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Eleven-Rings

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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
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   Моему Отцу ПОСВЯЩАЕТСЯ. ПАПА ОЧЕНЬ ЛЮБИЛ БАСКЕТБОЛ. ОСОБЕННО ОБОЖАЛ КОМАНДУ НБА ЧИКАГО БУЛЛС.
  
  
   Книга выложена в оригинале (английский язык), Перевод данного произведения идет и будит.
  
  
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  ALSO BY PHIL JACKSON
  Journey to the Ring
  The Last Season (with Michael Arkush)
  More Than a Game (with Charley Rosen)
  Sacred Hoops (with Hugh Delehanty)
  Maverick (with Charley Rosen)
  Take It All!
  
  THE PENGUIN PRESS
  Published by the Penguin Group
  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
  New York, New York 10014, USA
  USA  Canada  UK  Ireland  Australia  New Zealand  India  South Africa  China
  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
  For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com
  Copyright ? Phil Jackson, 2013
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
  permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author"s rights. Purchase only
  authorized editions.
  The Credits Page constitutes an extension of this copyright page.
  ISBN 978-1-101-61796-0
  Penguin is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers;
  however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author"s alone.
  FOR RED HOLZMAN, TEX WINTER, AND ALL THE PLAYERS I"VE COACHED WHO HAVE TAUGHT ME SO MANY
  
  
   []
  
  
  
  LESSONS.
  CONTENTS
  ALSO BY PHIL JACKSON
  TITLE PAGE
  COPYRIGHT
  DEDICATION
  EPIGRAPH
  1 THE CIRCLE OF LOVE
  2 THE JACKSON ELEVEN
  3 RED
  4 THE QUEST
  5 DANCES WITH BULLS
  6 WARRIOR SPIRIT
  7 HEARING THE UNHEARD
  8 A QUESTION OF CHARACTER
  9 BITTERSWEET VICTORY
  10 WORLD IN FLUX
  11 BASKETBALL POETRY
  12 AS THE WORM TURNS
  13 THE LAST DANCE
  14 ONE BREATH, ONE MIND
  15 THE EIGHTFOLD OFFENSE
  16 THE JOY OF DOING NOTHING
  17 ONE-TWO-THREE-LAKERS!
  18 THE WISDOM OF ANGER
  19 CHOP WOOD, CARRY WATER
  20 DESTINY"S CHILDREN
  21 DELIVERANCE
  22 THIS GAME"S IN THE REFRIGERATOR
  PHOTOGRAPHS
  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  INDEX
  CREDITS
  
  
   []
  
  
  
  
  
   []
  
  
  
  When you do things from your soul,
  you feel a river moving in you, a joy.
  RUMI
  C
  1 []
  THE CIRCLE OF LOVE
  Life is a journey. Time is a river. The door is ajar.
  JIM BUTCHER
  ecil B. DeMille would have loved this moment.
  Here I was sitting in a limo at the ramp leading into the Los
  Angeles Memorial Coliseum, waiting for my team to arrive, while an
  ecstatic crowd of ninety-five thousand plus fans, dressed in every possible
  combination of Lakers purple and gold, marched into the stadium. Women in
  tutus, men in Star Wars storm-trooper costumes, toddlers waving "Kobe Diem"
  signs. Yet despite all the zaniness, there was something inspiring about this
  ancient ritual with a decidedly L.A. twist. As Jeff Weiss, a writer for LA Weekly,
  put it: "It was the closest any of us will ever know what it was like to watch the
  Roman Legions returning home after a tour of Gaul."
  Truth be told, I"ve never really felt that comfortable at victory celebrations,
  which is strange given my chosen profession. First of all, I"m phobic about large
  crowds. It doesn"t bother me during games, but it can make me queasy in less
  controlled situations. I"ve also never really loved being the center of attention.
  Perhaps it"s my inherent shyness or the conflicting messages I got as a kid from
  my parents, who were both ministers. In their view, winning was fine-in fact,
  my mother was one of the most fiercely competitive people I"ve ever met-but
  reveling in your own success was considered an insult to God. Or as they would
  say, "The glory belongs to Him."
  This celebration wasn"t about me, though. It was about the remarkable
  transformation the players had undergone en route to the 2009 NBA
  championship. You could see it in their faces as they descended the long purple
  and gold staircase into the coliseum dressed in rally caps and championship Tshirts,
  laughing, jostling, beaming with joy, while the crowd roared with delight.
  Four years earlier the Lakers hadn"t even made the playoffs. Now they were
  masters of the basketball universe. Some coaches are obsessed with winning
  trophies; others like to see their faces on TV. What moves me is watching young
  men bond together and tap into the magic that arises when they focus-with
  their whole heart and soul-on something greater than themselves. Once you"ve
  experienced that, it"s something you never forget.
  -
  
  
   []
  
  
   []
  
  
  
