Has anyone on NT successfully gotten Michael Jordan's autograph?

xx legod xx

Banned
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I'm going to a Rockets game and they are playing the Bobcats. Does this dude give autographs to some people?, cause I've heard how he was a cruel guy. I also saw Chamillionaire's video about Michael Jordan and I don't wanna get played.

Heads Up: The Vid is 9 minutes and I know some of you wouldn't watch that long of a video.
http://www.youtube.com/v/WiWZ6sLhMFM?f=videos&app=youtube_gdatahttp://www.youtube.com/v/WiWZ6sLhMFM?f=videos&app=youtube_gdata http://www.youtube.com/v/WiWZ6sLhMFM?f=videos&app=youtube_gdata
 
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lol My homeboy was there when all that went down with Chamillionaire. Said it was
x
x10000.

I've heard on several occasions that MJ is a grade-A %+@%+@% though.
 

big j 33

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I don't think he regularly has autographs sessions coming in and out of arenas, and you probably wouldn't be able to get close enough to him anyway to even ask.

Also, would he even be in Houston? I didn't think he normally travels with the team.
 

xx legod xx

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Originally Posted by Big J 33

Also, would he even be in Houston?
This was another thought of mine. I'm not even sure that he would go on the road.
But if he did come and I got close enough, I wouldn't want to get dissed on a Chamillionaire type of level.
 
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Originally Posted by Big J 33

I don't think he regularly has autographs sessions coming in and out of arenas, and you probably wouldn't be able to get close enough to him anyway to even ask.

Also, would he even be in Houston? I didn't think he normally travels with the team.
think again motha sucka.

Spoiler [+]
As I'm striding toward the wood-framed glass doors of Milano, suckingon a breath mint, it occurs to me that Christine probably won't besitting alone. She's a svelte, attractive woman; the vultures of Milanowill surely have latched on to her. I walk faster.

Standing at the entrance, scanning tables, I quickly spotChristine—eating at a round table ringed with six big men. That'sreally all I notice—that these guys are big. She's talking, laughing,oblivious to my arrival.

"Great," I mutter, wanting to spin around and split. Still, I'm anxiousto catch up. So I suck in a deep breath and beeline for her, hopingshe'll jump up, throw her arms around me, and, after a quick adieu tothe big boys, sashay off to another table with me.

"Hey, Christine," I murmur.

Christine's caught off guard. Her wide-eyed expression seems to say, Oh !!**! I forgot about you! She doesn't stand.

"This is my friend Greg," she announces timidly, flipping her hand at me. Silence.

"Hey there," I mutter, smiling meekly and nodding toward the men. No response.

One guy—a burly bald man who reminds me of Russian-mafia thugs Iencountered during a reporting stint in the former Soviet Union—shootsme a sustained "get the **** out of here" stare. Another man,curly-haired, scurries away to summon the manager.

Christine is flustered. "Grab a seat," she says, even though there are no chairs available.

Suddenly, I realize that one of the men sneering at me, the one seated to the left of Christine, is Michael Jordan.

My boyish instinct is to burst into a big smile, stick out my righthand and exclaim: "Oh my God! Michael Jordan! How the hell are you?"

But the macho man inside me wants to growl: "Dude, are you hitting on my date?"

The restaurant's manager sidles up and whispers: "Sir, if you could,please move away. The gentlemen want to conduct some business."

I look to Christine for a clue. Her eyes dart towards Jordan's, then back at mine. She grins sheepishly.

Just then, two people stand up to leave, causing a timely distraction."Look," I tell Christine, as soon as I can speak without anyonehearing. "I'm going to leave, OK? It's Michael Jordan, for crying outloud. Go for it. Have a good time."

But just as I'm turning away, Christine surprises me—and everyoneelse—by grabbing my forearm. "No!" she blurts out. "Don't go! Hold on."

She abruptly stands up and bids the group farewell, hoisting herhalf-finished bowl of shrimp ravioli and glass of champagne as sheleaves.

The waiter scrambles to react, and Christine and I head for a table ofour own. The move happens so fast I don't think to ask for a table far,far away. Big mistake.

We settle into the table right next to Jordan's—Christine snares theseat facing him as I sit to the side—and it seems all eyes are upon us.Including his.

I figure MJ and his pals will soon grow tired of ogling Christine,who's wearing a strapless minidress and knee-high black boots. After ahalf-hour, however, it becomes clear they're not going to stop.

"Jeez, I'm not that good-looking," Christine says.

Despite the distractions, we're mostly engrossed in conversation. Atone point, she's voluntarily saying she's attracted to me. "It's thechampagne," I laugh nervously. She knows I'm gaga for her.

Still, it's impossible to ignore the table of men next to us,especially that guy with the poster-boy smirk. Christine isn'tblameless, either. I notice her occasionally smiling Jordan's way. Thesecond or third time, I call her on it.

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

"I'm sorry. It's just that he keeps staring at me," she says.

I swing my head toward Jordan; he tips his head back and puffs on a cigar, pretending not to notice.

I can't believe this is happening—I'm getting dissed by one of the mostpopular icons in Washington...the country...no, the entire world! Isn'the supposed to be a role model?

