Putting Jerry Sloan’s Condition in Perspective

For a long time, Jerry Sloan’s number was the only one retired by the Bulls. Bob Love joined him shortly before Chicago Stadium closed. Michael Jordan’s number retirement was one of the first significant events held at the United Center. Over a decade later, Scottie Pippen was so honored to round out the current group.

In spite of his status as the Bulls’ first star (to the point of where he ranked third in our top 25 Bulls countdown two years ago), it seems the franchise barely does more than pay lip service to Sloan when paying tribute to its history. I’ve felt that way throughout my time following basketball. Granted, he became coach of the Utah Jazz a month before I was born and reached third on the NBA’s all-time wins list with them. Then again, I haven’t heard him say a whole lot about the Bulls, either, which may or may not be an effect of when they fired him from his first head coaching gig in 1982.

Even so, if I hadn’t known Sloan’s number was retired by the Bulls, I never would have thought he had any history with them as my fandom began. When he coached against them in back-to-back NBA Finals, he was treated like a complete outsider. Of course, he had been in Utah for so long at that point that it’s likely the ex-Bull narrative was exhausted. Still, I can’t imagine Jordan getting the same treatment if his Charlotte Hornets meet the Bulls in several conference finals over a short period of time in the distant future.

However, none of this matters anymore. It’s been known Sloan has battled Parkinson’s disease and Lewy body dementia since he was diagnosed three years ago. But a new feature from the Salt Lake Tribune highlights just how bad it’s gotten. The first quote in the story is unattributed by name but says it all: “He is dying.”

Lewy body dementia is a condition that remains fresh in Chicago sports fans’ minds after it afflicted and eventually killed Blackhawks legend Stan Mikita. A few months after Mikita’s diagnosis, a similar feature was published by the Chicago Tribune. The actual story no longer is available online, but stories that linked to it highlight how Mikita’s wife said he had no memory of his former life.

The Sloan story indicates that his mind is slipping away, too. That surely means no memory of teaming up with Norm Van Lier to make up perhaps the best defensive backcourt in the NBA during the early-to-mid ’70s. Most likely gone are reminiscing about those tough-and-gritty Bulls teams that often came close but couldn’t quite advance past the Western Conference finals (no, the Bulls weren’t always an East team). And one has to wonder if he even remembers coaching Karl Malone and John Stockton.

Sloan having Parkinson’s and the memory issues that come with it hits me on a personal level. My grandfather suffered from it for nearly the final year of his life, and it’s both amazing and sad to see this disease rob someone of their personality and capabilities. I was somewhat in denial about how badly it was affecting my grandfather for months until my mom said when we were coming home on Christmas Eve that he no longer was the man he had been. By the time he was on his deathbed a month and a half later, he truly was a shell of his former self both physically and mentally.

Sloan frequently was seen at Jazz games after coaching tenure ended. Even once he was diagnosed with his diseases, he still attended. But those days are gone now. The story indicates Sloan is too frail and limited both physically and mentally to not be cared for around the clock.

In a similar vein, my grandfather was a permanent deacon in the Catholic Church for over 31 years. He decided it was best to end his duties on the altar after his diagnosis. Though he initially continued to go to Church, it eventually was determined that he was at too at risk to trip on a carpet or something similar to keep doing it.

The worst part of these diseases is knowing the person you care about is in a place you can’t follow. They might be around physically, but all the scientific and psychological studies in the world can’t tell you what’s happening in their mind. And when their time comes, they might not even know it’s happening. Some people hear dying words from their loved ones if they’re lucky, but if that loved one’s mind has been affected too much, it’s out of the question.

Probably the best thing we can do in situations like this is to hold onto our memories for the person and be grateful they’re still around. They may not be what they once were, but we still have them, and that means giving them whatever they need whenever they need it. After all, isn’t that human nature? We help each other out in times of need, and there’s no greater time of need than when someone is suffering long-term.

I pray that Jerry Sloan finds happiness during whatever time he has left. After all, that’s the feeling that keeps us going in life no matter what state of mind we’re in. And wouldn’t you say he’s earned it after giving his life to basketball? I definitely think he has.