When the Garden Was Air Jordan's

Watching the legend electrify the World's Most Famous Arena from afar, and then up close. Really close.

The red No. 23 jersey was a blur on the television screen at my Hamilton College classmate’s home. A bunch of us had crammed into a car to drive off campus and watch a Knicks-Bulls tilt, and tip back a few cans of Matt, the cheap local beer from nearby Utica.

But even with the tiny screen and grainy cable connection in upstate New York – decades before streaming services and flat screens – Michael Jordan had us glued. I hadn’t watched Jordan’s famous title-clinching jumper in the 1982 NCAA championship game between his Tar Heels and Georgetown, and although he was already in his third season in the NBA, this was the first time I’d seen the Bulls star play.

You can find the Nov. 1, 1986 game on YouTube, but spoiler alert anyway: Jordan already owned the Knicks by then, years before the Bulls’ title teams and before the Knicks became relevant again. On the opening tipoff, Jordan made his presence immediately known when he skied and rejected Gerald Wilkins’ first shot. Jordan detonated for 50 points at the Garden that night, a Bulls’ 108-103 victory. Chicago’s next highest scorer? Charles Oakley – yes, that Oak – and Earl Cureton, who each had 17 points.

Being from Philly, of course I was a Sixers fan at heart – still incredible that a roster of Dr. J, Moses, Mo Cheeks and Co. only won one title, but I digress. After that game at Russ Christ’s Clinton, N.Y. home, however, I was an unabashed Jordan fan. I watched all the Bulls’ championship runs every June starting in 1991; secured a seat and a TV all to myself at an Upper East Side Irish pub during Jordan’s ’95 comeback, when he put up a double-nickel on the Knicks at MSG; and finally saw him live when I snagged Knicks-Bulls tickets in early 1998, what was supposed to be His Airness’ last NBA season.

I had cold-called a lawyer friend of my brother’s to see if he had any connections. Turns out, he did. Several hours before the Jan. 9, 1998 tipoff at the Garden, the lawyer called me and said the golden Wonka tickets would be waiting in an envelope at McHale’s, a venerable watering hole on Eighth Avenue and 46th Street.

Single at the time, I thought Knicks tickets would be the perfect solution to secure a plus one date. Nope. I couldn’t give away the second ticket… to go see Michael freakin’ Jordan. Not even the cute editorial assistant at the publishing company where I worked was up for an NBA battle of the titans.

With no takers, I fell back on my Plan B — my brother Jon. He’d been kind of annoyed that I had basically begged for some hoops tickets from his good friend (and later business partner). I told Jon I’d leave the extra ticket for him at the MSG box office if he could make it, then left work and made my way to the west side.

McHale’s was like an old speakeasy, and it was jammed with the rush hour crowd when I arrived. No way the tickets are there, I thought as I got the bartender’s attention. But sure enough, without missing a beat, he reached behind the vintage push-button cash register and produced the magic envelope while simultaneously pouring a pint from a tap. I had a shit grin on my face as I hustled to the Garden and made my way up to the nosebleeds. My brother arrived a couple minutes before tipoff. And still a little grumpy, I might add.

Jordan may have looked like an ant from our vantage point, but we were in the Garden, and watching the GOAT. No. 23 didn’t disappoint, draining 44 points. The Knicks’ Chris Childs had a chance to win it at the buzzer, but his three-pointer missed and Chicago escaped with a one-point win.

Jordan retired for a second time after that season, a second three-peat in the history books. I felt lucky I finally saw him live, and still in his prime.

Then Jordan returned. Again. Although with the Washington Wizards. What?!

His second un-retirement came in the aftermath of 9/11, and although he was still Michael Jordan, his supporting cast was nothing like Pippen, Grant, Kukoc, Kerr and Co. in the Windy City. Jordan was now with a mix of aging veterans – Charles Oakley and Christian Laettner included – and young upstarts, like No. 1 draft pick Kwame Brown.

I was only a couple months into my Daily News career when I got the nod to cover Knicks vs. Wizards at the Garden in March 2003. Ironically, I was in Washington D.C. at the time, visiting friends, when the sports editor, Leon Carter, called me with the assignment. Another News reporter had dropped out for a different story, and a sidebar person was needed to join the big names – Frank Isola, the Knicks beat writer, and Mike Lupica.

An early Amtrak train that Sunday put me back at Penn Station, right under the Garden, just before pre-game access to the players started. Luckily the News offices were just down the street on 33rd so I could dump my stuff there first.

This was going to be Jordan’s Garden swan song, so the hype was through the roof. Washington was technically still in the playoff hunt at the time, but it was asking a lot to have a 40-year-old carry those playoff expectations solely on his shoulders.

Media members still sat courtside back then – those were the days – but because this was such a huge event, and nationally televised, an auxiliary media section was set up on the baseline, too. That’s where I had a seat next to New York Times reporter Damon Hack. I’d gone from grainy TV viewing, to Garden nosebleeds, to baseline, or, a long three-pointer from Spike Lee and the rest of the VIPs front and center.

Once the game was underway, it was the old guys on the Wizards who came to play. Jordan dove on the court, busted his chin and logged almost 43 minutes. Sure, he didn’t soar like the days of old, but he drained 39 points. That was 30 more than Brown, who showed about as much enthusiasm on the court as a tax accountant.

It was still surreal to see Jordan this close up — literally on one save, Jordan came close to barreling into the media section where I was seated — and him wearing a No. 23 Wizards jersey.

After the Wizards lost 97-96, Jordan grumped in the packed press room, needling his younger teammates without using names.

“It’s very disappointing when a 40-year-old man has more desire than a 20-year-old,” Jordan fumed, “when I’m diving for a loose ball, bruising my chin and it’s not reciprocated.”

My sidebar was on Oakley, who was equally dismissive of the teammates half his age.

“A lot of guys play pretty,” said Oak. “We’re not getting it done.”

It was Jordan’s last NBA season, for real this time. The Wizards missed the playoffs, and Jordan walked off into the sunset, giving way to some guy named LeBron James, whose rookie season began that fall of 2003.

Ever since, the great debate has churned – who’s the greatest of all time, Air Jordan or King James? James is now 40 — the same age Jordan was when he chugged up and down the Garden parquet one last time — and still logging 40-plus minutes. The difference now is that James seems to be getting some help from his teammates.