SARASOTA, Fla. -- "Like that one?" Chicago White Sox hitting coach Walt Hriniak asks.
"I was on top of it," Michael Jordan replies.
It is 7:50 on a Saturday morning, and Jordan is working on his swing. Working nearly two hours before the pitchers and catchers take the field. Working four days before the rest of the White Sox minor-leaguers arrive.
Working as he worked in the Southern League, Florida Instructional League and Arizona Fall League last season. Working as the major-leaguers remain on strike, and the Oil Can Boyds of the world rush to take their jobs.
It's fitting, isn't it?
Baseball's last action hero is a basketball player.
Inside the batting cage, Hriniak stands behind a screen 15 feet away, pitching balls to Jordan underhanded. The grass outside is moist with morning dew. Birds chirp in the distance. The sun is still on the rise.
"Like that one?" Hriniak asks with each swing. "How about that one?"
Finally, Jordan says, "A few more, Walt."
He takes a weak hack.
"That one doesn't count."
Shortly after 8, the session is over.
"Thanks, Walt," Jordan says. "What are we going to do today?"
"You can hit with the catchers," Hriniak says. "They say it's all right."
Hunger. Dedication. Commitment. Jordan embodied all of those things yesterday, all of the things that define a professional, all of the things the owners are cynically portraying as scab virtues in this empty spring.
"Actually, I'm a little late," Jordan said as he emerged from the cage, his face dripping with sweat. "Normally, I'm up early. But the family's in town. I figure I'm the only guy here before the pitchers and catchers. I can get here at 8."
Understand what this is about. Jordan said there's "no way" he'd cross the picket line -- "I'd be a minor-leaguer forever before I was in the middle of that mess." He's here because he loves the game, a radical position in itself.
Granted, only a man of Jordan's wealth and talent could spend two years trying to become a major-leaguer, and face no consequences if his endeavor fails. But did anyone expect him to last this long, or get this far?
As difficult as it is to play baseball physically, it's even more difficult mentally. Jordan learned that last season at Double-A Birmingham. Midway through the summer, during a trip to Memphis, it seemed that his spirit was broken.
"I almost quit last year," he said. "I felt it got to the point where things weren't going my way, and it was beating me mentally. I know that people say the game is so mental, at some time it will beat you to death.
"It got to one point in the season where I didn't feel like I was of use to anyone and that I was making a very big mistake. I sat down and talked to the coaches. They gave me positive feedback. It kept me moving forward.
"That's when I started to jell as a baseball player. I was willing to accept failure as something that happens to baseball players. I didn't understand -- you fail seven out of 10 times and you're a superstar.
"I had trouble accepting that. In my game, it wasn't that way."
But he played on, just as he had through the spring, when he received a torrent of negative publicity for trying baseball, including a Sports Illustrated cover urging him to stop.
He hit .202 at Birmingham, then .252 against slightly better competition in Arizona. True, he had only 26 extra-base hits in 559 at-bats at those two levels. But he also stole 36 bases and drove in 59 runs.
Not bad for a guy coming off a 14-year layoff. Jordan described himself as a "fish out of water" last season, "very much blind." But this spring is different. "Now," he said, "I know what to expect."
He lifted weights for two hours a day after returning from Arizona. It was mostly upper-body conditioning, but for the first time, he also worked to strengthen his legs. "In basketball," he said, "I never had to train this hard."
No one questions his intentions anymore. He's Michael Jordan, former basketball great, and he's Michael Jordan, minor-league ballplayer. No longer is he considered a novelty. In this camp, he's not even the big story.
Jordan did his share of interviews yesterday, but at one point he sat alone at his locker while reporters surrounded various White Sox replacements -- Boyd, the immortal Barry Lyons, the unforgettable Junior Ortiz.
The circus had moved on.
"Last year, everyone was looking at it like it was a joke, some publicity stunt," Jordan said. "I think I proved to them my respect for the game.
"I'm a guy who's pretty serious, working hard, not taking anything for granted. That's what I said last year. But I had to prove it."
He's under no illusions. He might never make the majors. After just turning 32 -- his birthday was Friday -- he considers this a make-or-break year.
The owners no doubt would prefer he played in replacement games -- "When I'm around, people somehow tend to make a little bit more money," he said. Still, his position is clear. He stands with the players. He wants no trouble.
So, after six months, the strike is finally good for something.
Just when we thought he was gone forever, Michael Jordan is back the way we remember him.
Once again, he's Air Jordan, soaring above the fray, reaching for the stars.