Michael Jordan
For those that don't follow sports, this entry isn't going to mean a whole lot. Though I suspect even some of my Australian friends will know the name in this post's title. If you don't know it, or don't care, feel free to skip it.
For those that don't follow, but have some interest in my musings, I'll tell you the Jordan is due to be inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame this week. There's speculation about him being the best player, simply ever. I could rattle off other names (Oscar Robinson, or 'Big O' comes to mind, if only because among my father's memorabilia down here, there's a basketball signed by the man, along with a photo of my father and Robinson) but the bottom line is, I think Michael IS the greatest to play the game.
Now, my memories of Jordan are simple. His big push initially was from roughly 1990 to 1993. I turned ten years old in the late summer/early fall of 1992. Some of my favorite memories as a kid were summers during those years. My parents played co-ed adult softball Wednesday nights. And the team was good (Championship good, but that's another post) and we won most of our games. The regular season was never too serious, but we all more or less subscribed to my father's philosophy: "Yeah, we're playing and afterward we always go out for pizza and beer. But the pizza and beer always taste better after a win."
We were competitive and we were good, and much of my formative years were spent with sports role models being the softball team. There was no quit on that squad, and playing with pain was simply what men did. The only other real sports team I followed as a kid enough to look up to was the Bulls. Michael, Scottie, Horace, Paxson...those guys were legends to a kid growing up. We used to play harder on nights when the Bulls were playing. If we hit the 4 inning, 15 run slaughter rule, we could get to the bar early enough to get good seats to watch the Bulls play.
The other major memory I have of the Bulls, and Michael, in that era, was of the Grant Park celebrations. Every year after a championship, the Bulls would gather at the Berto Center in Deerfield and trek out to Grant Park to throw a party. This is significant for two reasons. One, I grew up in Deerfield (The players often lived in the area, so we'd sometimes get to see them at a local restaurant or shop somewhere, and try to seem like it wasn't 'The Day I Met...') and two, the Berto Center was a stone's throw (Literally, I probably could have made it with a good throw from the roof) from my friend Adam's house. Now, I spent...a lot of my time at Adam's. So much so his elder sister Jori had to remind me not to claim her room when she went off to college. But I always made a special point to be there the night before the Grant Park rally. I'd get up, and Adam's window faced the Berto Center.
I'd turn on the TV to follow the action, and lean out the window, seeing it for myself, until the caravan left Deerfield and I watched the rest on TV. There was a real sense of civic pride that I wouldn't get any other way (The '85 Bears won before I turned 4 and could read the paper, the Sox wouldn't win until VERY recently, and my Cubs...well, maybe next year.)
I remember Space Jam being an incredible movie to watch over and over, because it was Michael, and basketball, at a time when all the papers told me was how bad at baseball he was. Having played myself, I never thought he was all that bad, and was firmly of the belief that he would simply improve. After all, every time the press came out with a story about Michael being good but having some flaw in his game, he seemed to make it a personal goal to fix that flaw. From defense to free throws to assists, Michael saw failure not as a flaw but as a goal to overcome. I couldn't see any reason why baseball would be any different.
Not to say that his announcement didn't strike me with the same elated glee it did everyone else in my city. (Despite growing up in the suburbs, I've always claimed Chicago as my city. I may not have the same memories of it as someone who lives within the city limits proper, but Chicagoland has always been my home, its just that simple.) Michael, in 1995, simply sent a fax to the papers saying one sentence, which was broadcast on front pages throughout Chicago and the world: "I'm Back."
By the way, I should remark on the fact that I use Michael, and not Jordan or even Mr. Jordan. Normally, I'm pretty formal in these posts. But I grew up with the Bulls like they were...well, uncles. Extended family. Oh, in person, I would and did use Mr. but in other situations...it's Michael, Scottie and even Steve (Kerr). I watched enough Sportscenter and championship videos hearing them referred to that way that it's simply habit now.
