Jerry Sloan

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Bulls.com

CHICAGO – Today, the Chicago Bulls named the inaugural class for the organization’s new Ring of Honor, which will recognize and celebrate past players, coaches and front office staff who made outstanding contributions and helped define the organization throughout its history. The Bulls will celebrate the first class, which includes 13 individuals and the 1995-96 team, with several events in January including a halftime presentation during the Bulls game against the Golden State Warriors on January 12 and a private gala at the United Center on January 11, both proudly presented by Magellan Corporation. Fans will be able to engage with the Ring of Honor through a United Center atrium experience that will be open to the public from January 10 through January 12, as well as a website that will launch in early January.&nbsp;

“The Chicago Bulls Ring of Honor will be a first-of-its-kind celebration honoring many of the legends who have helped shaped our organization over the past 57 years,” said Michael Reinsdorf, president and chief executive officer. “They have deep connections to our fans and community and represent a spirit of competition, hard work, and toughness.&nbsp; This January, we look forward to cementing their legacy in Bulls history and inspiring the future of our organization.”&nbsp;&nbsp;

The Bulls will add to the Ring of Honor every two years with the next class being inducted in 2026.&nbsp;

The inaugural class includes 13 individual Bulls legends and one team: Artis Gilmore, Phil Jackson, Michael Jordan, Johnny “Red” Kerr, Dick Klein, Jerry Krause, Toni Kukoc, Bob Love, Scottie Pippen, Dennis Rodman, Jerry Sloan, Chet Walker, Tex Winter, and the 1995-96 team, which went 72-10 and won the 1996 NBA Championship.&nbsp;&nbsp;

The Bulls will honor the following players, coaches and staff from the 1995-96 team:&nbsp;&nbsp;

Chicago Bulls Ring of Honor Selection Criteria&nbsp;&nbsp;

Chicago Bulls Ring of Honor honorees must all meet a set of criteria:&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

For the first class, in addition to the general evaluation criteria, all individual players have been honored by the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame or have had their retirement banners raised at the United Center.&nbsp;&nbsp;

To learn more and sign up for updates, please visit Bulls.com/RingofHonor. To buy tickets for the January 12 game, please visit Bulls.com/tickets.&nbsp;&nbsp;

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Chicago Bulls Launch Ring of Honor and Announce Inaugural Class

Sam Smith

Sam Smith pays tribute to "The Original Bull" Jerry Sloan, who's No. 4 hangs in the rafters at the United Center.

Jerry Sloan died Friday. They need to lower the flags here in Chicago for the Basketball Hall of Famer who was enshrined in 2009 for his winning career as Utah Jazz coach. Because Jerry Sloan in his crusty stoicism evoked the spirit and culture of this great city perhaps better than any.

Because Jerry Sloan was about work. Nothing fancy. He wasn't the most talented or the most famous. He didn't possess the seismic natural gifts. The glare of attention didn't come his way. Better than a hard hat, he actually did come to work in a John Deere cap. Sloan's game even resembled a tractor, determined, relentless, austere and reliable.

Jerry Sloan, No. 4, was the first Bulls player to have his number retired. There wasn't much grace associated with Jerry. Unless you delight in watching someone take a charge or charge at Wilt Chamberlain. Wilt was the strongest and most feared player of his day. Players ran from Wilt. Jerry ran toward him, leaping in front of Wilt to take a charge and then leaping up in front of a glaring Wilt to challenge, "I'm not scared of you!"

Jerry Sloan made you smile amidst the mayhem.

Many played the game better and were more successful. Though he minimized it publicly, it haunted Jerry into his retirement of failing to win a championship for the Bulls with some of the franchise's greatest and most overlooked teams in the 1970s. He'd say decades later how he regretted not winning a championship "for those fans."

But Jerry was a winner. And he brought such joy in perhaps saving professional basketball for Chicago as an original Bull in 1966. Sloan's pride and passion produced a style of play that celebrated Chicago as few have. It highlighted the soul of the city. Chicago stands for work as much as New York represents finance and Los Angeles glamor. The great labor movements of the 19th Century began in Chicago. The working man finally began to hold his head high and gain some respect in Chicago, the Haymarket Affair and Pullman strike being vital pieces of the bold tapestry of the American labor movement.

Chicago basketball appropriately glorifies Michael Jordan and the 1990s champions, much regarded as among the few best teams in American sports history. That was emphasized with the recent showing of the 10-part Last Dance documentary.

No one will do a documentary of Sloan's 1970s Bulls, a rollicking rambunctious group led by Sloan with Stormin' Norman, Butterbean and Chet the Jet. They had the names if not the fame. They never could get past the giants of the era, Wilt and Kareem, despite seasons with up to 57 victories and brutal and oh-so-close playoff series. But if there were a documentary, it might be titled "Cutting in." Because that's who those guys and Sloan were, the guys who might interrupt the glossy proceedings so the overlooked little guys could have their chance.

You know if the Bulls ever had won that title back then, they'd have been spraying beer all over the locker room.

Champagne! Are you kidding? Gimme a break!

Jerry Sloan's No. 4 retired in the rafters at Chicago Stadium.

Sloan, 78, revealed in 2016 he had Parkinson's disease and Lewy body dementia. Sloan never was one to seek attention, but he said people were asking. So he told Steve Luhm of the Salt Lake City Tribune, "I don't want people feeling sorry for me." That was Jerry. Nothing to see here. Keep moving.

It's what he did, constantly moving from the two-mile walk after morning chores from the Gobbler's Knob farm in rural southern Illinois to the main road where he could hitchhike to the one-room schoolhouse to Dick Motta's early version of the triangle offense. That wonderful Bulls team lacked the talent of a Jordan. Which generally makes the ultimate difference. But there were so many eerie similarities from its impregnable defensive wall to its relentless offensive movement with few plays, the offense mostly responding to defensive actions. It played deliberately featuring the offensive forwards, Chet Walker and Bob Love, because there wasn't a center in Tom Boerwinkle to match the Goliaths of the game. Opponents understood it wasn't just a contest. It was a reckoning to face Sloan and those Bulls.

Because the first introduction was to the ubiquitous guards, Sloan and Van Lier, waiting, in your face, annoying, impatient and uncompromising. They were the scourge of the NBA. I'd love to see Norm's No. 2 up there sometime right beside Jerry's No. 4. Chet's No. 25, also.

Jerry Sloan is the Bulls history. He is Mr. Bull.

He came to the Bulls in the 1966 expansion draft and remained through 1976, the starting shooting guard for 10 opening days, at 6-5 the team's leading rebounder and handing off the Bulls to the modern NBA era. He made a pair of All-Star teams and six all-defensive teams, though individual honors and statistics never was what Jerry Sloan was about.

