MJ’s 60th Birthday

As if I needed another reason to think about my own mortality and the brevity of life… the headlines this morning say that Michael Jordan is turning 60.

It seems like just yesterday I sat in front of a little TV tuned to WGN, with a Rodman poster on my wall (hair personally decorated with my magic markers), a plate of Lunchable extra cheesy pizza kits to feed me, Jordan, Pippen, and Rodman before me, and watched the greatest NBA unit in the history of humanity that none of this stuff today will ever come close to matching in a gazillion years.

Maybe that’s what’s wrong with this generation: they never got to experience the amazement of a little teenager who was pathetic at playing basketball but would stay outside all day and night with the goal in my driveway, waiting all day to tune in to WGN channel 9, watch the screen go dim, start hearing ♫ ba da beem ba da bom, ba da beem ba da bom ♫, the camera turn to the Jumbotron to show that animated bull running through the city of Chicago out to the United Center, and after an already loud and wild introduction of the first four players, the crowd go even crazier as Johnny Red Kerr announced, “And from North Carolina, 6’6”, at guard, number 23, Miichaaaaeeelll Joooorrrdaaaan.”

Maybe the next time I teach the youth group, I should do another lesson on “The enjoyment of God in all things due to common grace” and show them this video.

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