide off it. The season is still in the backstretch and the idea of him conserving energy for the long haul and giving more time to the kids has been scrapped. All of which has the Wizards clinging to the eighth playoff spot, a game ahead of Atlanta and Milwaukee.

It's hard to imagine the Wizards climbing ahead of the first seven teams in the Eastern Conference, so this is about as good as it can get. Maybe, just maybe, if Jordan facilitates Kwame and Brendan and Etan tasting the postseason, an argument could be made that they wouldn't have experienced that so early in their careers otherwise.

But it also would come with a price if the Pacers continue to surge as they have. As it stands, that's who would be the East's first seed.

What's wrong with that?

Well, the Pacers are the closest clone of the Bad Boy Pistons seen in years. They're deep, tough and athletic. Brad Miller and Ron Artest running one-two in the league flagrant-foul points race. Artest broke Jordan's ribs two summers ago in a pick-up game, so you can imagine what punishment he might inflict in a playoff game. All that Indiana is missing is a first-rate point guard, which could keep them from reaching the finals, but they've still got the specter of the original stalking the sidelines.

Then again, maybe that's the lesson Jordan is teaching, not only his young players but all of us. Call it history repeating itself or a modern-day twist on Sisyphus or simply the danger of not knowing when to leave well enough alone. Imagine MJ walking into the sunset, conquered, as Isiah Thomas once again smiles that snake-who-just-ate-the-mouse smile.

Hollywood would prefer the Salt Lake City farewell, probably, but this version seems closer to how life really works. The revelation? That's how life works. For everybody. Even Michael Jordan.

Ric Bucher covers the NBA for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at ric.bucher@espnmag.com.