The Last Dance is a glorious ode to a perfect point in time where several elements of 90s culture seemed to be personified by one man as he transcended not just a sport, but space and time as well.
Yes, it’s the last The Last Dance tonight and we are choking back the tears, behind the cigar smoke and trying to stay focussed on what’s about to happen. Many questions remain unanswered…
Where are we expected to get our fresh slice of Nostalgia Pie after these final episodes air? Did somebody really poison MJ’s pizza the night before Game 5 aka The Flu Game in Utah?
Does Dennis Rodman really disappear from the Bull’s NBA Finals practice to go and tango with Hulk Hogan? Or did I just imagine that in a weird teenage fantasy?
The palpable power of the nostalgia from seeing the behind the scenes footage of those final days of the iconic 90s Bulls has been all consuming during these days of lockdown.
It’s been at the forefront of conversation amongst my pals. Like a divine time capsule sent to us by the basketball Gods to save us from mental implosion at these most testing of times.
Does Jerry Krause get his just deserts for his unequivocal Napoleon complex? Can we please just watch His Airness recount his former glories every week like the Cosby show.
Friends have reflected that they’re not sure if they wanna be like Mike now – after seeing him in all his resplendent glory. Sitting unabashed in his GOAT chair, recounting every slight made against him like it was just 5 minutes ago.
But I’m enthralled and have found an even deeper level of respect and admiration whilst watching this 57 year old recounting with unbridled passion – the stories that everyone has wanted to know for more than 20 years.
We’re settling in to our zen buddhist armchair and drinking our Phil Jackson coffee, to wake us up before we join MJ on the spirits. Does anyone know what’s going on with Mike’s eyes? What’s going on with our eyes. Are you crying?
Come back MJ, come back!