  The symbol is the ring.
  In the NBA, rings symbolize status and power. No matter how gaudy or
  cumbersome a championship ring may be, the dream of winning one is what
  motivates players to put themselves through the trials of a long NBA season.
  Jerry Krause, the former general manager of the Chicago Bulls, understood this.
  When I joined the team as an assistant coach in 1987, he asked me to wear one
  of the two championship rings I"d earned playing for the New York Knicks as a
  way to inspire the young Bulls players. This is something I used to do during the
  playoffs when I was a coach in the Continental Basketball Association, but the
  idea of sporting such a big chunk of bling on my finger every day seemed a bit
  much. One month into Jerry"s grand experiment the ring"s centerpiece rock fell
  out while I was dining at Bennigan"s in Chicago, and it was never recovered.
  After that I went back to wearing the rings only during the playoffs and on
  special occasions like this triumphant gathering at the coliseum.
  On a psychological level, the ring symbolizes something profound: the quest
  of the self to find harmony, connection, and wholeness. In Native American
  culture, for instance, the unifying power of the circle was so meaningful that
  whole nations were conceived as a series of interconnected rings (or hoops). The
  tepee was a ring, as were the campfire, the village, and the layout of the nation
  itself-circles within circles, having no beginning or end.
  Most of the players weren"t that familiar with Native American psychology,
  but they understood intuitively the deeper meaning of the ring. Early in the
  season, the players had created a chant they would shout before each game, their
  hands joined together in a circle.
  One, two, three-RING!
  After the players had taken their places on the stage-the Lakers" portable
  basketball court from the Staples Center-I stood and addressed the crowd.
  "What was our motto on this team? The ring," I said, flashing my ring from the
  last championship we won, in 2002. "The ring. That was the motto. It"s not just
  the band of gold. It"s the circle that"s made a bond between all these players. A []
  great love for one another."
  Circle of love.
  That"s not the way most basketball fans think of their sport. But after more
  than forty years involved in the game at the highest level, both as a player and as
  a coach, I can"t think of a truer phrase to describe the mysterious alchemy that
  joins players together and unites them in pursuit of the impossible.
  Obviously, we"re not talking romantic love here or even brotherly love in the
  traditional Christian sense. The best analogy I can think of is the intense
  emotional connection that great warriors experience in the heat of battle.
  Several years ago journalist Sebastian Junger embedded himself with a
  platoon of American soldiers stationed in one of the most dangerous parts of
  Afghanistan to learn what enabled these incredibly brave young men to fight in
  such horrifying conditions. What he discovered, as chronicled in his book War,
  was that the courage needed to engage in battle was indistinguishable from love. []
  Because of the strong brotherhood the soldiers had formed, they were more
  concerned about what happened to their buddies than about what happened to
  themselves. Junger recalls one soldier telling him that he would throw himself
  on a grenade for any one of his platoonmates, even those he didn"t like all that
  much. When Junger asked why, the soldier replied, "Because I actually love my
  brothers. I mean, it"s a brotherhood. Being able to save their life so they can live,
  I think is rewarding. Any of them would do it for me."
  That kind of bond, which is virtually impossible to replicate in civilian life,
  is critical to success, says Junger, because without it nothing else is possible.
  I don"t want to take the analogy too far. Basketball players don"t risk their
  lives every day like soldiers in Afghanistan, but in many ways the same principle
  applies. It takes a number of critical factors to win an NBA championship,
  including the right mix of talent, creativity, intelligence, toughness, and, of
  course, luck. But if a team doesn"t have the most essential ingredient-love-
  none of those other factors matter.
  -
  Building that kind of consciousness doesn"t happen overnight. It takes years of
  nurturing to get young athletes to step outside their egos and fully engage in a
  group experience. The NBA is not exactly the friendliest environment for
  teaching selflessness. Even though the game itself is a five-person sport, the
  culture surrounding it celebrates egoistic behavior and stresses individual
  achievement over team bonding.
  This wasn"t the case when I started playing for the Knicks in 1967. In those
  days most players were paid modestly and had to take part-time jobs in the
  summer to make ends meet. The games were rarely televised and none of us had
  ever heard of a highlight reel, let alone Twitter. That shifted in the 1980s, fueled
  in large part by the popularity of the Magic Johnson-Larry Bird rivalry and the
  emergence of Michael Jordan as a global phenomenon. Today the game has
  grown into a multibillion-dollar industry, with fans all over the world and a
  sophisticated media machine that broadcasts everything that happens on and off
  the court, 24-7. The unfortunate by-product of all this is a marketing-driven
  obsession with superstardom that strokes the egos of a handful of ballplayers and
  plays havoc with the very thing that attracts most people to basketball in the first []
  place: the inherent beauty of the game.
  Like most championship NBA teams, the 2008-09 Lakers had struggled for
  years to make the transition from a disconnected, ego-driven team to a unified,
  selfless one. They weren"t the most transcendent team I"d ever coached; that
  honor belongs to the 1995-96 Chicago Bulls, led by Michael Jordan and Scottie
  Pippen. Nor were they as talented as the 1999-2000 Lakers team, which was
  loaded with clutch shooters including Shaquille O"Neal, Kobe Bryant, Glen
  Rice, Robert Horry, Rick Fox, and Derek Fisher. But the 2008-09 Lakers had the
  seeds of greatness in their collective DNA.
  The players looked hungrier than ever when they showed up for training
  camp in August 2008. At the end of the previous season, they"d made a
  miraculous run to the finals against the Celtics, only to be humiliated in Boston []
  and lose the decisive game 6 by 39 points. Clearly the beating we"d received at
  the hands of Kevin Garnett and company-not to mention the torturous ride to
  our hotel afterward through mobs of Celtics fans-had been a brutal experience,
  especially for the younger players who hadn"t tasted Boston venom before.
  Some teams get demoralized after losses like that, but this young, spirited
  team was energized by getting so close to the prize only to have it batted away
  by a tougher, more physically intimidating opponent. Kobe, who had been
  named the NBA"s most valuable player that year, was particularly laser focused.
  I"ve always been impressed by Kobe"s resilience and ironclad self-confidence.
  Unlike Shaq, who was often plagued by self-doubt, Kobe never let such thoughts
  cross his mind. If someone set the bar at ten feet, he"d jump eleven, even if no []
  one had ever done it before. That"s the attitude he brought with him when he
  arrived at training camp that fall, and it had a powerful impact on his teammates. []
  Still, what surprised me the most was not Kobe"s ruthless determination but
  his changing relationship with his teammates. Gone was the brash young man
  who was so consumed with being the best player ever that he sucked the joy out
  of the game for everyone else. The new Kobe who had emerged during the
  season took his role as team leader to heart. Years ago, when I"d first arrived in []
  L.A., I"d encouraged Kobe to spend time with his teammates instead of hiding
  out in his hotel room studying videotape. But he"d scoffed at the idea, claiming []
  that all those guys were interested in were cars and women. Now he was making
  an effort to connect more closely with his teammates and figure out how to forge
  them into a more cohesive team.
  Of course, it helped that the team"s other cocaptain-Derek Fisher-was a
  natural leader with exceptional emotional intelligence and finely tuned
  management skills. I was pleased when Fish, who had played a key role as a
  point guard during our earlier run of three consecutive championships, decided
  to return to L.A. after free-agent gigs with the Golden State Warriors and the
  Utah Jazz. Though Fish wasn"t as quick or as inventive as some of the younger
  point guards in the league, he was strong, determined, and fearless, with a rocksolid
  character. And despite his lack of speed, he had a gift for pushing the ball
  up court and making our offense run properly. He was also an excellent threepoint
  shooter when the clock was running down. Most of all, he and Kobe had a
  solid bond. Kobe respected Derek"s mental discipline and dependability under
  pressure, and Derek knew how to get through to Kobe in a way that nobody else
  could.
  Kobe and Fish kicked off the first day of training camp with a speech about
  how the upcoming season would be a marathon, not a sprint, and how we needed
  to focus on meeting force with force and not allowing ourselves to be
  intimidated by physical pressure. Ironically, Kobe was beginning to sound more
  and more like me every day.
  In their groundbreaking book, Tribal Leadership, management consultants
  Dave Logan, John King, and Halee Fischer-Wright lay out the five stages of
  tribal development, which they formulated after conducting extensive research
  on small to midsize organizations. Although basketball teams are not officially
  tribes, they share many of the same characteristics and develop along much the
  same lines: []
  STAGE 1-shared by most street gangs and characterized by
  despair, hostility, and the collective belief that "life sucks."
  STAGE 2-filled primarily with apathetic people who perceive
  themselves as victims and who are passively antagonistic, with
  the mind-set that "my life sucks." Think The Office on TV or the
  Dilbert comic strip.
  STAGE 3-focused primarily on individual achievement and
  driven by the motto "I"m great (and you"re not)." According to
  the authors, people in organizations at this stage "have to win,
  and for them winning is personal. They"ll outwork and outthink
  their competitors on an individual basis. The mood that results is
  a collection of "lone warriors.""
  STAGE 4-dedicated to tribal pride and the overriding
  conviction that "we"re great (and they"re not)." This kind of
  team requires a strong adversary, and the bigger the foe, the
  more powerful the tribe.
  STAGE 5-a rare stage characterized by a sense of innocent
  wonder and the strong belief that "life is great." (See Bulls,
  Chicago, 1995-98.)
  All things being equal, contend Logan and his colleagues, a stage 5 culture
  will outperform a stage 4 culture, which will outperform a 3, and so on. In
  addition, the rules change when you move from one culture to another. That"s
  why the so-called universal principles that appear in most leadership textbooks
  rarely hold up. In order to shift a culture from one stage to the next, you need to []
  find the levers that are appropriate for that particular stage in the group"s
  development.
  During the 2008-09 season the Lakers needed to shift from a stage 3 team to
  a stage 4 in order to win. The key was getting a critical mass of players to buy
  into a more selfless approach to the game. I didn"t worry so much about Kobe,
  even though he could go on a shooting spree at any second if he felt frustrated.
  Still, by this point in his career I knew he understood the folly of trying to score
  every time he got his hands on the ball. Nor was I concerned about Fish or Pau
  Gasol, who were naturally inclined to be team players. What concerned me most
  were some of the younger players eager to make a name for themselves with the
  ESPN SportsCenter crowd.
  But to my surprise, early in the season I noticed that even some of the most
  immature players on the team were focused and single-minded. "We were on a
  serious mission, and there wasn"t going to be any letup," says forward Luke
  Walton. "By the time we got to the finals, losing just wasn"t going to be an
  option."
  We got off to a roaring start, winning twenty-one of our first twenty-five
  games, and by the time we faced the Celtics at home on Christmas, we were a far
  more spirited team than we"d been during the previous year"s playoffs. We were
  playing the game the way the "basketball gods" had ordained: reading defenses
  on the move and reacting in unison like a finely tuned jazz combo. These new
  Lakers beat the Celtics handily, 92-83, and then danced through the season to
  the best record in the Western Conference (65-17).
  The most troubling threat came in the second round of the playoffs from the
  Houston Rockets, who pushed the series to seven games, despite losing star Yao
  Ming to a broken foot in game 3. If anything, our biggest weakness was the
  illusion that we could cruise on talent alone. But going to the brink against a
  team that was missing its top three stars showed our players just how treacherous
  the playoffs could be. The close contest woke them up and helped them move
  closer to becoming a selfless stage 4 team.
  No question, the team that walked off the floor in Orlando after winning the
  championship finals in five games was different from the team that had fallen
  apart on the parquet floor of the TD Garden in Boston the year before. Not only
  were the players tougher and more confident, but they were graced by a fierce
  bond.
  "It was just a brotherhood," said Kobe. "That"s all it is-a brotherhood."
  -
  Most coaches I know spend a lot of time focusing on X"s and O"s. I must admit
  that at times I"ve fallen in that trap myself. But what fascinates most people
  about sports is not the endless chatter about strategy that fills the airwaves. It"s []
  what I like to call the spiritual nature of the game.