He isn't among the leaders on many all-time Bulls franchise lists anymore, other than minutes and games played. Though the 6-5 Sloan is fifth alltime in total rebounds. No one else among that top 10 is under 6-8.

He was mostly about being there for his teammates. Like the game against Kareem's favored Bucks shortly before they stopped the Lakers record 33-game winning streak. It was a rare Chicago Stadium home sellout, among just four that season. Jerry's not missing that. Sloan's sister-in-law had died and the funeral was that day in St, Louis. He was a pallbearer. As the team minutes before game time was making plans to play without Sloan, he walked into the locker room. Then he played 44 minutes and led the Bulls to the win with 27 points and 14 rebounds.

Chet Walker would remark that day, "Sloan, you've got to be the most dedicated man in the world."

Jerry was, to his family, his players, his teams and especially to the sanctity of the game.

I recall a game when Ricky Davis was trying to get a triple double at the end of a blowout win over the Jazz and shot at his own basket to get a rebound. Sloan had one of his players try to tackle Davis afterward and then said, "I would've knocked him on his a**. You try to embarrass a team after a 20-point lead, you're g*d d*mn right I'd knock him down. They can put me in jail or whatever they want for saying that, but that's the way it is."

Though he was a fierce competitor, Karl Malone wasn't a fighter. Jerry was. There was a time when Kenyon Martin took a cheap shot at Malone, who didn't respond much. Sloan did, charging at Martin and being restrained. You always wanted Jerry Sloan on your side.

Jerry was the guy media most loved. He also was something of an ink stained wretch, an old shorthand for newspaper writers. Because after games when the coaches would wander off to the cocktail hours it was Jerry—also Rudy Tomjanovich, the pride of Hamtramck—who'd join the writers with pitchers. Not that the writers were more interesting. They just hung out with the factory workers. Jerry didn't suffer fools, and he wasn't about trying to fool you.

On road trips, he most enjoyed shopping for old tractors. Some guys collected phone numbers. Jerry collected old farm tractors, dozens stored back in his farm in McLeansboro. So revered was Sloan with those early Bulls they'd have the league allow the team to schedule regular season games in Evansville, where Sloan led the small college team to a pair of national titles after finding the U. of Illinois and Southern Illinois just too big. Jerry went home to be with his high school sweetheart, Bobbye, who died in 2004. And to pursue his life's fate, if not dream, working on an oil rig. But Bobbye got him back to basketball and Evansville.

Just ready to work. Jerry's dad died when he was four, so he had to run things. He ran in many ways, especially on the basketball court. There was a story about Sloan's mother, Jane, after Jerry's team lost a high school playoff game. Moms weren't in the stands then. There were chores. "How had you done?" she asked that next morning of Jerry. "Lost," he replied. "You must not have worked hard enough," she responded. It also was a Sloan family tradition.

Jerry Sloan was a two-time All-Star as a Bull and made All-Defensive First Team four times.

It burned at Jerry he never was able to win that NBA title, either as a player and then the two excruciating losses to the Bulls in the 1997 and 1998 Finals. He'd quietly lament how unfulfilling it was. Still, he stood proud and defiant. I loved when the Jazz got down to the Bulls in some of those series, especially after that 42-point loss in 1998. Sloan would smile and say he was excited because he was anxious to see how the players responded. You knew how Jerry would respond. He imbued that fire and desire in his teammates and players alike. The Jazz would get off the floor in that series to come within a Michael Jordan miracle minute of a seventh game and perhaps that elusive title.

Still, I recall Sloan saying after one of those playoff defeats, "A lot of guys will show their rings to you who didn't have anything to do with winning a championship. There's something to be said for coming back after you lose, for putting yourself on the line, for having the will to try it again and again, for putting every ounce of energy into achieving something after you've fallen short. That's the kind of guys we've always had here."

That's what Jerry Sloan brought to the game and it imbued in others the abilities and desires to raise above their levels, not unlike the demands and depredations we'd see sometimes with Michael Jordan.

Jerry never was the star player. He didn't score much, never averaging 20 points in his playing career. Though he may have invented the concept of being a two-way player. He was earnest at that opening training camp at North Central College in 1966 when he said he hoped to make the team. Nothing ever was givem; it shook be earned. "Some vital parts of the game aren't put in the proper perspective," Sloan once said during his playing years. "Only scorers are considered stars, but they miss the real fun. Playing the game at both ends."

Motta always said he built the Bulls around Sloan even with the scoring stars of Walker and Love. Motta explained about Sloan to inaugural Chicago Tribune Bulls writer Bob Logan: "He holds, he grabs, steps in their toes, anything to slow them down. Jerry goes a little crazy out there. He stands on defense with his arm out like a telephone pole and his hands are like hams. The big bony knee is stuck out to block the other way. Sloan just dares those monsters to win over him."

Sloan was admired, respected and feared around the NBA. The stars of the game detested playing against him because Jerry was just so humble. He wasn't celebrated like they were. But he believed he could compete with them.

"I take a lot of punishment and I don't complain," Sloan once said back then. "But I never step back no matter who tries to run over me."

Chicagoans get overlooked. But they don't step back.

Jerry coached the Bulls for two and half seasons from 1979 through 1982, replaced by his longtime friend and assistant Phil Johnson. They eventually left together for Salt Lake City, where Jerry became one of the winningest coaches in NBA history. He just brought Illinois and Chicago to the Wasatch.

On the WGN broadcasts in the late 60s from those games at the Amphitheater, announcer Don Harris used to extend Jerry's last name into a pair of syllables, "Sal-Own!" Perhaps the inspiration for a TV station's slogan? Jerry Sloan was Chicago's own.

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"Jerry Sloan is the Bulls history. He is Mr. Bull."

Chicago Bulls Chairman Jerry Reinsdorf released the following statement after the passing of Jerry Sloan:

"Jerry Sloan was ‘The Original Bull' whose tenacious defense and nightly hustle on the court represented the franchise and epitomized the city of Chicago. Jerry was the face of the Bulls organization from its inception through the mid-1970s, and very appropriately, his uniform No. 4 was the first jersey retired by the team. A great player and a Hall-of-Fame NBA coach, most importantly, Jerry was a great person. Our sympathies go out to the Sloan family and all his many fans."

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Chicago Bulls Statement on Jerry Sloan

Jerry Sloan was the original Mr. Bull long before Michael Jordan came along, and for many years his No. 4 jersey was the only one hanging high above in the rafters of the old Chicago Stadium.

