Phil Jackson, marriage counselor

An interlude from our regular political commentary for a bit of sports analysis...

As anyone who knows me can attest -- I'm NOT a fan of Phil Jackson, coach of the LA Lakers. Watching Phil Jackson coach is like watching a Mister Magoo cartoon. When the cameras pan over to him sitting on the sidelines, invariably he looks lost -- with his mouth open like a turkey looking up at the rain. Sometimes he wanders the sidelines aimlessly and I wonder if perhaps he's just looking for the churro vendor?

My primary beef with Phil Jackson is that he gets paid $10 million a year -- and yet he refuses to call a time out when the other team makes a run. Any other coach it the league will immediately call a time out the moment they sense the energy shift in a game (Larry Brown is a genius at this). Phil Jackson says he doesn't call time outs because "he wants the players to figure it out themselves." But if the players could have figured it out themselves -- they would have. That's why teams have things called "coaches" in the first place -- to help players figure things out when they are somehow unable to do it themselves.

So I got to wondering what Phil Jackson's life might have been like if he had gone in to a different line of work:

Phil Jackson, marriage counselor: "Thank you both for coming in today. I understand you've been having some marriage difficulties. Just work is out yourselves. That'll be 10 million dollars. Thanks."

Phil Jackson, ambulance driver: "I see you've been in an accident. Get yourself to the hospital. That'll be 10 million dollars. Thanks."

Phil Jackson, pizza chef: "Hey thanks for coming in to the restaurant. Fix your own damn pizza. That'll be 10 million dollars. Thanks."

This really is the joke that just keeps on giving. Feel free to come up with your own. Enjoy the game tonight.

In defense of Phil Jackson

As any reader of this blog knows, I'm not a big fan of Phil Jackson. I've never seen a coach look so completely lost on the sideline as Jackson. But after Mr Magoo won his 10th title, I challenged myself to see the wisdom in his approach. And I think a powerful case can be made for his method. I'm not saying it's correct (other than the 10 titles which make him the most successful coach in NBA history) only that a strong case can be made. (-;

Okay here goes:

During Game 5 of the finals -- the Lakers went on a 16-0 run in the second quarter that sealed the game and the championship. Stan Van Gundy called 3 TIMEOUTS during the Lakers' run to try to stop the bleeding but nothing worked. During the regular season, Phil Jackson will never call a timeout to stop another team from making a run. He just won't do it. Jackson will allow his team to be completely humiliated on national TV -- is even willing to lose the game, but will not call a timeout to stop a run.

But maybe that's his genius.

As a result of knowing that Jackson will never call a timeout to stop a run, his players also know:
1. It's on me to make sure the other team never goes on a run in the first place.
2. It's on me to make the decisions that will stop the other team's run.
3. I better work my ass off in practice so that I'm never put in the position of being humiliated on national TV.

Jackson's genius may be that he puts the entire onus for winning on the player, rather than on himself as coach. Most nights Jackson looks as if he could give a damn whether they win or not. A player looks over at the bench for guidance and Phil Jackson is looking up in the stands trying to find the churro vendor so he can get a snack. So the player just has to read the defense himself and make the decision. That's why you see the Lakers so animated on the bench during timeouts. Kobe is grabbing the whiteboard drawing up a play -- Gasol and Kobe are figuring out how to break a double team. The Lakers players know it's entirely on them -- and as a result they perform at a higher level than any other team in the league.

That's why they call him the Zen master -- on the surface of it -- wandering the sidelines looking completely lost and not calling timeouts seems like a losing strategy. But in practice it shifts the thinking of the players in ways that make them more responsible and more effective year after year.

Watching Phil Jackson coach the Lakers...

... is like watching a rich kid with a new Lamborghini who just keeps grinding the gears because he doesn't know how to drive. From moment to moment the team lurches, spins its wheels, zooms ahead, veers off track, and stalls out as Phil Jackson aimlessly fiddles with buttons and instruments that he doesn't understand.

Jordan Farmar ran the offense more effectively last night than Derek Fisher and he guards Billups better too. But down the stretch Jackson went with Fisher. Furthermore, Bynum had a great first half and we could have used a big guy to clog up the lane in the 2nd half (to stop Billups and Melo from driving) -- but Jackson inexplicably benched Bynum for the entire second half in favor of the smaller Odom. I have no problem with Odom being in there -- he just needs to be in there as small forward rather than power forward.

Note to Kobe Bryant: Look dude, this is your team -- Jackson will do whatever you tell him. You need to tell Jackson to play Bynum for 35 minutes every night. Either Bynum succeeds or he fails. But you can't win a championship without a legitimate center (I love Gasol, but he's simply not a true center).

Player for player, the Lakers are the best team in the playoffs. But, in Phil Jackson, they have the worst coach. As such they barely got by the JV Houston Rockets and it's unclear whether they'll get by Denver.

The Cost of Greatness

Lakers' coach Phil Jackson (or PJ as the announcers are starting to call him) can be a bit of a dick. He makes $10 million a year but he can't be bothered to call a time out when the other team is making a run (he says he wants the players to figure it out for themselves). His coaching philosophy seems to consist of 1) scowling on the sidelines and 2) needling players in public interviews so that they'll be embarrassed to read about themselves in print and play harder the next game.

But the dude does have 9 rings, so there's that.