I was old enough to appreciate just what a big deal it was when we got to see Michael play in person. It was the season opener of 1996. He'd played the tail end of the '95 season but hadn't won the championship. A lot of people wondered if he really did still have what it took. I never doubted. That game I watched him make a play by bouncing the ball off of the back of one of his opponents. (They played Charlotte, the Hornets, that game, and I can remember it vividly.) Our seats weren't great and my father's compulsive need to beat traffic meant leaving before the game was properly over, but I got to do one of the things I will always have on my 'list' by my deathbed: see Michael Jordan play basketball in person.
Everyone in Chicago has followed his career since. From Washington to quiet final retirement, the occasional whisper of glory returned. One of my favorite books is Ender's Game and it has a passage about the titular hero. I'll paraphrase and say that all anyone needed to do was set Ender at the head of the army to watch the rest of the world retreat in fear. I didn't really understand that until Michael came back, and then came back again. The mystique is worn down now, and even I have some doubts as to whether he could still do it. But nothing on earth would stop that deep down fear.
I still have the old Championship videos (93 and 97 are my favorites) and a copy of Space Jam. I still smile that wistful smile thinking back to the glory days. And I still watch the Bulls, though less than I used to, and wish for...any hint of the Bulls of old.
I don't know why of all things to prompt a long, thought out post (At 5:30 in the morning no less) was the special section on Michael Jordan in this morning's paper. Maybe it was a reminder of one of the real heroes I grew up with. And a reminder of why Jordan was a hero when others weren't.
Michael Jordan had great, innate, born to him talent. There can be no doubt whatsoever about that. But he had a determination and a will that served him arguably better. It wasn't just that he was talented, it was that he refused to accept failure as a permanent state.
Maybe that's a reminder we could all use in these times. Whether we're struggling with money, jobs, or any of the difficulties that plague us, they can be overcome if we work at it. For there was a time when one man showed us that we didn't just have to run faster or jump higher. There was a time when he showed us that we could do more than that. I will never be able to make the physical feat a reality. But I think, in my own way...like Michael...I will be able to Fly.
For those that don't follow, but have some interest in my musings, I'll tell you the Jordan is due to be inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame this week. There's speculation about him being the best player, simply ever. I could rattle off other names (Oscar Robinson, or 'Big O' comes to mind, if only because among my father's memorabilia down here, there's a basketball signed by the man, along with a photo of my father and Robinson) but the bottom line is, I think Michael IS the greatest to play the game.
Now, my memories of Jordan are simple. His big push initially was from roughly 1990 to 1993. I turned ten years old in the late summer/early fall of 1992. Some of my favorite memories as a kid were summers during those years. My parents played co-ed adult softball Wednesday nights. And the team was good (Championship good, but that's another post) and we won most of our games. The regular season was never too serious, but we all more or less subscribed to my father's philosophy: "Yeah, we're playing and afterward we always go out for pizza and beer. But the pizza and beer always taste better after a win."
We were competitive and we were good, and much of my formative years were spent with sports role models being the softball team. There was no quit on that squad, and playing with pain was simply what men did. The only other real sports team I followed as a kid enough to look up to was the Bulls. Michael, Scottie, Horace, Paxson...those guys were legends to a kid growing up. We used to play harder on nights when the Bulls were playing. If we hit the 4 inning, 15 run slaughter rule, we could get to the bar early enough to get good seats to watch the Bulls play.
The other major memory I have of the Bulls, and Michael, in that era, was of the Grant Park celebrations. Every year after a championship, the Bulls would gather at the Berto Center in Deerfield and trek out to Grant Park to throw a party. This is significant for two reasons. One, I grew up in Deerfield (The players often lived in the area, so we'd sometimes get to see them at a local restaurant or shop somewhere, and try to seem like it wasn't 'The Day I Met...') and two, the Berto Center was a stone's throw (Literally, I probably could have made it with a good throw from the roof) from my friend Adam's house. Now, I spent...a lot of my time at Adam's. So much so his elder sister Jori had to remind me not to claim her room when she went off to college. But I always made a special point to be there the night before the Grant Park rally. I'd get up, and Adam's window faced the Berto Center.