Born March 28, 1942, Gerald Eugene Sloan, a native son of downstate Gobbler's Knob, Illinois, is the youngest of 10 children raised on a family farm. His father died when he was just 4 years old, so for most of his childhood he grew up in a single-parent home, raised by his mother and brothers and sisters. He did farm chores every morning starting at 4:30 a.m., and then hoofed it almost two miles to school for 7 a.m. basketball practice. He ended up being an All-State basketball player at nearby McLeansboro High School, and upon graduating briefly attended the University of Illinois. However after arriving on campus, he immediately felt out of place, and quickly dropped out, heading back home to help out on the farm. The following year, at the strong urging of his family and girlfriend, he decided to give college another try, enrolling at the University of Evansville, a nearby Division II school just across the Illinois/Indiana border.

Jerry Sloan's jersey retirement ceremony in 1978.

Standing 6'5" and weighing 195 pounds, Jerry Sloan was always the biggest player on the Purple Aces. He played a couple of years of varsity basketball and over that stretch averaged a combined 15.7 points and 13.1 rebounds in helping Evansville win to back-to-back NCAA Division II National Championships.

Sloan's hardnosed style of play drew the attention of the NBA's Baltimore Bullets who selected him in the third round as an eligible junior in 1964. However, Jerry wasn't ready to leave school just yet, so instead of jumping to the pros he returned to Evansville to complete his degree and play one more year. That decision ended up working out great as the Purple Aces went undefeated and captured a second straight National Championship.

The Bullets were the incarnation of the onetime Chicago Packers/Zephyrs, who in just two years of existence packed up and left the Windy City for Baltimore after being sold to new owners. The Bullets never lost interest in Sloan, thus they used the sixth overall pick in the first round of the 1965 NBA Draft to reclaim his rights. This time the 23-year farm boy was only too happy to give pro basketball a go and so he headed straight to Charm City to begin a new adventure.

That rookie season not only introduced Jerry to the ways of the world, but it also introduced him to the one and only Johnny "Red" Kerr, a fun-loving Chicagoan who was playing his final season of a highly successful career with Baltimore after 11 with the Syracuse Nationals/Philadelphia 76ers.

Jerry Sloan on court during the 1973-1974 NBA season.

"Jerry was a different kind of guy, I could tell that right away," remembered Kerr, who passed away in February 2009. "I used to like hanging out and having a couple of drinks with the guys after games. We would tell stories and laugh for a couple of hours to unwind. But Jerry didn't like to go out. He was a little more intense about things. He and I were roommates on the road and a lot of times I'd get back to our hotel room late, and I'd open the door and see it was pitch black inside, but at the other end of the room, Jerry would be sitting at a table smoking a cigarette. The only thing I could see was the glow at the end of his cigarette. And he would then start in, 'Red, I've been thinking about a play in the third quarter…'

"I'd just tell Jerry, 'C'mon, you'll drive yourself crazy. You're wound up like a spring. Tomorrow's another day.' But I don't think he ever looked at it that way. He believed that for him to get better he had to think the game all the time."

Kerr was so impressed with Sloan's unbending work ethic that upon retiring at the end of that season and being named the first Head Coach of the NBA's latest expansion team — the Chicago Bulls — a couple of weeks later, he knew exactly who he wanted to lead his team onto the court: Jerry Sloan.

Jerry Sloan grabbing a rebound against the Boston Celtics.

"There was no doubt in my mind," Kerr recalled. "Once I saw Baltimore had left Jerry unprotected (in the expansion draft), I told our owner (Dick Klein) we had to have him. He was what we all hoped the Chicago Bulls would one day become."

That first year Sloan teamed with veteran point guard Guy Rodgers in the Bulls backcourt, and together they helped guide Chicago to an unheard of 33 wins and a playoff berth. Jerry averaged 17.4 points and a career-best 9.1 rebounds and was named an All-Star for the first time.

Although Kerr didn't last past a second season as Chicago's head coach, Sloan established himself as a mainstay, developing a reputation around the league as one of the toughest players to ever lace up a pair of gym shoes. He was never shy when it came to mixing it up, be it crashing the boards for a rebound or stepping in the lane to draw a charge.

Bolstered by the acquisition of Norm Van Lier to run the point by the start of the 1971-72 season, Chicago suddenly boasted the grittiest defensive backcourt in the game.

The 1972-73 Chicago Bulls with Norm Van Lier, Chet Walker and Jerry Sloan and Bob Love.

"Jerry was the best, as tough as they came," said Van Lier, who passed away the same day in February 2009 as Kerr. "A guy his size (6'5"), with his attitude, man we were the meanest dudes in basketball. Night after night we were all about, 'Let's play.' And if you weren't ready, man we'd whip your butt! That's what I loved about Jerry. Maybe we got a little too pumped up at times, but we always came to play."

While Van Lier was amassing eight straight NBA All-Defensive honors, Sloan was garnering plenty of recognition of his own, as a two-time NBA All-Star and six-time All-Defensive team member.

"We were all overachievers," remembers Bob Love, a star forward on those Sloan/Van Lier teams. "Everybody had something to prove. But Jerry and Norm, they were the best defensive guards, ever. That ball was like a piece of cheese, and Jerry and Norm were two hungry rats. If the ball hit the floor, you better watch out!"

That willingness to go all out led to success. In Sloan's ten full seasons as a player, he made the playoffs nine times (eight in Chicago). And while the Bulls were often vanquished in the playoffs by the more talented Los Angeles Lakers or Milwaukee Bucks during his era, the team's hardscrabble personality embodied by Sloan and Van Lier solidified Chicago as a legitimate NBA city.

Sloan's career numbers ended up at 14 points and 7.4 rebounds over 755 games. And while the NBA only started keeping track of steals eight years after he began playing in the league, his career 2.2 steals per game average is still one of the all-time best marks in NBA history.

Jerry Sloan as Bulls coach during the 1979-1980 season.

A serious knee injury in 1975 cut short Sloan's playing career at the age of 33, hastening the collapse of the first great Bulls era. A couple of years later he jumped into coaching, first as an assistant (1977-78) with the Bulls, and a little over a year later as the team's head coach. After leading Chicago to the playoffs in his second season at the helm, the Bulls got off to rocky start the following year, and after 51 games management decided he needed to be let go. In less than three years as the Bulls' head coach, Chicago had gone 94-121 (.437).

Sloan returned to the NBA a year and half or so later, first accepting an offer to be a scout and then an assistant under Frank Layden of the Utah Jazz. When Layden was promoted to team president 15 games into the 1988-89 season, he named Sloan as the Jazz's new head coach—a job Jerry held onto for the next 23 seasons.

