They made a widow cry.

At a warm-and-fuzzy event meant to honor the greatest of the Chicago Bulls greats, some classless and immature fans booed the introduction of former general manager Jerry Krause. They probably thought they were being cool. Or thought it’d be funny. Maybe they weren’t thinking at all.

But Krause hadn’t just been the architect of the Bulls’ dynasty. He’d been Thelma Krause’s beloved husband. As boos rang out in the United Center on Friday night, tears filled her eyes. She pursed her lips to keep from sobbing, but her anguish was obvious. She was devastated, her pride and delight at seeing her late husband among the first inductees in the Bulls Ring of Honor now spoiled.

"It’s unnecessary. It’s impolite. It’s ignorant," San Antonio Spurs coach Gregg Popovich said Saturday, the shock and disgust at what had happened the night before still reverberating.

"If anything, it’s like a snapshot of the world we live in today. Meanness seems to be a lot more condoned."

There have always been unhinged fans. People who base their self-worth and happiness upon the performance of their favorite team or player. People who forget that, at the end of the day, it’s only a game.

But fans who make an elderly woman cry, fans who berate and even threaten players who don’t live up to their expectations, cross a different line. Their behavior lacks humanity and, sadly, it’s a reflection of the coarsening of our society.

There are any number of reasons why this has happened: our toxic political environment, the isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic, the anonymity of social media. But the why doesn’t matter so much as the result. We’ve become nasty and unfeeling, delighting in being divisive and cruel. We’d rather "own" someone than see them as a fellow human being. And God forbid we should try and find common ground.

Not all of us. But enough that behavior that once would have been unthinkable now happens on a regular basis.

"It's shameful. Absolutely shameful. I cannot believe − I'm devastated for Thelma and for the Krause family. What can we possibly be thinking?" said Steve Kerr, who, before he was the Golden State Warriors' coach, was a player acquired by Krause for the Bulls’ second three-peat.

"What are we doing?" Kerr asked. "Whether people liked Jerry or not, whether they disagreed with the decision to move on (after 1998), we're here to celebrate that team. Jerry did an amazing job building that team. (The Ring of Honor festivities were) all about the joy and love that that team shared with the city and I'm so disappointed in the fans. And I want to be specific because there are lots of fans, I'm sure, who did not boo. Both those who booed, they should be ashamed."

Krause’s legacy in Chicago is a complicated one. He was the one who resurrected Phil Jackson’s coaching career and brought Tex Winter, creator of the triangle offense, to the Bulls. He built one team that won three titles in a row and then, after Michael Jordan’s brief retirement, built another that won three more.

He also was suspicious and cantankerous, and he craved credit for his role in what was one of the most dominant stretches in NBA history. That last bit is why Krause is blamed for the demise of the Bulls’ dynasty, though breakups are never that cut and dried and that one was no different.

But, as Kerr said, it doesn’t matter how you feel about Krause. The man is dead, first of all. More importantly, this was a night to fondly reminisce, not relitigate the past. If fans didn’t want to celebrate Krause, or acknowledge his influence on the Bulls’ championship run, no one was forcing them to. They could have stayed silent. Talked to their neighbor. Taken a sip or two of their beers.

To boo, to make Thelma Krause cry, was mean and spiteful. It was heartless.

"It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life," Bulls color commentator Stacey King, a member of the first three-peat, said on the broadcast afterward. "I hurt for that lady. It brought her to tears. Whoever booed her in this arena should be ashamed of themselves."

I’d hope they are. I’d hope the condemnation, which quickly spread beyond Chicago, would chasten at least some who booed and make them rethink their behavior, particularly their treatment of others.

I’d also hope those repulsed by the boos and distressed by Thelma Krause’s pain will carry those memories with them. That they'll now think twice before trashing someone else. Better yet, that they'll have the courage to call out those who demean others.

It costs nothing to be kind. But there is a price that is paid for cruelty.

Just look at Thelma Krause.

Follow USA TODAY Sports columnist Nancy Armour on social media @nrarmour.