I hope you’ll believe me when I say
I thought I wanted to see Michael play.
I love the guy; I’m his biggest fan.
What else can I say, he’s my man.
But on my way to the park I thought, “I’m a son of a gun.
Watching him play baseball won’t be any fun.”
On the basketball court he stands tall and proud,
Clearly above the rest of the crowd.
But on the baseball diamond, at least in my eyes,
He’s just another one of the guys.
I’m sorry he left the Bulls, but I’m not bitter,
Although I wish he were more than a .202 hitter.
Michael, I know you march to a different drummer,
And I hope you have a pleasant summer,
But get the heck out of Dodge when the season ends.
Hustle back to Chicago and make amends.
Because you and the Bulls must mightily strive,
Not for four in a row, but for four out of five.
Written May 31, 1994