Sloan lead the Jazz to seven division titles and 13 seasons of 50 or more wins (only Hall of Fame coaches Pat Riley and Phil Jackson had achieved such an incredible feat prior). He also directed the Jazz to the playoffs 19 times as well as two consecutive NBA Finals (1997 and 1998), losing both to the Michael Jordan/Scottie Pippen-led Bulls. In 2006 he became the fifth coach in NBA history to record 1,000 wins when the Jazz defeated the Dallas Mavericks, 101-79, on December 11th.

Jerry married his high school sweetheart, Bobbye Irvin, in 1963 and together they had three kids, two daughters Kathy and Holly, and a son, Brian. They were married for 41 years before Bobbye passed away from pancreatic cancer in 2004. Jerry got remarried in 2006 to Tammy Jessop, and has a stepson, Rhett, as a result.

In April 2009, he was elected to the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, in the same class as his longtime former Utah Jazz point guard John Stockton, and fellow Chicago Bulls franchise icon Michael Jordan.

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The Original Mr. Bull

For some, it's the gleaming hardwood that first catches their eye when stepping inside the United Center. For others, it's a glimpse of a favorite player warming up on the court or the effervescent Luvabulls waving to the crowd. Eventually, though, all eyes look up.

Over the last five-plus decades, NBA fans in Chicago have been blessed with watching scores of talented athletes wear the red, white and black of their beloved Bulls. But only four players stand (or more appropriately hang) alone — Jerry Sloan, Bob Love, Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen. They are the chosen few who have earned the highest honor a franchise can bestow on a player by having his number retired for all of eternity.

So what exactly are the qualifications someone must meet in order to have his number retired? Talent? Well, that goes without saying. Loyalty? Leadership? Consistency? Absolutely. And bleeding Bulls red certainly doesn't hurt, either.

But Chicago's Fantastic Four brought a little more than those admirable qualities to the table. And they brought itto every game — at home, on the road — in tears of pain and ultimately in tears of joy. They also left itall on the floor, and for that they will always be honored high up in the ceiling.

For Jerry Sloan, what he remembers most is not how his jersey ended up hanging from the rafters but how he started.

"At the end of training camp during my first year, the equipment manager laid all the uniforms out on a table, and told us to go pick out a number. By the time I got over there, No. 4 was the only one left," recalls Sloan. "I didn't mind getting No. 4 because getting a jersey meant I made the team."

Sloan was the very first player the Bulls selected (from the Baltimore Bullets) in the 1966 league expansion draft, earning him the nickname "The Original Bull." Perhaps one of his most remarkable career achievements was leading that 1966-67 squad to an unprecedented playoff berth during its inaugural season. No first-year team before or since has ever accomplished such a feat.

Known primarily for his defensive tenacity, Sloan made two All-Star appearances and was named to the NBA's All-Defensive First Team four times and All-Defensive Second Team twice during an 11-year career (10 in Chicago). But, more importantly, he played a vital role with a distinctive band of brothers that firmly established the Bulls on the map.

"Those Bulls teams back in the early to mid-1970s — me, Bob Love, Chet Walker, Norm Van Lier, Tom Boerwinkle — we kind of kept pro basketball alive in Chicago," says Sloan. "It was an amazing group of guys. That's what I remember the most."

Not one to back off from a challenge, the always-hustling Sloan averaged 14 points and 7.4 rebounds per game in his career. After ten unforgettable seasons in Chicago, his playing days were cut short due to a serious knee injury. However, not wanting to limp away from the game he loved, he turned his energy to coaching, where he took control with the same passion and unyielding work ethic that characterized him as a player. Sloan's first coaching job was as a Bulls assistant for two seasons under three coaches in Ed Badger, Larry Costello and Scotty Robertson before taking over as the team's head coach for nearly three seasons.

A little less than two years after he stopped playing, Sloan was approached by Bulls management and told that the team's owner wanted to honor him by retiring his No. 4 jersey, the first to receive such treatment.

"When I was first told the news, I was in shock because I immediately began thinking about all the retired numbers hanging at Boston Garden. All those guys were special players," remembers Sloan.

After a few days, the idea sank in and Sloan humbly accepted the team's gesture. On February 17, 1978, in front of a packed house at the old Chicago Stadium, Jerry Sloan Night was officially declared.

"The Bulls put on a great ceremony where my family came out to center court. They even brought out a big rocking chair for me to sit in," laughs Sloan. "Governor Jim Thompson spoke, as well as my first Bulls coach, Johnny Kerr. I was pretty awestruck by the whole experience."

So exactly how does he feel these days whenever he visits the United Center? Does he ever look up at his banner hanging high above, or is that something he's forgotten about?

"I really don't get a chance to forget, because whenever I come to Chicago somebody always brings it up," says Sloan with another laugh. "My grandkids like to talk about it. It's pretty important to them."

What's going on today with former Bulls standout Bob "Butterbean" Love is a far cry from where his journey first began. Like Sloan, the second recipient of a retired Chicago jersey was asked to make a short speech during his ceremony nearly 17 years after he retired, and that in itself is considered a personal triumph.

As one of 14 children who grew up in rural Louisiana, Love discovered early on that he had a rare athletic gift that neither his siblings nor his friends possessed. He could fire up a basketball and make it go swish all day and night long, but what he had a hard time with was expressing his joy because he stuttered horribly. His thoughts were always there, as well as his desire to communicate, but he just couldn't spit the words out.

"I figured if I couldn't speak off the court, I'd try to let my actions talk on the court," Love says today. "I always understood what was going on around me; it just took a real long time to get something to come out of my mouth."

Love arrived in Chicago as something of an afterthought in a 1968 mid-season trade with the then expansion Milwaukee Bucks. The 6'8" forward from Southern University had failed to make an NBA roster his first year out of college and then struggled to find his niche in the league for three more years, before blossoming into one of the NBA's top scorers while playing for Dick Motta's scrappy Bulls squads of the 1970s. During the 1969-70 season, Love became a full-time starter, averaging 21 points and 8.7 rebounds. The following year, he averaged 25.2 points, appeared in the NBA All-Star Game for the first time and earned All-NBA Second Team honors. Love later appeared in two more All-Star games, in 1972 and 1973, and he would go on to average at least 19 points and six rebounds every season until his last. In seven full seasons in Chicago, Love led the Bulls in scoring six times and helped carry the team to four-straight 50-plus wins. He could handle himself at the defensive end of the court as well, three times making the NBA's All-Defensive second team.

