Then and Now: A Personal Account of the 1991 NBA Finals

Diamond Bar, California: June 5, 1991. The boy finally settles down, finding a place on the floor just a few feet away from the living room television. His father gently picks him up and moves him a couple of steps back, lest his eyes become crossed. The opening tip-off is just a few moments away. The boy's mother, yells out a question she knows the answer to: "Who are you rooting for, son?" "Chicago! Bulls! Michael Jordan!" Mother, father, and aunt have a laugh as the boy raises his arms in ecstasy. The uncle only smiles, as he's a lifelong Lakers fan. The boy's eyes sparkle as No. 23 runs around the court, takes the ball in his hand and leads the men in white jerseys. For every camera shot of his hero, they alternate with the man in the purple jersey, with the same numbers as No. 23, only backwards. "Who's that, daddy?" the boy asks. "That's Magic Johnson, kid." The uncle interjects, filling the air with his booming voice, almost commanding respect and expecting an apology, even if it is ... (link)