Roughly 25 miles outside of the city of Chicago, there’s an Illinois suburb by the name of Glen Ellyn, population 27,450. I lived there from ages 4-6 and my memory of that time is fuzzy at best. I was too young to understand it then, but that whole Michael Jordan thing was happening around me in real time. My father told me stories of the hysteria—good luck walking the length of two city blocks without encountering his name, his jersey number or his image. There was but one topic of conversation around the proverbial and literal water coolers. The entire city revolved around his greatness.
Stiffs shootaround: long live the King