While Christine is off in the ladies' room, I catch Jordan's eye for amillisecond. His upper lip curls, as though I were some rookie tryingto challenge him on the court.

When Christine gets back, she's clearly basking in the attention fromthe other table. I figured she made her choice when she left Jordan'stable. My instincts now, though, tell me she may be reconsidering. Isuggest we leave, but she says she wants to stay.

Now it's my turn to go to the bathroom. When I re-emerge, thecurly-haired man is sitting next to her in one of our unused chairs. Isit down and engage in some polite banter. He's Tim Grover, Jordan'spersonal trainer. Grover seems unimpressed by the news that my cousinLeslie is married to Wizards backup guard Hubert Davis.

So I stand up, extend my right hand, and announce, "Well, it was niceto meet you, Tim. Have a good night." He glides back to Jordan's table.

I sit there stewing. I've admired Jordan from afar for many years. Nowthat I've encountered him face to face he's...uh, he's hitting on mydate?

Before I can call for the check, the men at Jordan's table rise toleave, hovering over us and fluffing their expensive outerwear.

A tall bald man in a full-length white cashmere coat remains behind,mumbling, "See you soon" to Jordan and the others as they shuffle out.He takes a seat at the bar, orders a drink, and swivels around in hisstool so he faces my side.

Minutes later, Christine and I get up to go. As I take a few stepsahead of her to grab the door, the man in the cashmere coat slipsbehind me. When I turn around, he's whispering in her ear, handing hera note of some sort. Christine quickly grabs it and stuffs it in herpocket. The man scurries away.

"Hey, what was that he handed you?" I ask Christine, acting amused.

"Oh, you mean this?" she says, playfully handing me a card adorned withthe Wizards logo. It's the card of Fred Whitfield, identified as a"legal counsel" for the team.

"What did he say to you?" I ask, bravely handing the card back.

"Ummm...he said, ‘When that guy drops you off, call this phone numberand we'll send the limo to pick you up,'" Christine responds.

"Really? Wow. Are you going to call?"

"I don't know yet," she replies.

Christine and I walk outside into the freezing night, where a black,chrome-trimmed limo is idling out front, warm and cozy. We climb intomy nearby car, a dented Ford Taurus with frost bits dotting thewindshield.

"Brrrr!" Christine chirps, rubbing her upper arms and exhaling thin clouds of steam.

I drive her to her hotel. There, Christine surprisingly lays one on me,a long, slow kiss that, after it ends a minute or three later, stirs meto inquire whether I should see her upstairs.

"No, it's late, and I have to get up early," she says. My car clock reads 1:24 a.m.

She jumps out and I watch her walk down the long corridor of the FourSeasons before driving away, fighting off the urge to park nearby andsee if the limo cruises up.

The next afternoon, unable to contain my curiosity, I call Christineand ask point blank: "What happened after I dropped you off?"

"Now, Greg, what kind of a woman do you think I am?" she says, laughing.

There's a brief, awkward pause before she pipes up again.

"What, do you think I'd actually go hook up with him?"

I want to believe Christine, but it's difficult, especially after shetells me that she's suddenly decided to extend her stay in D.C. a fewdays for reasons other than work—and will be busy until Friday.

Now I'm scrambling to check my Wizards schedule. Yep, the team is in town—until Friday, when it departs for Milwaukee.

Later, Christine informs me she spent part of her "mini-vacation"gallivanting about Washington with the Jordan gang. She swears it wasjust tea, dinner, and the like.

"He's a very nice man," Christine alleges.

"Do you think he was nice to me?" I snap back.

"I guess not," she concedes.

I haven't gone out with Christine again, although we still keep in minimal touch.

In my jilted eyes, Jordan's a role model all right—a role model forspoiled athletes who think they and their hangers-on can run roughshodover anyone. He has to dominate, even in casual social situations. Andhe's remarkably thorough about it. At Cafe Milano, when I received thebill, I couldn't help noticing that the ravioli and champagne Christinehad picked up at Jordan's table had been transferred to my tab. CP
 
T

trelvis tha thrilla

Guest
I thought it happened in Houston during All-Star weekend, no?
 
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Man, considering I'd probably have Jordans on when that happened.

I'd take them $%#+$ off and leave them right in front of him.
 
7,385
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Man, considering I'd probably have Jordans on when that happened.

I'd take them $%@*$ off and leave them right in front of him.
 
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i never understood the fuss over getting a person's signature. if i ever wanted anything from someone that was a celeb or famous, it would be for them to share a few words with me.
 
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Ive got MJs autograph a couple of times at a charity golf tourney its Pittsburgh. It was for Mario Lemiuex(sp) charity to raise money for cancer was pretty cool and a fairly decent autograph signer for who he is. Heard he only signs there and at a golf tourney in the Bahamas. Also the Pitt. event is now closed to the public and he would mostly sign in the kid section which I believe was 14 and under.
 
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at that story. That guy is silly for not leaving her there when he first arrived. He knew what was going down. SIMP!
 
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I'D love to get him to sign a ball and then I'd punt that ++## as far as I could in front of him. #*!% Jordan


Go knicks ........
 
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IF he went to Houston, & IF you could get near him, you probably would end up getting rejected... He's a pretty bad signer.

at the vid posted though. I remember seeing that awhile back.
 
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