At the University of North Carolina’s auditorium, Professor Samuel Whitaker was in the midst of a heated lecture. His tone was confident, bordering on cocky, as he challenged the students’ beliefs. “It’s time to move past the myths,” he declared, his voice strong and commanding. “Religion has held humanity back for centuries, and one of the biggest stories still dominating so many lives is Jesus. Let’s be clear: Jesus is just a fairy tale.”
The room fell silent. Some students nodded in agreement, while others sat still, uncomfortable with the professor’s bold declaration. Meanwhile, Michael Jordan, the basketball legend and lifelong Christian, was on campus as a guest speaker. He had come to discuss Gen Z’s role in sports and culture, sharing his deep Christian faith alongside his sharp competitive edge.
As Michael walked through the hallways of the university, the sound of Whitaker’s words reached his ears. The professor’s statement hit Michael like a thunderbolt. He had faced controversy throughout his NBA career, but this was different. Calling Jesus a fairy tale, a core part of his faith, was something he could not let stand.
His footsteps slowed as he took a deep breath, his mind racing. After a lifetime of achievements, this was a challenge he could not ignore. With a calm resolve, he made his way toward the auditorium.
Inside the auditorium, Professor Whitaker was still in the midst of his lecture, speaking to the students with an air of authority. “The story of Jesus Christ—a man said to walk on water, turn water into wine, rise from the dead—is no different from Greek mythology or Viking legends,” he continued. “There is no reliable historical evidence confirming he existed as the Bible claims. It’s all a product of imagination, woven to control the masses for centuries.”
A few students murmured in agreement, while others squirmed uncomfortably. One girl in the front row scribbled notes quickly, and a guy in the corner discreetly scrolled on his phone. Whitaker relished the attention. He paused, letting his words sink in, expecting applause for his bold stance. But then the door clicked open.
Michael Jordan stepped inside, his tall, commanding figure unmistakable. The room fell silent, the students turning in unison to stare. The buzz of excitement was palpable. “Is that… MJ?” someone whispered.
Whitaker raised an eyebrow, his expression tightening with displeasure. “Looks like we have an interruption,” he muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed.
Michael, unfazed by the attention, took a deep breath and stepped forward. His shoes echoed through the auditorium as he walked down the aisle, his presence demanding attention. He stopped at the podium, his gaze locked on Professor Whitaker.
“Excuse me,” Michael said, his voice calm but firm. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I just heard you say that Jesus is a fairy tale, and I have to say… you’re wrong.”
The room held its breath. The tension between faith and reason had just reached a boiling point.
Whitaker, surprised but determined to keep control, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh, and who might you be?” he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I didn’t expect a retired athlete to care about my history class. Are you here to defend this ‘myth’?”
Michael didn’t flinch. He stood tall, his arms crossed confidently, the stance of a champion used to facing tough opponents. “I’m not here to defend a myth,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “I’m here to defend the truth.”
The room grew still as Michael continued. “You say there’s no evidence for Jesus. Well, let me ask you this: how do you explain Tacitus, a non-Christian Roman historian, who recorded Jesus’s execution under Pontius Pilate? Or Josephus, a first-century Jewish historian who mentioned Jesus as a real figure with major influence?” Michael’s words rang out with authority. “These aren’t just Bible stories. These are independent historical sources.”
The students began whispering, some pulling out their phones to look up the names Michael had mentioned. Whitaker crossed his arms, his smirk still intact. “Jordan, right?” he said coolly. “You might be a legend in basketball, but don’t bring your game into my classroom. Those sources, if they’re even real, are just fragmented anecdotes written decades after the fact. They prove nothing beyond someone telling a good story.”
Michael tilted his head, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “A good story?” he repeated, his voice rising with intensity. “Then why did that story change the world? Why have billions of people lived and died for it? You can call it a fairy tale, but you can’t deny Jesus’s impact—historical or religious. Take your pick.”
