On Friday night in Springfield, Mass., the greatest athlete of my lifetime will be inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame.

In the last 25 years, Michael Jeffrey Jordan has done more for one sport (outside of Tiger Woods) than any other athlete.

He, along with Magic and Bird, made the NBA "mainstream." He showed that black males could be marketed effectively. He had a tireless work ethic. He was cold-blooded. He won. A lot.

My affection for Jordan began at an odd time. It was the spring of 1989. I was 8 years old and the Chicago Bulls had been pitted against the Bad Boy Detroit Pistons in one of the most physical playoff series on record. Each time Jordan would drive to the cup, somebody (Rodman, Salley, Laimbeer) would knock him to the crowd. My cousin, who I watched all the games with, would bust out laughing when Jordan would start wincing in pain (that pain is said to have spawned the "Jordan Rules" and paved the way for the "Superstar Call.").

"What's so funny about that," I'd ask.

"(Jordan) thinks he's the @#%$. He needs to be knocked on his @*&," she answered.

"Well, that's not what basketball is. And based on your, and the crowd at the stadium's reaction, he must be really, REALLY good. I don't think you'd be so excited if that was Will Perdue on the ground."

"Get outta here, boy," she ordered.

I was hooked after that.

I read up on Jordan. So much to the point that I am now a walking Michael Jordan encyclopedia.

I had my mom buy me an "I wanna be like Mike" T-shirt.

I had an aunt buy me a red, replica "Bulls 23" jersey for Christmas one year.

I drank Citrus Cooler Gatorade every day for a two-year period.

I cried like Adam Morrison the day, in October 1993, Jordan announced his first retirement.

I refuted any argument that the retirement was an 18-month suspension for gambling (I've since backed down on that stance).

I compiled a collection of at least 150 Jordan cards.

At one point, I had almost every Bulls game from 1996-98 on VHS. Had I been smart enough to keep those tapes, I would have worn the DVDs out by now.

I hated the comeback with the Wizards for one reason and one reason alone: not even Mark Twain could have written a better ending than the one in '98 in Utah.

All basketball fans, even those who despised Jordan, have more than a couple of memories of the 6'6" guard from North Carolina. So at some point this weekend, pay homage to the Greatest Of All Time. Buy "Come Fly With Me" off Amazon. com. Watch a couple of the hundred hours of programming NBATV is showing this week. Drink a Citrus Cooler Gatorade. Sing the song from that silly commercial.

"Sometimes I dream..."