Love's verbal difficulties didn't matter during his playing days because his impressive play on the court spoke volumes. However, after racking up 13,895 career points (12,623 with the Bulls, the most by any Chicago player until Michael Jordan arrived on the scene), Love's playing career came to an end after he was traded to the New York Nets, who later dealt him to Seattle, where he averaged just 7.3 points during the entire 1976-77 season — his last in the NBA.

Love had the misfortune to play before the era of high salaries, and his inability to talk cost him several off-the-court endorsement opportunities. So he didn't have a lot of money after he retired, and so he quickly fell on hard times. Although he was occasionally recognized on the street, he learned the hard way that there wasn't much demand for someone with a sweet jumper and poor communication skills.

As the story goes, Love ended up bussing tables at a restaurant located in a Nordstrom's department store in Seattle, then moved on to being a dishwasher, sandwich maker, and, in time, a cashier. Eventually, an executive with Nordstrom's, after getting to know him personally, decided to lend a helping hand and pay for private speech lessons. "I was embarrassed, and I guess they were embarrassed for me," Love says. "Maybe because I tried to be the best employee I could be, Nordstrom's took an interest."

With the help of a speech therapist, Bob Love made tremendous strides almost immediately. Within a year, he was promoted and placed in charge of health and sanitation for all 35 Nordstrom's restaurants. And, at the urging of his friends, a more confident person soon began giving motivational speeches throughout the Seattle area, which eventually brought him back to Chicago and a job with the Bulls. Today, Bob Love is in his 26th season as the Bulls Director of Community Affairs, representing the organization at various functions throughout the world and making close to 200 appearances a year.

On January 14, 1994, the Chicago Stadium turned into one big "Love-Fest." Former teammates Norm Van Lier, Tom Boerwinkle and Jerry Sloan were on hand to witness the second Bulls jersey to make it up to the rafters as Love's No. 10 officially went into retirement.

"That was the greatest night of my life," Love beams. "Seeing my number hanging up there means I've earned respect, and all the hard work and everything I went through really paid off."

Jordan embracing the Larry O'Brien Trophy after the 1991 NBA Finals

Talk about making an impact, North Carolina native Michael Jordan not only left his mark on the Chicago Bulls; he left it all over the world.

Chicago's decision to retire Jordan's No. 23 seemed like a forgone conclusion right from the start. His endless gravity-defying dunks, inexhaustible defense and an innate ability to score at will astounded not only Bulls fans, but opponents alike, throughout a 15-year NBA career. For example, after Jordan notched 63 points against the Boston Celtics during a 1986 playoff game, Hall of Famer and Celtics great Larry Bird described him as "God disguised as Michael Jordan."

To list all of Jordan's accomplishments would literally wipe out a forest. But to highlight a few, heled the NBA in scoring a league-record 10 times. He was named the Most Valuable Player five times. And, to prove he could play at both ends of the court, Jordan led the league in steals three times, was named to the All-NBA Defensive First Team nine times and was also tabbed the league's Defensive Player of the Year in 1988. And, in the unlikely event that someone still may not remember him, Jordan was also named the NBA Finals MVP a record six times, with six NBA World Championship trophies to match.

Even his retired jersey has a history like no other. In October 1993, at the age of 30, after leading the Bulls to a third straight World Championship, Jordan stunned everyone by announcing his retirement from basketball. A year and a month later, a national TV audience watched a classic rafter-raising ceremony honoring him at the United Center. Five months later, he staggered the planet once more by announcing his return to the Bulls with the release of a simple, two-word press release — "I'm back."

Since No. 23 was already hanging from the rafters, Jordan opted to sport No. 45 at the start of his second tour of duty in honor of his older brother, Larry, who used to wear that number during his playing days in high school. (There's a charming, little-known story as to why Jordan chose to wear the No. 23 in the first place. The reason, he says, is he hoped one day to be half the player his brother was.)

At times, Jordan's initial return was a struggle, which prompted Orlando Magic forward Nick Anderson to smugly suggest after a playoff victory over the Bulls that No. 45 looked old and not as good as No. 23. As if he needed any extra incentive, Jordan requested that the No. 23 banner come down from the rafters and that his original digits immediately be placed on his back. Three NBA Championships later, Jordan called it quits for a second time in January 1999. "It was a very emotional time," Jordan says about his decision to hang up his Bulls jersey for the second and last time. (Note: Anderson never played on a championship team during his 13-year career, whereas Jordan captured 6 gold rings.)

Even Michael Jordan couldn't predict what would happen three years later, when he un-retired for a third go-around, but this time he came back wearing the blue and copper of the Washington Wizards. After two seasons in our nation's capital, Jordan's tank finally ran dry. At age 40, with aching knees and a creaky back, he played one of his final games in Miami, where Heat President and Head Coach Pat Riley stunned the basketball icon during a pregame ceremony by pointing towards a No. 23 banner hanging high above the Heat's home court, pledging that no Miami player would ever wear that number again.

"I wanted to do something special that would honor Michael and all that he achieved for the game of basketball," Riley explains. "About a month before [the game], I discussed the idea of retiring his number with my owner, Mickey Arison. We both thought it would be a terrific gesture."

A shocked and grateful Jordan said afterwards, "To have my number hanging in someone else's building says a lot. Pat Riley and Mickey Arison are truly class acts. What they did was very special, and something I'll never forget."

Scottie Pippen was also beyond belief when his number 33 was officially called into a life of leisure on December 9, 2005. It was as if the old band got back together one last time as former Chicago teammates Horace Grant, Craig Hodges, Toni Kukoc, Dennis Rodman, Will Perdue, Bill Wennington, Stacey King, Charles Oakley and Michael Jordan all attended Pippen's banner ceremony. Former Bulls Head Coach, Phil Jackson, was also on hand, along with Pippen's family and numerous friends from all around the globe. NBA Commissioner David Stern addressed a packed house at the United Center, listing all of Pippen's career accomplishments, but was quickly drowned out by the 23,000-plus fans in attendance chanting, "Scottie, Scottie."

And why not? The most famous co-pilot in any sport holds quite an impressive resume of his own. Pippen and Jordan are the only two Bulls to have been a part of all six Chicago World Championships. Pippen was also named one of the NBA's 50 greatest players and was a seven-time All-Star. Not bad for an Arkansas country boy who initially didn't receive a college scholarship to play ball.

"Scottie was a great student and a really fine leader on the court," Jackson said before the ceremony. "He directed a lot of what happened and was one of the reasons why we were so successful."

