The Case for Michael Jordan

I mentioned Michael Jordan in a post the other day and it got me thinking about all he's done for the sport of basketball and the world in general, so I wanted to take a moment to reflect on the man, the athlete, and the movement that was and is #23.

Growing up I didn't like Michael Jordan as a player or a person. Lacking a true basketball identity as a child I went through phases where I rooted for the Cavs, the Pistons and the Celtics. Michael beat all of them. Even when I got older and rooted fanatically for Shawn Kemp and the Seattle Supersonics, MJ beat them too. Add that to the fact that his face was everywhere from cereal boxes to magazine covers to bibles, my counter-culture tendencies rebelled against his ever pervasive persona. As a result, I never liked Jordan and never paid him any attention.

Consequently, I also never took the time to appreciate the greatest basketball player to ever live, and that I will always regret.

I bring this up for only one reason: Sadly, thousands of Americans feel the same way about Jordan now as I did as a child, though rather than ignore his 6 championships, 5 MVPs, 6 Finals MVPs, 10 scoring championships, 14 All-Star games, two gold medals, and unfathomable influence on basketball players, young and old alike, these otherwise decent people are ignoring his greatest contribution to all of mankind: underwear.

Now, I'm not suggesting he invented underwear, I mean he could have, I don't know. What I'm saying is, as a spokesman for Hanes, he's done more to promote underwear and specifically undershirts than any other human on the planet. Unfortunately, not everyone is listening.

And unfortunately, it seems that I work with a large percentage of those people. Everyday I see untamed chest hair sprouting out from open collars; ring after ring of pit stains under arms; unholy glimpses of pasty flesh through the little peep hole openings between two buttons; and worst of all, like two beady eyes trying to stare into my very soul, the shadowy outlines of dude nipples. Seriously, just think of two hairy, purple, dude nipples trying to reach through a thin layer of cotton, or perhaps rayon, to grab you by the eyelids and smack you in the face. It’s disgusting.

It’s all much more than I can handle, especially because a simple undershirt could contain every one of the grievances listed above, and especially the nipples. I for one can’t wear enough undershirts, primarily because my office is roughly the same temperature as the polar ice caps, circa 1905, you know, before we started to systematically destroy and heat up the planet. Thermal comfort aside, I learned long ago the virtues of modesty and decency in the office.

That is why Michael Jordan should be remembered as the greatest; not the 63 points in a single playoff game. No, it’s the title he never earned as the Defensive Player of the Universe for shielding people from that which god never intended to be shown in the workplace.