Sonny Vaccaro is considered one of basketball’s ultimate insiders and was re-introduced to a new generation through the Matt Damon and Ben Affleck 2023 film ‘’Air.’’ Collaborating with Emmy-winning and best-selling author Armen Keteyian, Vaccaro’s new memoir, ‘’Legends and Soles,’’ provides an unvarnished look at the role Vaccaro played in Michael Jordan’s ascent to the world’s most famous and richest athlete, as well as his far-reaching impact throughout the basketball world. Here’s how to pre-order the book.
My first introduction to Michael Jordan took place in Los Angeles just before the 1984 Summer Olympics during the pre-Olympic training camp. The U.S. men’s team was practicing on the West Coast at the time, and it couldn’t have been more than a week or 10 days from their first game against China on July 29 at the Forum in Inglewood.
I wouldn’t have been able to contact Michael directly, so I asked George Raveling if he could introduce us. Raveling was one of three ᴀssistant coaches on the Olympic basketball team and the head coach at Iowa. I had known George for nearly 20 years, dating back to the Roundball Classic, the nation’s first high school all-star game. We were so close he had stood as the best man at my wedding to Pam three months earlier at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. George had attended the Olympic tryouts and witnessed the roster cut from the initial three dozen candidates down to 20, and then to the final 16. It was a team so rich in talent that future Hall of Famers Charles Barkley and John Stockton didn’t make the cut.
A lunch was set at Tony Roma’s rib place in Santa Monica. This would be the first and perhaps only opportunity I’d have to demonstrate to Michael the size and seriousness of the commitment Nike was ready to make to him. Just talk, nothing on paper. The whole thing was hush-hush because the Olympic team’s head coach was Bobby Knight, known for his quick temper and low tolerance for outside distractions. Had he known Raveling was arranging for one of the players to meet with a shoe company representative, he might well have fired him on the spot.
The meeting itself would never have taken place had it been anyone else at Nike making such a request. David Falk, Jordan’s agent, would never have allowed his firm’s new client — who had decided to turn pro early — to meet anyone without being present, and I firmly believe he had no idea this clandestine lunch was taking place. George wouldn’t have consented to bring Jordan to a meeting with anybody but me. Even at George’s urging, Michael would not have gone to Santa Monica to meet just any marketing guy, regardless of the brand.
Jordan knew who I was from the Roundball and college basketball, even though we had never met.
Rudy Washington, a friend from the Roundball days and an ᴀssistant coach at USC, kindly agreed to drive Jordan over from the team H๏τel to the restaurant where George would meet up with us.
I was already seated when Rudy led Michael past a row of booths to the table. George followed them in and, after we hugged, introduced me to Michael.
“Sonny,” he said, “meet Mr. Michael Jordan.”
Jordan seemed a bit reticent. Still, we shook hands and I hugged him hello, too. I thanked him for making the effort and taking the time to meet with me. Washington, who had brought along a friend, excused himself to dine in another room at the restaurant.
Over a meal of baby back ribs, an onion ring loaf, and a round of soft drinks, we small-talked about basketball, how George and I knew each other, and also how I hadn’t chosen Jordan for the Roundball Classic. In truth, none of the dozens of coaches and local scouts in my nationwide network had touted Michael to me. He didn’t have a Chicago/Philadelphia/LA/New York City reputation. Our major stars, Patrick Ewing and A.C. Green, were far and away better known as America’s top prep players in 1981. Although Jordan had been selected for the McDonald’s All American Game, he wasn’t even the North Carolina Player of the Year that year; a 6-foot-4 sharpshooting guard named Buzz Peterson, another UNC recruit from Asheville, N.C., had won it.
As the meal moved on, Michael’s reticence subsided and we settled into an easy rapport as I began explaining the dimensions of the package he could expect.
George listened intently, but never uttered a word.
I knew Michael would take what I was about to say seriously, since I was already the face of Nike basketball and Nike’s presence had grown dramatically in recent years. He understood the importance of our meeting.
Looking him straight in the eye, I laid out our vision and made our position clear: Nike wanted Michael. I told him that no other company his agent had spoken with would be putting more money and resources behind him. No one was going to make him the centerpiece of their brand marketing the way we would.
It certainly didn’t hurt that around Los Angeles the atmosphere was crackling with Nike’s “I Love LA” campaign created by marketing director Rob Strᴀsser, creative director Peter Moore and Chiat/Day advertising. Nike was not the official shoe sponsor of the 1984 US Olympic team — Converse was — but in pure renegade style, Nike had hijacked the airwaves and mindset. Freeway billboards — even the sides of entire buildings — featuring pictures of Oakland Raiders cornerback Lester Hayes, Olympic sprinter Carl Lewis, Dodgers star Pedro Guerrero and tennis great John McEnroe were ubiquitous in spreading Swoosh imagery everywhere. The world’s Olympic moment was Nike’s “I Love LA” focal point.
I made clear how you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing Nike’s marketing power in plain sight.
“That kind of firepower will be behind you,” I told him. We spoke of a signature shoe envisioned by Strᴀsser and Moore, custom designed for him, which would be vastly different from anything else in the NBA, plus a complete line of apparel and products emblazoned with the Jordan name, and — not inconsequentially — how he would have a percentage of every shoe sold.
“Michael, you’ll be a partner in the business,” I said, sketching out a vision of the future and a package of star perks that no other company would even consider.
And I made him this solemn promise: “I will never lie to you — not about what I said today or about anything we might do in the future.”
