Will he or won't he? In Chicago and other parts of the nation, that question doesn't refer to whether President Clinton will use the "L" word, Tom Cruise will follow his spouse's example and appear nude on stage or Bill Gates will prevail in the antitrust suit against Microsoft. No, with the angst of a censor at a Jerry Springer taping, and often with the same shamelessness, many folks seem held hostage, waiting for a decision from the world's most famous amateur golfer.

Perhaps it's time, employing one of the decade's popular, albeit overused, admonitions, to "get over it." Either Jordan will finally hole out and return to the Berto Center or he won't. Either way, it really doesn't make much difference.

First, the economic impact on the local or national economy, or even the television networks, whether he plays or he doesn't, is trivial. (NBC and cable channels negotiated long-term contracts with the NBA 18 months ago, knowing that even under the best of circumstances Jordan would be playing for only a fraction of that time; the fact that they are paying twice the amount of the previous contract suggests that they felt they could market games without him and the Bulls.)

The aggregate financial impact of the NBA lockout on the city and country, despite what gets reported and repeated in the press and on television, was close to zero. For most Americans--and even Chicagoans--the return of the NBA will now simply displace other recreational alternatives--watching other television programs, going to movies, renting videos or grazing in malls.

Second, Michael's tongue is not going to be hanging out beyond June 2000 anyway; he is coming, or has come, to the end of a stunningly glorious career. Locally we have been able to bid fond farewell to other Chicago sports icons--Ernie Banks and Ryne Sandberg, Gale Sayers and Walter Payton, Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita, Nellie Fox and Luis Aparicio--without the unseemly groveling that now accompanies Jordan's possible retirement. Nationally we have lost the likes of Jack Nicklaus, Joe Montana and George Brett, but have gained Tiger Woods, John Elway and Sammy Sosa.

One might also hope that Jordan would be remembered for that infectious smile and last-second heroics to deflate and defeat opponents, and not for coy or petulant displays about for whom he'll play and when he'll do it, which, in spite of his unmatched talents and charisma, run counter to how most of us would like our colleagues, neighbors and family members to behave.

Perhaps we're a city starved for championship banners and attention. After all, the Bulls have won twice as many championships in this decade as our other four professional franchises combined have won in the last 50 years. (No angry letters or calls from Fire fans, please!) But if New Yorkers, Utahans and whatever non-derogatory term applies to citizens of Atlanta are so insecure in their environment that they need to buy their sports fame, or they simply have misplaced civic and personal priorities, let them. As an old academic line used to go, Yale hates Harvard but Harvard doesn't care.

With our residents, neighborhoods and amenities, Chicago still will be the best, most livable major city in the U.S., even when the Bulls emulate the Clippers, Nuggets or Mavericks, which will happen soon whether Jordan is burying jumpers or not. (That we not only tolerated but actually condoned most of Dennis Rodman's antics for the last three years, behavior we would have scorned had he done it as a member of the Knicks or Lakers, simply because we needed to be No. 1, does not reflect well on us. And wouldn't we have been indignant had another NBA owner found creative ways to hike his payroll to twice the allowable cap, as Reinsdorf and Krause were able to do, so he could dethrone the Bulls?)

Third, it's amazing how easily we are willing to commit someone else's money and benefit at someone else's expense. If commercial businesses in the city were to follow the exhortation of diehard fans and sports-radio hosts to pay Jordan, Pippen, Rodman and Jackson anything they wanted for one more run, local bankruptcy filings and our unemployment rate would reach Great Depression levels. Talk is cheap, and apparently getting cheaper by the day.

The primary financial beneficiaries of the Bulls' success are other league owners and players (not Bulls players), because of revenue sharing and other financial arrangements; owners of sports bars in Chicago and those who moonlight near or in the United Center; season-ticket holders and ticket brokers who have either enjoyed entertainment at below-market prices or have profited from resales; and those of us who can watch more games than fans in any other NBA city, largely on non-cable channels. In economic jargon, we are collectively "free riders." Doubling Bulls' ticket prices, taxing sports bars' profits 100 percent on game nights (and sports-talk radio shows 24 hours a day!), and putting all games on pay-per-view would provide a better gauge than whining of how much we value the Bulls and Jordan.

That local television stations and newspapers offered so much "face time" or ink during the lockout to those few businesses in the area whose interim financial situations had worsened (most others benefited from the dearth of games on television because their revenues increased as a result), after they had reaped enormous windfall gains from the Bulls and Jordan over the last decade, borders on the irresponsible. It's a rare wind--or snow--that doesn't help someone: Owners of video outlets and city workers driving snowplows have seen inflated cash register receipts and salary stubs as a result of January's weather conditions, but at some point even they would like to return to more halcyon times.

Twenty years ago, when the Lakers defeated the 76ers for the NBA championship, there was so little interest in professional basketball that the series wasn't even shown live on television. Chicagoans have enjoyed manna and serendipity for 15 years--in part because of the Blazers' decision to draft Sam Bowie ahead of No. 23 in the 1984 draft, but also being in the right place at the right time as interest in basketball mushroomed. However, as the (translated) French adage acknowledges, to leave is to die a little. It's now time to recognize how spoiled we've been, the extent to which we have benefited from the equivalent of finding a bag of cash that fell from a Brinks' truck, and to move to the next appropriate stage--acceptance (as in Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' "On Death and Dying")--and do it with some dignity and perspective. In addition to being the city of The Big Shoulders, we can also be one with big hearts and open minds.