Fifteen years ago tonight, an era ended and for a variety of reasons, as did my childhood. Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls won their sixth and final championship in game known simply for “the last shot.”
It was poetic, in a sense. Bob Coasts was on play-by-play adding to the dramatic intensity of the moment. The Bulls as a team were ravaged. Scottie Pippen’s back was in shambles and the only other Bull in double figures was Tony Kukoc with 15. Jordan missed 20 of his 35 shots, but literally put Chicago on his back behind 45 points in one of the guttiest final stretches in my lifetime.
Jordanism is a cult these days; a movement I take partial credit/blame for playing apart in to an extent. How Mike has been billed as a guy who never failed is quite possibly the furthest fallacy from the truth for those aware of the totality of MJ’s career. But this moment? Nearly 14 years to the day he was drafted?
This moment defined a generation.