The air in the Delta Center felt heavy, almost suffocating, on June 14, 1998. If you were watching, you remember the noise—that deafening Utah Jazz crowd convinced this was finally the year Michael Jordan would fail. But he didn't. He never did. The 1997-1998 Chicago Bulls weren't just a basketball team; they were a traveling circus, a soap opera, and a masterclass in psychological warfare all rolled into one. Honestly, looking back at that season now, it’s a miracle they even made it to the Finals, let alone won the whole thing.
They were old. They were tired. Jerry Krause, the general manager, had already signaled that Phil Jackson was done after this season, famously saying Jackson wouldn't return even if he went 82-0. Imagine working a high-stakes job where your boss tells you you're fired before the first day of work. That was the "Last Dance."
The Internal Chaos Nobody Expected
People talk about the "Last Dance" like it was a victory lap. It wasn't. It was a grind. Scottie Pippen was furious about his contract—he was the 122nd highest-paid player in the league despite being a top-five talent— and he actually delayed foot surgery until the season started just to spite the front office. "I'm not going to fuck up my summer," he basically said. That left Jordan alone to carry a roster that looked, frankly, a bit dusty.
Then there was Dennis Rodman.
Rodman was a wild card that would make any modern HR department faint. Mid-season, he decided he needed a vacation and headed to Las Vegas for 48 hours. He stayed for 88. Michael Jordan literally had to go to Vegas, knock on his hotel room door, and drag him back to practice. This is the stuff of legend, but for the 1997-1998 Chicago Bulls, it was just a Tuesday. They played 82 games under a microscope that would have crushed most modern "super-teams."
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Surviving the Eastern Conference Gauntlet
The regular season was a slog. They started 8-7, which feels impossible when you think about MJ's aura. But Jordan was 35. Ron Harper’s knees were shot. Luc Longley was... well, Luc Longley.
The real test, though, wasn't the regular season; it was the Indiana Pacers in the Eastern Conference Finals. Larry Bird was coaching that Pacers team, and they were tough. They were physical. They had Reggie Miller, who was one of the few humans alive who wasn't afraid to talk trash to Jordan's face. That series went seven games. Game 7 was a mud fight—a 88-83 win where the Bulls shot miserably but won on sheer will and offensive rebounding.
You’ve got to realize how close they came to losing. If Indiana hits two more shots in the fourth quarter of Game 7, the entire legacy of the 1997-1998 Chicago Bulls changes. We wouldn't be talking about a second three-peat. We’d be talking about a dynasty that stayed at the party too long.
That Final Minute in Salt Lake City
Most fans focus on "The Shot"—the push-off (or non-push-off, depending on if you live in Utah) on Bryon Russell. But the genius of Jordan in that final minute of Game 6 was actually on the defensive end.
The Bulls were down. Scottie Pippen was basically playing with one arm because his back had given out. Jordan scores a layup to cut it to one. Then, instead of heading back to his man, he sneaks up behind Karl Malone in the post and strips the ball. It was a heist. Pure and simple.
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Then came the crossover. The pose. The 20-foot jumper.
That single play encapsulated the 1997-1998 Chicago Bulls. It wasn't about being the fastest or the most athletic anymore. It was about knowing exactly when to strike. Jordan finished that game with 45 points. The rest of the starters combined for 34. It was the ultimate "carry job."
Why It Hits Different Today
If you look at the stats, the 1996 team was "better." They won 72 games. But the 1998 team is the one people obsess over. Why? Because they were vulnerable.
We live in an era of "load management" where stars sit out because they’re a little sore. Jordan played all 82 games that year. He led the league in scoring. He was First-Team All-Defense. He did this while the team's GM was actively trying to blow up the roster. There’s a level of mental toughness there that feels like it belongs to a different species.
Critics sometimes argue the league was "watered down" by expansion in the late 90s. Sure, the bottom-tier teams were bad. But the top was heavy. You had the Jazz with Stockton and Malone, the Pacers with Miller, and the Heat with Mourning. The Bulls had to outthink these teams because they couldn't always outrun them.
The Fallout and the End of an Era
After the confetti fell in Utah, it was over. Just like that. Krause moved on. Phil Jackson took a year off before joining the Lakers. MJ retired for the second time. Pippen was traded to Houston.
It remains one of the great "what ifs" in sports history. Could they have won a seventh title in 1999? The 1999 season was a lockout-shortened mess. The San Antonio Spurs eventually won it. Would a 36-year-old Jordan and a broken-back Pippen have beaten a young Tim Duncan? Honestly, probably not. But the fact that we even debate it shows how much respect that 1997-1998 Chicago Bulls squad earned.
They finished the season 62-20. They weren't the most dominant version of the Bulls, but they were the gutsiest.
How to Apply the "Last Dance" Mentality Today
You don't have to be an NBA superstar to take something away from that 98 season. It was essentially a study in high-performance management under extreme stress.
- Focus on the "Internal Game": The Bulls won because they decided the front office drama didn't matter once they stepped on the hardwood. Block out the noise you can't control.
- Identify Your "Rodman": Every team has a chaotic element. The key isn't to change them, but to manage them toward a common goal, just like Jackson did.
- Embrace the Grind: The 1998 season proved that you don't have to be at your peak physical form to win if your mental preparation is superior.
- Study the Tape: If you want to understand pressure, re-watch Game 6 of the 1998 Finals. Look at Jordan's eyes during the final three possessions. That's what total composure looks like.
To truly understand the impact of this era, go back and watch the raw game footage—not just the highlights. Look at the spacing, the hand-checking, and the sheer physicality of the 90s. It provides a necessary perspective on why that sixth ring was the hardest one to earn.
Actionable Step: Research the "Triangle Offense" mechanics used by Phil Jackson. Even if you aren't a coach, understanding how that system created space and opportunities through constant movement can change how you view teamwork and collaboration in any professional setting.