Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm Yours

At some point during the past 48 hours, most sports fans started penning love letters to Michael Jordan. Some thanked him for the titles, for bringing an unparalleled glory to the city of Chicago. Some took the John Starks or Jerry Sloan approach and admitted to simultaneously feeling pain and awe. And some will admit to just how cool it was to lace up the shoes, drink the Gatorade, and step out on a playground that always seemed to resemble the United Center or old Chicago Stadium.

Well, at least the hoop on my driveway did.

Nearly every writer who's tackled Jordan's career admits that there aren't enough adjectives in the English language to describe him, nor are there enough verbs to describe how he imposed his will on other teams, on dozens of All-Star players and coaches. So sitting here and trying to find a new way to tackle his greatness and not sound like an overproduced drone is pointless.

To quote the Barenaked Ladies, "It's all been done."

Still, there's something worth mentioning. In the eyes of my generation, the kids who grew up watching Jordan in the 90's and not the 80's, he was a legend. To us, Michael Jordan wasn't a man. After he won a title at North Carolina as a freshman, he was seemingly shifting the ball between his hands in mid-air against the Lakers in the 1991 Finals. There weren't other college years. There was no foot injury, no struggle against the Pistons, no battle with a gambling addiction. To us, those struggles, those altercations don't exist. We awoke to a dominant Jordan, and that is the one we'll remember.

Now, I'm well aware that Jordan struggled throughout his career, but my generation is going to be the first of many that don't view him as a man breaking through physical barriers, redefining will power. We'll view his as something greater, as close to a God as God would allow. With each passing year, the legend will continue to grow. The aura surrounding the "Flu Game," "The Shot," "The Shrug," and "The Finale" will only grow. No one will remember his years with the Wizards, maybe not even Michael himself. They will cease to be grounded in reality, and in an age where athletes have trouble staying on the court because of what they do off of it, Jordan will shine as a sterling example of perfection.

He conducted himself with swagger. Was he arrogant? You bet he was. But it was excusable. Hell, if you're going to dunk over Mt. Mutumbo, you deserve to wag your finger at him. And Jordan did just that. He wagged it at the Pistons, at the Knicks, and at a never ending line of doubters. But he deserved to. Michael Jordan introduced me to swagger.

I'll end with this, one of the oldest lines in the Jordan lexicon: There will never be another Michael Jordan. There will be a Vince Carter. There will be a Kobe Bryant. And there will be a LeBron James. There will be great individuals, accomplishing feats in their own right, feats that should be attributed to them, not filed as comparisons to Jordan. However, they will never be for basketball, for sports, and for a culture what Michael Jordan was. He transcended basketball, transcended the U.S. and introduced the galaxy [you have to acknowledge Space Jam] to a physical world seemingly without limitations. The free throw line will never be seen in the same light after his take off.

Jordan's career affirms his transcendence; the Gatorade commercials are just as prevalent as the five MVP awards, the shoes just as important to YMCA basketball as the 10 scoring titles are to statisticians. Simply put, Michael Jordan was the most complete athlete in an era where an athlete isn't just determined by his stature on the field or the court, but by who he is off of it.

I never saw Chamberlain, Russel, Bird or Magic in their prime, but I saw Jordan. Without question, he's still the best I've ever seen. So, Hall of Fame induction in tow, consider this my love letter.