A highlights package aired on the United Center's scoreboard, as did taped messages from former teammate and current Bulls Executive Vice President of Basketball Operations John Paxson and former coach Doug Collins. But the biggest reaction of the night came after legendary roundball pundit, Hall of Famer and good friend, Charles Barkley, blurted to the crowd, "Scottie, Michael Jordan should be kissing the ground you walk on because you helped him win all those Championships — you did all the heavy lifting, too."

Jordan himself, backed by thunderous applause when introduced, had only warm words from the heart for his old teammate.

"Scottie Pippen, he's my guy. I love him like a brother," Jordan said. "He pushed me to be the best every day in practice. And I pushed him to be the best he could be. When we went into battle, I always knew I had someone there to watch my back."

Pippen fought back tears as his banner was unveiled to a deafening standing ovation.

"This is one of the greatest honors a player can ever receive. It's something you dream of as a kid. To have my number hang alongside Michael's (Jordan), Jerry's (Sloan) and Butter's (Bob Love) means so much."

rise-shine

Rise & Shine

They were lean days indeed, the stretch of seasons between the 1976-77 Miracle on Madison and the drafting of Michael Jordan in 1984. And there was only one minor miracle that kept this period from being the very darkest in Bulls history: seven straight seasons sans playoffs.

Somehow a pair of unlikely superstars and a yeoman's effort from an unsung supporting cast turned 1980-81 into a magical season. For a couple of days in April, Bulls fans believed that anything was possible.

For years it had seemed that the Miracle on Madison was just that, a one-time fluke. But after pushing the eventual NBA Champion Portland Trail Blazers to a deciding third game in the first round of the 1977 playoffs, the infamous "Astronaut Draft" of Tate Armstrong, Mike Glenn, and Steve Sheppard kept the Bulls trapped on the launching pad, as the team finished the 1977-78 season at 40-42. The next year, 19-year-old Reggie Theus arrived in town from Las Vegas and ignited the league, but the Bulls still crashed and burned to the tune of 31-51. In the 1979 NBA Draft, Chicago wrongly called "tails" and lost out on the opportunity to select eventual five-time NBA Champion Magic Johnson, who instead went to the Los Angeles Lakers as the No. 1 pick. Chicago's consolation prize was David Greenwood, and longtime franchise icon Jerry Sloan was promoted to head coach. Neither addition offset the loss of Artis Gilmore—the franchise center who, prior to that time, had never missed a game (670). Gilmore suffered a knee injury on October 20 in a game against Phoenix. The derailment of the A-Train for the next 34 games gutted Chicago's season, and the club took another step back, staggering to a disappointing 30-52 record.

The 1980-81 season began with the usual hope and promise of prior campaigns. Though Gilmore rushed back a little too quickly from injury the previous season, he was now at full strength. Theus was blossoming into one of the most dangerous combo guards in the game, having averaged 18.3 points and 5.8 assists over his first two NBA seasons.

Theirs was a marriage of convenience, not choice. Gilmore had a well-deserved reputation as the strongest man in the NBA, but he was a true gentle giant. Theus had brashness and confidence, as well as a flair for the game that caused old-schoolers to shudder. And his passes into the post? Oh, don't get Gilmore started.

"I used to tell Reggie all the time, ‘Throw the ball when I'm looking,'" Gilmore remembers with a stifled laugh. "I'm down [in the post] with Bob Lanier or Kareem [Abdul-Jabbar] on my back, and I'm supposed to guess when and where the ball is coming to me?"

Theus, who even baffled the great Julius "Dr. J" Erving with a pass in the 1981 All-Star Game, remembers the tension well. "Artis, God bless him, was one of the nicest teammates I ever had and best players I was ever on the floor with," Theus says today. "But his hands could be a little stiff. Our styles, yeah, they were a little different."

So while one superstar needed to post up with a power game, the other desired to play baseline-to-baseline at max speed—what could be better for a thrilling playoff run?

Try stirring in a disappointing free agent, or a broken-down blue-chipper.

Yes, Chicago's first splash in the free agent market was Larry Kenon. The power forward had been a lock to average 20 points and 10 rebounds during his career, and this seeming masterstroke by GM Rod Thorn was to give the Bulls a trio of superstars. Thorn similarly scored big by swapping his first-round pick, Kelvin Ransey, to Portland in exchange for the guard he really wanted on Draft night, Chicago native and University of Iowa star Ronnie Lester, plus a future draft pick.

Disaster struck early, however. Lester suffered a knee injury that took him off the court for the first 74 games of the season. And Kenon, a player borne of the free-wheeling style of the ABA and accustomed to soft-handed coaching in his previous stop with the San Antonio Spurs, seemingly lost his desire for the game.

"It was the worst of both worlds," Thorn remembers. "We needed an impact draft choice, and Ronnie got hurt right away. We thought we'd secured a third star to augment Artis and Reggie, but we quickly found out he lived in his own world."

Thorn was able to offset the loss of Lester with a clever, last-minute acquisition of former Indiana Hoosier playmaker Bobby Wilkerson from the Denver Nuggets, giving the Bulls the biggest starting backcourt (Wilkerson was 6'6", Theus 6'7") in the NBA.

"Bob was the best thing that could have happened to me," Theus gushes. "His size made my job so much easier. He was one of my favorite backcourt partners, without a question."

Compensating for Kenon's inability to fit in with the Bulls, however, was a setback the team couldn't overcome with an additional roster move. And Sloan, just 38 and only four years retired from playing, was having none of Kenon's obstinance.

"To be honest with you, I wanted us to go get Bernard King that summer," Sloan says. "But ownership wanted Kenon. Guess who won that battle?"

Jerry Sloan coaching in during the 78-79 season

Still, the Bulls had a strong second-year man in Greenwood, who had made the All-Rookie team the year before by leading the team with an average of 9.4 rebounds, as well as Ricky Sobers, a strong and experienced guard who had chipped in 14.2 points and 5.2 assists in his first season in Chicago the year before.

"We thought we could come out strong and surprise teams," Theus recalls.

The point man was point-blank wrong. The Bulls started sluggishly, losing seven of their first 10 games and digging a hole that would take nearly the entire season to climb out of.

"I was just a young coach," Sloan explains. "It's not an easy transition, from the floor to the sideline. I was still learning, not as much Xs-to-Os as person-to-person."

"We were streaky," Gilmore adds. "It seemed like the team was slowly jelling and coming together, but then we'd lose another handful of games. I had no sense that we could make a playoff push at all."

