ESPN’s 10-part documentary series “The Last Dance” launches today, a heavily anticipated chronicling of the final year for Michael Jordan’s Chicago Bulls dynasty. This quarantine treat will remind Dub Nation of the legend of MJ’s Bulls, and the synergy between that old empire and the Golden State Warriors’ recent dominance. The obvious connection between these two championship hoarding squads is Steve Kerr, current Warriors head coach and winner of three titles with Chicago.
While obviously a great basketball player, in my experience, Jordan is a gargantuan asshole. Having lived in Tahoe for many years (with its annual celeb golf tourn), I've seen MJ refuse to even acknowledge fans simply saying hello, in addition to refusing to even tip anyone who brings him a drink or deals him a hand. Barkley may be a horrendous analyst, but he at least was a friendly, fun-loving guy when the cameras were off.
I met Michael Jordan in 1984, waiting at the gate for an early morning flight at O’Hare, when the incoming flight disembarked, and a parade of very tall young men proceeded past me, followed by a very short Kevin Loughery, two coaches before Phil Jackson. I jumped up, blocked Jordan’s path, and stuck out my hand. He actually stopped, grasped my hand, and smiled that 1,000 watt smile. The light in his eyes was unreal. I couldn’t think of anything smart to say so I blurted a line from the ad running on WGN at the time, before Nike, before Hanes. It was, Mr. Jordan, you drive a Chevy (his first major endorsement). He laughed and said “yes, I do.” That was it. I couldn’t stand it anymore so I stepped aside. Jordan and the Bulls pulled me through the late 80s and 90s and the Warriors pulled me through the 10s, when my Oakland office overlooked the parking lot of the Warriors training facility. I brought binoculars in to watch every morning around 10 am to see the Warriors arrive to practice. Spotting Curry arrive was a favorite. How lucky was that?
While obviously a great basketball player, in my experience, Jordan is a gargantuan asshole. Having lived in Tahoe for many years (with its annual celeb golf tourn), I've seen MJ refuse to even acknowledge fans simply saying hello, in addition to refusing to even tip anyone who brings him a drink or deals him a hand. Barkley may be a horrendous analyst, but he at least was a friendly, fun-loving guy when the cameras were off.
I met Michael Jordan in 1984, waiting at the gate for an early morning flight at O’Hare, when the incoming flight disembarked, and a parade of very tall young men proceeded past me, followed by a very short Kevin Loughery, two coaches before Phil Jackson. I jumped up, blocked Jordan’s path, and stuck out my hand. He actually stopped, grasped my hand, and smiled that 1,000 watt smile. The light in his eyes was unreal. I couldn’t think of anything smart to say so I blurted a line from the ad running on WGN at the time, before Nike, before Hanes. It was, Mr. Jordan, you drive a Chevy (his first major endorsement). He laughed and said “yes, I do.” That was it. I couldn’t stand it anymore so I stepped aside. Jordan and the Bulls pulled me through the late 80s and 90s and the Warriors pulled me through the 10s, when my Oakland office overlooked the parking lot of the Warriors training facility. I brought binoculars in to watch every morning around 10 am to see the Warriors arrive to practice. Spotting Curry arrive was a favorite. How lucky was that?