6 Rings · 5 MVPs · 10 Scoring Titles · 1 Argument
Born February 17, 1963 · Brooklyn, New York
He was cut from his high school varsity team as a sophomore. Fifteen years later, he was the most famous athlete on earth. He didn't just win — he made you believe losing to him was a privilege.
Seven acts. Fifteen seasons. Two retirements. One question that will never be settled.
A kid from Wilmington who was told he wasn't good enough — and never forgot it.
Born in Brooklyn, raised in Wilmington, North Carolina. The second-youngest of five children. His father James was an equipment supervisor at GE. His mother Deloris was a banker. Michael was cut from the Laney High School varsity basketball team as a sophomore — a slight he would reference for the rest of his career as fuel. He grew four inches that summer, made varsity as a junior, and earned a scholarship to North Carolina under Dean Smith.
The NBA had never seen anything like him. Neither had Nike.
Jordan's rookie season was immediate dominance — 28.2 PPG, Rookie of the Year. Nike signed him to a shoe deal that would become the most valuable athlete endorsement in history. He was electric, acrobatic, and marketable in a way no basketball player had ever been. But the Pistons stood in his way. Detroit's "Jordan Rules" — a strategy of physical brutality designed specifically to stop him — kept Jordan from the Finals for three consecutive years.
He stopped trying to beat everyone alone. Then no one could beat them at all.
Phil Jackson arrived. The triangle offense arrived. Scottie Pippen arrived as a co-star. Jordan evolved from the greatest individual player into the leader of the greatest team. Three consecutive championships — sweeping the Pistons in '91, defeating Drexler's Blazers in '92, beating Barkley's Suns in '93. The first three-peat since the 1960s Celtics.
The greatest basketball player alive retired to play minor league baseball. Nobody understood it. Maybe that was the point.
On October 6, 1993 — three months after his third championship — Michael Jordan retired from basketball. His father James had been murdered in July. The gambling investigations were circling. He was exhausted, grieving, and searching for something. He found it in the most unlikely place: the Birmingham Barons, a Double-A baseball team. He hit .202. He rode buses between small southern towns. He was terrible and he loved it. Eighteen months later, he sent a two-word fax to the media: "I'm back."
72 wins. Three more rings. The flu game. The push-off. The final shot. He wrote the ending himself.
Jordan returned angry. The 1995-96 Bulls went 72-10 — the best regular season record in NBA history. They won the championship. Then they did it again. And again. The second three-peat was more dominant than the first. Jordan at 35 was more lethal than Jordan at 28 because he'd added cruelty to his genius. He didn't just want to win. He wanted you to know you never had a chance.
The Wizards years. The ownership years. The question of whether legends should know when to stop.
He came back again in 2001 with Washington. He was 38. He averaged 20 points per game — remarkable for anyone else, diminished for him. He bought the Charlotte Bobcats/Hornets, becoming the first former player to become a majority NBA owner. He sold for $3 billion in 2023. The Last Dance documentary in 2020 cemented his mythology for a generation that never saw him play. The debate about whether he's the greatest ever will outlast everyone reading this.
Teammates, enemies, coaches, and the people who made the story worth telling.
The case for. The case against. The stories people miss. Built by the fans who watched every game.
First-person accounts, scout reports, fact-checks, and scene pitches from 312 contributors.
You watched him play. Now help tell the story.