It will end one day.

The Jazz, as we know them.

Probably with unfulfilled promise.

Stockton fires a three-quarter court pass through Hardaway, through Anderson, through Scott, to a streaking Malone, who skies for a dunk. ...

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Those words were written by Tribune sports columnist Gordon Monson for the Jan. 20, 1996 newspaper. Today, 10 years after they were first published, the words no longer carry the hope that maybe, just maybe, it won't end. That the promise will be fulfilled. Today, we know better.

As Jazz fans celebrate the legacy of Karl Malone with the completion of the Stockton-to-Malone statue on the Delta Center plaza, the Tribune looks back at the Mailman's career through Monson's words:

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May 17, 1997

(Malone's MVP season)

Karl Malone will wrap his mitts around the MVP trophy Monday night, will lift the award from the outstretched hands of NBA commissioner David Stern, snatch it away from the greatest basketball player of all time, right out of the Air, in conjunction with Game 1 of the Western Conference finals. The crowd in the Delta Center will stand and applaud, stand and flip their lids, acting as though they had won the thing themselves.

In a way that is unique to the smallest of NBA markets. Where so many seem to care so much about the coronation of one extremely large, powerful, rich man who plays a team game. King Karl will reap, what, $10 million of extra cash, one way or another, for the top individual honor in pro hoop? Place the trophy on the mantle of his mansion? Bask in the satisfaction of knowing he was, for one regular season, more valuable than anyone in his profession?

He will. Because that much is true.

He is the MVP.

He earned it. . . .

Jan. 5, 2000

(Malone the fitness fanatic)

After Jazz practice Tuesday morning, 13 hours after busting 33 points over the noggins of the Denver Nuggets in 40 minutes of playing time, a busting that included three hammer dunks on fast-break feeds from John Stockton and a three-pointer from straight away, Karl Malone was atop a courtside exercise bike, churning pedals and gears into butter, riding some kind of time machine.

No creaks in the old bones were heard. Only groans in the constant whir of strained mechanical parts.

A few rookies and scrubs, their hoop futures still at stake, remained on the floor, half-playing, half-messing around. Everybody else was gone. Finally, after making like Lance Armstrong coming out of the Pyrenees, Malone relented. He slowed and stared out at the youngsters for a moment, and smirked, almost as though he were looking back through the years - at himself.

Then, he shook his head, and pedaled some more.

June 11, 2003

(Malone reacts to

Stockton's retirement)

Mixed signals are coming from a mixed-up man. After 18 seasons with the Jazz, Karl Malone doesn't know whether he's coming, staying or going.

He's hurt, confused, disturbed.

That much was confirmed Saturday during and after the John Stockton salute at the Delta Center, as the power forward's windshield repeatedly misted up and his vulnerability spilled over for everyone to see.

Malone's own crossroads as an aged free agent coincided with Stockton's. His longtime running buddy kicked doubt about his future to the curb early and decisively, waiting all of 48 hours after the postseason ended to announce that his brilliant career was done. As usual, like on the court, Malone keyed off of what Stockton did.

Only this time, instead of going strong to the hoop, Malone stumbled and fell hard. He reacted in the manner of a peeved child when he was told by reporters that Stockton had revealed news, without consulting Karl, of his retirement. Saddened and disheartened, Malone bagged an appearance on a TV special highlighting Stockton's career, and eventually attempted to find solace and sanctuary at his ranch in Arkansas.

June 23, 2004

(Injuries ravage Malone's

one season with the Lakers)

The greatest power forward ever, as some call him, amassed huge career numbers, including the second-most points scored in league history. He trails Kareem Abdul-Jabbar by a mere 1,459. Back in the day, Karl could make up the difference in a fraction of a season. While closing that gap might well be the best reason for him to attempt to endure, it's likely not enough.

A Hollywood ending to Malone's career, something nearly everyone had prognosticated prior to the commencement of L.A. Finals series with Detroit, has been undone by a crueler fate.

That fate is as full of irony as it is denial for a man who played for so long with no injury, at least one he couldn't abide, and now must walk away, in large part, because of a blown knee he finds no compelling reason to overcome. . . .

February 13, 2005

(On the day Malone retires from the NBA, Monson remembers the Mailman being hurt when fans chant "Utah sucks" during a long-ago professional wrestling exhibition - and how it encapsulates Malone's up-and-down playoff performances over the years)

For all of his bluster, for all of his outrageous and sometimes ridiculous comments, his verbal sparring sessions with Jazz owner Larry Miller, his confusing contradictions, his sojourns into 18-wheeling and sports-apparel and country-western retailing and TV and movie acting and monster-trucking and motorcycling and fitness videos and hunting and planning to run for governor and radio-show hosting, and false claims that he never again would play in Utah, he badly wanted to be accepted and liked. . . .

His sensitivity, his fretting about the outcome, hurt him in the

clutch. . . .

On the day of his announced retirement, it should be said, and underscored again, and even celebrated, that Malone was more than a lousy wrestler. He was, in fact, one of the best NBA players ever.

He just wasn't as great as he might have been.