“I wanna be, I wanna be, I wanna be like Mike.”

Last night I went to this place is this uber-rich/land of plenty asshole section of Orlando called Millenia. They have this fancy mall there and an Ikea store. Anyway, at this mall, they have this place called the Blue Martini. So I went there last night with a gathering of people for some person’s birthday whom I never met. But I decide to put on my best. A button down shirt with my regular jeans (you know, the jeans I wear every single day) and my 2 year-old Pumas (complete with holes and such). But the guy at the door wouldn’t let me in with that, until I “hooked him up” with some bills.

I obliged. This wasn’t/isn’t my scene at all but it’s been about 48 hours since my last drink and something needed to be done.

About an hour later, we all walk outside but on our way out, this tall motherfucker walks by us. This guy in the group says, in a Scottish accent, “Shite man, do you know who that was?” I look back and the tall man is gone. “No dude, who was it?” “That was Michael fucking Jordan.”

Apparently this Blue Martini place is an infamous hangout of his. I guess he goes there every time he is in town. But I don’t watch basketball, so I kept walking outside.

Later, I had to go back in and pay my tab. On the way out for good, I look over to the VIP section he is sitting in. Sure enough, it was Michael Jordan. That guy from those underwear commercials with Cuba Gooding Jr. I remember him in Spike Lee’s He Got Game though he was only in it for 6 seconds. And nightmares prevent me from forgetting Space Jam.

But there he sat, watching some basketball game on one of the televisions, with his hoop pirate earing glistening in the dim light. Who sat next to him? Tiger Woods, with his signature smile and a pink polo. It was weird. I know balls about sports but I understand that these are two of the best players of their sport ever. Patrick Ewing was also there but I didn’t see him.

On my way out for the night, I passed by that section. I looked over again, out of pure curiosity, and noticed Jordan looking somewhat in my direction. So I raised my fist at him, gave him a fistagon if you will, and he returned the gesture with a half smile and a head nod. It was a good night.

He Got Game (5/2008)

Author: bronsonfive

Film, movies, whatever.

8 thoughts on ““I wanna be, I wanna be, I wanna be like Mike.””

  1. I’m a bit jealous. That was my hero growing up. If you go to my childhood room, you’ll find it covered head to two in MJ shit. The closest I ever got to him was like 20 feet away on a putting green at some celeb golf tournament. That’s cool he acknowledged you.

  2. Jordan and Woods?
    That’s just kooky, dude.
    Pretty cool.
    I wonder how much moolah they got between the two of them?
    Just think how much you could get for a pair of Jordan undies on Ebay.
    Wanted to say congrats on the “Freak of the Week” at Evyl’s.
    You must be one sick bastard. I like that. :mrgreen:
    Keep on rockin’, bud.

  3. Goss: Yeah, my name is pretty lame. Don’t ever name your kids Mike.

    Pugs: More often than you would think. Since I lack a vagina and breasts, cover charges find me often.

    Hiero: I think he only acknowledge me because I raised a fistagon at him. I can only imagine what he was thinking… “What? Is that at me? Does this cracker want to throw down?”

    2lazy: Yeah, I hate that mall. It’s way too fancy for we poor types. But I do like a good Changs.

    Kerplar: It’s kind of weird. Aside from journalism assignments, I rarely bump into celebrities. Except Carrot Top. I see that dude all the time. But he lives here.

    Evyl: I wish I bought him a pint of Guinness though.

    Michael: Thanks for the congrats and I am glad you found your way to me. Now will you stick around so I can have 7 readers instead of 6?

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