IN THE DAYS HERE RIGHT AFTER 9/11, many of us in the East Village went to bars every night. You could still taste the destruction in the air and you didn’t wait till after your third pint to ask for a shot, you got one as soon as you sat down. You talked to strangers, your eyes watered. You watched CNN on all the screens. Regular programming was suspended. But later in the week you heard ESPN was coming back on and you were there in the bar to see it come on and when you looked up to see what they’d started with, they were showing highlights in slow motion of Michael Jordan and maybe I Believe I Can Fly was playing in the background. What you knew the network was showing him for and what we could see clearly even through our wet eyes was that he was the best embodiment of what we alone still had.
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