Back in the day in Chicago,

I sat courtside for Jordan's revenge game, and stole wine from Oprah.

Every time in Chicago is a good time, but one of my best was in the early 90s with a hot rich guy named Charles S. who surprised me with tenth row tickets to: Game Three of the 1993 Knicks vs. Bulls, Eastern Conference Semi-Finals, at the Old Chicago Stadium.

He and I had recently hooked up in Vegas, and I was super-excited when he called to invite me for a surprise weekend getaway.

A ticket had been issued in my name at the United counter inside Denver's original Stapleton Airport, and like a straight up Jackie Collins heroine, I settled into first class, ready for a scintillating time in the Windy City.

A driver waited at O'Hare to take me to the Fairmont Hotel, where Charles and I spent the next two days having sex in the hotel's completely white Penthouse Suite, whenever we weren't out exploring.

• Dinner at the original 'Rosebud' Italian steakhouse, where (just for fun) we sent a round of drinks to strange third-party candidate Ross Perot, who happened to be seated in the next alcove over.
  

• Walking the streets very late, past incredible public art by Picasso, Miro, and Chagall; and then making out beneath Calder's giant metal 'Flamingo' sculpture.
  

• Pressed together inside a tight crowd at legendary blues club Kingston Mines, feeling young, beautiful, and invincible, transported to another time and dimension by the soulful power of music.

Of course, the absolute highlight of the trip was on the walk back from breakfast, when Charles pulled out a set of shiny silver tickets from his breast pocket, and announced he had another surprise for me.

I still can't believe I got to see His actual Airness live on the court, inside the old crumbling Chicago Stadium, let alone in an Eastern Conference Semi-Final playoff game against the Knicks (what?!) but there I was, seated not far from the 'Kid' half of Kid-n-Play, as Jordan came out with a huge chip on his shoulder, and immediately hit a long three-pointer from nearly halfcourt.

He was pissed because the Knicks were up in the series 2-0, and Game Two in New York had not gone well. The media blamed his all-night gambling in Atlantic City for the loss, and had been highlighting John Starks dunking on him ever since.

*** SIDE NOTE: There really is no tougher, finer athlete than a Professional Basketball Player, considering the specific skills they access on a dime: dribbling, shooting, blocking, passing, stealing, reading defense, setting screens. Besides the ridiculous ball-handling, there's the gravity-defying, superhuman windmill slam dunks, and cross-court no-look passes. In the best physical shape compared to any other pro athlete; basketballers run up and down the court in multiple games per week, on and off the road from October to at least April, matched up against opponents like Lebron and Yanis, unafraid to take the charge. They switch from offense to defense in a step, and must be constantly tracking the shot clock before hitting buzzer-beating threes.

Oh, and did I mention, they don't wear any pads or helmets?

(Way tougher than football... just sayin')

***

In the end, the Bulls beat the Knicks, 103-83, and I gratefully witnessed one of the most historic matchups of the sport, played (arguably) by the greatest player of all time.

***

Back in the day in Chicago, in the early 2000s, I found myself partying on Division & Rush with a very good friend from college, Matt Holcomb, (a.k.a. Hulky) and a guy he'd gone to high school with named Amon.

Supposedly, Amon had briefly hooked up with Sandra Bullock, when he'd been a production assistant on a movie she was in, (which seemed plausible considering his Michael Franti/Lenny Kravitz good looks) but now he was flipping properties for a private financial group.

Standing around waiting for drinks at the bar, Amon nonchalantly asked if we wanted to check out a nearby restaurant that had recently closed, and was in the process of being flipped.

Stepping inside Biggs Steakhouse and Wine Cellar, (located inside Biggs Mansion) felt like the place had just suddenly been abandon, with dried up food and dirty dishes in bus tubs, and unused tables still elegantly set. Signed black and white photographs of celebrities who'd once eaten there lined the walls, and at the top of the grand stairway in an office, random papers and stuff was scattered all over the floor, including a few gold records from the band, (Hard to Say I'm Sorry) Chicago.

The weirdly empty, creepy old mansion was unsettling, until Amon explained that the entire contents of the wine cellar had been purchased by Oprah Winfrey, sight unseen, and was scheduled to be picked up and delivered to her farm in Indiana the following Tuesday.

Since no inventory would ever be counted, Amon said we could:

Drink anything we wanted without consequence!

Flipping directly to the last page of the extensive wine book, we chose the most expensive bottles of Jouet, and Dom Perignon, but then had to go find them in the scary dark basement.

For hours we sat in a booth over the back kitchen stairs, playing blackjack, listening for haunted footsteps, and getting drunk on Oprah's private reserve without her even knowing.

Eventually we'd go to The Weiners Circle on the North side for late night greasy deliciousness, and Amon would show how to give and take abuse from the hilarious mama-jamas behind the counter.

The scene was always crazy packed, fronted at all times by over fifty drunks clamoring to catch the attention of the women, who would usually scoff and mock whatever the drunks wanted.

Amon liked to wave his arms and yell:

"Gimme' a chocolate shake!!!"

And if he was lucky the counter girl would pull up her shirt and give him a good boob shake before taking his order.

***

I love Chicago... the Gold Coast, Magnificent Mile, Greek Town, South Side .... all of it, with it's edgy criminal history and spectacular architecture, nestled right up against the clear blue expanse of Lake Michigan. The people are always down for a good time, the food is extra delicious, and there's a general coolness and toughness about the place.

Therefore, I propose a new nickname for the Windy City, a.k.a. Chi-Town, I suggest:

The Cog

(In recognition of Chicago being such an important city in the center of the country, like a cog in the wheel of America)

I'm sure it's gonna' catch on... .Right?

.