Indicative of this Bulls season was a wild stretch from December through February. With a record of 13-20 in mid-December, Chicago reeled off seven straight wins to reach .500. Yet three games later, the team began a six-game losing streak, essentially wiping a month off the schedule with no progress up the standings. Then, right on the heels of the losing streak, the Bulls again put seven straight wins together. That seventh victory, in February's first game, nudged Chicago over .500 to 28-27, the first time the team had more wins than losses since the season's third game. Capping Chicago's sprint was an amazing accomplishment for a middling team—both Gilmore and Theus were named starters in the All-Star Game.

Still, the Bulls trailed both the Milwaukee Bucks and Indiana Pacers in the Central, and with three solid postseason bets entrenched in the Atlantic Division, there was very little room for error if they hoped to snatch the sixth and final playoff spot.

The situation may not have been dire then, but the Bulls made it so, wasting another month of the season by dropping eight of 15 games in Feburary. As late as February 24, Chicago stood a paltry 32-35, with just 15 games remaining. The Bulls were barely clinging to their postseason hopes and trailing the 36-29 Pacers by five games for the fifth seed in the East.

In the stretch run, knowing that even a single loss could eliminate them, Sloan made the gutsiest coaching decision of his young career. He benched Kenon and installed journeyman power forward Dwight Jones as a starter.

"That was a big decision," Sloan says. "Dwight gave us the effort I was looking for. He did more with less time on the floor than Kenon. He wasn't disruptive. And as much as it was my call, the rest of the players understood my thinking and were willing to back me up."

And just like that, Chicago went on an incredible run that's second in Bulls annals only to the Miracle on Madison team. The team finished the season a blistering 13-2, passing the Pacers for second place in a breathless 109-103 upset in Indianapolis on the last day of the season. Chicago had won its last eight games and had an average margin of victory of almost 11 points in its last 13 victories, taking five of six games from eventual East playoff teams.

The Bulls' reward for such greatness meant that they drew the 50-32 New York Knicks in a best-of-three first round matchup. The Knicks finished third in the Atlantic and had the home-court advantage, but the two teams split six games during the year, with Chicago winning two at Madison Square Garden during the frantic stretch run.

Some may think that the Bulls-Knicks rivalry was invented by Pat Riley, Phil Jackson, Jordan, and John Starks, but this 1981 miniseries was one of the most intense playoff battles in either franchise's history.

For starters, the Knicks failed to take the Bulls seriously heading into the series. They essentially laughed off Sloan's brusque and intense manner, figuring any aggressiveness instilled in his team would be offset by the glitz and lure of Madison Square Garden and New York's musclemen like Sly Williams and Larry Demic. Worse, Gotham's two superstar guards, Ray Williams and Michael Ray Richardson, both claimed that they were quicker and better than anyone on the Bulls.

However, confidence was sky-high in Chicago based on the club's finish, and New York's arrogance created bulletin-board material. Says Gilmore: "You would have thought they were the defending Champions. We looked at them, and asked ourselves, ‘what have they accomplished that we haven't?'"

Sloan also added a wrinkle by having the Bulls fly into New York on the day of the game, rather than the on night before.

"Management was really angry at me for that," Sloan remembers with a laugh. "They thought I was throwing away the series on a stunt, that the guys would be tired or unprepared. But I told [the team], we're going to take care of business—get in, beat their [butts], and get out. And that's just what we did."

The Bulls outmuscled New York in Game 1, 90-80. Gilmore was as dominant as he'd ever been, and afterward the New York players, arms sore from short-arming shots, admitted that Gilmore had completely intimidated them.

The victory set up a potential clinching game back at Chicago Stadium. But even on the brink of elimination, many Knicks still boasted that there was no way Chicago would win the series, again insisting that Theus and Wilkerson were absolutely no match for the dynamic duo of Williams and Richardson.

There was a huge demand for Game 2 tickets, and while the official line says that 19,901 were in the Chicago Stadium that day, many claim that the Madhouse topped 21,000, easily.

Theus paced the Bulls with 19 points in the first half, but New York's Campy Russell and Sly Williams were also enjoying monster games of their own, pacing New York to a 62-52 halftime lead. In the third, the Knicks went up by as many as 15 and held a lead of 11 with three minutes left in the period.

Gilmore was exhausted, but his defense was the key to the Chicago comeback, and by the end of the third, the Knicks were up only seven, 87-80. With four minutes left in the game, Theus hit two free throws to tie the score at 98. After falling behind again, Sobers made a driving layup with three seconds left to knot the score at 106, his second huge basket in the final 30 seconds.

"Ricky was so good in that series, and really all year long," Thorn says. "He was unbelievable with all the last-minute heroics he pulled out."

Sobers had sent the game into overtime, but again Chicago fell behind. The Bulls hadn't held a lead since being up 23-22 in the first, but then Gilmore and Theus took over and combined for the next nine points in the overtime, battling the Bulls back into the game. Gilmore gave Chicago its second lead in the game with a free throw, giving the Bulls a 109-108 edge. That lead wouldn't be relinquished.

Fueled by their two superstars, the Bulls came away with the win and a 2-0 series sweep. It was Chicago's 10th victory in a row, drawing back to the regular season. Theus notched a career-high 37 points on 10-of-18 shooting, and hitting 17 of 18 free throws, while dishing 11 assists, grabbing four rebounds, and pulling off four steals.

"It was the game of my life," Theus says today with a grin. "I always loved the Chicago crowd, and you can imagine, it was chaos after the game. You know Bulls fans, when they get up and cheer, they stay up. I think the crowd was whooping it up for about an hour after the game was over."

The Bulls would go on to be swept in the next round by the eventual NBA Champion Boston Celtics, but even so, those final three losses to the Cs were by an average of only seven points.

Fortunes changed quickly for the Bulls after that, however. Sloan would be fired by the middle of the 1981-82 season and before long, both Theus and Gilmore would be traded away. It would be four long years before Chicago would return to the playoffs, and seven years between series wins.

"Bulls fans have always been my favorites," Theus says. "People still talk to me about that New York series."

And it was only fitting that the earliest face of the franchise, Jerry Sloan, would be the man who brought the Chicago Bulls back in vogue.

"We really got the city excited for basketball again," Sloan remembers. "That's something I'm very proud of."

unexpected-treasure

Unexpected Treasure

childukich

In the summer of 1969, prior to the start of the Bulls fourth season of operation, a majority of the team's ownership group voted to remove Dick Klein, the person truly responsible for team's existence, from his position as president and general manager. Taking over the basketball operations would be Pat Williams, an out-of-the-box marketing genius who had enjoyed a great deal of success with the Philadelphia 76ers.