Thursday the Los Angeles Times had a fascinating article on the extraordinary maturation of Lakers' center Andrew Bynum. Drafted out of high school, Bynum is now in his third year in the league -- and he's starting to put up Shaq-like numbers every night. I was fascinated by Jackson's insights into what it takes to be great in the NBA:

Now that Bynum has taken another massive developmental step in his third NBA season, Coach Phil Jackson was asked Wednesday if there was anything that could have made it happen sooner.

He paused for seven seconds before answering.

"No."

In what way?

"It's the idea of 'OK, yeah, I've got to dedicate myself to this process and that's a start.' Now you find someone that's going to be your workout guy.

"You start it by saying, 'I'm an alcoholic, I need to go to AA.' It's the same process: 'I need to get in the best possible shape I can. I need to have a vested interest in that.' As soon as you do that, you turn the corner."

...

"When Andrew came to the Lakers, he sat down and made a commitment to us -- even though he was 17 years old and inexperienced, he was going to work as hard as he could at this process," Jackson said.

What's fascinating to me is that Bynum came into the league with all the natural talent in the world -- 7 feet tall, 33 inch vertical, 7 foot 3 inch wingspan, and he can shoot free-throws (unlike Shaq). Yet in spite of all those natural gifts, listening to Jackson it's clear that greatness still requires everything. A commitment every minute of every day for years and years before it starts to pay off.

That's been my experience in the world. The few times I felt like I really excelled at something, it required everything (waking, sleeping, eating, breathing, dreaming -- every minute focused on working towards the goal). Which is fine for a motivational poster with an eagle on it or something. But when is the cost too high? (In my experience, I've found that the cost is often too high).

Americans act like greatness is a birthright. But the unspoken reality is that it requires everything, for years, with no certainty of success. Dancers, musicians, athletes, politicians, artists, business people. It seems to me that greatness leaves no room for work life balance, no room for family, no room for staring up through the branches of a tree and just breathing. (For example think about all the greats -- from Michael Jordan to Mahatma Gandhi and look at what a mess their family life was). It seems to me that we are casual (or simply never ask) about the costs of greatness in this country ("oh yeah, of course, that's just what it takes.")

Perhaps a utopian society needs a new definition of greatness that isn't about greatest peak, greatest valley, greatest volume, or greatest quantity. What does greatness of moderation look like? What does greatness of character truly look like? What is greatness of balance? Or are those even important questions to ask?

It just seems like society sacrifices a few people on the altar of greatness for our own entertainment pleasure. But then I pick up a great book or watch Andrew Bynum play and I'm so thankful for the experience, the momentary identification with the peak, that the price doesn't seem too high (of course, I'm not the one paying it!). I wonder if perhaps there is a paradox waiting to be discovered here -- that truly great societies (that is, truly happy societies) don't place a premium on individual greatness -- instead realizing that happiness comes from relationships and relationships are not best served by pursuing extremes?

I'd welcome any insights you may have in the comments.

Update #1: I've been chewing on the ideas in this post and have an additional thought. I think there are many kinds of love. Romantic love for a partner, love for family members, love for friends, love of nature... I think greatness can sometimes be considered love of others or love for all. Certainly the sort of love for others that you see in revolutionary movements -- where people are willing to sacrifice everything for love of country and love of fellow human beings -- exists alongside and is different from romantic love (although there is certainly a romance to revolutionary love too). So I guess I'm saying that the pursuit of greatness can emanate from a powerful love of others. I think it can still pose complications for balance and relationships -- but it's not all just a question of costs -- sometimes it's driven by an enormous love which is honorable.

Update #2: Just like that Andrew Bynum went down with a knee injury in the game on Sunday and is expected to miss the next 8 weeks (somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 games!). Suddenly the Lakers are in a free fall, unsure of where they are going to get their points on offense (other than Kobe) and their stops on defense.

I take back all those mean things I said about The Hills

I take back all those mean things I said about The Hills. It's the best freakin' show on television. I'll do you one better -- Spencer, as in Heidi and Spencer, is the most compelling character on TV in quite some time.

Here's the key to understanding Spencer: he's a guy who hates himself so much, he's literally trying to commit "suicide by girlfriend" (much like the better known suicide by cop) on national TV. Apparently he's filled with self loathing but lacks the will to do himself in. So instead he finds the most vapid, humiliating, empty shell of a girlfriend that he can and pledges his love to her. If you are watching the show hoping to see a the plight of a normal guy in search of a healthy relationship -- you're gonna be disappointed -- like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football held by Lucy, or me watching the Lakers, hoping Phil Jackson will actually coach.

Instead, Spencer goes out of his way to be humiliated on purpose. Most shows he doesn't even remember his girlfriend's name -- calling her Heidi sometimes and Holly other times. And he doesn't care -- the goal is humiliation and anything he can do to mess up (cheating openly, goading, eye rolling) just brings the flood of scorn that he so desires. It's fascinating to watch him happily bathe in humiliation and contempt like they were bubbles in a Calgon commercial. In many ways, Spencer is the modern retelling of The Story of O -- but the sexes have been reversed and now it's the male masochist who holds our attention as the depths of his debasement show no limits. As such he becomes a character as compelling as any devised by Beckett, a piece of performance art that makes a powerful social commentary on the state of the modern American male -- willing to sacrifice all pride in order to be seen with a gal who embodies all that is wrong with modern American culture. What started out as a lens to view culture, has become so extreme and so polarized that it is now the mirror reflecting back at us, taunting the viewer, privately exposing our own humiliation as we can't stop looking at the trainwreck that is us.