At one point while watching ESPN’s The Last Dance (airing on Netflix in Australia), the network’s epic 10-part documentary series on Michael Jordan’s final season with the Chicago Bulls, I realised my eight-year-old son hadn’t spoken or moved in half an hour. He just sat there, slack-jawed. Before the documentary, he’d mostly known Jordan as Bugs Bunny’s friend in Space Jam. But to watch Jordan like this, in his prime, soaring above mere mortals, was a revelation: my son has been trying to dunk like Michael, tongue wagging, on the Nerf hoop in his room ever since. I understand: I was rather slack-jawed myself.
