Yesterday, Michael Jordan was finally inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame (though I suspect he may have to sit tight a few more years to get Cooperstown's kudos for his brief tenure with the Birmingham Barons). Aside from a few rare missteps- Space Jam, Michael Jordan's restaurant (where the hamburgers tasted like something left over from the Nike stockroom)- the man continues to be the most recognizable sports figure in the world. I remember the night the Bulls won the NBA Championships for the first three-peat. I was in a taxi downtown, heading home to the far north side. The streets were lined with red and white clad revelers, freaking out as though they had won the lottery. There were people setting garbage fires and trying to overturn unattended CPD squad cars (two expressions of joy that I've never quite understood). My cab was even bumped along the way; it was like Detroit on devil's night, with the color commentary provided by my driver, who was cursing in Farsi at the pedestrians blocking traffic. Watching Jordan make gravity his bitch was something that people traveled from all over the world to see. Watching the fans that night was even better. Congrats, MJ.
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