We watched him glide across our television screens like he was on wires, a gangly rookie from North Carolina with a million dollar smile and a pull-up jumper that was unstoppable. We stared, perpetually slack-jawed, as he performed feats of aerobatic amazement that made Isaac Newton roll over in his grave.
Today, we stared, equally as incredulously, as Michael Jordan announced his retirement from basketball. He had nothing more to prove, he said, and he was hanging it up.
Great athletes all want to go out on top, but few ever do. They're all forced out by injuries and their own inability to keep pace with the games they once dominated.
Jordan went out -- assuming he actually stays out -- as the reigning sovereign of slam, the sultan of swish, the Buddha of basketball.
The legend of Michael Jordan -- and this is probably not the last chapter -- is like nothing sport has ever seen. Jordan transcends sports and his face is one of the world's most recognizable visages.
Since Jordan first started sticking out the World's Most Famous Tongue and won the Rookie of the Year Award in 1985, the legend grew on a celluloid trail of commercials and highlight films. The Most Valuable Player Awards were soon followed by the Championship Trophies -- Michael Jordan and the Bulls.
The 1992 Olympics confirmed Jordan's position as the greatest and most popular athlete to ever break a sweat.
It was there that a Japanese journalist posed the question, "Mr. Jordan, how does it feel to be God?"
The 1993 National Basketball Association Finals -- during which he carried the Bulls to a third straight Championship with the best individual performance in finals history -- further solidified his position as the greatest player to ever hit the hardwood.
In an age when athletes come complete with built-in tarnish, Jordan was the ultimate role model and helped make basketball the nation's most popular sport among children.
The search for the next Joe DiMaggio had led America to the basketball court.
Droves of American youth wanted to "Be Like Mike" -- from the Nike Airs on up.
But there was rot festering beneath the gilded veneer. Gambling allegations, which he had escaped at several points during his career, suddenly surfaced again during last year's NBA Finals. After denying he bet more than $1 million on golf games, Jordan gave the press the silent treatment while averaging 41 points over the six-game series.
Then, over the summer, Jordan's father -- his inspiration, his best friend -- was murdered. At a time when Jordan needed space, his public smothered him. He became a prisoner of the culture that created and, ultimately, killed him.
In his most recent Nike commercial, Jordan pondered life without stardom.
"What if my name wasn't in lights," Jordan says while practicing free throws in an empty gym. "What if my face wasn't on the T.V. every other second? What if there wasn't a crowd around every corner? What if I was just a basketball player? Can you imagine it? I can."
Apparently so.
