Greatness mixed with complexity

The Jazz were gathering at the Salt Lake International Airport for another road trip, that winter morning in the early 1990s, as Karl Malone sauntered up. He had a large piece of chocolate cake on a paper plate.

Malone gave me one of those what-are-you-looking-at stares.

Still, it made me laugh.

Six-foot-9, 256 pounds, with 4 percent body fat. Eating cake. For breakfast.

So it's true. When you're Karl Malone, you really can have your cake and eat it too.

On another day, of a different season, I was waiting for luggage at the Orlando airport. Malone stood nearby, holding a king-size bag of Skittles candy.

"Want some?" he said.

I told him no thanks.

"OK," he said, shrugging. "All the more for me."

That's how life turned out for him. All the more of everything. All the more cake, candy, glory, scorn, adulation, blame. All the more scrutiny, too. Of the two greatest players in Jazz history, Malone was the more complicated. John Stockton's rules were clear when it came to privacy. Malone's were more ambiguous. Sometimes, for example, he would groan at seeing a reporter coming his way, same as Stockton. Other times he would talk to the media endlessly.

While Stockton's thoughts were private, Malone's could be an open book.

Malone's statue was unveiled outside the Delta Center Thursday. There it will stand for time immemorial, alongside that of his longtime teammate. It was presented to a crowd of several thousand that stood six or eight deep. Many wore Jazz jerseys with No. 32 on the panels.

One woman even appeared wearing a Lakers' shirt bearing Malone's No. 11.

During the ceremony it was also announced that 100 South will now be known as Karl Malone Drive, intersecting at the southeast corner of the Delta Center with John Stockton Drive.

At halftime of the Jazz-Wizards game, his number was retired to the rafters of the Delta Center, side-by-side with Stockton's.

Although Malone certainly had his detractors, even in Utah, there were no boos on this day. He was greeted at halftime by a one-minute standing ovation. Not that it would have made much difference.

He always maintained that the first fans to cheer when you're winning are the first to kick you in the seat when you lose. Not surprisingly, the ovation for Stockton, who made a few remarks, was nearly as loud as that for Malone.

The Mailman's return to Utah marked both the retiring of his number and the unveiling of his statue. The two-time MVP ended his career the No. 2 scorer in league history. That's where the "but" comes in.

But he never got a championship.

He succeeded big, on two occasions failed big and, of course, talked big.

Consequently, Malone was always the Jazz's lightning rod.