Stacey King, the Chicago Bulls’ three-time NBA champion and longtime broadcaster, died Sunday at 59. The team announced his death the same day, sending shock through generations of fans who knew him first as a title-winning big man and later as one of the most familiar voices on Bulls telecasts.
That familiar voice helped make King a search term on Sunday, as tributes poured in from inside and outside the organization. Bulls chairman Jerry Reinsdorf called him a cherished member of the Bulls family and said his connection to Chicago and the team stretched more than three decades, first on the court and later in the booth. Chicago Sports Network president and CEO Michael McCarthy said King was one of the most beloved figures in Chicago sports, while longtime broadcaster Jim Rose said King was one of the best basketball analysts he had ever heard.
King’s death carried an added layer of uncertainty. The medical examiner’s office said he was found dead at his River Forest home Sunday morning, but a head autopsy is still needed to determine the cause of death. Multiple reports said he fell at the home, though that has not been confirmed as the cause. For Bulls fans, the larger fact was already settled: one of the franchise’s most recognizable figures was gone.
For friends, the loss landed even harder. Ike White said he had spoken with King not long ago and that they had already made plans for the summer to go have shrimp. White said he and King had been friends for 30 years, always ended their conversations with “I love you,” and was devastated to learn King had died while he was driving on Sunday morning. “It’s shocking,” White said, adding that seeing King’s son crying left him feeling helpless.
Reinsdorf said King brought joy, energy, humor, candor and passion to the organization, its broadcasts and its fans, and McCarthy said he carried that same personality into people’s homes for nearly two decades. The final answer on how he died is still pending, but the legacy that defined him is not: King helped build the Bulls’ on-court identity, then spent years helping Chicago relive it.