  I can"t pretend to be an expert in leadership theory. But what I do know is
  that the art of transforming a group of young, ambitious individuals into an
  integrated championship team is not a mechanistic process. It"s a mysterious
  juggling act that requires not only a thorough knowledge of the time-honored
  laws of the game but also an open heart, a clear mind, and a deep curiosity about
  the ways of the human spirit.
  This book is about my journey to try to unravel that mystery.
  B
  2
  THE JACKSON ELEVEN
  You can"t break the rules until you know how to play the game.
  RICKI LEE JONES
  efore we go any further, I"d like to give you an overview of the basic
  principles of mindful leadership that I"ve evolved over the years to help
  transform disorganized teams into champions. You won"t find any lofty
  management theories here. With leadership, as with most things in life, the best
  approach is always the simplest.
  1. LEAD FROM THE INSIDE OUT
  Some coaches love to run with the lemmings. They spend an inordinate amount
  of time studying what other coaches are doing and trying out every flashy new
  technique to get an edge over their opponents. That kind of outside-in strategy
  might work in the short term if you have a forceful, charismatic personality, but
  it inevitably backfires when the players grow weary of being browbeaten and
  tune out or, even more likely, your opponents wise up and figure out a clever
  way to counter your latest move.
  I am antilemming by nature. It goes back to my childhood, when I was forcefed
  religious dogma by my parents, both Pentecostal ministers. I was expected to
  think and behave in a rigidly prescribed manner. As an adult, I"ve tried to break
  free from that early conditioning and develop a more open-minded, personally
  meaningful way of being in the world.
  For a long time, I believed I had to keep my personal beliefs separate from
  my professional life. In my quest to come to terms with my own spiritual
  yearning, I experimented with a wide range of ideas and practices, from
  Christian mysticism to Zen meditation and Native American rituals. Eventually,
  I arrived at a synthesis that felt authentic to me. And though at first I worried
  that my players might find my unorthodox views a little wacky, as time went by
  I discovered that the more I spoke from the heart, the more the players could
  hear me and benefit from what I"d gleaned.
  2. BENCH THE EGO
  Once a reporter asked Bill Fitch, my coach at the University of North Dakota,
  whether dealing with difficult personalities gave him heartburn, and he replied, []
  "I"m the one who gives people heartburn, not them." Fitch, who later became a
  successful NBA coach, represents one of the most common styles of coaching:
  the domineering "my way or the highway" type of leader (which, in Bill"s case,
  was tempered by his devilish sense of humor). The other classic type is the suckup
  coach, who tries to mollify the stars on the team and be their best friend-a
  fool"s exercise at best.
  I"ve taken a different tack. After years of experimenting, I discovered that
  the more I tried to exert power directly, the less powerful I became. I learned to
  dial back my ego and distribute power as widely as possible without
  surrendering final authority. Paradoxically, this approach strengthened my
  effectiveness because it freed me to focus on my job as keeper of the team"s
  vision.
  Some coaches insist on having the last word, but I always tried to foster an
  environment in which everyone played a leadership role, from the most
  unschooled rookie to the veteran superstar. If your primary objective is to bring
  the team into a state of harmony and oneness, it doesn"t make sense for you to
  rigidly impose your authority.
  Dialing back the ego doesn"t mean being a pushover. That"s a lesson I
  learned from my mentor, former Knicks coach Red Holzman, one of the most
  selfless leaders I"ve ever known. Once when the team was flying out for a road
  trip, a player"s boom box started blaring some heavy rock. Red went over to the
  guy and said, "Hey, do you have any Glenn Miller in your mix?" The guy looked
  at Red as if he were out of his mind. "Well, when you get some, you can play a
  little of my music and a little of yours. Otherwise, shut that damn thing off."
  Then Red sat down next to me and said, "You know, players have egos, but
  sometimes they forget that coaches have egos too."
  3. LET EACH PLAYER DISCOVER HIS OWN DESTINY
  One thing I"ve learned as a coach is that you can"t force your will on people. If
  you want them to act differently, you need to inspire them to change themselves.
  Most players are used to letting their coach think for them. When they run
  into a problem on the court, they look nervously over at the sidelines expecting
  coach to come up with an answer. Many coaches will gladly accommodate them.
  But not me. I"ve always been interested in getting players to think for themselves
  so that they can make difficult decisions in the heat of battle.
  The standard rule of thumb in the NBA is that you should call a time-out as
  soon as an opposing team goes on a 6-0 run. Much to my coaching staff"s
  dismay, I often let the clock keep running at that point, so that the players would
  be forced to come up with a solution on their own. This not only built solidarity
  but also increased what Michael Jordan used to call the team"s collective "think
  power."
  On another level, I always tried to give each player the freedom to carve out
  a role for himself within the team structure. I"ve seen dozens of players flame
  out and disappear not because they lacked talent but because they couldn"t figure
  out how to fit into the cookie-cutter model of basketball that pervades the NBA.
  My approach was always to relate to each player as a whole person, not just
  as a cog in the basketball machine. That meant pushing him to discover what
  distinct qualities he could bring to the game beyond taking shots and making
  passes. How much courage did he have? Or resilience? What about character
  under fire? Many players I"ve coached didn"t look special on paper, but in the
  process of creating a role for themselves they grew into formidable champions.
  Derek Fisher is a prime example. He began as a backup point guard for the
  Lakers with average foot speed and shooting skills. But he worked tirelessly and
  transformed himself into an invaluable clutch performer and one of the best
  leaders I"ve ever coached.
  4. THE ROAD TO FREEDOM IS A BEAUTIFUL SYSTEM
  When I joined the Bulls in 1987 as an assistant coach, my colleague Tex Winter
  taught me a system, known as the triangle offense, that aligned perfectly with the
  values of selflessness and mindful awareness I"d been studying in Zen
  Buddhism. Tex learned the basics of the system as a student at the University of
  Southern California under legendary coach Sam Barry. As head coach at Kansas
  State, Tex refined the system and used it to lead the Wildcats to eight league
  titles and two Final Four appearances. He also relied on it when he was head
  coach of the Houston Rockets. (Tex"s USC teammates Bill Sharman and Alex
  Hannum used their own versions of the triangle en route to winning
  championships with the Lakers and 76ers, respectively.)
  Despite Tex"s and my extraordinary success using the triangle with the Bulls
  and the Lakers, there are still a lot of misconceptions about how the system
  works. Critics call it rigid, outdated, and complicated to learn, none of which is
  true. In fact, the triangle is a simpler offense than most NBA teams run today.
  Best of all, it automatically stimulates creativity and teamwork, freeing players
  from having to memorize dozens of set plays.
  What attracted me to the triangle was the way it empowers the players,
  offering each one a vital role to play as well as a high level of creativity within a
  clear, well-defined structure. The key is to train each player to read the defense
  and react appropriately. This allows the team to move together in a coordinated
  manner-depending on the action at any given moment. With the triangle you
  can"t stand around and wait for the Michael Jordans and Kobe Bryants of the
  world to work their magic. All five players must be fully engaged every second
  -or the whole system will fail. That stimulates an ongoing process of group
  problem solving in real time, not just on a coach"s clipboard during time-outs.
  When the triangle is working right, it"s virtually impossible to stop it because
  nobody knows what"s going to happen next, not even the players themselves.
  5. TURN THE MUNDANE INTO THE SACRED
  As a boy I used to marvel at the way my parents created community,
  transforming the hardscrabble life on the plains of Montana and North Dakota
  into a sacred experience.
  You know the hymn:
  Blest be the tie that binds
  Our hearts in Christian love;
  The fellowship of kindred minds
  Is like to that above.
  That"s the essence of what it means to bring individuals together and connect
  them to something greater than themselves. I heard that hymn thousands of times
  when I was growing up, and I witnessed what happens when the spirit touches
  people and unites them. The rituals had a profound effect on me-and on my
  approach to leadership-even though later I drifted away from the Pentecostal
  faith and found a new direction spiritually.
  Once when the Bulls were getting on the team bus after a close come-frombehind
  win, my trainer Chip Schaefer said he wished we could bottle that lategame
  energy like a magic potion so we could bring it out whenever we needed it.
  That"s a nice idea, but what I"ve learned is that the forces that join people
  harmoniously aren"t that clear-cut. They can"t be manufactured at will, though
  you can do your best to create the conditions that will promote that sort of
  transformation-very similar to what my parents tried to do every Sunday in
  church.
  As I see it, my job as a coach was to make something meaningful out of one
  of the most mundane activities on the planet: playing pro basketball. Despite all
  the glamour surrounding the sport, the process of playing day after day in one
  city after another can be a soul-numbing exercise. That"s why I started
  incorporating meditation into practices. I wanted to give players something
  besides X"s and O"s to focus on. What"s more, we often invented rituals of our
  own to infuse practices with a sense of the sacred.
  At the start of training camp, for instance, we used to perform a ritual that I
  borrowed from football great Vince Lombardi. As the players formed a row on
  the baseline, I"d ask them to commit to being coached that season, saying, "God
  has ordained me to coach you young men, and I embrace the role I"ve been
  given. If you wish to accept the game I embrace and follow my coaching, as a
  sign of your commitment, step across that line." Wonder of wonders, they
  always did it.
  We did this in a fun way, but with a serious intent. The essence of coaching
  is to get the players to wholeheartedly agree to being coached, then offer them a []
  sense of their destiny as a team.
  6. ONE BREATH = ONE MIND
  When I took over the Lakers in 1999, they were a talented but highly unfocused
  team. They often fell apart in the playoffs because their attack was so confused
  and undisciplined and the better teams, such as the San Antonio Spurs and the
  Utah Jazz, had figured out how to neutralize the Lakers" most potent weapon:
  Shaquille O"Neal.
  Yes, we could make a number of tactical moves to counter these weaknesses,
  but what the players really needed was a way to quiet the chatter in their minds
  and focus on the business of winning basketball games. When I was head coach
  of the Bulls, the players had to deal with the Michael Jordan media caravan. But
  that was nothing compared to the distractions the Lakers faced in the belly of
  celebrity culture. To get the players to settle down, I introduced them to one of
  the tools I"d used successfully with the Bulls: mindfulness meditation.
  I"ve taken a lot of ribbing from other coaches for my experiments with
  meditation. Once college basketball coaches Dean Smith and Bobby Knight
  came to a Lakers game and asked me, "Is it true, Phil, that you and your players
  sit around in a dark room before games and hold hands?"
  All I could do was laugh. Though mindfulness meditation has its roots in
  Buddhism, it"s an easily accessible technique for quieting the restless mind and
  focusing attention on whatever is happening in the present moment. This is
  extremely useful for basketball players, who often have to make split-second
  decisions under enormous pressure. I also discovered that when I had the players []
  sit in silence, breathing together in sync, it helped align them on a nonverbal
  level far more effectively than words. One breath equals one mind.
  Another aspect of Buddhist teachings that has influenced me is the emphasis
  on openness and freedom. The Zen teacher Shunryu Suzuki likened the mind to
  a cow in a pasture. If you enclose the cow in a small yard, it will become
  nervous and frustrated and start eating the neighbor"s grass. But if you give it a
  large pasture to roam around in, it will be more content and less likely to break
  loose. For me, this approach to mental discipline has been enormously
  refreshing, compared to the restricted way of thinking ingrained in me as a child.
  I"ve also found that Suzuki"s metaphor can be applied to managing a team. If
  you place too many restrictions on players, they"ll spend an inordinate amount of
  time trying to buck the system. Like all of us, they need a certain degree of
  structure in their lives, but they also require enough latitude to express
  themselves creatively. Otherwise they"ll start behaving like that penned-in cow. []
  7. THE KEY TO SUCCESS IS COMPASSION
  In his new adaptation of the Chinese sacred text Tao Te Ching, Stephen Mitchell
  offers a provocative take on Lao-tzu"s approach to leadership:
  I have just three things to teach:
  simplicity, patience, compassion.
  These three are the greatest treasures.
  Simple in actions and thoughts,
  you return to the source of being.
  Patient with both friends and enemies,
