The 1997 NBA Finals will forever be etched into the annals of basketball history as one of the most dramatic series ever played, and at the center of it stands Game 5—commonly known as "The Flu Game." This legendary matchup between the Chicago Bulls and the Utah Jazz wasn’t just another contest on the hardwood; it was a story of resilience, strategy, and sheer willpower that transcended the sport itself. To understand the magnitude of Game 5, we need to first set the stage. The Chicago Bulls, led by Michael Jordan, were chasing their fifth NBA championship of the 1990s, cementing their dynasty in a league dominated by fierce competition. On the other side, the Utah Jazz, spearheaded by the indomitable duo of Karl Malone and John Stockton, were in the midst of their first NBA Finals appearance. Malone had been crowned the league MVP that season, edging out Jordan in the voting—a point of contention for the Bulls superstar and one that added an extra layer of intensity to the series. Heading into Game 5, the series was tied 2-2, with the Jazz seizing the momentum after winning the last two games in Salt Lake City. The pressure was immense, and for Utah, this game was critical. A victory would give them a chance to clinch the title in Game 6 on their home court. For Chicago, a win meant returning to the United Center with a chance to close out the series in front of their home fans. But as the Bulls prepared for this pivotal game, news broke that would add an entirely new layer of drama to the unfolding saga. Michael Jordan was sick—severely sick. Speculation about the cause of his illness ranged from food poisoning to the flu, though years later, Jordan himself revealed that he believed it was food poisoning from a late-night pizza ordered to his hotel room in Utah. Whatever the cause, the result was undeniable: Jordan was physically depleted, vomiting through the night and struggling to even stand during the pregame. For most players, stepping onto the court in such a condition would have been unthinkable. But Michael Jordan was not most players. As the game tipped off, it was clear that something was wrong. Jordan moved sluggishly, his usual energy sapped by the illness. Utah capitalized early, feeding off the deafening roar of their home crowd. Malone, the league MVP, showcased his physical dominance, muscling his way to the basket and punishing the Bulls in the paint. Stockton orchestrated the Jazz offense with surgical precision, threading passes through tight windows and knocking down timely shots. The Jazz surged to a 16-point lead in the second quarter, and it seemed as though the Bulls were on the brink of collapse. But then, Jordan did what Jordan always seemed to do—he found another gear. Summoning reserves of strength that defied explanation, he began to chip away at the deficit. The mid-range jumper, the fadeaway, the drives to the basket—signature moves executed with unrelenting determination. Each bucket seemed to defy the laws of human endurance. By halftime, the Bulls had clawed their way back into the game, trailing by just four points. Phil Jackson, the Zen Master, played a critical role in managing this precarious situation. Jackson, known for his ability to read the emotional and physical states of his players, crafted a strategy that allowed Jordan to conserve energy without losing his effectiveness. The Bulls leaned heavily on Scottie Pippen, Jordan’s longtime partner in crime, who acted as a facilitator, defender, and occasional scorer. Pippen’s versatility and calm under pressure were invaluable, as he helped take some of the load off Jordan while still keeping the Jazz defense on their heels. On the Utah sideline, Jerry Sloan, a tough, no-nonsense coach, urged his team to maintain their intensity. Sloan had built the Jazz into a disciplined, fundamentally sound unit, and their execution was a testament to his coaching philosophy. The pick-and-roll between Stockton and Malone, the team’s bread and butter, was nearly unstoppable, forcing the Bulls to make constant adjustments on defense. Role players like Jeff Hornacek and Bryon Russell provided critical support, hitting shots and making defensive plays to keep the Jazz competitive. As the game progressed, the tension became palpable. Each possession carried immense weight, and the physicality of the game began to take its toll on both teams. Jordan, visibly exhausted, often bent over during stoppages in play, gasping for air. His face was pale, his movements labored. And yet, he continued to deliver. A crucial three-pointer here, a contested jumper there—Jordan was single-handedly willing the Bulls to stay in the fight. The fourth quarter was a battle of wills. The Jazz, backed by their raucous home crowd, traded blow for blow with the Bulls. Malone, ever the workhorse, continued to score in the post, using his strength to overpower Chicago’s interior defenders. Stockton’s steady hand guided the Jazz ...
