Wow!
For a decade, I allowed Chicago Bulls basketball games to become a sacred event for me, all because of Jordan. Whenever the Bulls played, I either watched on television or went to extensive lengths to try and pick up WMAQ on my radio. That was the Chicago radio station that aired Bulls games, and the quality of the radio reception was mostly awful, given the fact that it was a local broadcast and I lived some 350 miles from the Windy City. It didn't matter, though. Any faint sound I could hear of the action on the court was heaven for me. Neil Funk, who called the games, was always a delight to listen to as he described Jordan on offense.
"Michael with the dribble...wheels into the lane, dumps off to Scottie...Pip, throws back into Michael. MJ with three on the shot clock...hangs, falls, fires....SCORES!" Oh my! Michael with 40!"
I remember vividly just how nervous I was whenever a Bulls game would get close in the final minutes, or if they were far behind their opponent. I would feel sick to my stomach because I always wanted Jordan to succeed and win. Thankfully, I didn't become aware of him until 1990, just a year prior to when he and the Bulls began their championship dominance. When he won his first title in 1991, I cried along with him and even got sick from the high emotional I felt for his most coveted accomplishment.
When he retired (for the first of three times) that awful day in October 1993, I was absolutely miserable. People came up to my locker at school and offered their support because they knew how strongly I felt for him. I avoided phone calls for days from my best friend because the moment was too painful. But when he suddenly returned to the game in March 1995, I was king of happy smiles! Let's be honest, everyone was a Jordan fan, but I was the one that went above and beyond and became obsessive about him.
I figured out a way to make small Air Jordan shoes out of paper and wore them as a necklace!
I will never forget the 1997-98 NBA season; Jordan's final one in Chicago. I was blessed with the opportunity to see him play in person for the first and only time ever. It was November 11, 1997 and the Bulls came to Gund Arena to play the Cleveland Cavs. I was totally blown away when I saw Jordan run onto the court from the locker room with his teammates right before game time. At the time, MJ was 34 years of age and was almost the only thing keeping the Bulls afloat in the early season. Scottie Pippen would be out injured until January '98 and Chicago struggled mightily in his absence.
They wound up losing this game in a rout, 101-80 with Michael getting a pedestrian 19 points in defeat. It was fascinating watching him in real life, real time without the sound of television announcers. On one play, Jordan caught a quick pass from Bulls center Luc Longley, drove down the lane and layed the ball in the basket dramatically. On another play, he went down the lane and dunked, and the entire arena oooh and ahhed.
As MJ neared the end of his reign in Chicago, I began developing a stronger appreciation for the man and what he ultimately stood for. People can say anything they want about him; call him arrogant, an asshole, egotistical, petty, cheap...compulsive. Whatever. All I know is, he is a sterling example of astounding determination and will, and those are the attributes that got him to where he is now. A man without action (and ego) will never fail enough to succeed repeatedly.
Salute Jordan.
I will also never forget how Michael ended his Bulls career, June 14, 1998 in Game 6 of the NBA Finals vs Utah. I was watching the nail biter game with my best friend at a sports bar and when MJ's legendary, final moment began to unfold (Jordan had just stolen the ball from Jazz star Karl Malone with Chicago down by a point), my friend lowered his head and said, "I KNOW [he's going to] make this shot."
Sure enough, MJ knocked in the championship winning basket with 5.2 seconds left and posed for posterity after the ball went through the net to give the Bulls a one point lead that held up. I could not have been more ecstatic than I was at that moment, arguably his crowning achievement on the court.
When Michael retired a second time in 1999, I was once again covered in tears and couldn't contain my constant sobbing. It may seem crazy, but I truly had an emotional connection to this man for a number of years. I was invested in him and his successes, which always made my days better. I was on the fence about him coming back in late 2001 to play for the horrific Washington Wizards. On the one hand, I was overjoyed at getting to see him play again after over 3 years away. On the flip side, I knew he was close to 39 years old and that is an age in pro hoops that may as well be 80 in the regular world. During his frustrating, two season stint as a member of the Wizards, MJ exhibited many moments of marvel, especially for a man inching towards and beyond 40 years of age. Mostly, his tenure in Washington was critically panned as Jordan faltered on things that he used to dominate in. Nonetheless, I knew that Michael showed something amazing in coming to such a lowly team; a willingness to put himself in a possible path of failure because effort is its own reward.
To me, he succeeded even as the Wizards failed.
When he retired for the final time, April 16, 2003, I was more at peace with his exit, though I still cried and cried. It was a depressing moment, but I was so grateful for having witnessed this remarkable man perform his special brand of magic night in and night out.
In the decade since Jordan's last NBA game, an entirely new crop of basketball megastars have evolved and made the league their own. From Bryant and James, to Kevin Durant and Carmelo Anthony, today's stars are awesome in their own right. But none of them will ever measure up to the seismic impact, cultural significance and unbelievable drive that was authored by and defined Michael Jordan.
Happy birthday, MJ, and many more to come. God bless you!
