Final delivery: Jazz honoring legendary champion today

"He (Malone) was great, and I was lucky I played with him two years. He did so much good things for the Jazz, for the Salt Lake, for the whole state of Utah. It's a good example he set."

Though Kirilenko may have absorbed as many bad traits of Malone's as good, Miller firmly believes Malone's gift really does keep on giving: "No matter what Karl had going on — with the referees, with me, with anybody else — one thing you have to say about him is every night, when the ball went in the air, he was there to play."

Malone, mind you, always did seem to have something going on.

He still does, from the day he decided to leave Utah for one season with the Los Angeles Lakers — chasing a championship there with Shaquille O'Neal, Kobe Bryant and Gary Payton, but ultimately ending his career watching from the sideline with a knee injury as Detroit beat L.A. — right up until today.

One day, he was driving an 18-wheeler. The next, he was going to run for governor. Today, he runs a logging operation, dabbles in other business ventures and watches his children grow while overseeing construction of a new home near where he attended college at Louisiana Tech in Ruston, La.

One day, he was driving one of his buzzsaw-sharp elbows into the face of a pesky opponent. The next, he was driving to the basket leading with his knee, the kind of play some say was dirty. Today, he darn near kills himself trying to stay in shape akin to that of when he was playing.

One day, he was driving a feud with Miller, who loves Malone like a son, and often got mad at him like one as well. The next, he was driving another father-figure, Sloan, batty with selfish, early-game shot-selection in an effort to get himself going, or some other not-exactly-in-the-playbook behavior. Today, there is no telling who he might next drive to sheer madness — or who he might bring an unexpected moment of joy, with a lump-sum cash donation or a simple personal appearance.

"Karl had his critics when he played, and we fought like cats and dogs sometimes," Sloan said. "But when he stepped out there on the floor, he gave it to us every night, whether he was hurt, didn't feel well, or whatever the case may be.

"That's who he was since pretty much my first year, and then from that point on."

So, Malone has changed. Or he hasn't changed. Or maybe it's just the times that are a-changin', even as time itself is frozen on the Delta Center plaza.

Some things, after all, will always be the same.

One is the statue.