Back in early June of 1993, the Chicago Bulls were about to play the Phoenix Suns in the first game of the NBA playoffs.  If the Bulls won this series, they’d have won a three-peat, meaning they had won the NBA world championship three years in a row.  My brother and I planted ourselves in front of the TV to watch.  We had been following the Bulls since their first championship and wanted to be there when they made history.  About an hour before tip-off, our power went out.  The first thing we did was run up to our parents and complain.  Didn’t they know we had to watch the game?  Didn’t they know that everything was on the line even though it was only game one in a best of seven series?  Didn’t they know we’d watched every other game that season and that we couldn’t miss this one?  But my father just shook his head and said that there was nothing he could do.  The power went back on when it went back on.  My father did call Commonwealth Edison to see what was going on and started laughing.  He’d been told by a recording that they were aware of the power outage and were receiving multiple calls from all across the city about people missing the game.  They were working on it, they promised.  And the TV went back on right before tip-off.