Stacey King remembered by the Bulls, and by Michael Jordan, as a bridge across eras

The Chicago Bulls announced the death of Stacey King on Sunday, June 7. He was 59. The team said it was notified by a family member, and no additional information about his passing was immediately released. For Bulls fans, King’s name carried more than one meaning, from his role on the franchise’s first championship dynasty in the early 1990s to the voice that, for more than two decades, made Bulls games feel like home on television.

King was selected by the Bulls with the sixth overall pick in the 1989 NBA Draft and went on to be part of the Bulls’ three consecutive championship teams from 1991 to 1993. According to Associated Press reporting, he averaged 6.6 points and 3.3 rebounds across five seasons with Chicago, then was traded to the Minnesota Timberwolves in 1994. His later NBA stops included Miami, Boston, and Dallas, but his place in Bulls history remained anchored to the years when the franchise was synonymous with elite momentum.

After his playing career, King returned to the organization as a broadcaster in 2006. Associated Press described him as an Emmy-winning, fan-favorite voice who spent more than two decades commentating Bulls games. Over time, his analysis and his style became part of the Bulls’ broadcast identity, a steady link between the Jordan-era memory that powered the franchise’s national profile and the evolving fan base that arrived during the Derrick Rose years and beyond.

The tributes that followed his death reflected that reach. In a statement reported by NBC Chicago, Michael Jordan said he was “deeply saddened” and that “We shared some special years together as teammates,” adding that King “helped define an era of Chicago Bulls basketball.” Bulls chairman Jerry Reinsdorf also issued a statement, praising King’s connection to Chicago and the way his “unmistakable voice” brought Bulls basketball to fans across generations. Reinsdorf said the organization would miss the “joy, energy, humor, candor and passion” King brought to daily broadcasts.

King’s impact was not limited to the highlights that show up in retrospectives. In the AP account, the broadcaster’s gift was portrayed as a personal one, making games feel specific to the fans watching at home. That was a role few athletes transition into with the same credibility they once held as players, but King’s career in the booth seemed to preserve what he offered on the court: a willingness to connect, and a familiarity with what made winning both complicated and repeatable.

For the Bulls, the death of a figure who spans the franchise’s most famous championship cycle and its modern TV era creates a difficult moment with a clear cultural reality. The team is currently in a period where maintaining franchise continuity matters as much as roster turnover. King’s voice, in that sense, functioned like an institution, giving long-time viewers a thread back to their earliest memories of Bulls basketball, while giving newer fans a way to learn the franchise’s language.

What to watch next is likely to be less about on-court implications than about how Chicago’s basketball community chooses to honor him. The Bulls and their broadcast partners may adjust future programming to mark his legacy, and fans can expect additional tributes from players, former teammates, and media figures who spent years sharing a stage with King’s distinctive perspective. Until then, the central story remains simple: Stacey King helped turn a championship era into a living tradition, first as a teammate, then as the voice that kept Bulls basketball stitched to generations.