You just can’t talk about the Greatest Game of all time without bringing up Michael Jordan.  Even when you’re mentioning other sports, if a guy plays a brilliant game in the playoffs, his performance was “Jordanesque.”  But there is one game that stands above all else as a testament to the greatest player of all time: The Flu Game, June 11, 1997.

Jordan had approximately 524,379 memorable moments in his career, and running through a list of quick nicknames flashes the perfect images across the retina of any MJ fan:   UNC-Georgetown game-winner, 63 in the Garden, free throw dunk, burning Ehlo and the Cavs, the midair switch against LA, shrugging his shoulders against Portland… alright seriously, I need to stop, I’m getting chills.  And the thing is, I was never even a Jordan fan.

That’s the thing about the greatest of the great; they will always have haters.  Some hater will always be up for the argument that “Tom Brady’s really not that good of a quarterback,” or “Lebron is overrated and always will be.” Some self-proclaimed sports experts spend their every waking moment hating on anything that’s hateable, with notable names including Skip Bayless, Stephen A Smith, and my former roommate Little Nub.  Jordan’s entire career, he had someone somewhere in the sports world doubting him.

When he first came into the league, it was “he couldn’t play defense.” Well, say hello to the 1988 Defensive Player of the Year and 9-time All-Defensive Team selection! There were whispers among the league that he couldn’t hit the 3, and Portland was quick to point this out prior to their ’92 Finals match-up.  Jordan was equally quick to score 35 points in the first half of game 1, including six three pointers.  When Barkley won the MVP in 1993 and the Suns were favored to beat the Bulls in the Finals, Jordan decided to average 41 points per game and shut that noise up.

And for all his successes, for all the times he completely defied description, there were bitter fans (and even worse, “experts”) ready to say “He won’t do it again.”  I shamefully count myself among that number.  I was one of those fans who typically despised the bandwagon but desperately wished they had gotten on it earlier.  Jordan was everywhere; so of course, I had to look for someone else to root for.  Or just root against him.

But you know what? Obviously, it never worked.  You could never possibly overestimate what it would take to beat him, which is what made the flu game so great.  In the middle of the night before game 5 of the NBA Finals, Jordan wakes up sweating and immediately crawls to the bathroom to throw up what he probably feels like is a boot that he ate earlier that evening.  Medics flood the room and discover that he has a strong bout of food poisoning and is running a 103-degree fever.  He is told point blank that there is basically no way he will play in game 5.

Of course, I had no access to this information.  When I, the cynical freshman in high school heard on SportsCenter that Jordan was ill and was doubtful for the pivotal game, I was already telling myself that it was all an act.  He was faking it and playing up some tiny cold so that he could be the hero, and he’d have an excuse anyways if the Jazz won game 5, which I pretty much figured they would.

This game also takes on “greatest game” status because I believe it was so important to Jordan.  The Jazz had just won two games in a row and it looked as though Jordan would finally lose his first NBA Finals.  MJ probably took something like that personally.  It seemed to me that, when he reached his prime, his motive wasn’t necessarily to pile on the championships, it was to prevent everyone else from getting one.  Barkley, Malone, Stockton, Payton… all of these men were turned away at the force that was MJ.

I mean, Clyde Drexler and Hakeem Olajuwon should be applauded for combining their superstar talents in the 2 years that Jordan was absent (or half absent, in 95) to win their titles.  Why didn’t other stars think of this?  There should have been a dream team of title-hungry NBA stars all signed for minimum contracts during the year Jordan was gone, because that was their only shot.  I guess they just didn’t have the foresight.

But back to game 5.  If the Jazz win this game, it’s probably the series, and therefore Jordan proves himself to be beatable.  This becomes impossible for him to stomach, despite the fact that he has very little stomach remaining, having left a lot of it in the Marriott toilet the previous night.  MJ decides to forget the advice, travels to the arena, and starts thinking about playing.  Teammate Scottie Pippen would later say that he didn’t even think His Airness would “be able to put a jersey on. He looked that bad.”

He did suit up, but looked every part of his illness in the first quarter, as the Jazz dominated his Bulls and were leading by as many as 16.  These are the aspects that get lost many times when you talk about great games.  This was a great game in every quarter.  The Bulls seemed at first inspired by Michael’s very presence, but then dismayed at the sight of him sweating profusely within the first 2 minutes, dragging his feet at both ends of the court.  During a timeout, he slumps into his seat and his arms dangle off his sagging shoulders, looking like he had no energy whatsoever.

