Asses To Kick

Wright Thompson: CHARLOTTE, N.C. — Five weeks before his 50th birthday, Michael Jordan sits behind his desk, overlooking a parking garage in downtown Charlotte. The cell phone in front of him buzzes with potential trades and league proposals about placing ads on jerseys. A rival wants his best players and wants to give him nothing in return. Jordan bristles. He holds a Cuban cigar in his hand. Smoking is allowed.

“Well, s—, being as I own the building,” he says, laughing.

3 thoughts on “Asses To Kick

  1. I don’t think I’ve watched a basketball game since I was at Carolina in 1993. I didn’t know anything about Jordan’s gambling, or that he owned a basketball team. (I remember his father’s murder well, though. I was one of the reporters standing outside the driveway, watching people leave flowers at the gate.) This story drew me through every paragraph. Just superb.
    Wright, what was Michael Jordan’s feedback on it? Would you have liked to know more about his relationship with his grown children?
    The most insightful section, I thought, was the part about Tom Brady/Joe Montana & what time does to immortality.

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