  you accord with the way things are.
  Compassionate toward yourself,
  you reconcile all beings in the world.
  All of these "treasures" have been integral to my coaching, but compassion
  has been the most important. In the West we tend to think of compassion as a
  form of charity, but I share Lao-tzu"s view that compassion for all beings-not
  least of all oneself-is the key to breaking down barriers among people.
  Now, "compassion" is a word not often bandied about in locker rooms. But
  I"ve found that a few kind, thoughtful words can have a strong transformative
  effect on relationships, even with the toughest men on the team.
  Because I started as a player, I"ve always been able to empathize with young
  men facing the harsh realities of life in the NBA. Most players live in a state of
  constant anxiety, worrying about whether they"re going to be hurt or humiliated,
  cut or traded, or, worst of all, make a foolish mistake that will haunt them for the
  rest of their lives. When I was with the Knicks, I was sidelined for more than a
  year with a debilitating back injury. That experience allowed me to talk with
  players I"ve coached from personal experience about how it feels when your
  body gives out and you have to ice every joint after a game, or even sit on the
  bench for an entire season.
  Beyond that, I think it"s essential for athletes to learn to open their hearts so
  that they can collaborate with one another in a meaningful way. When Michael
  returned to the Bulls in 1995 after a year and a half of playing minor-league
  baseball, he didn"t know most of the players and he felt completely out of sync
  with the team. It wasn"t until he got into a fight with Steve Kerr at practice that
  he realized he needed to get to know his teammates more intimately. He had to
  understand what made them tick, so that he could work with them more
  productively. That moment of awakening helped Michael become a
  compassionate leader and ultimately helped transform the team into one of the
  greatest of all time.
  8. KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE SPIRIT, NOT ON THE SCOREBOARD
  Management guru Stephen Covey tells this old Japanese tale about a samurai
  warrior and his three sons: The samurai wanted to teach his sons about the power
  of teamwork. So he gave each of them an arrow and asked them to break it. No
  problem. Each son did it easily. Then the samurai gave them a bundle of three
  arrows bound together and asked them to repeat the process. But none of them
  could. "That"s your lesson," the samurai said. "If you three stick together, you
  will never be defeated."
  This story reflects just how strong a team can be when each of its members
  surrenders his self-interest for the greater good. When a player isn"t forcing a
  shot or trying to impose his personality on the team, his gifts as an athlete most
  fully manifest. Paradoxically, by playing within his natural abilities, he activates
  a higher potential for the team that transcends his own limitations and helps his
  teammates transcend theirs. When this happens, the whole begins to add up to
  more than the sum of its parts.
  Example: We had a player on the Lakers who loved to chase down balls on
  defense. If his mind was focused on scoring points at the other end of the floor
  instead of on making steals, he wouldn"t be able to perform either task very well.
  But when he committed himself to playing defense, his teammates covered for
  him on the other end, because they knew intuitively what he was going to do.
  Then, all of a sudden, everybody was able to hit their rhythm, and good things
  began to happen.
  Interestingly, the other players weren"t consciously aware that they were
  anticipating their teammate"s behavior. It wasn"t an out-of-body experience or
  anything like that. But somehow, mysteriously, they just sensed what was going
  to happen next and made their moves accordingly.
  Most coaches get tied up in knots worrying about tactics, but I preferred to
  focus my attention on whether the players were moving together in a spirited
  way. Michael Jordan used to say that what he liked about my coaching style was
  how patient I remained during the final minutes of a game, much like his college
  coach, Dean Smith.
  This wasn"t an act. My confidence grew out of knowing that when the spirit
  was right and the players were attuned to one another, the game was likely to
  unfold in our favor.
  9. SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO PULL OUT THE BIG STICK
  In the strictest form of Zen, monitors roam the meditation hall, striking sleeping
  or listless meditators with a flat wooden stick, called a keisaku, to get them to
  pay attention. This is not intended as punishment. In fact, the keisaku is
  sometimes referred to as a "compassionate stick." The purpose of the blow is to
  reinvigorate the meditator and make him or her more awake in the moment.
  I haven"t wielded a keisaku stick in practice, though there were times when I
  wished I"d had one handy. Still, I"ve pulled out some other tricks to wake players
  up and raise their level of consciousness. Once I had the Bulls practice in
  silence; on another occasion I made them scrimmage with the lights out. I like to
  shake things up and keep the players guessing. Not because I want to make their
  lives miserable but because I want to prepare them for the inevitable chaos that
  occurs the minute they step onto a basketball court.
  One of my favorite ploys was to divide the players into two lopsided teams
  for a scrimmage, then not call any fouls on the weaker of the two. I liked to see
  how the players on the stronger team would respond when all the calls were
  going against them and their opponents were running up 30-point leads. This
  scheme used to drive Michael nuts because he couldn"t stand losing, even though
  he knew the game was rigged.
  One of the players I came down especially hard on was Lakers forward Luke
  Walton. I sometimes played mind games with him so that he would know what it
  felt like to be stressed out under pressure. Once I put him through a particularly
  frustrating series of exercises, and I could tell by his reaction that I"d pushed him
  too far. Afterward I sat down with him and said, "I know you"re thinking about
  becoming a coach someday. I think that"s a good idea, but coaching isn"t all fun
  and games. Sometimes no matter how nice a guy you are, you"re going to have
  to be an asshole. You can"t be a coach if you need to be liked."
  10. WHEN IN DOUBT, DO NOTHING
  Basketball is an action sport, and most people involved in it are high-energy
  individuals who love to do something-anything-to solve problems. However,
  there are occasions when the best solution is to do absolutely nothing.
  This is especially true when the media is involved. Reporters often made fun
  of me for not directly confronting my players when they acted immaturely or
  said something dumb in the press. The Los Angeles Times"s T. J. Simers wrote a
  funny column once about my propensity for inactivity and concluded wryly that
  "no one does nothing better than Phil." I get the joke. But I"ve always been wary
  of asserting my ego frivolously just to give reporters something to write about.
  On a deeper level, I believe that focusing on something other than the
  business at hand can be the most effective way to solve complex problems.
  When the mind is allowed to relax, inspiration often follows. Research is
  beginning to prove the point. In a commentary on CNNMoney.com, Fortune
  senior writer Anne Fisher reported that scientists have begun to realize "that
  people may do their best thinking when they are not concentrating on work at
  all." She cites studies published in the journal Science by Dutch psychologists
  who concluded, "The unconscious mind is a terrific solver of complex problems
  when the conscious mind is busy elsewhere or, perhaps better yet, not overtaxed
  at all."
  That"s why I subscribe to the philosophy of the late Satchel Paige, who said,
  "Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits."
  11. FORGET THE RING
  I hate losing. I always have. When I was a kid, I was so competitive I frequently
  burst into tears and broke the board into pieces if one of my older brothers,
  Charles or Joe, trounced me in a game. They loved teasing me when I threw a
  sore loser"s tantrum, which made me even more determined to win the next time.
  I"d practice and practice until I figured out a way to beat them and wipe the
  smug smiles off their faces.
  Even as an adult, I"ve been known to act out on occasion. Once, after a
  particularly embarrassing loss to Orlando in the playoffs, I shaved off most of
  my hair and stomped around the room for nearly an hour until the anger
  subsided.
  And yet as a coach, I know that being fixated on winning (or more likely, not
  losing) is counterproductive, especially when it causes you to lose control of
  your emotions. What"s more, obsessing about winning is a loser"s game: The
  most we can hope for is to create the best possible conditions for success, then
  let go of the outcome. The ride is a lot more fun that way. Bill Russell, the
  Boston Celtics great who won more championship rings as a player than anyone
  else (eleven), revealed in his memoir, Second Wind, that he sometimes secretly
  rooted for the opposing team during big games because if they were doing well,
  it meant he would have a more heightened experience.
  Lao-tzu saw it another way. He believed that being too competitive could
  throw you out of whack spiritually:
  The best athlete
  wants his opponent at his best.
  The best general
  enters the mind of his enemy . . .
  All of them embody
  the virtue of non-competition.
  Not that they don"t love to compete,
  but they do it in the spirit of play.
  That"s why at the start of every season I always encouraged players to focus
  on the journey rather than the goal. What matters most is playing the game the
  right way and having the courage to grow, as human beings as well as basketball
  players. When you do that, the ring takes care of itself.
  M
  3
  RED
  The greatest carver does the least cutting.
  LAO-TZU
  y first impression of the NBA was that it was an unstructured mess.
  When Red Holzman recruited me for the New York Knicks in
  1967, I"d never seen an NBA game before, except for a few playoff
  games on TV between the Boston Celtics and the Philadelphia Warriors. So Red
  sent me a film of a 1966 game between the Knicks and the Lakers, and I invited
  a bunch of my college teammates over to watch it on a big screen.
  I was stunned by how sloppy and undisciplined both teams were. At the
  University of North Dakota, we prided ourselves on playing the game in a
  systematic way. In fact, in my senior year coach Bill Fitch had implemented a
  system of ball movement that I really liked, which I later learned was a version
  of the triangle that he"d picked up from Tex Winter.
  There seemed to be no logic to the Knicks game we were watching. To me it
  looked like nothing more than a bunch of talented players running up and down
  the floor looking for shots.
  Then the fight broke out.
  Willis Reed, the Knicks" imposing six-nine, 235-pound power forward got
  tangled up with forward Rudy LaRusso near the Lakers" bench. Then there was a
  pause in the film, and when it started up again, Willis was shrugging several
  Lakers players off his back, before leveling center Darrall Imhoff and slugging
  LaRusso twice in the face. By the time they finally subdued him, Willis had also
  broken forward John Block"s nose and thrown center Hank Finkel to the ground.
  Wow. We all jumped up in unison and shouted, "Run that back again!"
  Meanwhile, I"m thinking, What have I gotten myself into? This is the guy I"m
  going to be going up against day in and day out in practice!
  Actually, when I met Willis that summer, I found him to be a warm and
  friendly guy, who was dignified, bighearted, and a natural leader whom everyone
  respected. He had a commanding presence on the floor and he felt instinctively
  that his job was to protect his teammates. The Knicks expected Willis to be
  suspended for that incident in the game against L.A., but the league was more
  tolerant about fighting in those days and let it go. From that point on, big men
  around the league started thinking twice before getting into a tussle with Willis
  on the floor.
  Reed wasn"t the only great leader on the Knicks. In fact, playing for New
  York during the championship years was like going to grad school in leadership.
  Forward Dave DeBusschere, who had been a player/coach for the Detroit Pistons
  before joining the Knicks, was an astute floor general. Forward Bill Bradley, the
  future U.S. senator, was gifted at building consensus among the players and
  helping them meld together into a team. Shooting guard Dick Barnett, who later
  earned a Ph.D. in education, used his biting wit to keep everyone from taking
  themselves too seriously. And Walt Frazier, my roommate during the first
  season, was a masterful point guard who served as the team"s quarterback on the
  floor. But the man who taught me the most about leadership was the most
  unassuming of them all: Holzman himself.
  The first time Red saw me play was during one of the worst games of my
  college career. I got into foul trouble early and never found my rhythm, as
  Louisiana Tech knocked us out in the first round of the NCAA small-college
  tournament. I scored 51 points in the consolation game against Parsons, but Red
  missed that one.
  Nevertheless, Red must have seen something he liked because he grabbed
  Bill Fitch after the Louisiana Tech game and asked him, "Do you think Jackson
  can play for me?" Fitch didn"t hesitate. "Sure he can play for you," he said,
  thinking that Red was looking for players who could handle full-court defense. It
  was only afterward that he realized that what Red really wanted to know was:
  Can this hick from North Dakota handle life in the Big Apple? Either way, Fitch
  says, his answer would have been the same.
  Fitch was a hard-nosed coach-and ex-Marine-who ran practices as if they
  were Parris Island drills. He was a far cry from my mild-mannered Williston
