|
And life was nothing but an awful song
But now I know the meaning of true love"
MJ & MD
Together Again, for the First Time
February 15, 1999
|
|
In the approximate year and three months since Michael and I met, a number of landmark events took place. As is common knowledge, Michael and the Bulls won their sixth NBA championship, and just barely a month ago, on January 13, he retired from basketball once and for all. But on this end, something rather unexpected took place. In April of last year, out of the clear blue I was offered the position of Michael's official chat forum host at his official site. Of course, I had entertained the wild notion that Michael himself had something to do with it, but the reality was something far less dramatic (and really not worth mentioning here). Nonetheless, I became part of something that was officially his: I more or less completely control the discussion boards on his site and direct any live chats he conducts, serving as onstage host and selecting the questions he answered. Michael Dequina the pathetic fanboy back in the summer of '95 had become in the matter of three years "MD, MJ's chat boy" or "MD, the other Michael," as I am referred to at the forum.
It's an interesting job, and one that I enjoy doing very much (I must--I literally do it out of love, with no pay), but the job title implies one thing that I do not have--regular contact with and/or feedback from Michael, or at the very least his official "people." In fact, Michael's people completely frown upon any attempt to receive the slightest bit of feedback--which makes no sense, for how am I supposed to know if I'm doing an acceptable job if the man or his official reps don't let me know what they think. The most frustrating example is what I call "the fax incident": the day after Michael and the Bulls won their sixth championship, I sent a fax to Michael's Jump, Inc. office. It was a simple, very business-like message in which I congratulated him and introduced myself as chat host, politely requesting some feedback on my job. Michael's agent in charge of online affairs (whose name I do not know; I derisively refer to her as "Miss Thang") intercepted the fax and went ballistic, for I violated protocol and attempted a direct contact. Ironically enough, if I hadn't mentioned that I was his chat host, I likely wouldn't have gotten in any hot water.
So when my friend Herb Teal, who was briefly a teammate of Michael's when he played minor league baseball with the Birmingham Barons and currently maintains a very steady business connection with him, offered me the opportunity to attend Sunday's Image Awards and ensuing reception, I accepted. But it wasn't without some trepidation. I knew Michael would remember me--after all, he remembered me when we hadn't met--but the paranoid side of me wondered whether that would be a good or bad thing. If Michael had read any of the printouts of my Heartbreak site that I had given him, it was entirely possible that he could have taken me for a complete loon. But ultimately I threw all caution to the wind and decided to go. After all, when else would I have the opportunity to tell Michael I was his chat host without the barrier that was Miss Thang?
Michael was to receive the Jackie Robinson Sports Award at the annual event, which, for anyone who is unfamiliar, celebrates the achievements of African-Americans in film, television, music, and literature. I had never attended a full-out, bust-out-the-tux Hollywood event before (the only other only time I had ever worn a tuxedo was my high school prom), but I was strangely unjittery throughout the evening, not nervous walking up the red carpet among some of the brightest African-American celebrities out there, nor about the thought of meeting Michael again. I felt a certain sense of belonging there, nurtured by the fact that everyone around was just so nice. I quickly made friends with those sitting nearby in the auditorium (bonding point: co-host Mariah Carey's typically slutty mode of dress), and when the odd luminary would walk up the aisle near my seat, all my random greetings were warmly reciprocated.
The Image Awards are pre-taped for television broadcast (this year's event will not air until Thursday, March 4 on Fox), which leaves a margin for error unlike those ceremonies which are telecast live. This was most fortunate because there were a number of glitches--a few of which were courtesy of Carey, who flubbed on more than one occasion. (Her considerably more composed co-host was Blair Underwood.) The minor roadblocks notwithstanding, it was an entertaining show, highlighted by an electrifying opening number by Kirk Franklin and Nu Nation; a guitar jam session with Eric Clapton, George Benson, and Hall of Fame inductee B.B. King; Chris Tucker's hilarious tribute to Michael; and a number of touching acceptance speeches--not least of which was that of Mr. Jordan, who wore a silver and black tux that only someone of his grace and style could pull off.
Early on in the show Herb and I deduced that Michael would probably not make it to the post-awards reception, so we decided to visit him at his seat during one of the breaks in taping. Feeling a sudden surge of the butterflies, I had Herb lead off with his pair of size 13 Air Jordans, which he hoped that Michael would sign. When we got to Michael's seat and Herb made his request, Michael (who, of course, recognized Herb) flashed his heavily-splinted right index finger, on which Michael recently had surgery to repair a torn tendon (injured while--no joke--cutting a cigar in the Bahamas). After Herb said his piece, he segued to me with the words, "Now here's your chat room host..." Then Herb left to to go back to his seat.
