The Last Dunce

There’s not a lot to do these days besides sleep, moisturize or watch that ESPN documentary on Mike Jordan and the bodacious Bull boys. Should a genie in a bottle (or can - why not, right?) pay me a visit in the next 48 hours, my only wish would be that The Last Dance consisted of 100 parts instead of 10. Like a terrible parallel parker, we’re only just now scratching the surface. I want more minutia. Seinfeldian in scope, Jordanian in focus.

I want MJ betting with teammates on the number of pieces of lint in his pants pockets at a charity gala for thousands and thousands of dollars. I need to see him describing the proper method for cutting cigars. And in spite of the misleading title, there’s hardly any dancing in the doc. There’s no retelling of the great myth where Jordan whispers in Karl Malone’s ear just before stealing the ball in Game 6 of the 1998 NBA Finals: "may I have this dance, Karl?" Footwork matters in b-ball and the best of the best understand the relationship between good defense and great ballet. Strong shooting and stellar waltzing. Solid passing and smart pirouetting. It’s a game, but it’s also a dance.

But even in 10 measly parts, it’s obvious that MJ is exactly like you and me. Everyone understands what it’s like to be the best at their chosen field, dominating the competition in ways not seen for generations. We’re all special. We all have bank accounts with more zeroes than the beach has garbage. We’re all excellent. The Tiger Woods of spreadsheets. The Babe Ruth of email subject lines. The Pete Weber of photoshop.

Contrarians will pick out the minor differences between the average person and Jordan. Maybe they’re not 6’ 6”, play pro basketball or win at all costs. That’s mere window dressing. The point is that the average person is well-above average. The only explanation for the universal acclaim is how we are collectively able to see a part of ourselves in MJ. He’s one of us. We know what it’s like to have millions of adoring fans and sign autographs late into the night. We identify with the inherent burden of genius.

Watching The Last Dance is like looking in the mirror or viewing home movies. What makes MJ exceptional is how ordinary his drive and ambition is. How common his skills are and how rare it is to not be that good. Another sign that humanity has transcended failure into commonplace brilliance. 

Be like Mike or be yourself. What's the difference?