The Last Dance, Life and Ruthlessness
What is The Last Dance? On the surface, it’s the story of Michael Jordan’s final season with the Chicago Bulls, which also happened to be Phil Jackson’s final year as coach with the franchise. The narrative moves back and forth, tracing the evolution of both player and team before it reaches its conclusion with the final triumph and the break-up of a basketball squad like no other.
But at its heart, The Last Dance is about one man, and a strength of will that we may never see again in any sport. The Chicago Bulls are one of those rare sports teams that has a following wherever you go in the world. The ubiquitous caps can be glimpsed whichever city you’re in, in any corner of the world. And the only reason for that is Michael Jordan.
No individual in the history of sport has ever defined a team or franchise like he did. Liverpool had already been champions of England five times before Bill Shankly arrived as manager in 1959 to lay the foundations of what Jurgen Klopp has built on in recent seasons. Real Madrid had won La Liga twice and the Copa del Rey nine times before Alfredo Di Stefano’s arrival — followed soon after by Ferenc Puskas’s leaving of Soviet-occupied Hungary — made them the first kings of European football. There’s far more to the history of the New York Yankees than the history of Babe Ruth. The San Francisco 49ers won a Super Bowl even after Joe Montana left.
But the Bulls? Take out the Jordan era, and you have almost nothing. They had never been to an NBA finals when Jordan was drafted in 1984. They haven’t been back since the last dance ended. Without belittling the contributions of Jackson, and a legendary support cast of players, it’s not hard to see the common factor in those six Championship runs between 1990 and ’98.
In the two seasons that he took off to play baseball after his father’s murder — he came back for the final stages of the second one but was in no real shape to influence games — the Bulls lost 62 regular-season games. In the second three-peat between 1996 and ’98, with Jordan very much at the heart of it all, they lost just 43.
I’m no basketball buff. It’s the mainstream sport that I follow least. I might tune in to a game or two during the play-offs, but I’m not steeped in the sport’s history and nuances as I am with football, cricket, tennis, the NFL or F-1. But it was different during the Jordan years. You got up at 5:30 because HE was playing. And there’s never been anyone like him.
The most revelatory aspects of the documentary are his peers’ views, the awe with which they talk of Jordan’s talent and single-mindedness. It doesn’t matter if it’s Magic Johnson or Larry Bird or Reggie Miller, they all have a tale to tell. In Magic’s case, those are stories tinged with deep affection. With Miller, you can sense an undercurrent of resentment about a player he had frequent run-ins with.
The views of those he played alongside are even more interesting. If you want to, it’s easy enough to paint the picture of a self-absorbed and obsessed bully, who didn’t care who or what he had to trample over to achieve his goals. We’ve heard similar stories at times about Cristiano Ronaldo and Pep Guardiola, and Diego Maradona before them.
But here’s the thing. I don’t think it’s possible to bring about a transformation from mediocrity to excellence without a certain level of ruthlessness. Napoli were a nothing team when Maradona joined them in 1984. By the time he left seven years later, they were definitely on the football map. Was he a prima donna along the way? Of course. Would they have achieved any of what they did without him? Even the question is daft.
The same is true with Jordan. Jerry Krause’s work as general manager played a big part, even if he had alienated the most important players long before 1998. Jackson’s coaching was even more pivotal. But even before he took charge in 1989, Jordan had helped drag a franchise that had lost 89 games in the three seasons before he was drafted into the Detroit Pistons’ closest challengers in the Eastern Conference. He had already won Rookie of the Year and Most Valuable Player, and anyone with one eye half-open could have told you that he was very much the game’s present and future.
Was he an unpleasant teammate? The words of those that lined up alongside him suggest he could be a lot of the time, but the same men also speak openly about how much he helped them to elevate their own standards. There’s a point in The Last Dance when Jordan breaks down as he attempts to explain his behaviour, and you realise that it can’t have been easy for him to be what he was. But there would have been no Bulls dynasty without that scimitar edge.
What the documentary also does is make a mockery of the positive-energy mantras espoused by most new-age gurus and frauds. If you listen to Jordan speak, it’s easy to understand that it was anger or rage that drove him. If there was no slight to perceive, he would invent one — accusing a junior player of saying “Good game, Mike” after a victory, when he had actually not — to work himself up and reach that cliff edge where he did his best work.
Time after time, the narrative repeated itself. In 1997, when the Utah Jazz were beaten in the NBA finals, it was his anger at Karl Malone being voted regular season MVP that provided the inspiration. Other games or series turned on trash talk from opponents that raised his hackles. Jordan himself was notorious for his on-court barbs, but it was those directed his way that he used to ensure that his standards never slipped.
And what standards they were. He never averaged less than 28 points per game in the 12 full seasons he played with the Bulls. In the rarified air of the play-offs, he averaged 33.4. He made nearly half the two-pointers he attempted, and a third of those he tried from 20 feet (19ft, 9” if we’re to be pedantic) or more. He played an average of 38 minutes in regular season, going up to an incredible 42 (out of 48) in the play-offs.
Yes, he had an all-time-great in Scottie Pippen alongside him throughout the championship years. Dennis Rodman, scavenger without peer, was part of the second three-peat. Toni Kukoc had lit up European courts before going on to become a valuable cog in the Bulls’ second era of dominance. Steve Kerr, who Jordan once punched in the eye during a training altercation, had a penchant for the clutch play, as did John Paxson, the point guard before him.
These were all great players. And Jackson, who went on to lead the LA Lakers to five titles, would prove that he was a coach without peer. But the centre of that Bulls solar system was always Jordan. And when he shone, more often than not, whoever else was on the court was eclipsed.
Just look at the roll call of giants who finished without an NBA championship ring. Of those that played alongside Jordan in the Dream Team at the Barcelona Olympics in 1992, Magic and Bird were lucky that their prime years came before Jordan hit his peak. Patrick Ewing, Malone, John Stockton and Charles Barkley were all thwarted, and in most cases, it was Jordan’s Bulls that stood in the way. Miller was another. Hakeem Olajuwon, the №1 draft pick the year the Bulls chose Jordan, won his two titles when Jordan was away trying to slug a baseball. So many great players reduced to footnotes in one man’s incredible odyssey.
Even if you’re not a basketball fan or a sports aficionado, you should watch The Last Dance. Ultimately, it’s about life, and the sacrifices we often have to make in order to leave behind a legacy that endures. You may not like the red-eyed, cigar-smoking, trash-talking Jordan, but without his tunnel vision and desire to strive for perfection, there would have been no Bulls dynasty. Was the price that others paid too high? As they sit back and contemplate their rings and trophies, it’s unlikely that even the teammates who didn’t like him much feel that way.
Winning isn’t easy. Being the best, as Jordan was for well over a decade, is even harder. It would be churlish to ignore all those days when he flew even closer to the sun than Icarus to focus solely on the feet of clay.