Not long afterwards a number of those same investors let it be known they wanted to sell their stake in the team because Klein's original financial projections had proven faulty, as the Bulls were losing money every year. Arthur Wirtz, owner of the Chicago Stadium and the NHL's Chicago Blackhawks got wind of the news and together with his longtime friend, Lester Crown, formed an investor group of their own that included Phil Klutznick, James Cook, George Steinbrenner (yes, the notorious New York Yankees owner), and 25-year old Jonathan Kovler, a basketball enthusiast whose family money came from Jim Beam whiskey, to purchase the team. (Note: original Bulls investor Lamar Hunt didn't want to sell his stake, so he simply joined Wirtz's ownership group.)

The Bulls, with Williams running the front office and the fiery Dick Motta as head coach, hit their stride during the early 1970s. Beginning with the 1970-71 season, Chicago posted four straight seasons of 50+ wins and regularly drew crowds of 15,000 to 19,000 at the Stadium.

Wirtz, who died in 1983, had been a major powerbroker in town for many years before taking control of the Bulls. He was a self-made millionaire, amassing most of his fortune during the Great Depression by purchasing a number of bankrupt properties and businesses. In 1934 he teamed with James Norris Sr. and Norris' son to buy the Chicago Stadium, and then in 1952 he bought the Blackhawks. And although he was never much of a basketball fan, Wirtz recognized a good opportunity when he saw it. So once he came to believe the Bulls were here to stay and that they would annually fill 40-plus dates at his arena, he was all in.

When it came to his sports teams, Wirtz believed on-court performance was the most important thing. If a winner was put on the court and/or on the ice, fans would automatically turn out and he would make money. However, he also believed in keeping costs down and wasn't a believer in spending money on marketing or promotions. Thus soon after Williams and Motta began to bicker, it wasn't a surprise that Wirtz sided with Motta who was directing his basketball team to 50-plus victories every year over Williams, the guy who was always hitting him up for money to promote the team. As soon as Williams was let go, Motta's duties expanded to include those of a general manager.

Although Motta initially was left alone to run the basketball side of team, minority owner Jonathan Kovler began to push his fellow investors to allow him to become more involved in the team's overall operation. However, it became evident early on that Motta and Kovler weren't going to get along. In fact the very day Kovler became a minority owner of the team (Kovler owned seven percent) he showed up to watch practice and Motta, never having met him or even knowing who he was, had security throw Kovler out of the gym.

Then after going up 3-2 in a best of seven series and then dropping the next two games and losing the 1975 Western Conference title to the Golden State Warriors, Wirtz gave into to Kovler's relentless urging and installed him as team's managing partner — the person in charge of the team's day-to-day operations.

The 1975-76 season was a disaster from the start. Motta and All-Star forward Chet Walker got into a bitter contract dispute that ended up with Walker deciding to retire rather than play another season with the Bulls under Motta. Jerry Sloan badly injured a knee during the preseason and ended up being able to play just 22 games. Future Hall of Fame center Nate Thurmond, whom Motta had acquired the year before, looked old and got off to a horrendous start and was traded to Cleveland after just 13 games. In fact the Bulls started the season 3-13 and never recovered. By the end of the year they owned the league's worst record at 24-58, and thus for only the second time in franchise history the Bulls missed the playoffs.

On the morning of May 28, 1976, Motta quit by submitting a letter of resignation to Wirtz. Then by two o'clock that afternoon the Washington Bullets announced they had hired Motta to be their new head coach.

Soon after Motta's departure Wirtz decided to bring Jerry Krause back to the Bulls as the Director of Player Personnel. Krause had been with the team as a scout for a very short stint at the start of the 1969-70 season, but he and Motta eventually had a major falling out, and Krause was dismissed. Because of the Bulls poor showing during Motta's final season Chicago ended up with the 2nd overall pick in the 1976 Draft, and Krause pushed to take 7'0 center Robert Parish out of Centenary College (LA), who in time would end up being inducted into the Hall of Fame after playing 20 seasons, mostly with Boston. However, with Kovler making the final call the Bulls selected Indiana University All-American forward Scott May because Kovler believed May would be easier to sign.

Krause's luck didn't turn for the better after the Draft as he also ended up getting into a public spat with Ray Meyer, the legendary head coach of DePaul, who leaked to reporters that Krause had offered him the Bulls head coaching job. The story created quite a stir, both locally and nationally. Krause denied he had made an offer to Meyer, but Meyer insisted he did. It didn't take long for Wirtz to then decide to show Krause the door, with Kovler happily holding it open.

So if Ray Meyer wasn't going to coach the Bulls, who was? Motta let it be known that he wanted to take his Bulls assistant, Ed Badger, with him to Washington, but Motta's departure left such a bad taste in the mouth of Wirtz, he refused to let it happen as Badger was still under contract. Twice Wirtz refused letters of resignation from Badger who also wanted to join his old boss in DC. Finally with the start of the season nearing, Wirtz offered Badger the Bulls head coaching job, but Badger said he would only accept if Wirtz gave him a guaranteed two-year contract, which the Bulls owner did.

A couple of weeks prior to Badger becoming head coach, Chicago acquired the rights to 7'2 center Artis Gilmore in the ABA dispersal draft, which consisted of players from the now defunct American Basketball Association (ABA) other than those already rostered on the four teams that were being absorbed into the NBA (New York Nets, Indiana Pacers, Denver Nuggets and San Antonio Spurs) before the start of the 1976-77 season. Gilmore had led the Kentucky Colonels to the 1975 ABA Championship and was considered to be one of the very best big men in all of professional basketball.

1976: Scott May, Ed Badger, and Artis Gilmore

Naturally Gilmore's arrival sparked a great deal of fan excitement, but much of that enthusiasm disappeared after the Bulls suffered a 13-game losing streak that began just five games into the season. It also didn't help that the team's top draft pick — Scott May — contracted mononucleosis and had to miss the first month of the season. Bob Love, who was now 34 years old and had previously been a three-time All-Star with the Bulls during the early ‘70s, was a shell of his former self and was hastily traded to the Nets for a draft pick. That meant only Norm Van Lier and Tom Boerwinkle, Gilmore's backup at center, were left from the franchise's best days. Chicago's new lineup now consisted of Gilmore in the middle, May and third-year player Mickey Johnson at forward, and Van Lier and second-year free agent pick up Wilbur Holland at guard, with Boerwinkle, John "Crash" Mengelt and Jack Marin as the Bulls' top reserves.

By the time February rolled around, it looked as if Chicago was destined to miss the playoffs for a second straight year. Then after losing 90-87 at home to Portland on February 18th, falling to 24-34 on the season, the Bulls somehow caught fire. It started with the next game, a 118-102 thumping of Golden State in front of a little over 8,000 fans at the Stadium. That victory sparked a seven-game winning streak.