Sooner or later our heroes let us down. For me it happened in Cabo San Lucas in March of 2007. I was on senior Spring Break with 50 of my closest Vanderbilt friends.
Inside is a blur of flashing lights and sweaty undergrads, but at some point my friend Nicole points across the bar and says, Oh my god. It's Michael Jordan.
And it really is Michael Jordan. He's wearing his signature gold hoop and an Air Jordan shirt. He's also surrounded by college girls. Nicole and I decide we have to meet him. Uno tequila shot later and we are following (stalking) him around the bar. Then something awful happens.
Michael Jordan starts making out with a girl right in front of us. She can't be more than 22 years old. At that time, Jordan was 43 and had been married for 17 years to the mother of his three children. (They would file for divorce 9 months later.) It was like finding out your parents still have sex.
Just not with each other.
Nicole and I, naively disappointed, return to our friends on the other side of the bar. In hindsight, I was more upset that he was wearing his own line of apparel.
Michael Jordan doesn't care though. Rumor has it he took home a Vanderbilt Pi Phi later that night. I'll leave you with this thought. Somewhere there is a guy blissfully unaware that his girlfriend has slept with arguably the greatest athlete of our time.
Poor bastard.
