Of course Mullin didn't need a nickname. To us he was either Mullin, or simply Chris. More than any other player in our history, he was us. He was a guy who shared a bedroom with his brothers, who shot in his driveway on a hoop nailed to his garage (could that be possible in Flatbush?), who played CYO, but was almost always the best player on the court. He was also a throwback player, not flashy at all except for brilliant passes facilitated not only by great courtvision but an internal radar that knew where his teammates were, even with his back to the basket. Unlike Jordan's incredible athleticism, (and others are correct to note that in every way this guy was a pro-athlete in body and conditioning) watching Mullin play was like reading a textbook on how to play the game. I don't know if he ever received a technical at SJU, because I never saw him yell at a ref, trash talk and opponent, or even get into an inevitable shoving match.
It's easy to wax poetic, because just like a line from the movie "A River Runs Through It", we knew we were witnessing perfection. Or at least as close to it as we may even see in a St. John's uniform.
