I can look in the mirror and see what old looks like. I don’t need to look at Michael Jordan’s face and see the years walking with a skip in their step.
Watching him age is hard for me. I don’t know why exactly. Something about eternal youth, I guess. His, not mine. In my mind, he’s frozen in time, hanging high in the air, ball about to be transferred from one hand to the other.
Jordan is in town for a trial, and I know I’m supposed to be paying attention to the dispute in federal court over his name and image. Some interesting information has come out, including the fact that he won’t endorse any product for less than $10 million. A sports economist says Jordan makes more money annually as an endorser in retirement than he did as an active player.
And yet, I find myself staring at the photos and the TV news clips of him. Time doesn’t care that he is considered the greatest basketball player of all time. Time doesn’t care that he is ridiculously wealthy. It just cares that he’s 52.
We’re in for a football season of nostalgia. This is the 30-year anniversary of the 1985 Bears, which means it has been five years since the 25-year anniversary of the 1985 Bears. A lot of the photos on suntimes.com from that Super Bowl year are in black and white, giving it a yesteryear feel. The only way it could feel more old-timey is if the photos were in sepia tones. It’s not surprising to see some of those players today looking very much their years.
Jordan’s era with the Bulls seems fresher, probably because it spanned six titles and ended in 1998. But Jordan was 23 in 1985, in the same generational ballpark as many of the ’85 Bears.
Expecting him to stay young forever makes no sense. But here I am, wincing.