The room buzzed. One student clapped, then quickly stopped, awkwardly looking around. Whitaker’s lips twitched, but he quickly regained composure. “Who do you think you are, Mr. Jordan?” he asked, his voice now hardening. “A theologian? A historian? Or just a celebrity with outdated ideas?”
Michael smiled, but the warmth was gone. “I’m someone who believes in truth,” he said, his voice steady as steel. “And the truth is, you just insulted millions, including me, by calling Jesus fiction without a strong enough argument. If you want a debate, I’m ready.”
The University of North Carolina auditorium transformed into an arena of ideas. Professor Whitaker stood at the podium, arms crossed, his icy gaze fixed on Michael Jordan. The students filled the seats, their eyes wide, some filming with their phones, unwilling to miss a moment. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, as the debate between faith and reason reached its peak.
Whitaker broke the silence. “Mr. Jordan, you think you can just waltz in here and lecture me? You believe a few scraps from Tacitus or Josephus make Jesus real? How disappointing—from someone who claims to be informed.”
Michael’s lips twitched, his eyes flashing with defiance. “Disappointing?” he echoed. “I don’t need you to know who I am to say you’re wrong. You think dismissing anything that doesn’t fit your rational box is clever? No. I’m standing here for what I believe. What my family, my Christian faith, and history have taught me. Jesus isn’t just a name in a book. He was real, and you can’t deny that just because you don’t like it.”
The students stirred, whispers rising. Whitaker let out a dry laugh, trying to mask his frustration. “Oh, Christian faith,” he said dripping with mockery. “Is that the armor you’re wearing? I suppose being a sports icon forces you to cling to fairy tales for justification. But let’s be honest, Mr. Jordan. Do you really believe he walked on water, turned water into wine, rose from the dead? Is that what you want these students to buy into?”
Michael took a deep breath, his eyes locked on Whitaker. “I’m not here to force anyone to believe in miracles,” he said, his voice steady but unyielding. “That’s a personal choice. But I’m here to say calling Jesus pure fiction is flat-out wrong. You want sources? Tacitus recorded the execution under Pilate. Josephus mentioned Jesus as a real figure leading a major movement. This isn’t legend; it’s history. You don’t have to believe he’s the Son of God, but denying he existed—that’s willfully blinding yourself to the truth.”
The students clapped, the applause rising louder with each word Michael spoke. Whitaker’s face turned red, his fists clenching. He wasn’t used to being challenged, especially by a guest speaker.
“You want to argue emotions?” Whitaker sneered. “Fine, but keep your celebrity status and superstitions out of my classroom.”
Michael stepped closer to the podium, his voice lower but powerful. “I didn’t bring celebrity here,” he said, his voice resonating with authority. “I brought truth. Something you seem to have forgotten how to face. If you want to keep going, I’m game.”
The room erupted into murmurs. One girl shouted, “He’s got a point!” Another raised his phone, saying, “I just looked it up. Tacitus is real.”
Whitaker, frustrated and defeated, stood silent for a moment, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Your truth,” he muttered. “Fine. But keep your fairy tales to yourself.”
Michael stood tall, his eyes scanning the room. “I just want you to think for yourselves,” he said, his voice warm and firm. “Science is great, but it’s not everything. Faith, history, and emotion—they’re part of being human, too. Don’t let anyone tell you Jesus didn’t exist, just because we can’t measure everything.”
The students erupted in applause, their phones raised high, capturing every moment. Whitaker, caught off guard, turned to leave, his voice faint as he muttered, “Class ends here.”
As Michael left the auditorium, he smiled, his heart light with the knowledge that he had stood up for what he believed in—not just for himself, but for the millions whose faith had been dismissed. His phone buzzed with notifications, the debate video going viral, spreading across social media.
Professor Whitaker, alone in his office, stared at the books on his shelf, the words of Michael echoing in his mind. For the first time in years, he began to question—not just Michael’s faith, but his own understanding of truth.
The debate wasn’t over. But for now, Michael Jordan had won.
