Blogandt!

You know what I like? I like airports. I like traveling. I like sitting on airplanes. I like airport food, rental cars, and hotels. I like all of it. I don’t even mind delays. What I don’t like is hearing people complain about flying. Because when you’re flying, you’re going somewhere very, very fast, and that’s the whole point. The point is not to have a comfortable seat, or great food or pretty much anything besides fast transport between point A and B. So far, I’ve never had a flight take off and land in the same spot, so to me I view flying with a 100 percent success rate.

And c’mon, people, who is this mythical fat guy who seems to appear on every flight except mine? He is an elusive beast, one I hear about in stories yet never really see, as if he’s some kind of alien or Bigfoot. To listen to everyone else, I assume Michael Moore is just spending his money bouncing (with a thud) from airport to airport like Leonardo DeCaprio in Catch Me if You Can. Yup, Michael Moored...

I generally shy away from subjects such as this, so I’ll just state the facts. Here we go.

On Thursday night I checked into my hotel in Anaheim, and relieved myself after a fine day of drive-thru fast food. The next morning I realized that my final flush didn’t really take, and there was some stuff left in there. So I flushed again, and again no dice. We’ve got problems.

With ace timing, house keeping then knocked on the door. I figured they would handle it, so I grabbed my running shorts and went for a jog while the room got a cleaning. I ran for awhile while waiting for her to clean—I knew she needed some extra time. After 35 minutes I circled past the room and saw her cart still out in front of the room. So I circled back and kept on running. Five minutes later and I had now run for 40 minutes, and the cart was still there. 45 minutes. Still there! It was good to get such a long run in, but I had a meeting scheduled that day and I really needed to get going. Finally...

In 1995, Michael Jordan's comeback with the Chicago Bulls ended at the hands of the Orlando Magic, who wiped the floor with the #45 jersey-wearing MJ, who was still coming back from a stint at playing baseball. We've seen this before.

This just pissed Jordan off, so he spent the summer reinventing and reestablishing himself as a basketball player. The Bulls picked up the insane Dennis Rodman, and ripped off the greatest single-season win record in the history of the NBA. But O-Town still loomed in the playoffs. The Bulls had no one to contend with Shaq (except for a free throw line). A collision course was set. An epic battle between the best 1-2 punch of the past--Jordan and Pipped--versus the best of the future, in Shaq and Penny.

Then the Bulls swept the Magic. 4-0. Over and done. A week later, during the NBA Finals, Bob Costas said words I will never forget: "Perhaps the only shame in this amazing Bulls season is that they didn't have another great team to measure...