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Michael Jordan Is No Hero
I remember growing up
playing basketball in my backyard one-on-one with Michael Jordan. My dumb ass would always let him win because he was god to to me. You can never defy God. MJ was my world: I had the shoes, the calendar, and ate my Wheaties everyday. I was a kid who fell for the system. A small Persian kid who grew up on Magic but was stolen by Jordan. My point is, as children we have idols. They push us to achieve and to dream. My dreams got me here…wherever here is. You feel me?
In 2005, I met my God…my idol, Michael Jordan, in Salt Lake City at another Golf Celebrity Tournament. I wasn’t Nik Richie, I was Hooman Karamian, the OC brat living in Scottsdale trying to make ends meet. I could barely afford the flight. But I had a VIP pass given to me by my first wife who busted her ass to throw a party for these mythical athletes/celebs.
Judy Eddy/WENN
I stood there next to Michael Jordan, staring at him wondering what the fukk do I say. I had my moment that night. My hero stood there, shook my hand, and asked me something that changed my world. He looked down on me and asked me “Can I fukk your wife?” and I laughed thinking it was a funny joke. The thing was he wasn’t kidding. Yes, MJ had been drinking, but he was 100% serious. He then said, “Let me know.” My heart dropped and that was it. As mad as I was at my hero I was more mad at myself for worshipping something that was never real.
They say there are moments in your life that scar your mind. This was a strike in my mindset, a shift in trust. The worst people in this world are the ones on top.
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