A Utah radio station's outdoor correspondent recently relayed a hunting story featuring former Jazz coach Jerry Sloan to Sloan's son. It appears that Sloan was as quick on the trigger as he was moving his feet side to side while guarding Jerry West, or whistling out a play to John Stockton after a defensive rebound.
But first? Some complaining, from your favorite NBA killjoy.
I abhor guns, needlessly killing animals for sport, and the idea that a man's character can be defined merely by raising a rifle and moving your index finger one inch closer to your chest. Destroy me in the comments section all you want, but the last thing I'm thinking about whilst in a pastoral setting as dawn moves over the dewy forest is pulling out a rifle and killing animals. You are allowed to make fun of me for using the word "whilst," though. I can't drive a manual transmission, either. Though my wife can.
Someone shoots an elk on a mountain hunting trip that Karl Malone had helped them arrange and Jerry and Tony walk up to it. "In a split second, this bull elk jumps up and comes at me full bore at about 10 yards. I'm a sitting duck. Your dad, without a blink, steps in front of me, pulls up [his old rifle that he got for $80 at a garage sale], puts a bullet in this elk's chest, and it falls at my feet. I have no chance to even react. I turn and look at your dad and he looks at me and he goes, ‘That's as good as a fast break.'"
I can say, without judgment, that that has to be quite the rush. The guy just saved his buddy's life, in an instant, and he probably went out and called 90 percent of Utah's plays in a win over the Spurs the next day.
So if you're in rural Illinois, and you spy number four at his local, buy him a beer on me. I will gladly reimburse through Paypal. Just don't try to explain Paypal to him. And certainly don't use the word "whilst" in his presence.