Michael didn't look at me until after I dropped a small stack of items in his hand: my two business cards (one for the chat forum, the other for my other job as a film critic), a wallet-size print of the picture of him and me from way back when, and my official Air Jordan Flight Club membership card. On top was my chat forum card, and after he glanced at it, he turned his head to me. As soon as our eyes met, he immediately said with a most reassuring smile, "I've seen you before." That brought a smile to my face, and I pointed out our picture together, and he of the amazingly acute memory said, "Yeah--Clipper game." We shook hands, huge splint and all, and I told him that I was now the host of his official chat forum at his official site.
Then over the loudspeaker came the voice of the telecast's director, asking everyone to take their seats for the resumption of taping. I asked him if he was going to reception, and he said yes, and so I told him that I would see him there. And with those words, I was scurrying back to my seat, unfortunately having not said hello to Michael's lovely wife, Juanita. (In any event, while Michael and I were talking, she was engaged in conversation with President's Award honoree Lauryn Hill's boyfriend, who sat to her right.)
The person who led off Michael's tribute, which came late in the ceremony, was, not surprisingly, Ahmad Rashad, who was then followed by Queen Latifah, who introduced a beautiful video montage in honor of the man. One of the clips featured toward the end of the montage was the climax of Space Jam. It was an almost surreal moment of irony, watching part of the film which had, at one point, brought me a tremendous sense of pain, as part of an audience with Michael. What a way to come full circle. After the montage came Mr. Tucker's aforementioned routine (which brought the house down), and Michael's moving acceptance speech, the exact words of which became a jumble in the midst of the flood of emotions I was experiencing.
After Michael was finished, he, like all honorees, went backstage, but he never returned to his seat. Once the entire ceremony was finished, Herb, his wife, and I quickly made our way to the reception. What ensued was a hectic few hours of scouring the ballroom for Michael, waiting for any and all sign of him. It was a strange parallel to that night of August 10, 1995, when I waited in the stands of Blair Field for him to return--and he never did. Apparenly, Michael didn't make it down to the reception after all, and I don't blame him; it was a loud, rowdy affair, one that quickly wore out its welcome. But it was all just as well--I had the foresight to write a short note on the back of my chat forum business card, briefly explaining the frustrating situation with his official 'Net representatives, in the event we weren't able to speak at length.
It was, nonetheless, an enjoyable evening, punctuated by a slip-up on my part. As I mentioned, one of the things I handed to Michael was my official AJFC membership card. The intention was to just show it to him, but, in my haste, I never took it back. I had hoped to recover it from him at the reception, but the opportunity never materialized. Of course, I'd still like it back---even moreso now since he's handled it. In all likelihood, though, he's already discarded it, and it's gone for good.
In any case, my inadvertent absentmindedness makes for a strangely symbolic moment. In giving him that fan club card, which I received in 1989, it, in a sense, closed the book on that phase of my life, that of the fawning fan boy, the immature kid who didn't want anything more than the chance to somehow, someway share a split second with Michael. That chance had come and then some these past ten years, as well as a certain sense of maturity.
My feelings about Michael will never change--he has never given me any reason for them to change--and he has and will always play a large part in my life, actively or otherwise. It remains to be seen whether or not I will be afforded some semblance of regular contact with him or his people for the chat forum's sake, but even so our paths our guaranteed to cross once again, whether in person or in one form or another in cyberspace. The difference is though, the part that Michael will play is just that, a part; he is not my entire life, as I had wrongheadedly made him for so many years.
I feel this is as good a point as any to put this whole "Heartbreak" saga to bed, at least as far as its consumption for the general Internet masses is concerned. The story will continue, of course, as I live out my life. But I feel that I have arrived at the ultimate message that I have been "chosen" to impart. It's strange how this site and story has evolved over the years. Originally, it was a self-indulgent woe-is-me wallow in self-pity, and it remained that through late 1997. With the "Tale of Two Michaels" and this latest chapter, it became something more, as evidenced by the sincere and appreciative tone of the number of e-mails I now get from this site (for which I am very grateful). I guess it can best be summed up by the song the NAACP chose to score the beginning of their video tribute to Michael:
Please feel free to send any questions, comments, or whatever to:
michael_jordan@geocities.com
Or you can visit me and other MJ fans at The Official Michael Jordan Chat Forum.
Michael Jordan
Chat
Michael Jordan Chat Forum
Michael Jordan
Links
Sign the Michael Jordan Guestbook
View the Michael
Jordan Guestbook
Michael Jordan Guestbook Archive