Sloan recalled as ‘man’s man’
Longtime Jazz coach Jerry Sloan left lasting impression on his players, NBA as a whole
Ex-Jazz coach was noted for his passion, humor, intensity
and modesty.
They don’t make them like they used to.
Especially not in this crazy, complex, flashy world.
And there will never be another Jerry Sloan.
I will always remember the first time I spoke with him inside Utah’s practice facility in Salt Lake City, before the start of a chaotic 2010-11 season that never felt right for the once-unchangeable Jazz.
I still remember everything about the night — stunning, unbelievable, eerie — just 54 games later, when one of the greatest coaches in NBA history finally decided that he was finished being the coach of the Jazz.
Sloan was as old school as old school gets in our look-at-me modern times. As real as real can be.
He was also incredibly low key and of the earth. Goofy, corny and hilarious. And he kept evolving and adapting as a 21st-century professional basketball coach.
Sloan was as simple as he was complex.
“There’s so many things that come to mind. First of all, I would say Jerry was a man’s man,” said longtime Jazz frontoffice member Walt Perrin, who is expected to be named an assistant general manager for the New York Knicks. “Tough. Intense in his profession, professional in his profession. But he also had a heart of gold. A very compassionate man, a very humble man for what he accomplished in his lifetime.”
Basketball Hall of Fame. More than 10,000 points and 5,000 rebounds as a player. Then 1,221 regular-season wins, 98 playoff victories and two NBA Finals runs as a coach, highlighted by 23 consecutive seasons in NBAproud Utah.
When “The Last Dance” took over our TV screens during a spring with the coronavirus and without live sports, Sloan’s face kept popping up in a 10-part documentary devoted to Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls’ 1990s dynasty.
Sloan died Friday at 78 of complications from Parkinson’s disease and Lewy body dementia.
I covered the Jazz as a beat writer for the Salt Lake Tribune from 2010-12. I was forever changed by the first campaign, as Sloan kept trying to get more out of his Jazz one last time.
“I’ve only done day-to-day work as long as I’ve been here,” Sloan said in October 2010. “I might wake up tomorrow and say it’s time for me to leave. They might have the same idea. I’m not doing cartwheels.”
He resigned on Feb. 10, 2011.
Then he kept going to Jazz games, blending into the arena stands.
Sloan was a living legend in
Salt Lake. But his players, coaches, staff members and friends were always much better talking about Sloan than the man himself.
“The true mark of a friend, the true mark of a professional, is consistency. And he was the same guy every single day,” said longtime Jazz front-office member/assistant coach Scott Layden, who is currently the general manager of the Minnesota Timberwolves. “I loved Jerry Sloan. And I just told (longtime Jazz assistant) Phil Johnson this, as well. And I told coach Sloan and coach Johnson this often: I was so appreciative of coach Sloan’s fierce, fierce loyalty. And that was real.”
Rockets vs. the Jazz
John Lucas starts remembering Sloan and captures the iconic Jazz coach with this.
“It was never about him,” said Lucas, the Rockets development coach, who’s seen and been through it all since he entered the NBA in 1976 as a No. 1 overall pick.
Lucas compares Sloan to Gene Hackman’s character in “Hoosiers.” Small-town Indiana. Winning the old way by playing the right way.
Then Lucas says that, in a perfect world, a coach does four things: mentoring, counseling, educating, positive confrontation.
Sloan nailed all four.
“This is what really separated him in our profession,” Lucas said.
Matt Bullard answers his phone Friday morning and recalls “all the wars.”
Frustration became respect. Annual competitive fire became respect.
Rockets vs. Jazz and Jazz vs. Rockets, two decades later, is now defined with professional respect.
Bobby Knight’s confrontational tactics haven’t aged well.
Sloan was tough. He could be gritty and abrasive. But he wasn’t demeaning.
Sloan ran a system, believed in his system and was revered by the players made better by the system.