I'd turn on the TV to follow the action, and lean out the window, seeing it for myself, until the caravan left Deerfield and I watched the rest on TV. There was a real sense of civic pride that I wouldn't get any other way (The '85 Bears won before I turned 4 and could read the paper, the Sox wouldn't win until VERY recently, and my Cubs...well, maybe next year.)
I remember Space Jam being an incredible movie to watch over and over, because it was Michael, and basketball, at a time when all the papers told me was how bad at baseball he was. Having played myself, I never thought he was all that bad, and was firmly of the belief that he would simply improve. After all, every time the press came out with a story about Michael being good but having some flaw in his game, he seemed to make it a personal goal to fix that flaw. From defense to free throws to assists, Michael saw failure not as a flaw but as a goal to overcome. I couldn't see any reason why baseball would be any different.
Not to say that his announcement didn't strike me with the same elated glee it did everyone else in my city. (Despite growing up in the suburbs, I've always claimed Chicago as my city. I may not have the same memories of it as someone who lives within the city limits proper, but Chicagoland has always been my home, its just that simple.) Michael, in 1995, simply sent a fax to the papers saying one sentence, which was broadcast on front pages throughout Chicago and the world: "I'm Back."
By the way, I should remark on the fact that I use Michael, and not Jordan or even Mr. Jordan. Normally, I'm pretty formal in these posts. But I grew up with the Bulls like they were...well, uncles. Extended family. Oh, in person, I would and did use Mr. but in other situations...it's Michael, Scottie and even Steve (Kerr). I watched enough Sportscenter and championship videos hearing them referred to that way that it's simply habit now.
I was old enough to appreciate just what a big deal it was when we got to see Michael play in person. It was the season opener of 1996. He'd played the tail end of the '95 season but hadn't won the championship. A lot of people wondered if he really did still have what it took. I never doubted. That game I watched him make a play by bouncing the ball off of the back of one of his opponents. (They played Charlotte, the Hornets, that game, and I can remember it vividly.) Our seats weren't great and my father's compulsive need to beat traffic meant leaving before the game was properly over, but I got to do one of the things I will always have on my 'list' by my deathbed: see Michael Jordan play basketball in person.
Everyone in Chicago has followed his career since. From Washington to quiet final retirement, the occasional whisper of glory returned. One of my favorite books is Ender's Game and it has a passage about the titular hero. I'll paraphrase and say that all anyone needed to do was set Ender at the head of the army to watch the rest of the world retreat in fear. I didn't really understand that until Michael came back, and then came back again. The mystique is worn down now, and even I have some doubts as to whether he could still do it. But nothing on earth would stop that deep down fear.
I still have the old Championship videos (93 and 97 are my favorites) and a copy of Space Jam. I still smile that wistful smile thinking back to the glory days. And I still watch the Bulls, though less than I used to, and wish for...any hint of the Bulls of old.
I don't know why of all things to prompt a long, thought out post (At 5:30 in the morning no less) was the special section on Michael Jordan in this morning's paper. Maybe it was a reminder of one of the real heroes I grew up with. And a reminder of why Jordan was a hero when others weren't.
Michael Jordan had great, innate, born to him talent. There can be no doubt whatsoever about that. But he had a determination and a will that served him arguably better. It wasn't just that he was talented, it was that he refused to accept failure as a permanent state.
Maybe that's a reminder we could all use in these times. Whether we're struggling with money, jobs, or any of the difficulties that plague us, they can be overcome if we work at it. For there was a time when one man showed us that we didn't just have to run faster or jump higher. There was a time when he showed us that we could do more than that. I will never be able to make the physical feat a reality. But I think, in my own way...like Michael...I will be able to Fly.