He didn’t need to befriend every good player in the league or link up with anybody who became a free agent. Rose hasn’t found that he needs a nickname or carefully crafted image.
He’s a doer, a leader, charismatic in a way perhaps only Chicagoans understand — without smiling and clowning and dancing and posing, kind of like a young Dick Butkus. He has represented Chicago in a way even Michael Jordan couldn’t.
Jordan is an adopted son, Rose a native son.