  (North Dakota) high school coach, Bob Peterson, but I liked playing for him
  because he was tough, honest, and always pushing me to do better. Once, in my
  junior year, I got drunk during pledge week and made a fool of myself trying to
  lead a bunch of students in school cheers. When Fitch heard the story, he told me
  I would have to do push-ups every time I saw him on campus.
  Still, I flourished in Fitch"s system. We played full-court pressure defense,
  and I loved it. At six-eight I was big enough to play center, but I was also quick
  and energetic and had a large wingspan, which made it easy for me to harass
  playmakers and pick off steals. My arms were so long, in fact, that I could sit in
  the backseat of a car and open both front doors at the same time without leaning
  forward. In college, my nickname was "the Mop" because I was always falling
  on the floor, chasing after loose balls.
  During my junior year, I came into my own, averaging 21.8 points and 12.9
  rebounds per game, and was named first team All-American. We won the
  conference title that year and made the small-college Final Four for the second
  year in a row, losing in a tight semifinal game to Southern Illinois. The next year
  I averaged 27.4 points and 14.4 rebounds and scored 50 points twice on the way
  to making the All-American first team again.
  At first I thought that if I was going to be drafted by the NBA, I would be
  picked by the Baltimore Bullets, whose head scout, my future boss, Jerry
  Krause, had been eyeing me. But the Bullets were outmaneuvered by the Knicks,
  who picked me early in the second round (seventeenth overall), leaving Krause,
  who"d gambled that I wouldn"t go until the third round, kicking himself for
  years.
  I was also drafted by the Minnesota Muskies in the American Basketball
  Association, which was attractive to me because it was closer to home. But
  Holzman wasn"t going to let the Muskies win. He visited me that summer in
  Fargo, North Dakota, where I was working as a camp counselor, and made me a
  better offer. He asked me if I had any reservations about signing with the Knicks,
  and I replied that I was thinking about going to graduate school to become a
  minister. He said that there would be plenty of time after I finished my pro career
  to pursue whatever else I wanted to do. He also reassured me that I could turn to
  him if I had difficulty dealing with New York City.
  As it turned out, John Lindsay, New York"s mayor at the time, was in Fargo
  giving a speech at the organization where I was working. Red found the
  synchronicity of it all amusing. While I signed the contract that day, he said,
  "Can you imagine? The mayor of New York is here and everybody knows it.
  And you"re here getting signed and nobody knows it."
  That"s when I knew I"d found my mentor.
  -
  When I arrived at training camp in October, the Knicks were in a holding
  pattern. We were still waiting for our new star forward, Bill Bradley, to show up
  after finishing Air Force Reserve boot camp. In fact, we were conducting
  training camp at McGuire Air Force Base in the hope that he would be able to
  break away at some point and start practicing with the team.
  Although our roster was loaded with talent, the leadership structure hadn"t
  yet been established. The putative top man was Walt Bellamy, a high-scoring
  center and future Hall of Famer. But Walt was constantly battling with Willis,
  who was much better suited for the lead role. At one point in the previous
  season, the two of them had run into each other and literally knocked themselves
  out fighting to establish position in the post. Dick Van Arsdale was the starting
  small forward, but many thought that Cazzie Russell was more talented.
  Meanwhile, Dick Barnett and Howard Komives made up a solid backcourt, but
  Barnett was still recovering from a torn Achilles tendon the year before.
  On top of all that, it was clear that the players had lost confidence in coach
  Dick McGuire, whose nickname, "Mumbles," said a lot about his inability to
  communicate with the team. So it wasn"t surprising when Ned Irish, president of
  the Knicks, moved McGuire to a scouting position in December and appointed
  Red head coach. Holzman was a tough, reserved New Yorker with a wry sense
  of humor and a strong basketball pedigree. A two-time All-American guard at
  City College of New York, he played for the Rochester Royals as a pro, winning
  two league championships, before becoming head coach of the Milwaukee/St.
  Louis Hawks.
  Red was a master of simplicity. He didn"t espouse any particular system, nor
  did he stay up all night inventing plays. What he believed in was playing the
  game the right way, which to him meant moving the ball on offense and playing
  intense team defense. Red learned the game in the pre-jump shot era when fiveman
  ball movement was far more prevalent than one-on-one creativity. He had
  two simple rules, which he shouted from the sidelines during every game:
  See the ball. Red focused much more attention on defense in practice
  because he believed that a strong defense was the key to everything. During one
  practice, Red, who could be extremely graphic when he needed to be, took
  copies of our plays and pretended to wipe his butt with them. "This is about how
  much good these things are," he said, dropping the pages on the floor. That"s
  why he wanted us to learn to play defense together better, because once you did
  that, he believed, the offense would take care of itself.
  In Red"s view, awareness was the secret to good defense. He stressed
  keeping your eye on the ball at all times and being acutely attuned to what was
  happening on the floor. The Knicks weren"t as big as other teams; nor did we
  have an overpowering shot blocker like the Celtics" Bill Russell. So under Red"s
  direction, we developed a highly integrated style of defense that relied on the
  collective awareness of all five players rather than one man"s brilliant moves
  under the basket. With all five men working as one, it was easier to trap ball
  handlers, cut off passing lanes, exploit mistakes, and launch fast breaks before
  the other team could figure out what was going on.
  Red loved using full-court pressure to throw opponents off their games. In
  fact, in my very first practice, we implemented a full-court press for the whole
  scrimmage. That was perfect for Walt Frazier, Emmett Bryant, and me, because
  we"d played full-court defense in college. My teammates dubbed me "Coat
  Hanger" and "Head and Shoulders" because of my physique, but I much
  preferred the name broadcaster Marv Albert gave me: "Action Jackson." I knew
  that by playing forward instead of center, I was giving up my biggest strength-
  post play-but I could help the team out and get more time on the court by
  concentrating on defense. Besides, I didn"t possess a fifteen-foot jumper yet and
  my ball-handling skills were so sketchy that Red later gave me a two-dribble
  rule. Hit the open man. If Red were coaching today, he would be appalled at how
  self-absorbed the game has become. For him, selflessness was the holy grail of
  basketball. "This isn"t rocket science," he would proclaim, adding that the best
  offensive strategy was to keep the ball moving among all five players to create
  shooting opportunities and make it hard for the other team to focus on one or
  two shooters. Even though we had some of the best shot creators in the game-
  notably Frazier and Earl "the Pearl" Monroe-Red insisted that everybody work
  together in unison to get the ball to the player with the best shot. If you decided
  to go solo, which few players ever attempted, you"d soon find yourself exiled to
  the end bench.
  "On a good team there are no superstars," Red insisted. "There are great
  players who show they are great players by being able to play with others as a
  team. They have the ability to be superstars, but if they fit into a good team, they
  make sacrifices, they do things necessary to help the team win. What the
  numbers are in salaries or statistics don"t matter; how they play together does."
  Few teams in the NBA have ever been as balanced offensively as the 1969-
  70 Knicks. We had six players who consistently scored in double figures and
  none who averaged much higher than 20 points a game. What made the team so
  hard to defend was that all five starters were clutch shooters, so if you doubleteamed
  one man who happened to be hot, it would open up opportunities for the
  other four-all of whom could hit big shots.
  One thing that fascinated me about Red was how much of the offense he
  turned over to the players. He let us design many of the plays and actively
  sought out our thinking about what moves to make in critical games. Many
  coaches have a hard time giving over power to their players, but Red listened
  intently to what the players had to say because he knew we had more intimate
  knowledge of what was happening on the floor than he did.
  Red"s singular gift, however, was his uncanny ability to manage grown men
  and get them to come together with a common mission. He didn"t use
  sophisticated motivational techniques; he was just straightforward and honest.
  Unlike many coaches, he didn"t interfere in players" personal lives unless they
  were up to something that would have a negative effect on the team.
  When Red took over as coach, practices were laughably chaotic. Players
  often arrived late and brought their friends and relatives as spectators. The
  facilities had broken floors, warped wooden backboards, and showers without
  any hot water, and the practices themselves were largely uncontrolled
  scrimmages without any drills or exercises. Red put a stop to all that. He
  instituted what he called "silly fines" for tardiness and banished from practices
  everybody who wasn"t on the team, including the press. He ran tough,
  disciplined practices focused primarily on defense. "Practice doesn"t make
  perfect," he used to say. "Perfect practice does."
  On the road, there were no curfews or bed checks. Red had only one rule:
  The hotel bar belonged to him. He didn"t care where you went or what you did
  as long as you didn"t interrupt his late-night scotch with trainer Danny Whelan
  and the beat writers. Although he was more accessible than other coaches, he felt
  it was important to maintain a certain distance from the players because he knew
  that someday he might have to cut or trade one of us.
  If he needed to discipline you, he rarely did it in front of the team, unless it
  was related to your basketball play. Instead he would invite you to his "private
  office": the locker-room toilet. He usually called me in to the toilet when I"d said
  something critical in the press about the team. I had good rapport with the
  reporters after years of playing cards together, and sometimes I had a tendency to
  be overly glib. Red was more circumspect. "Don"t you realize," he"d say, "that
  these newspapers are going to be lining somebody"s birdcage tomorrow?"
  Red was notoriously sphinxlike with the media. He often took reporters out
  to dinner and talked for hours, but he rarely gave them anything they could use.
  He never criticized the players or any of our opponents. Instead he often toyed
  with reporters to see what kind of nonsense he could get them to print. Once
  after a particularly hard defeat, a reporter asked him how he managed to be so
  calm, and Red replied, "Because I realize that the only real catastrophe is
  coming home and finding out there"s no more scotch in the house." Of course,
  the quote made the papers the next day.
  What I loved about Red was his ability to put basketball in perspective. Early
  in the 1969-70 season, we went on an eighteen-game winning streak and pulled
  away from the rest of the pack. When the streak ended with a disappointing loss
  at home, reporters asked Red what he would have done if the Knicks had won,
  and he replied, "I"d go home, drink a scotch, and eat the great meal that [his
  wife] Selma is cooking." And what would he do now that we had lost? "Go
  home, drink a scotch, and eat the great meal Selma is cooking."
  -
  The turning point for the Knicks was another brawl, this time during a televised
  game against the Hawks in Atlanta in November 1968. The fight was ignited by
  Atlanta"s Lou Hudson in the second half when he tried to dodge around Willis
  Reed"s hard pick and ended up slugging him in the face. All of the Knicks got up
  and joined the battle (or at least pretended to), except for one player, Walt
  Bellamy.
  The next day we had a team meeting to discuss the incident. The
  conversation revolved around Bellamy"s no-show, and the consensus among the
  players was that he wasn"t doing his job. When Red asked Walt why he hadn"t
  supported his teammates on the floor, he said, "I don"t think fighting is
  appropriate in basketball." Many of us may have agreed with him in the abstract,
  but fighting was an everyday reality in the NBA, and it didn"t give any of us
  comfort to hear that our big man didn"t have our backs.
  A few weeks later the Knicks traded Bellamy and Komives to the Pistons for
  Dave DeBusschere-a move that solidified the starting lineup and gave us the
  flexibility and depth to win two world championships. Willis took over as center
  and established himself as team leader and Red"s sergeant at arms. DeBusschere,
  a hard-driving, six-six, 220-pound player with great court sense and a smooth
  outside shot, stepped into the power forward position. Walt Frazier replaced
  Komives at point guard, teaming with Barnett, a gifted one-on-one player. Bill
  Bradley and Cazzie Russell shared the final position-small forward-because
  our starter, Dick Van Arsdale, had been picked up by the Phoenix Suns in that
  year"s expansion draft. But Bill got the upper hand when Cazzie broke his ankle
  two months after the DeBusschere trade.
  It was interesting to watch Bill and Cazzie compete for that position when
  Russell returned the next year. Both of them had been stars in college and prized
  picks in the draft. (Bill was a territorial selection in 1965, and Cazzie was the
  number one pick overall in 1966.) Bradley, who was nicknamed "Dollar Bill"
