Here’s a Dumb Story #3

Dumb Story #3: I Believe I can Fly

In honor of The Last Dance, here is my MJ related story. When I was in high school or home from college, I used to go to Lifetime Fitness with my friends to play basketball. Sometimes we would play one-on-one or just shoot around, but a lot of the time we would play pick up games with other random people who were there. As many people know, Michael Jordan lived in the suburbs of Chicago. That meant that his children, who were around my age, lived and hung out in the same areas that I did. Marcus Jordan, his youngest son, used to go to Lifetime Fitness as well. And it just so happened that he liked to play in these pickup games, too.

Lucky for me, one time when my friends and I were there, we happened to play in the same game as Marcus. We were not fortunate enough to be on the same team as him though. Before a game starts, players on each team match up with their opponents for who they will guard throughout the game. I must have been tying my shoe, or getting a drink, or something, because somehow I got matched up against Marcus Jordan. Yes, the 6 foot 4 inch Marcus Jordan, son of the greatest basketball player of all time, was going to be guarded by me and my wiry 5 foot 9 inch body.

The good news is I didn’t spark much fear in Marcus Jordan, and for the first part of the game he didn’t go very hard. He would shoot a bunch of Steph Curry ranged threes for fun, or pass up shots to involve other players. He played lackadaisical defense against me, but it was Marcus Jordan, I wasn’t itching for the ball. However, one time I received a pass at the top of the key behind the three point line. Marcus was daring me to shoot, playing back, hands barely up, kind of smiling like he was saying I know you won’t shoot it. So I did.


I nailed the shot and smiled. I couldn’t help it. I just hit a three in the face of an MJ. It felt good. For about three seconds…This was Michael Jordan’s son remember? He was pissed. The next possession he takes the inbounds pass. I was feeling myself a little. I pick him up at the three point line, it doesn’t matter. He basically just bullies me to the basket and just throws down a dunk in my face knocking me over, stands over me for a second, then trots back to his side of the court. Let’s just say someone else switched to defense on Marcus for the rest of the game. But for the rest of my life, I will always remember the time I swished a three in MJ’s face and ended up with a shoe print on my back as a reward.

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