- The Washington Times - Wednesday, April 11, 2001

Warren Christopher came out of retirement following the presidential election last November.
That appeared to be a miracle, depending on your view of the coffin-bound crowd.
Keith Richards is another prominent dead man who makes a pretty good impression of the living.
Roberto Duran is not dead, just close to it, and destined to fight again, certainly.
Some people don't know when to leave the stage. Still others who know when to leave don't know how to stick to it, and nothing against Sugar Ray Leonard.
Barbra Streisand is 10 years past her prime, if she ever had a prime, and when she is not advising the Democratic party or appearing in bad movies, she holds yet another farewell concert tour, and hopefully, one of these decades, she just may mean it.
The longer Michael Jackson remains in view, the more surreal he becomes, and he never has been involved in a low-speed chase with a white Bronco. He merely hangs out with little boys, chimpanzees and Elizabeth Taylor, who once claimed that this MJ was the least weird person she ever had known.
James Dean died young and became a legend. Dying young, of course, is sometimes a good career move. Marlon Brando is one of the alternatives, with so much of him to ponder, mumbling incoherently, advancing this or that cause, notably the housefly.
Cher is an exception, new and improved as the years accumulate, if you don't count all the nips, tucks and augmentations.
Willie Mays stumbled around in the outfield with the Mets, and Roger Maris, as his hair fell out, became old before his time in 1961.
Charles Barkley is trying not to become Orson Welles, a genius turned rapidly expanding parody, who in his case issues no quip before its time.
Thinking out loud recently, Barkley expressed an urge to play again, possibly in Tony Cheng's neighborhood, if Bugs Bunny's buddy is in the mood, and one rumor led to another and still another, and a notion too appealing to dismiss.
Dennis Rodman might not be too far behind Barkley.
Abe Pollin has considered all the possibilities, and obviously, anything beats 18-59, even if Jack Haley, Rodman's former babysitter, is the 12th member of the Wizards next season.
Before the season, Bugs Bunny's buddy suggested the Wizards would contend for a playoff berth. That puts him in Bob Ryan's league, as far as prognosticating goes, a rung down from the newly defunct CBA.
Whenever Ryan calls for snow, Washington splashes on the sun block and slips on a pair of sandals.
Not all comebacks go poorly. George Foreman pitched mufflers in his second professional life. Randall Cunningham was better the second time around. So was John Riggins, bored, broke and back in 1981. Jason in a hockey mask has come back at least 10 times, each stronger than the last. Chucky, the psychopathic doll, has been resilient as well. Roy Hobbs, who did not look a day over 60, hit the cover off the ball after he returned to the ballfield.
Bugs Bunny's buddy didn't fare too badly in his first comeback either, leading the Zen zoo to three consecutive NBA championships, the last in 1998 after he hit the game-winning shot over Jazzman Byron Russell.
You don't top that.
You might as well grab a paintbrush and try to improve Mona Lisa.
That is one problem. Another is his 38 years. Still another is his insistence that he is done as a player, finished, 99.999999 percent certain, and can't a guy exercise on occasion without everyone hyperventilating?
He probably would have to move to Washington, too, if he elected to play with his unfinished vision of a team.
Juwan Howard is gone, Rod Strickland is gone, and Mitch Richmond has a moving van idling in his driveway waiting for instructions on where to go.
Washington, meanwhile, is left with rumors, gossip, imaginary scenarios and an 18-59 team.
The answer again is no.
By the way, which part of no don't you understand, the n or the o?
Say it again, louder, louder.
No.

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