The day Larry Bird said, ‘It’s just God disguised as Michael Jordan’
As almighty as Jordan’s record 63-point playoff performance was, the Celtics still won the game in double overtime
Michael Jordan #23 of the Chicago Bulls drives to the basket against Larry Bird #33 of the Boston Celtics during Game 2 of the Eastern Conference quarterfinals during the 1986 NBA Playoffs on April 20, 1986 at the Boston Garden in Boston, Massachusetts.
Boston Celtics forward Larry Bird could have sworn the individual who dropped a historic 63 points in a playoff game was actually God dolled up as Chicago Bulls guard Michael Jordan.
But quite frankly, if God was going to lace up a pair of sneakers, play a double-overtime contest and break Elgin Baylor’s 24-year-old record, don’t you think he would’ve also given himself the win for all that effort?
Alas, almighty Jordan came, he scored, but ultimately he and his No. 8-seeded Bulls didn’t conquer as they fell to the top-seeded Celtics at the Boston Garden, 135-131, in two overtimes on April 20, 1986.
“I would never have called him the greatest player I’d ever seen if I didn’t mean it,” Bird told The Boston Globe. “It’s just God disguised as Michael Jordan.”
What’s a God to a nonbeliever, though? Because that’s essentially the role Bird, who finished with 36 points, 12 rebounds and eight assists, had to play to help Boston win the game and head to Chicago with a 2-0 series lead.
Jordan used any and every scoring method in his 53 minutes — dunks, layups, floaters, jump shots, 3-pointers — and finished 22 of 41 from the field to overtake Baylor’s playoff scoring record. The former Los Angeles Laker set the mark with 61 points against the Celtics in the championship series on April 14, 1962.
Jordan’s 50th point gave Chicago a 111-110 lead in the fourth quarter. The future Hall of Famer then sent the game into overtime by stealing the ball from Celtics center Robert Parish and hitting a pair of free throws (his 53rd and 54th points) to tie the game at 116-116.
Jordan finished 19 of 21 from the foul line with six assists and five rebounds. His scoring breakdown was 17 points in the first quarter, six in the second, 13 in the third, 18 in the fourth, five in the first overtime and four in the second.
“I’m not worried about the points,” Jordan told The Washington Post. “I’d give all the points back if we could win.”
In Game 1 of the best-of-five series, the Bulls went through Jordan on 90 percent of their offensive plays, and he dropped 49 points.
“He is the most exciting, most awesome player in the game,” Bird told the Post. “I didn’t think anyone was capable of doing what Michael has done to us the past two games.”
The sellout crowd of 14,890 was treated to a three-hour, five-minute Game 2 in which the Bulls took a lead (4-2) they did not surrender until Bird hit a shot clock-beating 3-pointer to give Boston a 93-92 advantage. Nine consecutive lead changes followed.
And while everything that led up to the final moments might lead one to believe that Jordan, Bird or Kevin McHale (27 points and 15 rebounds) would prove the hero, it was the Celtics’ Jerry Sichting who put the game away for the perennial power.
Sichting, a 6-foot-1-inch guard who was playing in only the second postseason game of his six-year career, took an inside-out pass from McHale and pulled up from 18 feet at the top of the key to break the game’s 13th tie. Boston led 133-131 with 57 seconds left.
“The play was designed to go to Kevin McHale,” Sichting, who was brought over from the Indiana Pacers in the offseason, told The New York Times, “but he was double-teamed, and he kicked it out to me. I was wide open at the top of the key, and I just buried it.”
Jordan’s equalizer from the left baseline was off the mark and corralled by Parish. He then threw an outlet pass to Bird, who passed it right back to Parish.
Even though Parish had been cold shooting out of the pick-and-roll, he gathered Bird’s pass and connected on a 12-footer along the right baseline, which gave Boston a four-point lead with nine seconds remaining. A 3-pointer from the Bulls closed out the nail-biter.
“As soon as he set the pick and rolled, I gave it to him,” said Bird. “When he goes, you’ve got to give him the ball. You don’t worry about Robert Parish. I never do, because he’s made a lot of big plays for this team.”
“We played very well,” said Jordan, “and the end of the game just came down to who got the breaks … and who didn’t.”
