Finally, the divorce is final. Not Michael and Juanita Jordan, but Michael and the city of Chicago.

There'll be a fond farewell party Friday, memories of wonderful past times, perhaps some tears of joy and sadness. Everyone will take a moment to remember when they first fell in love, when he had hair and everyone had a little Air in their step. It was a city of Big Sneakers then. But this wonderful marriage of the City of Big Shoulders and a Man With The Wagging Tongue was really over years ago. As in most of these things, they've only stayed together for the sake of everyone else.

Michael Jordan plays his final NBA game in Chicago on Friday when his Washington Wizards visit the Chicago Bulls for the final time this season. Since the playoffs for the Bulls seem as likely as Jordan winning a dunk contest, it would be the final time the teams meet this season. And if Jordan is to be believed -- yes, a big if in these retirement promises -- he will leave the NBA as a player for good after this season and return to being an executive with the Wizards. Which means Chicago sees Jordan for the last time in uniform Friday.

	Michael Jordan will get one more time to say goodbye to Bulls fans at the United Center.

There'll be a huge ovation, of course, and it'll be appropriate enough. It will always be argued, but one thing is certain: There never has been a better or more successful sports figure in Chicago's history. Perhaps Jordan is the best ever to play in the NBA. Few doubt it now. In 20 years, some will question that. But it's unlikely there'll ever be a professional athlete who has done more for Chicago.

Once Chicago was known mostly for its wind, its cold, its mob and its crooked politicians.

That's how good Jordan was. He changed the world perception of a great city. No longer was Al Capone or Richard Daley most synonymous with Chicago. It was Michael Jordan, and the championship Chicago Bulls. A sports dynasty for Chicago. That's something that has never even been considered. Chicago's idea of a dynasty was one of its teams in first place at the All-Star break.

The Chicago Cubs have gone the longest in Major League Baseball without winning a World Series. The cross-town White Sox haven't won one in more than 80 years. The hockey Chicago Blackhawks haven't won a title in 40 years. The Chicago Bears won a Super Bowl in 1986 and never have returned. They hadn't been in a championship game before that for more than two decades. Chicago doesn't have a parade route. It is known as the Second City. It can't even come in first in slogans.

But Jordan changed all that. It took a while, some seven years, but he turned Chicago into a city of winners for almost a decade, between retirements, of course. But the heck with the details. A city that considered putting "Wait 'til Next Year" on its license plates became the envy of millions.

Some who know Chicago call it the biggest little small town in the world, sort of a metropolitan Mayberry. Chicagoans pride themselves on rugged Midwestern values like work ethic, loyalty and owning a heavy coat and goulashes. A fancy night out usually involves a six-pack and a bowling ball.

Which is why the marriage got in trouble. Chicago is one of those "with us or against us" places, and it caused considerable ambivalence when Jordan left to join the Wizards. Many felt Jordan was pushed out by owner Jerry Reinsdorf and general manager Jerry Krause, that Phil Jackson would have stayed if not for the two of them, and Jordan would have and Scottie Pippen as well.

But that was the grief taking over, the refusal to accept the loss of something so dear, for spring in Chicago meaning more than hoping it doesn't snow on Opening Day at Wrigley Field. It was over, and Jordan said it was, saying that he'd never play for anyone but Jackson and that he wanted to spend more time at home and that Chicago was always going to be his home. Well, Chicago couldn't forgive everything.

There he was in Washington, playing for another team and another coach and dealing with a divorce petition filed by his wife and then dropped, a suit filed by Jordan admitting an affair, ugly charges and counter charges. And then the retirements, and the goodbyes, and more and more goodbyes.

The radio talk shows in Chicago these days are filled with hosts and callers mocking Jordan, making fun of his private life. Some hosts call him "M. Jeff" for the name used in the divorce petition. Callers and letter writers to newspapers constantly blame journalists for refusing to get past Jordan and talk about something else. The mention of Jordan at parties now is usually met by eyes rolling and sighs of weariness.

	Michael Jordan made Bulls games the place to be after the 1991 Finals victory over the Lakers.

This is not to say the ovation in the United Center will not be long and warm. It should be, even though few of Jordan's most famous moments were there.

His biggest scoring games were elsewhere -- 69 points in Cleveland and 63 points in the playoffs in Boston. His first big-game winning shot was in Cleveland in the 1989 playoffs. His last was in Utah in the 1998 Finals. But there were many highlight moments in Chicago, from his 1988 All-Star weekend domination to his switch-hand layup in the 1991 Finals in the old Chicago Stadium to his emotional breakdown on the floor when the Bulls won their fourth championship on Father's Day with the memories of Michael's best friend and father, James, who was murdered in 1993, flooding back and forcing out the long-held tears. It was the culmination of Jordan's sad journey from his dad's death to his return to his exalted place in basketball.

