BABY, I JUST CAN’T BE SATISFIED
22 years after he led the Chicago Bulls to six titles in eight years, Michael Jordan remains frustrated, unhappy, and unfulfilled. And like many champions, that unquenchable thirst is what drove him all along.
By Mike Gastineau
By the time the sprawling 10-part ESPN documentary (docu-drama?) “The Last Dance” finally came to an end, it was obvious that given two plus decades of thought and reflection, most of the characters involved in the Bulls decade of dominance in the NBA view their run with happiness and pride.
But not Michael Jordan. Oh, he’s happy about winning and he’s proud of what he, er, they accomplished, but he still yearns for a seventh title. It’s understandable that he felt that way in 1998. That it still bothers him so much to this day provides a window with a partial view into his psyche. His coach, teammates, and inner circle all look back on those years in wonder. When Jordan looks back his focus falls on what they didn’t do.
And to be sure, it’s still unfathomable that Jerry Reinsdorf allowed the team to be broken up. Let’s be clear, this was Reinsdorf’s call. He’s the owner, so at any time during 1998 he could have told general manager Jerry Krause to back off on all the rhetoric, told Coach Phil Jackson to cool the last dance talk, and put the brakes on the insanity of dismantling a team that was still winning. But he didn’t, and by that time Krause was already the villain in this melodrama. He remains Jordan’s public enemy number one 22 years after the fact and three years after he died. His inability to defend himself in the present when so much of the story (and Jordan’s distain) falls on him is an unseemly part of the film.
Had the film been made by someone independent of Jordan, maybe there could have been some discussion of Jordan’s abject failure as a front office executive. Does his two decade struggle to find the same success as an executive and owner in the NBA that he found as a player give him any empathy at all for Krause? Probably not, but it would have been interesting to hear and see his reaction to that question.
That’s one of a few nits that can be picked with the story. The ridiculous way Jordan’s baseball “career” is treated could spawn a documentary itself. “He hit .200 at Double A! He would have made the big leagues with a little more time!” Many in the audience were laughing at those lines as hard as Jordan laughed at the idea that he had any trouble whatsoever from Gary Payton during the 1996 finals. (BTW, he did.)
Jordan’s gambling, the infamous food poisoning game versus Utah (“I had a bad feeling about that pizza!”), and his willingness to make up stories about opponents to emotionally fuel his competitive fire are all glossed over in a way that invites curious minds to wonder about a little more reporting or at least openness all these years later.
But no one involved tried to hide the fact that this story was being done with Jordan’s blessing, so the viewer was left to decide how much weight to give to various parts of the narrative. Without Jordan’s acquiescence, the story doesn’t get told at all and that would have been a shame.
Because taken in total, “The Last Dance” was a triumph. Thanks to access (granted by Jordan in 1998) and other archival footage, the producers were able to take viewers into the locker room and back hallways of NBA arenas and in doing so captured the superstar vibe that drove the league during the explosive years of growth in the 80s and 90s.
It’s worth remembering that weekday games in the 1980 NBA Finals, the first featuring Magic Johnson, were shown on tape delay at 11:30pm. By 1998, the league was such a part of culture that wandering around the catacombs of an NBA arena meant running into a regular parade of rock stars, movie and TV stars, politicians, models, and hangers on of various celebrity wattage. Everyone wanted in on the act and every night was a circus.
The behind the scenes footage and audio was also incredible because it’s there that we truly see the most complete portrait we’re likely ever to get of Jordan and despite his involvement with the story the portrayal we get of him is not 100% flattering. We see and hear how difficult he could be as a teammate and how complex he was as a person. Not every wart was fully exposed, but after 10 hours viewers had a better look into a personality that includes plenty of sing-song-y “Be Like Mike” moments but also has some dark edges and corners.
By including several scenes of him surrounded by reporters and working his way through crowds of fans to get onto busses and into hotels we also get a sense for the complexities that he regularly faced.
The hop scotching around the narrative timeline was at times, wearisome. It was easy to get lost in the hurricane of events and find yourself wondering, “Wait. Are we in 1991, 1998, or 2020?” But it’s a big story with lots of characters and telling it in a strictly linear fashion time-wise wouldn’t have worked.
In the end, we land in 2020 with Jordan portrayed as a man still burning about being denied a chance at a seventh title. But had Reinsdorf and Krauss kept the team together and they had won in 1999, Jordan would have wanted eight. And so on. There was no perfect ending for him.
Pearl Jam’s song “Present Tense” plays under the film’s final scenes. It’s a song that can be interpreted as accepting what’s happened in the past and enjoying the current moment. The irony here is off the charts. Because when it comes to how Michael Jordan views his time with the Bulls, it’s still 1998 and there’s always going to be unfinished business.
Perhaps a different and more appropriate song could have been used; a song by a Mississippi born musical legend named Muddy Waters who made his name and his fame while living in a house about 15 minutes south of the United Center.
“Can’t Be Satisfied.”
