Salon Newsreal | Michael Jordan's final act

A L S O+T O D A Y

Letter from occupied New York
By John Leonard
With City Hall behind barricades, Mayor Rudy Giuliani is getting ready to take his show on the road
(01/14/99)

T A B L E+T A L K
Speaker Howdy Doody? What do you think of Livingston replacement Dennis Hastert? Get partisan in the Politics area of Table Talk

___________________
Michael, say it ain't so! Relive the Jordan glory days at barnesandnoble.com!
___________________

Portrait of a political "pit bull"
By Russ Baker
Rep. Dan Burton, who called President Clinton a "scumbag," has a few questions to answer about his own behavior
(12/22/98)

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R E C E N T L Y
Starr's lowest blow
By Bruce Shapiro
In indicting Julie Hiatt Steele, the independent counsel continues a pattern of bullying women
(01/13/99)
Impeachment diary II
By Anonymous
While senators basked in the glow of Friday's bipartisan trial accord, both sides were already plotting to renew the war
(01/13/99)
Ebonics II
By Lee Hubbard
Oakland students' test scores are among the lowest in the state, but Oakland teachers press ahead with Mumia Abu Jamal teach-in
(01/13/99)
Tainted witness
By Murray Waas
The Arkansas trooper who corroborated David Hale's story received payments from the American Spectator
(01/12/99)
Working class hero?
By Micah L. Sifry
Jesse Ventura will have to reconcile his millionaire libertarian views with his blue collar support
(01/11/99)
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MICHAEL JORDAN'S FINAL ACT | PAGE 1, 2
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The image of Michael sitting on the bench is a precious one -- the only time in his entire career when something other than himself (and we won't go into the baseball thing) stopped him cold. And it happened at a moment when no one could say what direction this guy was going to go. Without knowing it, I think the people who saw Jordan fall to earth that night witnessed the baptism of a modern Achilles, albeit one not often given to sulking, one mostly unstingy with supplicants, one blessed always with a good agent. But nevertheless, an apparent demigod, one who, once he understood the dimension of his powers and was joined by a cohort of worthy mortals, seemed always to perform miraculously in the desperate rush of big-game battle.
That's just what that last highlight sequence shows. With only seconds left in a contest that, if lost, could break his team's soul, Jordan confronts Malone -- he'll do as Hector in this capsule "Iliad" -- and stabs the ball from his hands. With this prize in his hands on the other end of the court, he gives a defender a combined fake/shove -- the Greeks didn't fight fair, either -- and drains a jumper. That's the game, the series, the championship. And, Michael says now, his career.
But wait. Let's interrupt for a minute this really upbeat memorial service -- sorry, celebration of his career -- that the cosmos is staging to mark the occasion. Not to question Jordan's reasons for wanting to quit. Anyone whose life is lived so long in the high-intensity radiation of celebrity deserves a break. He certainly doesn't owe the league or his franchise or even the fans anything. And his hoops mentor and kindred spirit, Phil Jackson, quit the Bulls' coaching job.
But look beyond. Look at the moment and the man.
What I see is a game-sequence blur. Jordan bringing the ball upcourt for a three, Jordan falling back as he releases his jumper, Jordan switching hands in the middle of a high-altitude drive, Jordan's joy and sweat and exhaustion and pain and triumph. What I see as the montage fades is that his game, his genius, has not yet run its course, and I can just feel how much fun it would be to see him on the court just one more time. Michael! Put your shoe back on!
But there's more to this than nostalgia and the mind's-eye highlight reel.
Michael's exempting himself from decline. This goes beyond taking a pass on the spectacle of a great athletic talent going into eclipse. We get to see that every season in every game. Mickey Mantle gimping around the bases. Dan Marino, who suddenly looks better as a glove model than throwing a football. Gordie Howe trying to play hockey -- ice hockey -- into his 60s or 70s or whatever it is, a truly unnatural act. Jordan's short-circuiting that, and that's OK. There is such a thing as staying too long.
This is a case, though, of leaving too early. Michael's trying to do what most of us, untouched by a divine talent, could never contemplate: He's trying to quit with his illusion of immortality intact.
Yes, the just-please-help-them-win-God part of me that has long imagined the black day someone would grind down Jordan and the Bulls is relieved. Thank goodness it wasn't Karl Malone. But an even bigger part of me is disappointed. That feared defeat, that unwanted ending, that sad last act, is a vital part of the plot. It's also parallel to the narrative line we all live through our whole lives. We get to the end of things -- a job, a romance, the lives of the people we love -- and we stick around for whatever is next.
But that next story doesn't begin until you have an ending, a denouement, for the first. I don't like that Michael is lopping off his tale's conclusion. I don't like that he's messing with the story arc. It's a little like having Shakespeare decide Romeo and Juliet don't really have to die. Or even more like the Bard deciding that, with no way to top his work in "Hamlet," he was going to call it quits as a playwright and toss quoits instead.
What would be wrong, really, with a script that ended like this? Jordan, head down, crying, walking off the victors' court having lost for the first and only time in the finals. The crowd, which wanted nothing so badly as to see him lose, is on its feet. Everyone there knows they'll never see another one like him, a man who has grown somehow in being dethroned, in giving up his demigod status. Then everyone -- the fans, the league, the media folks -- can celebrate the greatness, mark its passing, and begin the next story.
SALON | Jan. 14, 1999
Dan Brekke, a former editor at Wired magazine and the San Francisco Examiner, is a writer in Berkeley, Calif.

