If Michael Jordan suddenly showed up at your house to hang out, it’s tough to think of any scenario in which you’d ask him to leave.
He could spill his drink on your nice rug, or get popcorn butter all over your TV remotes. (“No matter. It’s a delight to clean up your messes, sir.”)
He could spin your pug on his finger like a basketball and then throw it in the trash can. (“How cool is that? The Michael Jordan, dunking MY dog!”)
He could scrawl cuss words on your grandma’s face, or cyberbully the heck out of your niece. (“It is their privilege to be humiliated by you, sir.”)
He could straight-up set your living room on fire and laugh maniacally as all of your heirlooms burned, and you’d still be like, “I am so honored to have you committing arson in my house.”
You’d assume that pretty much everyone would extend him that same level of respect, but nope.
Earlier this week, La Gorce Country Club in Miami Beach BANNED Jordan from ever returning to its privileged greens. His crime? Wearing cargo shorts, which violated their Bermuda-shorts-only dress code.
To clarify, his shorts had two more pockets than the country club would have preferred, so instead of responding with a modicum of maturity or lenience, they went ahead and blacklisted one of the most celebrated humans to ever breathe oxygen. If that’s how they react to cargo shorts, what’d be a proportional punishment for one of Dennis Rodman’s get-ups? Ten years in Guantanamo?
As we’ve learned throughout the years, expecting Michael Jordan to dress competently is like expecting a sack of medical waste to successfully manage an Applebee’s -- it just can’t possibly happen. Michael Jordan is the Michael Jordan of not understanding how clothes work. His sartorial ineptitude exceeds his athletic gifts by a factor of 10. You just can’t fault him for that.
Although to be fair, looking at the La Gorce website, there’s a chance the club might be a little out of touch with reality. Promising “Fun and Games for the Pleasure-Bent,” the site name-drops all of the high-profile celebs who’ve played its course: Jack Dempsey, Harvey Firestone, Gar Wood, Babe Zaharias. You know, the kind of stars your great-grandparents idolized before they idolized Michael Jordan.
But I get it. Rich dudes get a rise out of exclusivity, so maybe shutting down MJ is some sort of hyper-elite bragging right for them. But what more exclusive company can you keep than A GUY WHO CAN TURN INTO A LOONEY TUNE? Harvey Firestone never pick-and-rolled with Elmer Fudd.
There’s just no excuse, guys. MJ is ROYALTY. I can think of six instances when it might -- just might -- be OK to give Jordan the cold shoulder, but even then, it’d still feel a little blasphemous:
• If he’s chasing the beer cart girls with a smallpox-infested blanket.
• If he turns out to be not Michael Jordan at all but a drunk Kevin Hart on stilts.
• If being at the country club poses an immediate threat to his safety (e.g., street hoodlums are there pressuring people into trying cigarettes, pot, or other deadly street drugs).
• If he’s loudly blathering about what happens in Season 2 of “Breaking Bad” and you’re still working on Season 1.
• If he has an atomic bomb for some reason.
• If he is offending other guests by handing out free Bobcats tickets.
Otherwise, the aggression will not stand.