The Last Dance (Docuseries Review)

The Last Dance
2020 ESPN/Netflix
Limited Series
The Nicsperiment Score: 10/10

Like I'm sure at least a few other kids not born anywhere near Manhattan named Nicholas, my favorite professional basketball growing up was the New York Knicks. 

They're the Knicks? 

I'm Nic! 

It's perfect! 

Even better, I hit my teenage years right smack in the middle of the most entertaining decade the NBA has ever seen. So many teams had larger than life superstars, including my beloved New York Knicks. Unfortunately, most of those superstars never got to win a championship, because virtually every NBA championship in the 1990's was one by the stupid Chicago Bulls. 

Who did the Knicks have to get through in the Eastern Conference playoffs every damn season? The stupid Chicago Bulls, and their stupidly perfect star, Michael Jordan, who seemed imbued with godlike powers. I'll never forget scream-crying "I HATE MICHAEL JORDAN!!!" into a pillow in 1993, after the Bulls came back from a two games to none deficit, to beat the Knicks in the Eastern Conference finals. 

Oh, how I hated that man. I've never cried like that after my team lost a sporting event before or again...hell, I haven't even cried that hard after my team WON a sporting event. I've never hated a man I didn't personally know as much as I hated Michael Jordan in the 90's. He was just perfect. He always won. Always. 

As a lover of perennial underdogs, Jordan represented everything I hated--winning all the time, and not ever letting anyone else experience it! My little brother even bought a Bulls hat just to mess with me...and also because literally every other teenager in the 90's had a Bulls hat. I finally gave up my hatred after Jordan achieved his second championship threepeat of the 90's, defeating my beloved Karl Malone and John Stockton-led Utah Jazz. "Fine," I said. "You are the greatest basketball player of all time. Resistance is futile."
No person should be as good at anything as Michael Jordan was at basketball. His incredible prowess came from an impossible mix of inherent talent and unfathomable drive. At one point in 2020's ten-episode docuseries, The Last Dance, one of his competitors, while trying to keep up, asks of the seemingly never-sleeping Jordan, "Is this dude a vampire?" Teammates often allude to the fact that Jordan would not rest until every single one of them was playing to his standards...only, for anyone else, Jordan's standards were impossible. 

The Last Dance bounces back and forth between two points in time, one progressing through Jordan's life and career, while the other meticulously goes through his final season with the Chicago Bulls in 1997-1998. The series does this until the finale, where the timelines meet. The series is immaculately shot and edited, with incredible behind the scenes footage spanning decades, interviews with Jordan's coach, Phil Jackson, and a multitude of teammates, friends, associates, and competitors. There's also loads of the requisite spectacular game footage. The series' soundtrack, featuring song after song from the decade, is immaculately curated. I have no doubt that The Last Dance will be remembered as one of the greatest long-form sports documentaries ever made. Having lived through this time period and sports scene with extreme investment (my 1992 "Dream Team" McDonald's cup collection dares you to argue), every last detail of these nearly ten hours feels flawless, the era perfectly captured and accurately represented. However, the greatest revelation here is what The Last Dance reveals about Jordan himself, despite the legend's own production company being involved in its creation.
Throughout the series, Jordan is interviewed in a huge, empty mansion, glass of whiskey always by his side. His eyes are bloodshot, and his tone is always bitter and jaded. He repeats the phrase "...and I took that personally" so many times, it's become a meme. Jordan remembers and is still seconds from being angered by nearly every single minor slight he ever received in his life. This is a man who is the best to have ever done something, won six NBA Championships, yet happiness seems to have eluded him. He reminds me of an alcoholic uncle I have who is both full of regret, and yet convinced that no one has accurately recognized his greatness. 

This makes sense, though. Jordan used anger and vengeance as his primary driver throughout his career. The documentary even includes a moment where Jordan makes up an insult from a player that never even occurred, as fuel to punish that player and humiliatingly defeat his team the next night...and I get it. Some people perform much worse when they are angry, but for others, it's like rocket fuel. 

I can connect with Jordan here--my anger is also my greatest motivator. I haven't even sniffed the jockstrap of Jordan's accomplishments, but when I run marathons, the thoughts I am dwelling upon to keep my legs moving are hateful and vile. When I played basketball in high school, during my best games, all of the baskets I scored were essentially the purest sports distillation of me punching and screaming "fuck you" at the person guarding me as possible. Athletic activity is how I safely expunge negative feelings and vibes from my system.

It's telling that Jordan's teammates are extremely happy with the winning results that came from Jordan pushing them in ways that would now be viewed as abusive--but they have no fond memories of the way they were treated...and when asked if Jordan is nice, no one can answer "yes." 

And yet, the man's singular greatness is denied by no one. It invokes awe. At one point, Jordan's personal trainer tears up when recalling the one time the post-'91, Jordan-led Bulls were eliminated from the playoffs. Immediately after the game, he asks Jordan when he wants to get back to work. Jordan answers "tomorrow morning." The expected and general answer was "in three months."
In the end, the price of Jordan's immeasurable greatness seems to be an empty mansion, bloodshot eyes, and memories that aren't quite what he wants them to be. I haven't hated Michael Jordan in over 20 years. But now I pity him.