being from Rockford,
which is near Chicago,
and while I loved Michael Jordan
just like every 90s kid,
the minute the new Orlando Magic
drafted Shaquille O'neal,
I was hooked
I was never proud to be from Orlando,
hell, I still tell people I'm from NYC,
but I was proud to be a Magic fan,
and proud my "city,"
which was more famous for the Mouse House,
had a major sports franchise.
I am part of a generation
of kids—now adults—who were borne
of transplant parents
from places like Chicago and NYC,
who have loved the Magic
since the beginning.
Being an underdog
comes with a sense of pride,
and of course a chip
on your shoulder,
and I have this beatific small market chip,
allowing me to be part of something,
a community, a big heartbeat.
I will finish this poem
when the Magic win their first chip,
and mention Penny and Lil' Penny,
and Nick Anderson's missed free throws,
the paper poll that lost us Shaq,
Tracy McGrady, Grant Hill's ankle,
and the Tim Duncan plane rumor,
and Stuff and a bunch of other stuff.