“I would always have to guard Adam Keefe on their team,” said Bullard, who spent nine combined seasons playing for the Rockets. “They would get a rebound and he would take off running as fast as he could down the wing. And then he would cross underneath the basket and come out the other side. And I had to chase his ass. And Adam and I had known each other since we were in college and I’m like, ‘Adam, slow down, dude. You ain’t getting the ball.’ He goes, ‘If I don’t run like that,
Jerry Sloan is taking me out.’ And I’m like, ‘(Bleep), slow down.’ ”
Making sense of the message
Raja Bell wasn’t drafted and only took the court in five games as a rookie.
He spent 12 seasons in the NBA, made two All-Defensive teams, and carved out a respected professional career by getting in his opponent’s face.
Sloan’s type of player.
“Jerry treated me and rewarded me based solely on my merit and what I did,” Bell said. “I found that to be super refreshing and just really a decent human being, in a world where way too often you come across guys who were beholden to the club and the politics of what a GM wanted and how an owner saw the firstround pick and needed to play him. Jerry couldn’t care less — and he said it. And if me or any other player were able to embody and do the things that Jerry wanted us to do, we were going to get a shot.”
Bell broke out with Sloan’s Jazz in 2003-05, then became a national name with Mike D’Antoni’s Phoenix Suns.
One of Bell’s proudest NBA memories followed.
“I remember going to Phoenix when the Jazz didn’t really want to re-sign me,” Bell said. “And I remember (Sloan) saying when I was on the court to people I was guarding, ‘He’s going to get up in your ass.’ But it was like the biggest compliment I’ve ever received — I’m warm and fuzzy. Because I loved Mike D’Antoni, too. But, man, I really loved Jerry.”
In the summer of 2010, Bell returned to the Jazz for one primary reason. He wanted to play for Sloan again.
To some, Sloan was an oldfashioned enigma. To Bell, Sloan helped the ever-changing NBA make sense.
“Complex is a really good word to describe him,” Bell said. “Because you did get days where all you thought he was was a taskmaster and it was about the grind and he was going to be a hard ass. And then there were other days — my first time around, I remember — his wife had gotten ill and you just saw this completely vulnerable man, and he rarely every gave you that side of him. And then there were other times where you walk in and he’s having a laugh and kind of holding court with jokes.”
The real deal
I remember walking into another hotel around midnight in another NBA city, getting off an elevator, looking over at a nearempty restaurant and seeing Sloan sitting with Johnson, his longtime and trusted assistant, at an otherwise empty bar.
An increasingly frustrated Sloan knowing the Jazz weren’t good enough and challenging his team during his final season.
“We’ll find out who we are,” Sloan said on Jan. 22, 2011, in the middle of a six-game losing streak. “It takes a lot of toughness to fight through that; not feel like the world’s against you. It’s a basketball game, is all it is — it’s not a matter of life and death. So hopefully guys will realize how important it is to play, because it’s a pretty good business to be in.”
The NBA was rapidly changing. Superstars, led by LeBron James and Carmelo Anthony, were dictating their new destinations and altering multiple franchises at once. Small markets were losing in the battle for the biggest names. Sloan was clashing with All-NBA point guard Deron Williams and the new face of the Jazz was being backed by an organization that had always stood behind its coach.
“My energy level has dropped off a little bit,” Sloan said the day he resigned.
Williams was traded less than two weeks later.
Sloan went 31-23 during his final season, but the Jazz finished 39-43 and missed the playoffs.
Friday, I remembered what everyone who discussed Sloan fondly recalled.
His passion. Humor. Intensity. Modesty.
“He was extremely loyal and protective of not only his family but of his players, of his coaching staff, everybody around him that he was trying to help,” Perrin said.
Layden told another classic Sloan story.
A couple days after a tough Jazz playoff series loss, Sloan was working hard in Layden’s front yard, helping his friend and diving into another job that had to be done the right way.
“He was just so real,” Layden said. “He was as real as those John Deere tractors he drove.”