Stacey King, the former Chicago Bulls forward who became a familiar voice in the broadcast booth, has died at 59. This piece looks at his journey from being the No. 6 pick in the 1989 draft out of Oklahoma to earning three NBA championship rings and then carving out a long career as a Bulls broadcaster.
King arrived in the NBA with plenty of promise after a standout college run at Oklahoma. Selected No. 6 overall in 1989, he joined a Bulls roster that was on the cusp of becoming a modern dynasty. He was part of those championship teams, contributing physically in the paint and providing depth when paired with star talent.
On the court, King brought energy, size, and a team-first attitude. He was never the statistical leader but he played the kind of minutes that won games in the Playoffs. His role was that of a complementary player who understood how to fit into a championship formula.
After his playing days he shifted gears and found a new voice in broadcasting, becoming a long-time Bulls television presence. Fans came to know him for his enthusiastic calls and easy chemistry with cohosts. Over years in the booth, he turned that energy into a second career that kept him connected to the city and the franchise.
King’s style behind the microphone was warm and candid, mixing playful banter with straightforward analysis. He often highlighted hustle plays and fundamentals that casual viewers might overlook. That connection with fans made his commentary feel like a friend giving perspective, not just a neutral breakdown of the game.
The news of his death has generated an outpouring of memories from teammates, broadcasters, and those who followed the Bulls through their golden era. People are recalling locker room moments, Playoff runs, and the small gestures that defined his personality off the court. Those remembrances sketch a picture of a man who was both competitive and genuinely affable.
King’s basketball life was rooted in Oklahoma before it expanded to Chicago and beyond. His college success earned him national attention, and being a top draft pick brought big expectations. He met many of them by contributing to championship teams and later by becoming a trusted voice in sports media.
Beyond the rings and the broadcasts, King’s presence mattered because he bridged eras. He linked the Bulls of the late 80s and 90s with newer generations of fans who grew up watching him commentate. That continuity is a rare thing in sports, where faces and voices turn over quickly.
In practice, his legacy will be remembered in small ways: the catchphrases that stuck, the replay calls that became part of highlight reels, and the mentorship he offered to younger players and colleagues. Those details make up the quieter side of public figures, the part that keeps their memory alive in day-to-day conversation.
As tributes arrive and memories circulate, the focus is shifting to how the community honors him. Memorials, moments of silence, and personal stories are already emerging as ways people process the loss. In basketball cities, those communal rituals matter because they turn individual grief into shared history.
Stacey King’s path from the University of Oklahoma to the NBA and into broadcasting shows how careers in sports can evolve. He will be remembered for the clips and the calls, for the championship hardware and for the way he stayed close to the game after his playing days ended. The legacy is a lived one, present in broadcasts, locker rooms, and local conversations about the Bulls.