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A L S O+T O D A Y Letter from occupied New York By John Leonard With City Hall behind barricades, Mayor Rudy Giuliani is getting ready to take his show on the road (01/14/99) T A B L E+T A L K Speaker Howdy Doody? What do you think of Livingston replacement Dennis Hastert? Get partisan in the Politics area of Table Talk ___________________ Michael, say it ain't so! Relive the Jordan glory days at barnesandnoble.com! ___________________ Portrait of a political "pit bull" By Russ Baker Rep. Dan Burton, who called President Clinton a "scumbag," has a few questions to answer about his own behavior (12/22/98) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - R E C E N T L Y Starr's lowest blow By Bruce Shapiro In indicting Julie Hiatt Steele, the independent counsel continues a pattern of bullying women (01/13/99) Impeachment diary II By Anonymous While senators basked in the glow of Friday's bipartisan trial accord, both sides were already plotting to renew the war (01/13/99) Ebonics II By Lee Hubbard Oakland students' test scores are among the lowest in the state, but Oakland teachers press ahead with Mumia Abu Jamal teach-in (01/13/99) Tainted witness By Murray Waas The Arkansas trooper who corroborated David Hale's story received payments from the American Spectator (01/12/99) Working class hero? By Micah L. Sifry Jesse Ventura will have to reconcile his millionaire libertarian views with his blue collar support (01/11/99) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Browse the Newsreal Archives - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
		MICHAEL JORDAN'S FINAL ACT \| PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - The image of Michael sitting on the bench is a precious one -- the only time in his entire career when something other than himself (and we won't go into the baseball thing) stopped him cold. And it happened at a moment when no one could say what direction this guy was going to go. Without knowing it, I think the people who saw Jordan fall to earth that night witnessed the baptism of a modern Achilles, albeit one not often given to sulking, one mostly unstingy with supplicants, one blessed always with a good agent. But nevertheless, an apparent demigod, one who, once he understood the dimension of his powers and was joined by a cohort of worthy mortals, seemed always to perform miraculously in the desperate rush of big-game battle. That's just what that last highlight sequence shows. With only seconds left in a contest that, if lost, could break his team's soul, Jordan confronts Malone -- he'll do as Hector in this capsule "Iliad" -- and stabs the ball from his hands. With this prize in his hands on the other end of the court, he gives a defender a combined fake/shove -- the Greeks didn't fight fair, either -- and drains a jumper. That's the game, the series, the championship. And, Michael says now, his career. But wait. Let's interrupt for a minute this really upbeat memorial service -- sorry, celebration of his career -- that the cosmos is staging to mark the occasion. Not to question Jordan's reasons for wanting to quit. Anyone whose life is lived so long in the high-intensity radiation of celebrity deserves a break. He certainly doesn't owe the league or his franchise or even the fans anything. And his hoops mentor and kindred spirit, Phil Jackson, quit the Bulls' coaching job. But look beyond. Look at the moment and the man. What I see is a game-sequence blur. Jordan bringing the ball upcourt for a three, Jordan falling back as he releases his jumper, Jordan switching hands in the middle of a high-altitude drive, Jordan's joy and sweat and exhaustion and pain and triumph. What I see as the montage fades is that his game, his genius, has not yet run its course, and I can just feel how much fun it would be to see him on the court just one more time. Michael! Put your shoe back on! But there's more to this than nostalgia and the mind's-eye highlight reel. Michael's exempting himself from decline. This goes beyond taking a pass on the spectacle of a great athletic talent going into eclipse. We get to see that every season in every game. Mickey Mantle gimping around the bases. Dan Marino, who suddenly looks better as a glove model than throwing a football. Gordie Howe trying to play hockey -- ice hockey -- into his 60s or 70s or whatever it is, a truly unnatural act. Jordan's short-circuiting that, and that's OK. There is such a thing as staying too long. This is a case, though, of leaving too early. Michael's trying to do what most of us, untouched by a divine talent, could never contemplate: He's trying to quit with his illusion of immortality intact. Yes, the just-please-help-them-win-God part of me that has long imagined the black day someone would grind down Jordan and the Bulls is relieved. Thank goodness it wasn't Karl Malone. But an even bigger part of me is disappointed. That feared defeat, that unwanted ending, that sad last act, is a vital part of the plot. It's also parallel to the narrative line we all live through our whole lives. We get to the end of things -- a job, a romance, the lives of the people we love -- and we stick around for whatever is next. But that next story doesn't begin until you have an ending, a denouement, for the first. I don't like that Michael is lopping off his tale's conclusion. I don't like that he's messing with the story arc. It's a little like having Shakespeare decide Romeo and Juliet don't really have to die. Or even more like the Bard deciding that, with no way to top his work in "Hamlet," he was going to call it quits as a playwright and toss quoits instead. What would be wrong, really, with a script that ended like this? Jordan, head down, crying, walking off the victors' court having lost for the first and only time in the finals. The crowd, which wanted nothing so badly as to see him lose, is on its feet. Everyone there knows they'll never see another one like him, a man who has grown somehow in being dethroned, in giving up his demigod status. Then everyone -- the fans, the league, the media folks -- can celebrate the greatness, mark its passing, and begin the next story. SALON \| Jan. 14, 1999 Dan Brekke, a former editor at Wired magazine and the San Francisco Examiner, is a writer in Berkeley, Calif. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Become a Salon member. Click here.