Kids who played for Dean Smith knew when they were being told the truth — Smith was a man revered for his unᴀssailable integrity. Though I did most of the talking, I could see in Michael’s face that he was filing away every last detail. Falk had probably already told him at least four companies were interested, but I’m not sure he expected the kind of deal I had laid out.
Still, this was just the opening hand; to his credit, Michael wasn’t hiding any of his cards.
He told me up front, “I’ll listen, Mr. Vaccaro, but you should know, I’ll probably sign with Adidas. I’ve never worn Nikes. If Adidas even comes close, I’m going with them.”
I had ᴀssumed his bias would be in favor of Converse and was caught off guard by his personal preference for Adidas. But Michael was unequivocal in stating his admiration and preference for the brand’s shoes and clothing. He was taken with their craftsmanship, European leather, and continental styling. He considered their product line “classy,” especially after wearing Converse’s old-school utilitarian gear during his entire time at Carolina and years before. More than once he repeated, “I’ve never been in anything Nike.”
The contract highlights and Nike pitch were important, of course, but that was only half the purpose of the meeting.
What about Jordan the person? His personality? His persona? The answers came easy: self-ᴀssured and smart. Though soft spoken, he was clear and direct with an easy laugh. His confidence and personal bearing were powerful, and I took an immediate liking to him.
Roma’s was only a first-time lunch, but the young star and I had an effortless connection. I had interacted with a thousand young athletes from grᴀssroots events and college basketball. I knew when the rapport was genuine.
The only hint of dissonance and caution in the whole conversation was Nike, the company. He wasn’t “anti” per se; he just had no frame of reference. At the time, Nike was a running and track shoe company to much of the world.
As we finished up, I turned to Michael and said, “Look, just keep an open mind. That’s all I ask. I’ll send you a couple of pairs of Nikes. Not the custom kind we’ll make for you, but you give ’em a try.”
I knew I had piqued his curiosity. And I’d given this soon-to-be-rookie a rock-solid package and talking points he could also use to bargain for a better deal with Adidas.
Standing out front on Santa Monica Boulevard, I hugged both Michael and George goodbye. “I’m pretty sure Adidas isn’t going to come close to what Nike is putting on the table,” I told him. “But if they do, it was still great meeting you, young man. God bless.”
Heading back home along Lincoln Boulevard, I had a good feeling. I knew Adidas wasn’t going to approve a contract bigger than Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s for a rookie who had yet to play in a single NBA game, no matter how infatuated he was with their brand. And Jordan having played most of his life in Converse gear — he’d been wearing their shoes on national TV for the last three years — it was possible they’d make a play too.
When I called Strᴀsser to fill him in on my impressions, he was also surprised by Michael’s affinity for Adidas. He could have believed it if Jordan had been a track or soccer star, but basketball? I understood where the quality angle was coming from and explained it as well as I could: “This is about more than the money, Rob. Jordan doesn’t know Nike from ‘Schmike.’
“[Nike boss Phil] Knight has to approve a Jordan shoe. If we don’t go all in, his shoes are gonna have three stripes on ’em in October.”
And if we did get him to another meeting, Strᴀsser and Moore would need to put on a presentation unlike anything they’d ever done before.
We hung up, with Strᴀsser saying he had to go down the hall to share the news with Knight.
A meeting was set with Falk at L’Ermitage H๏τel in Beverly Hills, where the Nike contingent had been staying during the Games, to officially lay out the terms of the deal.
Falk was keenly aware Strᴀsser had moved the goalposts to construct an unequaled deal for his client. An all-encompᴀssing package like no contract the company had ever offered an individual athlete. Eye-popping, incentivized, and guaranteed.
Since I was the only person from Nike that had actually met Michael, Strᴀsser thought it would be a good idea to have me in the room. And I already knew Falk from negotiating Georgetown coach John Thompson’s singular Nike agreement a couple of years earlier.
Strᴀsser was the only one presenting. The contract structure and the main terms were already handwritten in marker on his customary easel set up at the far end of the room — figures, timelines, bonuses. One by one, he reviewed each item. I’d done my share of negotiations with universities and coaches, but those were far less intricate than this five-year deal — one that would make Jordan one of the world’s richest athletes at that time.
The terms: a signing bonus of $200,000; a base guarantee of $250,000 a year for five years, with a $25,000 bump each year thereafter; a 20-cent-per-pair royalty on a Jordan line of shoes; and $1 million in Year 1 in marketing and advertising.
The official shoe name: Air Jordan.
Check, check, check, check.
One by one the details were agreed to by the affable Strᴀsser and the canny Falk, who knew he was sitting on a gold mine.
“Good,” said Falk. “Thank you for putting together a solid offer, Mr. Strᴀsser.”
Handshakes.
“Now let me just make a quick call, and I’ll be right back.”
Naturally, our offer would be leveraged to his client’s benefit with our compeтιтors — especially one in particular.
Falk left the room, presumably to make a call. Less than 90 seconds later, he returned and suggested a couple of changes to the deal.
“Nothing major,” he ᴀssured us.
“Whoa,” Strᴀsser commented, only half joking. “We shook hands two minutes ago, and you’re changing the deal already?”
Falk requested a larger signing bonus: $250,000 instead of $200,000, with a base guarantee of $300,000 up from a quarter million.
In exchange, he was willing to accept a lower royalty amount, 10 cents per pair instead of 20. Falk wanted a larger cash outlay up front, with a smaller royalty on each pair of Jordans.
“We can do that.”