But somehow, an energy and a confidence born out of pure will, that’s the only way to explain it, led Michael to decide to take the game over.  He slashes, he nails the outside jumpers, suddenly he’s looking like a new player and rattles off 17 points in the quarter as if he could have been doing this the whole time.  And that’s what really convinced me the whole thing was a sham.

At home, I’m yelling at the TV, at my friends, at whoever would listen (which, ok, was neither the TV nor friends at this moment) that he was totally faking this.  I was completely convinced that the slumping, the panting, the dragging was all an act of great theatre and that MJ was appealing to the audience at home, trying to look like even more of a hero.

Having watched this game again, I can readily admit I was an idiot.  You can see the exhaustion in his body, watch the muscles in his face flapping limp from lack of focus, and be even more amazed at the performance in general.  He absolutely would not be denied.

On the other side of the ball, the Jazz were still playing amazingly cohesive as well.  This entire game seemed to ebb and flow perfectly coinciding with the state of Jordan’s body; when he was sluggish, the Jazz would capitalize and spark an 8-point run.  When the fire returned, the Bulls would rattle off 9 in retaliation.

Jordan would have gladly sat down at some point in this game had he believed his teammates could do it without him.  But his desire would be the only thing that could turn away Malone and Stockton, the singular advantage that Chicago held over Utah.  The Mailman pick-and-roll was working all night, and when Karl wasn’t routinely dropping in short jumpers, Stockton and Jeff Hornacek would find themselves open from deep.  This was the best team that would ever face Jordan in the Finals, the most equipped to beat him.

But they still could not.  His team fading in the fourth, MJ leads the Bulls on a 10-0 run to go up by 2 with five minutes left, the shot to finally put them ahead looking eerily like a certain shot a year later would.  At that point, MJ had 33 points already, and I am getting livid at these imbeciles trying to guard him.

With 3:07 left, John Stockton nails a three for an 84-81 Utah lead. Jordan quickly hits a runner in the lane to make it 84-83. Moments later, Jordan is fouled by Stockton. He makes the first free throw to tie the score at 85 with 46.5 seconds left, but misses the second. Kukoc, however, tips the miss, and Jordan, his instincts still amazingly sharp and his reactions still quick despite his illness, grabs the loose ball and sets up the offense again.

Clearly exhausted, clearly weak, Jordan looks for Pippen posting up Jeff Hornacek. MJ also looks for three-point specialist Steve Kerr, wide open in the corner. Jordan, his arms hanging like a piece of rope, makes a weak fake to Kerr, but then quickly fires a pass to Pippen. Russell quickly moves to double Pippen, 5 for 17 in the game, leaving Jordan open on the perimeter.  I could go on and on about that brilliant coaching move, but we’d be delaying the inevitable climax.

Pippen quickly fires the ball back to Jordan. The clock shows 0:26. With Stockton's hand right in his face, Jordan launches a shot from beyond the three-point line. The ball hits nothing but string. Bulls, 88-85. His 15th point of the quarter and his 38th of the night.  He also managed to tally seven rebounds, five assists, and three steals.

Though a few seconds remained before Chicago would win 90-88, the game was basically over at that point.  Jordan has torn the hearts out of the Utah Jazz and their fans and proven that at his absolute weakest, at the complete low point of his physical abilities (except maybe, when he was a fetus, but I wouldn’t bet against him making a game-winner from the womb), he still had proved to the world that he was above and beyond the skill ability of any other player in the game.

This article may come across as Jordan worship, and maybe it’s a strong dose of that.  But it is meant to be more about the game, and what it meant to me.  This game was the greatest one I had ever watched because in the process I began to love Michael Jordan.  I had never seen a player dominate so thoroughly based solely upon willpower.  Even Jordan himself would later say it was the hardest thing he had ever done.  I watched the final moments of that game, the announcers praising his greatness in every way possible, but it was the images I would remember; Jordan finally relying on someone else, collapsing into the arms of teammate Pippen as his hands seemed barely able to find holds on his Jersey, and other teammates offering a hand as they drug his broken body from the court.