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Jordan never got old. . . .

He was transcendent. He was smooth as Charlie Parker and nasty as Tupac. He was classical like Mozart and a classic like Clapton. He was mainstream and he was avant-garde. He was by-the-textbook and he was improvisational. Your grandfather loved him as much as your kids did. How many artists, entertainers, athletes can claim that?

Of course the game will survive.

But this season just lost whatever remaining luster it had. Michael Jordan’s end was perfect. But our emptiness is profound.