There is still some mystery about ‘‘Derrick Rose Night.’’

We know the venue. That’s obvious.

We know the date: Jan. 4, perfectly timed for when former Bulls coach Tom Thibodeau and the Knicks are in town.

What we don’t know yet is the magnitude of it.

By all accounts, the Bulls have no plans to announce a statue for Rose. That’s fair, considering that being cast in bronze for eternity should be reserved for those who bring a championship to a city. Rose didn’t do that.

But what should happen — and is still up in the air — is that the Bulls decide to retire Rose’s No. 1 and raise it to the rafters in the United Center.

I’ve been as critical of the Rose era as anyone. It was basically three stellar years of basketball followed by four years of headaches and talk of ‘‘meetings and graduations,’’ all the while chasing the ghosts of the past. Rose doesn’t deserve to be in the Basketball Hall of Fame, and he’s not even the best all-around player the Bulls have had in the last 20 years. That honor goes to Jimmy Butler.

What Rose represents, however, is a heartbeat in an organization that flatlined after the Michael Jordan dynasty. And the topper was that he was ‘‘one of ours.’’

The iconic ‘‘And from Chicago . . . ’’ introduction meant something. When Rose was at his best, it almost came across as a warning for the opposing team that night. This kid from the streets of Englewood — who was born and raised here — is coming to take your soul, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Even when Rose was no longer an MVP-caliber player because of his knee injuries, ‘‘And from Chicago . . . ’’ still sent the United Center into a frenzy with the hope that a derailed career somehow could find its way back to better days.

So why not give Rose that final nudge with a jersey retirement? After all, it’s not as though the Bulls have allowed anyone else to wear it. Well, not for more than a few days, anyway.

During the 2016-17 season, after Rose was traded to the Knicks and the Bulls acquired Michael Carter-Williams from the Bucks, Carter-Williams posted a picture of himself wearing the No. 1. The torches were lit and the villagers were outraged.

Carter-Williams quickly pivoted to No. 7, wanting nothing to do with the outpouring of criticism directed at him and at the Bulls for approving it.

But the controversy over the No. 1 jersey didn’t end there.

Never afraid of making waves or of sticking up his middle finger at the establishment, Butler tried to switch to No. 1, but the Bulls intervened. Rose and Butler didn’t exactly play nice all the time during Rose’s last two seasons with the team, so the idea of Butler decked out in No. 1 wouldn’t have been a good look. Butler eventually backed down.

That’s why it’s time for an organization that seldom does the right thing to do the right thing. The Bulls should announce that Jan. 4 won’t just be a ‘‘night’’ for Rose but a celebration that will see his jersey number retired.

The Bulls’ victory Friday was the latest reminder of just how much Rose — and the team he led in his prime — meant to the city. Longtime forward Taj Gibson, who now plays for the Hornets, received a standing ovation when he entered the game late. Afterward, he was asked about the emotion he showed and the upcoming night dedicated to Rose.

‘‘I expect everyone to scream loud, drop some tears,’’ said Gibson, who will be in attendance. ‘‘If I’m tearing up from just this end-of-the-game thing [on Friday], I know it’s going to be crazy for him.’’

It will be crazy, but the Bulls have a chance to make it iconic, too.

No. 1s don’t come along often. Do the right thing. It’s time.