  because of his impressive (for that time) four-year, $500,000 contract, had
  averaged more than 30 points a game three years in a row at Princeton and led
  the Tigers to the NCAA Final Four, where he was named the tournament"s most
  valuable player. After being drafted by the Knicks in 1965, he had decided to
  attend Oxford for two years as a Rhodes scholar before joining the team. There
  was so much hype about him that Barnett started referring to him sarcastically as
  "the man who could leap tall buildings with a single bound."
  Cazzie got a lot of teasing as well. He too had scored a big contract
  ($200,000 for two years) and had been such a dynamic scorer at Michigan that
  the school"s gym was dubbed "the House that Cazzie Built." Nobody questioned
  his skill: Cazzie was an excellent shooter who had led the Wolverines to three
  consecutive Big Ten titles. What amused the players was his obsession with
  health food and alternative therapies. For once, there was someone on my team
  who had more nicknames than I did. He was called "Wonder Boy," "Muscles
  Russell," "Cockles "n" Muscles," and my favorite, "Max Factor," because he
  loved slathering massage oil on his body after workouts. His room was filled
  with so many vitamins and supplements that Barnett, his roommate, joked that
  you had to get a signed pharmaceutical note if you wanted to visit.
  What impressed me about Bill and Cazzie was how intensely they were able
  to compete with each other without getting caught in a battle of egos. At first
  Bill had a hard time adjusting to the pro game because of his lack of foot speed
  and leaping ability, but he made up for those limitations by learning to move
  quickly without the ball and outsmart defenders on the run. Defending him in
  practice-which I often had to do-was nerve-racking. Just when you thought
  you had trapped him in a corner, he would skitter away and show up on the other
  side of the floor with an open shot.
  Cazzie had a different problem. He was a great driver with a strong move to
  the basket, but the starting team worked better when Bradley was on the floor.
  So Red made Cazzie a sixth man who could come off the bench and ignite a
  game-turning scoring spree. Over time, Cazzie adjusted to the role and took
  pride in leading the second unit, which, in 1969-70, included center Nate
  Bowman, guard Mike Riordan, and forward Dave Stallworth (who had been
  sidelined for a year and a half recovering from a stroke), plus backup players
  John Warren, Donnie May, and Bill Hosket. Cazzie gave the unit a nickname:
  "the Minutemen."
  Not too long ago, Bill attended a Knicks reunion and was surprised when
  Cazzie, who is now a minister, came up to him and apologized for his selfish
  behavior when they were competing for the same job. Bill told Cazzie that there
  was no need to apologize because he knew that, no matter how driven Cazzie
  was, he never put his own ambition above that of the team.
  -
  Unfortunately I couldn"t be one of Cazzie"s Minutemen in 1969-70. In
  December 1968 I had a serious back injury that required spinal fusion surgery
  and took me out of the game for about a year and a half. The recovery was
  horrendous: I had to wear a body brace for six months and was told that I had to
  limit physical activity, including sex, during that period. My teammates asked if
  I was planning to have my wife wear a chastity belt. I laughed, but it wasn"t
  funny.
  I probably could have returned to action in the 1969-70 season, but the team
  had gotten off to a great start and the front office decided to put me on the
  injured list for the whole year to protect me from being picked up in the
  expansion draft.
  I wasn"t worried about money because I had signed a two-year extension
  deal with the club after my rookie year. But I needed something to keep me
  occupied, so I did some TV commentary, worked on a book about the Knicks
  called Take It All! with team photographer George Kalinsky, and traveled with
  the team as Red"s informal assistant coach. In those days most coaches didn"t
  have assistants, but Red knew that I had an interest in learning more about the
  game, and he was looking for someone to bounce new ideas around with. The
  assignment gave me an opportunity to look at the game the way a coach does.
  Red was a strong verbal communicator, but he wasn"t that visually oriented
  and rarely drew diagrams of plays on the board during pregame talks. Every now
  and then, to keep the players focused, he would ask them to nod their heads if
  they heard the word "defense" while he was talking-which happened about
  every fourth word. Still, the players drifted off when he was talking, so he asked
  me to break down the strengths and weaknesses of the teams we were facing and
  draw pictures of their key plays on the board. This forced me to start thinking of
  the game as a strategic problem rather than a tactical one. As a young player, you
  tend to focus most of your attention on how you"re going beat your man in any
  given game. But now I began to see basketball as a dynamic game of chess in
  which all the pieces were in motion. It was exhilarating.
  Another lesson I learned was about the importance of pregame rituals. The
  shootaround had yet to be invented, so most coaches tried to squeeze in whatever
  pregame instructions they had during the fifteen or twenty minutes before the
  players stepped out on the floor. But there"s only so much a player can absorb
  when his body is pulsing with adrenaline. This is not a good time for deep leftbrain
  discussions. It"s the moment to calm the players" minds and strengthen
  their spiritual connection with one another before they head into battle.
  Red paid a great deal of attention to the bench players because they played
  such a vital role on our team, which was often weakened by injuries. In Red"s
  mind, it was just as important for the bench players to be actively engaged in the
  game as it was for the starters. To make sure the subs were prepared mentally,
  he"d usually give them several minutes" warning before putting them in the
  game. He also constantly goaded them to pay attention to the twenty-four-second
  clock, so they could jump in at any moment without missing a beat. Red made
  each player feel as if he had an important role on the team, whether he played
  four minutes a game or forty-and this helped turn the Knicks into a fastmoving,
  cohesive team.
  As the playoffs arrived in 1969-70, the Knicks looked unstoppable. We
  finished the season with a league-leading 60-22 record and muscled our way past
  Baltimore and Milwaukee in the early rounds. Fortunately, we didn"t have to
  worry about the Celtics, because Bill Russell had retired and Boston was in
  retrenching mode.
  Our opponents in the championship finals were the Lakers, a star-studded
  team led by Wilt Chamberlain, Elgin Baylor, and Jerry West, who had a gnawing
  desire to win a ring after losing to Boston in six of the past eight NBA finals. But
  they weren"t nearly as quick or mobile as we were, and their biggest weapon,
  Chamberlain, had spent most of the season recovering from knee surgery.
  With the series tied 2-2, Willis went down with a torn thigh muscle in game
  5 in New York, and we had to resort to a small, no-center lineup for the rest of
  the game. That meant DeBusschere and Stallworth-a six-six and six-seven
  tandem-had to use stealth and trickery to handle the seven-one, 275-pound
  Chamberlain, probably the most overpowering center ever to play the game. In
  those days it was illegal to move more than two steps off your man to doubleteam
  another player, so we had to institute a zone defense, which was also illegal
  but less likely to get called in front of a raging Knicks home crowd. On the
  offensive end, DeBusschere lured Chamberlain away from the basket with his
  pinpoint fifteen-footers, freeing the rest of the team to move more freely inside.
  That led to a decisive 107-100 win.
  The Lakers returned home and tied up the series in game 6, setting up one of
  the most dramatic moments in NBA history. The big question was whether
  Willis would be able to return for game 7 in Madison Square Garden. The
  doctors kept us in the dark until the last minute. Willis couldn"t flex his leg
  because of the muscle tear, and jumping was out of the question, but he dressed
  up for the game and took a few warm-up shots before retreating to the trainer"s
  room for more treatments. I followed with my camera and took a great shot of
  him being injected in the hip with a giant shot of Carbocaine, but Red refused to
  let me publish it because he said that would be unfair to the press photographers,
  who had been denied access to the room.
  As the game was about to start, Willis hobbled down the center aisle and
  onto the court, and the crowd went berserk. Future broadcaster Steve Albert,
  who was the honorary ball boy for the game, said he was looking at the Lakers
  when Willis appeared on the floor and "they all, to a man, turned around and
  stopped shooting and looked at Willis. And their jaws dropped. The game was
  over before it started."
  Frazier moved the ball up court at the start of the game and hit Willis near
  the basket, and he knocked in a short jump shot. Then he scored again the next
  time up the floor, and all of a sudden the Knicks jumped out to a 7-2 lead, which
  usually doesn"t mean much in the NBA, but in this case it did. Willis"s
  commanding presence in the early going knocked the Lakers off their game and
  they never recovered.
  Of course, it didn"t hurt that Frazier had one of the greatest unsung
  performances in playoff history, scoring 36 points, with 19 assists and 7
  rebounds. Though Walt was disappointed about being overshadowed by Willis,
  he too tipped his hat to the captain. "Now a lot of people say to me, "Wow, I
  didn"t know you had a game like that,"" said Frazier later. "But I know if Willis
  didn"t do what he did, I wouldn"t have been able to have the game I had. He got
  the fans involved and gave us confidence just by his coming out onto the floor."
  The Knicks won 113-99 and we all became celebrities overnight. It was a
  bittersweet victory for me, however. I was grateful that my teammates voted me
  a full share of the playoff earnings and my first championship ring. But once the
  champagne stopped flowing, I felt guilty about not having been able to
  contribute more to the championship push. I was dying to get back in the game.
  I
  4
  THE QUEST
  The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.
  JOSEPH CAMPBELL
  n the summer of 1972, my brother Joe and I took a motorcycle trip through
  the West that shifted the direction of my life.
  I had returned to basketball two years earlier, but I still felt tentative on
  court and hadn"t found my rhythm yet. And my marriage to Maxine, my college
  sweetheart, was foundering. The six-month rehabilitation I had undergone after
  surgery hadn"t helped matters, and we had gone our separate ways-informally
  -earlier that year. Joe, who was a psychology professor at the State University
  of New York at Buffalo, had also separated from his wife. It seemed like a good
  time for us to hit the road.
  I bought a used BMW 750 and met Joe in Great Falls, Montana, not far from
  my parents" parsonage. We set out on a journey across the Great Divide to
  British Columbia that lasted about a month. Joe and I took it slow, traveling
  about five to six hours in the morning and setting up camp in the afternoon. At
  night we"d sit around a campfire with a couple of beers and talk.
  Joe didn"t mince words. "When I watch you play," he said, "I get the
  impression that you"re scared. It looks like you"re afraid of getting hurt again
  and you"re not throwing yourself into the game the way you used to. Do you
  think you"ve fully recovered?"
  "Yes, but there"s a difference," I replied. "I can"t play at the same level. I still
  have some quickness, but I don"t have as much power in my legs."
  "Well," said Joe, "you"re going to have to get that back."
  As for the marriage, I said that Maxine and I had grown apart. She had no
  interest in the basketball world I inhabited, and I wasn"t ready to settle down and
  become a family man in the suburbs. Plus she was ready to move on and pursue
  a career as a lawyer.
  Joe was blunt. He said that for the past two years I hadn"t put myself into my
  marriage, my career, or anything else. "Because you"ve been too afraid to really
  make an honest effort," he added, "you"ve lost the one love relationship you"ve
  always had-basketball. You need to be more aggressive about your life."
  This was the message I needed to hear. When I returned to New York, I
  resolved to refocus my energy on my career, and for the next three seasons I
  played the best basketball of my life. Maxine and I made the split official and
  filed for divorce. I moved into a loft above an auto repair shop in the Chelsea
  district of Manhattan; Maxine settled with our four-year-old daughter, Elizabeth,
  in an apartment on the Upper West Side.
  This was a wild, eye-opening time for me, and I lived the life of a sixties
  Renaissance man, complete with long hair and jeans, and a fascination with
  exploring new ways of looking at the world. I loved the freedom and idealism,
  not to mention the great music, of the countercultural wave that was sweeping
  through New York and the rest of country. I bought a bicycle and pedaled all
  over town, trying to connect with the real New York City. But no matter how
  much time I spent in Central Park, to me living in the city felt like living indoors.
  I needed to be someplace where I could feel a strong connection to the earth.
  I also had a longing to reconnect with my spiritual core, which I"d been
  ignoring. During college, I"d studied other religions and been intrigued by the
  broad range of spiritual traditions from around the world. But that had been
  primarily an intellectual exercise, not a spiritually meaningful one. Now I felt
  compelled to go deeper.
  My journey of self-discovery was filled with uncertainty but also alive with
  promise. Although I knew my parents" regimented approach to spirituality
