Da Bullshit!

Back in the day, my dad used to plead with me to cut back on watching the Chicago Bulls. There wasn't a single game on TV that I ever missed, and he thought this was a bit obsessive for a boy he was busy grooming to be a doctor. "Don't watch Da Bull too much," he warned me. "They distract from studying, so you can be doctor!"

But I never listened to him. How could I? The Bulls were winning championships left and right, and they had the greatest player of all time: Michael Jordan. I couldn't not watch.

When I was 12 years old, I went to celebrate the three-peat at Grant Park with my uncle, my cousin, my sister, and about a quarter of a million other people. Michael Jordan went up to the microphone to say the Bulls were going to go for another title next year, much to the crowd's approval.

And I was just in complete awe. I was only 100 feet away from The Greatest Ever. I was breathing the same air he was breathing. The crowd roared in applause as Jordan raised the trophy in the air and that's when I shuddered for a good twenty seconds.

Little 12 year old Petey had just experienced his first orgasm.

In high school, I got a B in Honors Physics, which for whatever reason pissed my dad off more than the fact that I got a B in Driver's Ed. Consumed with rage, he waved my report card in my face and said: "I TOLD YOU! I told you not to watch Da Bull, and you still watch Da Bull! Da Bullshit! You get B in motherFUCKING Honors Physic, how da FUCK you be doctor now? Northwestern won't take you!"

My dad paced around the room some more and said, "You go to doctor's office, they have diploma on wall, not Michael Jordan poster! I hope he die! I HOPE MICHAEL JORDAN DIE SO YOU CAN STUDY!"

I didn't quite get in to Northwestern. Instead, I went to Northern. Northern Illinois.

And even when Jordan and others left, even when the Bulls spent year after stinking year of losing, I remained a faithful follower. Even when 90% of Chicago's fairweather fans stopped caring in a wanton act of betrayal, I continued watching them play. I don't watch every single game like I used to and I don't feel like puking anymore when they lose, but I still keep up, like every true fan should. And today, 7 years after their last playoff appearance, the Bulls return to where they belong. Let the obsession (and orgasms) resume.