Dear MJ,

I watched the first game of the NBA Finals Wednesday night, and I must say, it just wasn't right. Sure, the hoopla was there, but something was definitely missing.

I know what was missing. That's why I'm writing this. You were missing, MJ. No bald dome. No tongue. No "Be like Mike" Gatorade commercials. No chalking your hands in front of the scorers' bench. No Spike Lee hounding you from the front row. No ... well, you get the picture.

You see, MJ, watching the finals without you is liking eating soup beans without cornbread. Driving a car without gas. Gene Simmons and KISS without makeup. It's just not the same.

I've watched the Tim Duncan show, and, yeah, he got game, but we need an experienced leader. Someone who can carry this ill-tattered, 50-game-a-season league on his shoulders. We need the guy who encouraged us to shave our domes bald, drink Gatorade and eat Wheaties. MJ, we need you.

So right now I speak for all the Mars Blackmons in the world. MJ, can you give it one more go-round?

Phil just took a five-year, $30 million dollar job with the Lakers. Dennis said he'd play for Jackson again. Scottie's not happy in Rocket-land. What do you say?

Think about it: the greatest team ever assembled, outside of the 1992 Olympic Dream Team, of course. But, you, Kobe, Shaq, Glenn Rice, and see if you can round up Scottie and the Worm, too. All of you on the same team. Dream Team every night. That's what we need to get the fans back in this thing.

That 50-game season, if you want to call it a season, really hurt the NBA. That's why we need you, MJ. Who else could bring the league back like you could? You're the most recognizable athlete on the face of the earth. You know they love you in Chi-town. They love you in Houston. They love you in Cleveland. And, yeah, we still watch that reel of you and your shot over Craig Ehlo. Why wouldn't we?

Believe it or not, they love you in New York. Heck, they love you every night you step on the court. You gave us everything you had for 13 seasons. You gave us a double-nickle against the Knicks. Remember those 63 incredible points against Larry and the Celtics? Or that time when all you could do was shrug your shoulders out in Portland. And hey, don't forget the 1988 slam dunk contest. And you remember ... well, see what I mean? You got game like Bill Gates got money.

And we all know you can still do it. But I know what you're thinking. Retired. Home with the wife and kids. No more media riding your jock. But there's something I know, too. I know you're the greatest competitor to ever live. And I also know, without a doubt, that somewhere deep down inside you miss it. Basketball for you is like peanut butter is to jelly, they were made for each other.

I know it's pretty far-fetched, and that you had to pass the torch someday, but isn't fun to sit around and dream about? In those 13 wonderful seasons you gave us someone to look up to. Someone to model our game after. A pretty face to slap on a cereal box. But most importantly you, almost single-handedly, with a little help from Magic and Larry, made the NBA what it is today. Heck, even Kobe looks up to you.

So for all of us Mars Blackmons out here, and all those 10-year old wannabe MJs hooping and drinking Gatorade on a blacktop somewhere, could you at least think about it?

But if not, we'll always have the memories. From the shot versus G'town in '82 to last year's game-winner against these overaged, underachieving Jazz, we'll have the memories.

I have to admit, I'll probably watch Game 2 of the finals tonight. And, I'll probably cheer for the Lakers next year, for Phil, anyway. At least we've still got $100-million contracts, 18-year old rookies and, of course, those Knicks. [[In-content Ad]]