  wasn"t right for me, I was still intrigued with the idea of tapping into the power
  of the human spirit.
  When I was a child, I had a number of curious health issues. At age two or
  so, I developed a large growth on my throat that baffled doctors and caused my
  parents great concern. They treated it with penicillin and it eventually went
  away, but I grew up feeling that there was something about me that wasn"t quite
  right. Then, when I entered first grade, I was diagnosed with a heart murmur and
  was told to avoid physical activity for a whole year, which was pure torture for
  me because I was such an active kid.
  One night when I was about eleven or twelve, I was sick and battling a high
  fever. I was sleeping fitfully, when all of a sudden I heard a roar, like the sound
  of a railroad train, building and building until it grew so loud I thought the train
  was going to burst into my bedroom. The sensation was completely
  overpowering, but for some reason I wasn"t frightened. As the noise kept getting
  louder, I felt a powerful surge of energy radiating through my body that was
  much stronger and more all consuming than anything I"d ever experienced
  before.
  I don"t know where this power came from, but I awoke the next day feeling
  strong and confident and brimming with energy. The fever was gone, and after
  that my health improved dramatically and I rarely got colds or flus.
  However, the primary impact of this spontaneous experience was
  psychological, not physical. After that night I had a greater belief in myself and a
  quiet faith that everything was going to work out for the best. I also seemed to be
  able to tap into a new source of energy within myself that I hadn"t sensed before.
  From that point on, I felt confident enough to throw my whole mind, body, and
  soul into what I loved-and that, as much as anything, has been the secret of my
  success in sports.
  I"ve always wondered where that power came from and whether I could
  learn how to tap into it on my own, not just on the basketball court but in the rest
  of my life as well.
  That"s one of the things I was searching for as I set out on my journey of
  self-discovery. I didn"t know where I was going or what pitfalls I might stumble
  upon along the way. But I was encouraged by these lines from the Grateful Dead
  song "Ripple."
  There is a road, no simple highway,
  Between the dawn and dark of night,
  And if you go no one may follow,
  That path is for your steps alone.
  To be honest, I"d already been on quite a ride. Because my parents were both
  ministers, my siblings and I had to be doubly perfect. We attended church twice
  on Sunday, in the morning to hear my father"s sermon and in the evening to
  listen to my mother"s. We also had to go to another service midweek and be star
  students in Sunday school, which was taught by Mom. Every morning we did
  devotions before breakfast, and at night we often memorized passages from the
  Bible.
  Mom and Dad met while studying for the ministry at a Bible college in
  Winnipeg. They had taken different paths to get there. My father, Charles, was a
  tall, handsome man with curly hair, dark eyes, and a quiet, understated
  demeanor. Our Tory ancestors had picked the wrong side in the American
  Revolution and after the war moved to Ontario, where they received a land grant
  from King George III that became the Jackson family farm. My dad always
  thought he would go to college, but after he failed the qualifying exams-in
  large part because of ill health-he left school in eighth grade and worked the
  farm. Along the way he also spent some time as a lumberjack in Hudson Bay.
  Then one day, while milking cows in the barn, he suddenly got the call to join
  the ministry.
  My mother, Elisabeth, was a striking, charismatic woman, with crystal blue
  eyes, blond hair, and strong Germanic features. She grew up in Wolf Point,
  Montana, where Grandfather Funk had moved the family after World War I to
  avoid strong anti-German sentiment in Canada. All of her siblings were
  valedictorians in high school, but Mom missed out by two tenths of a point
  because she had to skip six weeks of school to work on the fall harvest. Later she
  was teaching in a one-room schoolhouse when she attended a Pentecostal revival
  meeting and was swept away. By her early thirties, Mom had established herself
  as a traveling preacher in the small towns of eastern Montana.
  My father was a widower when they started dating. His first wife had died a
  few years earlier while pregnant with their second child. (Their first child was
  my half sister, Joan.) My parents were drawn together more by a profound
  spiritual connection than by a romantic one. They were both captivated by the
  Pentecostal movement, which had spread quickly in rural areas during the 1920s
  and 1930s, and its fundamental idea that one could find salvation by connecting
  directly with the Holy Spirit. They were also taken by the prophecy in the Book
  of Revelations about the second coming of Christ and talked about how
  important it was to prepare spiritually for His arrival because it might come at
  any moment. Their deepest fear was not being right with God. "If you died
  today," my mother often asked, "would you meet your maker in heaven?" That
  was the big issue in our house.
  My parents also strongly abided by St. Paul"s teachings about separating
  yourself from materialistic society by being in this world but not of it. We
  weren"t allowed to watch TV or movies or read comic books or go to dances-or
  even socialize with our school friends at the local canteen. Joan wasn"t allowed
  to wear shorts or a swimsuit, and my brothers and I wore white shirts
  everywhere, except when we were playing sports. When I asked Joe recently
  what scared him as a child, he said being laughed at in school when he made
  mistakes. The other kids teased us relentlessly, calling us "holy rollers" and
  making fun of what appeared to them to be a strange, antiquated way of life.
  When I was about eleven, my mother told me it was time for me to "seek the
  infilling of the Holy Spirit." My brothers and sister had already been "baptized"
  in the Holy Spirit and spoke in tongues. This was an important aspect of the
  Pentecostal faith. For years I"d watched other people go through this ritual, but it
  was never something I wanted to experience myself. But my parents really
  wanted me to do it, and they prayed with me every Sunday night after services,
  when I was actively seeking the gift of tongues.
  After a couple years of devoted prayer and supplication, I decided that this
  wasn"t going to be my thing. I started desperately searching for school activities
  that would take me away from my nearly 24-7 life at church. I acted in plays,
  sang in the choir, worked on a class float, and was a sports announcer on the
  school"s radio program. When I was a senior in high school, my brother Joe
  snuck me out to my first movie, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, when my
  parents were away at a conference.
  But my real savior was basketball. In my junior year I grew four inches to six
  feet five and 160 pounds and started to really improve as a player. My height and
  long arms gave me a huge advantage, and I averaged 21.3 points a game that
  year, which helped my team, Williston High, make it to the final of the North
  Dakota state championship. But we had lost two times to our opponent, Rugby,
  during the regular season. I"d gotten into foul trouble in both games, so Coach
  Bob Peterson played a zone in the final game. We contained my high school
  rival, Paul Presthus, but Rugby shot the ball well enough to win by 12 points.
  What I liked about basketball was how interconnected everything was. The
  game was a complex dance of moves and countermoves that made it much more
  alive than other sports I played. In addition, basketball demanded a high level of
  synergy. To succeed, you needed to rely upon everybody else on the floor, not
  just yourself. That gave the sport a certain transcendent beauty that I found
  deeply satisfying.
  Basketball also saved me from having to go to church services most
  weekends. Our closest rival was 125 miles away, and we often took long
  overnight trips on the weekends to distant parts of the state. That meant I"d
  usually miss Friday-night and Sunday-morning services.
  In my senior year I became a mini celebrity in the state. I averaged 23 points
  a game, and once again we made the state final, even though we didn"t have as
  strong a record as the previous year. The final game against Grand Forks Red
  River was televised, and midway through the first half, I stole the ball and raced
  down the floor for a dunk. It made me kind of a folk hero in the state because
  most viewers had never seen a dunk before. I went on to finish with 35 points
  and was named MVP on our way to winning the championship.
  After the game I met Bill Fitch, who had just been hired as the coach of the
  University of North Dakota, and he promised to save a place for me on his team
  if I was interested. A few weeks later he showed up in Williston to give the
  keynote address at the team"s annual awards ceremony. At the end of his talk, he
  called one of my teammates and me up to the stage and handcuffed us together.
  "As soon as I finish this speech," he joked, "I"m going to take these boys back
  with me to UND."
  Eventually my mother, who never attended any of my high school games,
  asked me how my spiritual life was progressing, and I had to tell her that I was
  struggling with my faith. This was a heartbreaking moment for her because she
  had already seen her older sons "stray" from the church. When I was a baby, my
  parents had made a pledge to their congregation that I would be brought up as a
  servant of the Lord, just like Charles and Joe before me. It must have been
  painful for them that none of us had lived up to their expectations. That"s why, I
  think, they never abandoned hope that someday one of us might return to our
  true calling, the ministry.
  -
  When I was in college, I had another rude spiritual awakening. I had been raised
  on the literal reading of the Bible. So when I was studying Darwin"s theory of
  evolution in biology class, it was disconcerting to learn that, according to the
  best estimates, humans had been walking upright on the planet for more than
  four million years. This revelation made me question a lot of what I"d been
  taught as a child and inspired me to try to resolve-in my own mind, at least-
  some of the inherent contradictions between religious dogma and scientific
  inquiry.
  I decided to shift my major from political science to a combination of
  psychology, religion, and philosophy. That gave me the opportunity to explore a
  wide range of spiritual approaches from both East and West. I was especially
  taken by Nikos Kazantzakis"s humanistic vision of Jesus in The Last Temptation
  of Christ, which paralleled much of what I had been reading about the Buddha. I
  was also moved by William James"s The Varieties of Religious Experience,
  which not only helped me put my childhood experience in perspective but also
  showed me how my search to find a new, more authentic spiritual identity fit
  within the vast landscape of American culture.
  I put that search on a back burner during my early years in the NBA. But
  when I moved to Chelsea, I befriended a psychology grad student and devout
  Muslim named Hakim who reignited my interest in spirituality and inspired me
  to explore meditation.
  One summer in Montana I recruited a neighbor, Ron Fetveit, who was an
  observant Christian, to help me fix my leaky roof. While we were repairing
  shingles, we got into a long conversation about spiritual matters, and I confessed
  that I had a difficult time relating to his faith because of my childhood
  experience. "I know where you"re coming from," he said, "but you know, there
  is no such thing as a grandchild of God. You are not your parents. You need to
  develop your own personal relationship with God."
  At that point, I began quietly searching for spiritual practices that might
  work for me. One of my early discoveries was Joel S. Goldsmith, an innovative
  author, mystic, and former Christian Science healer who had founded his own
  movement, known as the Infinite Way. What attracted me to his work was his
  wholesale rejection of organization, ritual, and dogma. In his view, spirituality
  was a personal journey, period, and he designed his talks so that they could be
  interpreted from a wide range of perspectives. I was especially intrigued by
  Goldsmith"s take on meditation, which he saw as a way to experience inner
  silence and plug into your intuitive wisdom. I"d always thought of meditation as
  a therapeutic technique for quieting the mind and feeling more balanced. But
  Goldsmith showed me that it could also be a substitute for prayer, a doorway to
  the divine.
  Over time I moved on to other practices, but the Infinite Way was eyeopening
  for me. It was a stepping-stone from the rigid spirituality I"d been raised
  on to a broader vision of spiritual practice. When I was young, my mother used
  to cram my head with biblical scriptures every day because she believed that an
  idle mind was the devil"s playground. But I thought that just the opposite was
  true. I wasn"t interested in filling my head with more noise. I wanted to rest my
  mind and allow myself to just be.
  -
  Around this time I met my future wife, June, at my regular pinochle game in
  New York. She was a warm, fun-loving woman who had graduated from the
  University of Connecticut with a social-work degree. Our romance blossomed
  during a summer motorcycle trip around the Northwest, and we were married in
  1974. Our first child, Chelsea, was born the next year, and our daughter Brooke,
  and twin sons, Charley and Ben, followed soon after.
  One summer shortly after Chelsea was born, June and I went to visit my
  brother Joe and his new partner-June"s sister, Deborah-who were living
  together in a commune in Taos, New Mexico. Joe had been a practicing Sufi for
  years and had recently left his teaching job in Buffalo to live at the Lama
  Foundation, a community dedicated to integrating spiritual practices from a wide
