And then he was speechless.

The Mailman tried twice to launch his jersey retirement acceptance speech at halftime of the Jazz-Wizards game, only to have the combination of an adoring crowd and his own emotions keep him from starting.

For once in his life, Malone was stoppable on the Delta Center court. And it was a cool moment, as memorable as anything that has happened in franchise history without the 24-second clock running.

Malone finally managed to speak, and then there was no hope of containing him. He thanked everybody, some more than once, paid tribute to U.S. troops and exceeded his time limit - not that anybody minded, with the Jazz losing and looking like they wanted him to feel appreciated in his absence.

As was the case with everything involving Malone during his time here, it was an interesting day. Through a news conference, a statue unveiling and the number raising, he was all over the map.

My questions for the Mailman? Return to sender.

Asked if he had any second thoughts about not finishing his NBA career with the Jazz, after speaking glowingly of the organization, he responded, "It's not a day of regrets. I did what I wanted to do. I didn't do what people wanted me to do. Life is about change sometimes. Eighteen years? How many more did you want from me? I gave you 18 of 'em."

Asked how he wanted Utahns to remember him, he said, "I know who I am and what I've done. They can remember me any way they want to remember me."

Wow. Was he kidding? Nobody ever cared more about what anyone thought of him than the Mailman. That's much of what drove him for 19 seasons between the Jazz and Lakers, trying to disprove the doubters, real and imagined.

Left to his own script, the Mailman was more personable. He was almost eloquent in front of the statue on the Delta Center plaza, with brief references to important influences in his career, including former Jazz coach and executive Frank Layden. Malone thanked Layden for drafting him after 12 other teams passed, adding, "I hope I didn't let you down."

And he thanked the fans who packed the plaza for letting him enjoy "an unbelievable journey."

It was good stuff, amid some peculiarities. At the southeast corner of the building, near the pair of statues, there's now an intersection of John Stockton Drive and Karl Malone Drive. That's apparently all the originality this bunch of car dealers could provide.

And how about the statue of Malone with his old-style Jazz uniform with the musical-note logos and his old hairstyle, a shaved head?

Then there was Jazz owner Larry Miller, who choked up when talking about a guest nobody had heard of - NBA deputy commissioner Russ Granik - as much as he did when discussing Malone.

Miller made it through each of his speeches, saying he shuddered to think where the franchise would have been without Malone and Stockton, after which the Jazz went out and provided some indication with another lousy effort.

After joking about his angry responses to the team's poor play this season, Miller had said, "I can't live with doggin' it, not giving the best you have to give every night . . . that's all I ask."

That never happened during Malone's career. Well, except for the night in their third season together when Miller yelled at the players as they walked into the locker room, making them chuckle by using swear words in the wrong combinations.

Miller was not forgetting all of his feuds with Malone, but he found himself remembering the good times Thursday. That was easy to do. As Stockton observed, it was a remarkable era in Jazz history, and all of this was "kind of the culmination."

And the Jazz stayed consistent regarding the treatment of their all-time greatest players.

The night Stockton's number was retired, they also lost.