Sean Deveney

Ben Wallace looks mean, which is common for the game's best intimidator. He is holding a basketball in his palm and staring at it, stiff-lipped, as if it had just badmouthed his family's good name. A few whirs of a camera shutter and Wallace lets the ball down (it heaves a sigh of relief). Wallace's seriousness gives way to a smile, a look more fitting for a man who signed the biggest free-agent contract of the offseason, a four-year, $60 million deal that lured him out of Detroit. Meandering toward a group of reporters at the Bulls' practice facility outside Chicago, big, bad Ben becomes a 6-9, 240-pound cornrowed deliverer of one-liners.

His biggest obstacle to getting settled in Chicago? "Traffic," he says. "I've got to do better with traffic management."

His impression of fiery coach Scott Skiles? "He tried to fight a couple of my teammates last year," Wallace says. "But they're not my teammates anymore, so it's all good."

His thoughts on wearing a new uniform? "It's different," he says, "but I will say, I look good in red and black."

The Bulls hope Wallace does more than look good and crack wise. They want him to get mean and deliver Chicago from the depths of the post-Michael Jordan rebuilding era. The Bulls had been a cornerstone franchise for the league, but the ugly departure of Jordan and the horrible 66-230 record during the next four seasons sullied the organization. But what better way to evoke glory days and reattract forlorn NBA fans than to restore the Bulls, once the world's most popular team, to championship contention?

For that, Chicago needs Wallace ticked off and intimidating. Throughout the league, there is a class of nontraditional players that has been shunned by the NBA establishment but still has managed to succeed. It's the chip-on-the-shoulder class, and Wallace — undrafted out of Virginia Union in 1996 — is its MVP. He overachieved his way to stardom in Detroit and became a fan favorite and a dominating presence on defense. Over six years with the Pistons, Wallace averaged 12.9 rebounds and put four Defensive Player of the Year awards on his mantle.

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But, recently, those around Wallace worried that he had changed. He has suffered difficult family deaths in the past few years, losing his mother in 2003 and his oldest brother to brain cancer a year later. Last season, Wallace seemed particularly out of sorts; he abruptly fired his longtime agent over a mundane clerical error, questioned first-year Pistons coach Flip Saunders and refused to re-enter a late-season game. His scoring average dropped from 9.7 points to 7.3 and his rebounding and blocked shot averages were the lowest of his Detroit tenure.