Bulls Bard Volume I: The Final Chapter

Chicago Bulls basketball is my religion. Let me be clear--I do not worship a group of living men as though they are Gods. I do, however, look to my city and its teams as a means to connect to something larger than myself--especially since life has taken me so far away from home. Growing up in an Atheist/Jewish household, religion was never about God or belief systems. Religion in my family was about traditions and rituals and spending time together--sneaking sips of too-sweet wine, stifling laughter, sitting stiller than we wanted to, singing while we wanted to run. God always seemed like little more than a plot device to explain away the inexplicable in the heavily-moral fables told to us by dim-eyed adults, through thick Eastern-European accents. He was the grouchy amusement park owner befuddling Scooby and the gang. I don’t mean to be irreverent or offensive here; I only mean to portray my experience honestly. My spiritual awakening came while watching Michael Jordan play basketball. That shit was real. And I was a part of it. The whole city rode on his shoulders. Michael could fly--and we could all fly with him. This is how I first understood how it felt to connect to something larger--to be a part of something special. Magical. Religious. I have flirted with orthodoxy ever since. Religion in my home still taking the shape of traditions and rituals and spending time together. No longer hiding the wine, stifling the laughter, sitting too still. Now, I want to try to look at this game--so rich with stories and moments and meaning and truth--in a new way. I want to interact with the games--refine them down to a point of light--dig out some meaning beyond the surface. Consider these poems private reflections. Or meditations. Or prayers. I am the Bulls Bard. And this is my Book of Verses.