Mostly, the memories are individual, of the brilliant fancy flights over and through overmatched defenders. It really has been one, long Jordan ceremonial tour these last several years, like watching a great museum exhibit. It was like when my father took me to see Joe DiMaggio, who couldn't play anymore, in one of those old-timers' games. Just to point out the great man and to tell me what he once did. Jordan still plays, but the stories don't match the man anymore.

They really didn't after 1993. When Jordan returned for the first time in 1995 after that flirtation with professional baseball, he wasn't the same. He wasn't the most spectacular player on the floor all the time. He was the best, and he was a winner. But he couldn't do what he once did. To see Jordan in those first nine years was a blessing, his grace, explosion and power in one never-before-seen package. Jordan split double teams and jumped over the guy at the basket. He could be powerful and delicate at the same time. He was the best offensive player, the best defensive player, the smartest, the most exciting and the most personable. And the best competitor. The excitement was to see what he might do when the score was 46-42, an explosive move you'd never forget or a hanging dunk that left you gasping. He didn't always hit the last shot, though it seems like it reading the old stories or seeing the old films. But he always made you leave feeling you'd seen something special, and few ever do that in any endeavor.

Chicagoans would like to have their memories, but Michael didn't let them.

There was all the personal scandal, and it quieted most of Jordan's most loyal defenders. When I wrote the book, "The Jordan Rules," in 1991, it was a sensation and a huge controversy because it said, in parts, that Jordan wasn't perfect and that he sometimes treated teammates less than respectfully. There was nothing written about gambling or family life. Yet, there was a huge outcry. I received hundreds of letters and calls in complaint, even threats. Anchors on local sportscasts condemned the book, some suggesting it should be burned. Sophistication isn't necessarily in the state motto.

	There aren't many defenses of Jordan in Chicago anymore. Many feel he let them down, although he hardly owed anyone, and his business, as he always said, was his business. People didn't have a right to live his life. They just wanted to.

There aren't many defenses of Jordan in Chicago anymore. Many feel he let them down, although he hardly owed anyone, and his business, as he always said, was his business. People didn't have a right to live his life. They just wanted to. They wanted a real life hero, a successful one, of course, and who better than Michael Jordan?

And then there were the retirements, two official ones in Chicago when he said he wasn't about to play again. Just before the first, it was Reinsdorf who asked him to "never say never." Jordan was certain then, just as he was in 1998. There was a jersey retirement ceremony in 1994 and Jordan again said that ought to show everyone he was serious, that he'd never play in the NBA again. There's this saying in Chicago about "Fool us once, and fool us twice, and fool us a third time ..." And, well, you get the picture. People don't like feeling like fools.

I'm actually glad he has returned, and I wouldn't be shocked if he did so again. After all, he is still pretty good, good enough to play again if he wants. I'd take him on my team. And it is his life. I never felt he should have retired, though he had good reasons, his father's death in 1993, his burnout in 1998 with the daily crisises within the Bulls' organization. But I never begrudged Jordan a return because everyone should be able to do what they do best and most love as long as they are able. If he could and someone wanted him, why not? The worst thing is to leave too early and then always wonder, "What if?" Jordan shouldn't have any doubts when the end finally comes.

But you'll excuse Chicago if it restrains its enthusiasm. Sure, those 20,000 plus in the United Center will make it look like a city desperately in love with its former star. And that's only right. If nothing else, Chicago understands good manners. Other than in the city council.

However, the ones in attendance are hardly representative of Chicago. It's probably the main reason the Bulls' attendance hasn't slipped much in recent years despite the team's miserable rebuilding. Hardly anyone got to see Jordan in person those last few seasons. Tickets to Bulls games became the most prized possession in the city. Remember, this isn't a city with celebrities. No movie industry, no center of commerce or capital city. Just a lot of people going to work. Bulls games became Elaine's or the Palm or the Brown Derby, the place to be seen if you thought you were someone. Most Chicagoans wouldn't even want to be with those people. So in recent years, they've come to see what they heard so much about, the place where it happened. They won't get the chance Friday. The old, elite crowd reclaims its tickets for a last night.

Still, it's almost a responsibility to cheer long and loud, for that is what is expected. Chicago prides itself on being a good host, and the good feelings toward Jordan far outweigh the bad. Chicago has once again become The City of Backup Quarterbacks and September Callups.

But the city has moved on.

Sam Smith, who covers the NBA for the Chicago Tribune, is a regular contributor to ESPN.com.