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I would be remiss not to take a moment to reflect on the career of Johnny “Red” Kerr.

I grew up in the Midwest. My love for basketball began without allegiance to a particular player or team. I simply loved the sport. That love was inspired by more than watching Jordan paint his masterpiece, although his genius certainly played a prominent role. My early basketball memories are tightly connected to three men whom you might not suspect: Hubie Brown, Dr. Jack Ramsay, and Johnny “Red” Kerr. Some of my earliest basketball memories are of curling up on the couch with my father listening to these men call games. Or, in the case of Ramsay, I vividly remember returning from the library with a copy of The Coach’s Art, which opened basketball up to me as something more than basketball.

Our Midwestern cable package included Chicago’s WGN and TBS. My enthusiasm for basketball was fueled by Kerr’s enthusiasm for the Jordan Bulls; my knowledge of basketball is founded on Hubie Brown’s thoughtful analysis. These men spoiled me. Perhaps it’s nostalgia, but today I listen to most game calls on mute. That is, unless Hubie or Dr. Jack have the call. When that’s the case, I like to watch with my son. 48 minutes of catechesis.

I don’t remember much of what Johnny “Red” Kerr said. That would be a dishonest claim. But I remember how he said it. His wows were the wows of seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time. His excitement was the excitement of buzzer beaters and possession saving dives. Some things are taught and others are caught. I caught an appreciation of basketball as beauty and brilliance and bounty from Kerr-he injected that germ into my bloodstream. Here I am trying to pass it along to you.

It’s sad to see him go.

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5. Glimpses of Young David Robinson