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August 12, 1995
I have been a fan of Michael's for many years, and I have also been
a member of his official fan club (Nike's Air Jordan Flight Club) for going
on six years. Over the course of about seven, I have written him about
twenty letters, and I had received a couple of authenticated autographed
items in return. To say the least, I was and still am a devoted fan of His
Airness. When Michael took his sabbatical from basketball for that year and
a half, I stopped watching or following the NBA completely. Without him,
the game meant nothing to me, and not just because the league would be
without his considerable athletic talents; it would be without a truly
decent human being. That's what Michael is to me; when I see and think of
him, I do so in terms of not just Michael the ball player, but also the
husband, the father, the golf enthusiast--in short, the whole individual.
And that's whom I came to cheer on and support that warm summer day at Long Beach's Blair Field. I attended the shoot knowing full well that my dream of actually meeting Michael would remain just that when the day would end, and I would just spend the afternoon and early evening sitting in the stands with thousands of others as Michael stood at bat a hundred yards away. But just seeing him there in person was enough incentive to be part of the activity, and I arrived at Blair Field at 9 AM, six hours prior to the 3 PM call.
The first few hours of the shoot were as I had anticipated. There
I was, sitting in the stands as Michael feigned striking out over and over
again on the field. A few times, as he sat in a chair as the crew would set
up shots, he would survey the crowd through a pair of binoculars. I know I
was indistinguishable from everyone else in his eyes, but it wasn't for lack
of trying. I wore my official Air Jordan Flight Club T-shirt, and I had my
membership card with me, for what it was worth. I don't know if I was the
only Flight Club member in attendance, but it felt as if I were the only
one--at least the only one who made his or her "status" known.
Shooting wore on, with production assistants ordering everyone to
move every which way, mostly trivial prizes being raffled off, and Michael
keeping his distance. Although all indications pointed toward otherwise, I
still held the hope that this was the day for which I had been waiting
years, the day I would finally meet Michael. And at around 7PM, it appeared
as if all my dreaming would pay off. Michael had not only decided to
address the crowd over the loudspeaker, he soon after approached the stands
to shake some hands. Of course, as I saw him make his way toward the fans,
I ran to the railing, reaching over to him, calling his name, my Flight Club
membership card in hand. But when Michael made it to where I was, he shook
the hands of several of those around me but did not take my hand, let alone
look at me. As I saw him leave, my spirit shattered. I stayed at Blair
Field until almost midnight in the hopes that another opportunity would
arise; it didn't.
Granted, Michael was overwhelmed, as I am sure he always is when
he's out in public, and he can't make everyone happy. He can't shake every
hand; he can't sign an autograph for everyone. I understand this and what
he goes through day in and day out. And his personally greeting the fans
was incredibly generous and kind. Yet I cannot help but feel bitter. It's
not that I'm angry at Michael or anyone else; it's just that I am frustrated
that I tried the best I could to achieve my dream, and it was not good
enough. I've written letters; I've joined the fan club; I've been an extra
in his movie. My best efforts did not amount to anything. A number of
people have told me to move on, but how can I? I did not spend so many
years of my life writing, hoping, praying for the opportunity to meet
Michael just to see everything crash and burn. Some friends have tried to
cheer me up by saying that I will get my second chance. But it's not like I
can wait around for the next time he comes to town. It's not like the odds
have suddenly swung in my favor. Yet despite all this, the dream is still
alive; part of me would like to think that my friends are right, and my
dream of meeting Michael Jordan will come true. I still would like to know
what it's like to shake hands with greatness. But the overwhelming feeling
is that my one and only opportunity has come and gone, and there's nothing I
can do about it.
And I can't help but question the value of dreams in general. In the last mailing to the members of the Air Jordan Flight Club, sent in June, it reads, "If the mind can see it, the soul can be it. If the heart can view it, the hands can do it. Michael urges you to pursue the excellence within yourself. Honor your dreams. Because he knows--the dreams of today are the legends of tomorrow." Well, Michael, I've done exactly that; I've seen my dream in my mind and my heart and pursued it for what feels like a lifetime. Is this incredible pain that I now feel the fate that awaits all dreamers?
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