Many moons ago, when Manute Bol briefly played for the University of Bridgeport, before joining the NBA as Washington’s 1985 second-round draft pick, the 7-foot-6 Sudanese skyscraper showed Rod Michaud his passport. It listed him as 5-feet-3.
“How is that possible?” yelped Michaud, a Connecticut TV talent who’d befriended Bol shortly after he’d arrived in the United States from his impoverished homeland on a discovery mission to see how far a game of basketball would take him.
“They measured me while I was sitting down,” Bol said.
Bol’s stone serious reply reminds me of my final physical at the Whitehall Street induction center on May 12, 1965. Filling out a card I’d get a lot of laughs with over the next two years, the slick sergeant behind the Underwood typewriter recorded my height as 5-12.
That same Mensa passport worker also was responsible for noting Bol’s age on his card, the age used until June 20, the day he died at “47” from kidney disease and Stevens-Johnson syndrome.
“I could be wrong,” Michaud said, “but I think Manute once told me he didn’t know his true age.”
That was but one of many uncertainties associated with Bol’s rags-to-riches-to-ravaged life.
Were we supposed to believe Bol’s story about killing a lion with a spear, or was that just his legendary sense of humor testing our gullibility quotient?
Who actually held the Sudanese record for the highest forehead, Nute or Iman?
Did Bol really bust his front teeth on a rim trying to dunk the first time he picked up a ball in some dustbin impersonating a playground? Was he a compulsive gambler? Is that how he squandered the roughly $3 million dollars he made during his 10 NBA seasons with five different teams, four of ’em twice?
Were the millions Bol raised for African humanitarian projects mostly allocated to children’s charities, the funding of Sudanese freedom fights, or an addiction to wagering, wine and women?
Various obituaries chronicle most everything Bol stood for or made him stand out, yet clearly presented many unanswered questions as well.
For now, and perhaps forever, let’s forget the fables and stick to the irrefutable facts and accounts of Bol’s abundant, though abbreviated life.
The summer Bol enrolled at U.B. after an understanding the previous year with coach Kevin Mackey fell through at Cleveland State, John Bagley introduced him to Michaud.
“I couldn’t get over him having only a few teeth in his mouth,” he said.
Best night Bol had at Bridgeport, Michaud offered, was when the Bulls came to the Hartford Civic Center to play the Celtics.
Red Auerbach saw him, stopped and gawked for over five minutes, but never said word one to Bol, Michaud later learned from his cameraman.
“After the game, we went to the Bulls’ locker room. Jordan told him flat out to leave school and he’d make sure the Bulls drafted him.”
Moments later, the Celtics’ trainer came into the room to tell Bol Larry Bird wanted to meet him.
“Manute turned to me and said, ‘Can you believe Bird wants to meet me?’ ” Michaud recalled.
The small trainer’s room was stuffed. Bird and Kevin McHale gasped when they saw his height and slender body. Red already had done enough gaping. Everyone made Bol feel welcomed. They predicted he’d be playing in the NBA in no time, advising him to keep working hard and gain some weight.
“Manute rushed over to me when he came out of the locker room and wanted to go for a pizza,” Michaud remembered. “He ate a large pie that night with a pitcher of beer. The only other person I saw drink like him was Artie Donovan. Throughout the night, he kept saying, ‘I’m going to play in the NBA … I’m going to make it. Everybody told me so.’ ”
Michaud’s favorite Manute memory occurred after Bol had signed his first pro contract with the USBL’s Rhode Island Gulls. One of his teammates was Muggsy Bogues, legitimately 5-3.
“Just before game time, I was sitting in that Massachusetts gym with [agent Frank] Catapano,” Michaud said.
“I go into the locker room and find Manute sitting by himself. A minute later, Pistol walks in with one of his sons. From reading about him, I know Maravich was a lousy signer during his playing career and Nute was also not big on giving autographs.
“What’s more, Nute has no idea who Pistol is. I know what’s coming, but I can’t let him not sign.
“To make sure he did, I just looked at Manute and said, ‘Please sign it.’ I think he might have anyway, but I didn’t want to take any chances. The boy got his autograph, was very happy, and Pete said thanks.
“After they left, we just sat in silence for a few minutes until we said goodbye. He still had no idea who the stranger was. That’s how Manute’s pro career began, signing a program for Pistol Pete’s kid.”
As a Washington rookie, Bol led the NBA in rejection notices, snuffing 397 shots. Three seasons later, he topped the charts again for Philadelphia, invalidating 345.
Bol’s career average was 3.3. His point grade was 2.6, and he finished at 4.2 in rebounds. The most startling statistic was games played. For someone so emaciated-looking, he was amazingly sturdy. During his first six seasons, he missed a mere 14 games.
Now let’s dwell on Bol’s uncontested claim to fame as the world’s tallest long-distance operator.
Both extolled and mocked for his innovations and gimmickry, Don Nelson, during his initial go-around as Warriors coach, decided to station Bol beyond the arc and allow him to hoist 3-point shots.
At first glance, Nelson’s brainstorm appeared to be nothing more than an “upgrade” on Bill Veeck’s use of midget Eddie Gaedel for one at-bat in the bigs. Except that the Browns owner’s publicity stunt was strictly designed to get him headlines, whereas Nellie’s experiment proved somewhat successful.
Effectively distorting defenses, Bol bagged 20 of 91 triples in ‘88-89, not a particularly inspiring percentage, but he cashed enough to oblige opposing centers to at least pretend to guard him on the perimeter. The following season there were fewer makes (nine) and consequently fewer takes (48) as Nelson gradually locked the lab.
At the time, Hubie Brown and I co-hosted a first-of-its-NBA-kind, half-hour, pregame show, picked up by 77 percent of CBS’ affiliates. Each week I’d interview a player or coach. Bol was one of the first. It was all very impromptu. A couple of hours before the Warriors were going to play in Oakland, I spoke to him briefly on the floor about his unconventional weapon, but didn’t get anything especially quotable. So, I challenged him to a contest, first one to 10 wins, with our camera rolling.
With both teams watching and ragging him unmercifully, I ruined Bol’s day. I can still hear him cursing his fatality each time I downed a three or he misguided one. “I can’t believe I’m getting beat by a bleepin’ sportswriter!”
peter.vecsey@nypost.com