Sunday, January 23, 2005
 michael jordan came home for the weekend. he went to a couple of practices and sat quitely behind the bench at the game. roy chatted with him a bit at halftime.
there was no fanfare. no parade through the streets. most of the fans didn't know he was there.
mia hamm lindsay tarpley heather o'reilly and their buddies were the ones that got honored at halftime.
and it wasn't that great of a game cuz we only scored eighty-some-odd points. we won, but sometimes there are more important things that winning and losing.
some people will tell you our home games suck cuz they don't sell beer. ill tell you our home games suck because the average age of fans in attendance could collect a social security check.
if you look up in the rafters at the dean dome, there are a lot of jerseys, banners, championships,
and memories.
images forever frozen in time and history.
and for the people of chapel hill and carolina fans around the world, most of those memories revolve around one man.
 number twenty-three.
he plays the two on my all-time north carolina men's basketball starting five.
felton
jordan
carter
wallace
montross.
yes, my all-time team has a white guy. get over it.
it started with a jumpshot. in a game he wasn't even supposed to start, let alone take a last minute jumper for all the marbles. anyone's career could have pinnacled after being immortalized in a blackandwhite poster. who knew that a poster was just the beginning. a whole year before i was even born.
five mvps. six championships. more scoroing titles. even more all-time records.
what stands out to me is the fact that jordan, the most famous of famous athletes, the muhammad ali of basketball, made household names out of nobodys. not everyone is fortunate enough to play for carolina, but he brought them along for the ride anyway.
kerr. cartwright. grant. longley, kukoc. pippen. the worm. the zen master.
and its not like lebron james wears magic's number.
michael jordan could be the mayor of chapel hill. people buy nissans from his dealership and eat food at his restaurant. they drink beer with him at the local watering hole. his old freshman dorm room still brings tourists.
mike could be the king of the republic of north jordan-olina with a wave of his hand. but he doesn't. he attracted less attention the whole weekend than john bunting did. that big beautiful black man, with all his fame, with all his greatness, with all his fragrances, was content to politely cheer for the team and the school that loves and worships him so much.
this is the stuff legends are made of.
posted by accident at 1:34:00 PM +
 
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