  range of traditions.
  Sufism is a form of Islamic mysticism that focuses primarily on shifting
  consciousness from the personal to the divine. Sufis believe that you can"t free
  yourself from identifying with the small, individual self unless you give yourself
  over to the power of the sacred. That means surrendering to what Sufi master Pir
  Vilayat Inayat Khan calls "the magical spell of unconditional love-that ecstatic
  embrace that bridges the separation between lover and beloved."
  The Sufis at the Lama Foundation spent a good part of the day trying to
  connect with the divine through meditation, devotions, and an ecstatic form of
  chanting and bowing called zikers. Joe was attracted by the physicality of the
  practice, with its repetitive, dancelike movements designed to shift
  consciousness.
  But after taking part in the rituals for several weeks, I decided that Sufism
  wasn"t the right path for me. I was looking for a practice that would help me
  control my hyperactive mind.
  A few years later I hired Joe to help me build a new house on Flathead Lake
  in Montana. After completing the frame, we brought in a construction worker to
  help us finish the job. He"d been studying Zen at the Mount Shasta monastery in
  northern California and had a calm, focused manner, along with a no-nonsense
  approach to work. I"d been interested in learning more about Zen ever since I"d
  read Shunryu Suzuki"s classic, Zen Mind, Beginner"s Mind. Suzuki, a Japanese
  teacher who played a key role in bringing Zen Buddhism to the West, talked
  about learning to approach each moment with a curious mind that is free of
  judgment. "If your mind is empty," he writes, "it is always ready for anything; it
  is open to everything. In the beginner"s mind there are many possibilities; in the
  expert"s mind there are few."
  Joe and I joined our friend"s group that summer and started sitting zazen-a
  form of meditation-with a group once a week. What appealed to me about Zen
  practice was its inherent simplicity. It didn"t involve chanting mantras or
  visualizing complex images, as had other practices I"d tried. Zen is pragmatic,
  down to earth, and open to exploration. It doesn"t require you to subscribe to a
  certain set of principles or take anything on faith; in fact, Zen encourages
  practitioners to question everything. Zen teacher Steve Hagen writes, "Buddhism
  is about seeing. It"s about knowing rather than believing or hoping or wishing.
  It"s also about not being afraid to examine anything and everything, including
  your own personal agendas."
  Shunryu Suzuki"s instructions on how to meditate are simple:
  1. Sit with your spine straight, your shoulders relaxed, and
  your chin pulled in, "as if you were supporting the sky with
  your head."
  2. Follow your breath with your mind as it moves in and out
  like a swinging door.
  3. Don"t try to stop your thinking. If a thought arises, let it
  come, then let it go and return to watching your breath. The
  idea is not to try to control your mind but to let thoughts rise
  and fall naturally over and over again. After some practice,
  the thoughts will start to float by like passing clouds and
  their power to dominate consciousness will diminish.
  According to Suzuki, meditation helps you do things "with a quite simple,
  clear mind" with "no notion or shadows." Most people have two or three ideas
  running in their heads whenever they do something, and that leaves "traces" of
  thoughts that cause confusion and are difficult to let go of. "In order not to leave
  any traces, when you do something," he writes, "you should do it with your
  whole body and mind, you should be concentrated on what you do. You should
  do it completely, like a good bonfire."
  It took me years of practice to still my busy mind, but in the process I
  discovered that the more aware I became of what was going on inside me, the
  more connected I became to the world outside. I became more patient with
  others and calmer under pressure-qualities that helped me immensely when I
  became a coach.
  Three aspects of Zen have been critical to me as a leader:
  1. GIVING UP CONTROL
  Suzuki writes, "If you want to obtain perfect calmness in your zazen, you should
  not be bothered by the various images you find in your mind. Let them come and
  let them go. Then they will be under control."
  The best way to control people, he adds, is to give them a lot of room and
  encourage them to be mischievous, then watch them. "To ignore them is not
  good; that is the worst policy," he writes. "The second worst is trying to control
  them. The best one is to watch them, just to watch them, without trying to
  control them."
  This piece of advice came in handy later when I was dealing with Dennis
  Rodman.
  2. TRUSTING THE MOMENT
  Most of us spend the bulk of our time caught up in thoughts of the past or the
  future-which can be dangerous if your job is winning basketball games.
  Basketball takes place at such a lightning pace that it"s easy to make mistakes
  and get obsessed with what just happened or what might happen next, which
  distracts you from the only thing that really matters-this very moment.
  Practicing Zen not only helped me become more acutely aware of what was
  happening in the present moment but also slowed down my experience of time
  because it diminished my tendency to rush into the future or get lost in the past.
  Vietnamese Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hanh talks about "dwelling happily in the
  present moment," because that"s where everything you need is available. "Life
  can be found only in the present moment," he writes. "The past is gone, and the
  future is not yet here, and if we do not go back to ourselves in the present
  moment, we cannot be in touch with life."
  3. LIVING WITH COMPASSION
  One aspect of Buddhism that I found to be especially compelling was the
  teachings on compassion. The Buddha was known as the "compassionate one,"
  and according to religion scholars, his moral teachings bear a close resemblance
  to those of Jesus, who told his followers at the Last Supper: "This is my
  commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has
  greater love than this, to lay down one"s life for one"s friends." In a similar vein,
  the Buddha said, "Just as a mother would protect her only child at the risk of her
  own life, even so, cultivate a boundless heart towards all beings. Let your
  thoughts of boundless love pervade the whole world."
  In the Buddhist view, the best way to cultivate compassion is to be fully
  present in the moment. "To meditate," said the Buddha, "is to listen with a
  receptive heart." In her book Start Where You Are, Buddhist teacher Pema
  Chodron contends that meditation practice blurs the traditional boundaries
  between self and others. "What you do for yourself-any gesture of kindness,
  any gesture of gentleness, any gesture of honesty and clear seeing toward
  yourself-will affect how you experience the world," she writes. "What you do
  for yourself, you"re doing for others, and what you do for others, you"re doing
  for yourself."
  This idea would later become a key building block in my work as a coach.
  -
  In the meantime I still had a job to do as a player.
  In the 1971-72 season Red Holzman, who was then general manager as well
  as head coach, made a number of moves that transformed the Knicks. First he
  traded Cazzie Russell to the San Francisco Warriors for Jerry Lucas, a strong,
  active big man who had a good twenty-five-foot shot but could also handle
  powerful centers like Dave Cowens and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Next, Red
  shipped Mike Riordan and Dave Stallworth to Baltimore for Earl "the Pearl"
  Monroe, probably the most creative ball handler in the game at that time. Red
  also drafted Dean "the Dream" Meminger, a quick, long-legged guard from
  Marquette who was a terror on defense.
  With this new infusion of talent, we morphed into a more versatile team than
  we"d ever been before. We had more size and depth, a broader array of scoring
  options than the 1969-70 team, plus the perfect blend of individual skill and
  team consciousness. Some of us worried that Monroe might try to upstage
  Frazier in the backcourt, but Earl adapted himself to Walt"s game and added a
  dazzling new dimension to the offense. With Lucas, a passing magician, at
  center, we transformed from a power team into a multifaceted perimeter team,
  keying on fifteen-foot jump shots as well as layups. Red made me the prime
  backup to Dave DeBusschere and Bill Bradley-and I was energized in my new
  role. This was pure basketball at its finest, and I fit right in.
  The only team we worried about in 1972-73 was the Celtics, who had
  dominated the Eastern Conference with a 68-14 record. In the four years since
  Bill Russell"s departure, GM Red Auerbach had re-created the team in the
  classic Celtics tradition, with a strong, active center (Dave Cowens), a sly
  outside shooter (Jo Jo White), and one of the best all-around players in the game
  (John Havlicek).
  Holzman wasn"t a huge fan of Auerbach"s because he used every trick he
  could to give his team an edge. Auerbach was a master of gamesmanship. One of
  his trademark ploys was to light a cigar when he thought his team had won the
  game, which infuriated his opponents, especially when the score was still close.
  But Auerbach outdid himself in the 1973 playoffs, and it ultimately backfired
  on him. We met the Celtics in the Eastern Conference finals after beating
  Baltimore 4-1 in the first round. Boston had the home-court advantage in the
  series, and Auerbach took full advantage of it. Whenever we played in Boston,
  Auerbach made our lives miserable: He"d put us in locker rooms where the keys
  didn"t work, the towels were missing, and the heat was set at over one hundred
  degrees and we couldn"t open the windows. For this series, he put us in a
  different locker room for every game, and the last one-for game 7-was a
  cramped janitor"s closet with no lockers and a ceiling so low many of us had to
  stoop to get dressed. Rather than demoralize us, as Auerbach no doubt expected,
  the locker-room gambit made us so angry it galvanized us even more.
  No one had ever beaten the Celtics at home in a game 7 before, but we were
  still confident, because we had dominated Boston with our full-court press early
  in the series. The night before the big game, we were watching film of game 6
  and noticed that Jo Jo White was killing us coming off high screens. Meminger,
  who was covering Jo Jo, started to get defensive, and Holzman snapped back. "I
  don"t give a damn about the screen," he said. "Find a way to get through the
  screen and stop this guy. Don"t bitch about the screen, just get the job done."
  The next day Dean was a man possessed. He went at Jo Jo early and shut
  him down, effectively short-circuiting the Celtics" offensive game plan. Then
  Dean came alive on the other end, breaking through the Celtics" press and
  igniting a decisive 37-22 run in the second half. After that, Boston never
  recovered. The final score was Knicks 94, Celtics 78.
  I"ve never seen Red Holzman happier than he was that night in the Boston
  janitor"s closet. It meant a great deal to him to beat his nemesis, Auerbach, on
  his own turf. Beaming with joy, he came over to me and said with a wry smile,
  "You know, Phil, sometimes life is a mystery and you can"t tell the difference
  between good and evil that clearly. But this is one of those times when good
  definitely triumphed over evil."
  The championship series against the Lakers was anticlimactic. They
  surprised us in the first game, but we closed down their running game after that
  and won in five. The postgame celebration in L.A. was a fizzle: just a handful of
  reporters standing around looking for quotes. But I didn"t care. I finally had a
  ring I could call my own.
  -
  The next season-1973-74-was one the best of my career. I settled into my
  role as sixth man and averaged 11.1 points and 5.8 rebounds per game. But the
  team was going through a transformation that worried me.
  The hallmark of the championship Knicks was the extraordinary bond among
  the players and the selfless way we worked together as a team. That bond was
  particularly strong during our advance to the first championship in 1970. After
  the arrival of Earl Monroe, Jerry Lucas, and Dean Meminger in 1971, the team
  chemistry shifted, but a new bond formed that was more strictly professional in
  nature yet no less effective. We didn"t spend a lot of time with one another off
  the court, but we meshed brilliantly on the floor. Now the team was going
  through another sea change, but this time the effect would be more disruptive.
  We struggled to hold things together during the 1973-74 season with Reed,
  Lucas, and DeBusschere hobbled by injuries, and we limped into the Eastern
  Conference finals against the Celtics after barely surviving a tough seven-game
  series with the Bullets. The pivotal moment came in game 4 in Madison Square
  Garden, with the Celtics up 2-1 in the series and young backup center John
  Gianelli and me trying to make up for our diminished big men. But this time
  there would be no magical Willis Reed epiphany. Boston"s Dave Cowens and
  John Havlicek knew how to take advantage of our lack of strong front-court
  leadership and outmaneuvered us at every critical turn in the second half. Boston
  won 98-91.
  The Celtics finished us off three days later in Boston en route to another
  successful championship run against the Milwaukee Bucks. I remember sitting
  in Logan Airport with my teammates after that loss and feeling as if our onceglorious
  dynasty had come to an end. Lucas and DeBusschere had already
  announced that they were planning to retire. By the time the next season got
  under way, Reed and Barnett had also moved on and Meminger had been picked
  up by New Orleans in the expansion draft and traded to Atlanta.
  Nothing was the same after that. I stepped in as a starter the next year to
  replace DeBusschere and played pretty well, but only three other members of the
  core team remained-Walt Frazier, Bill Bradley, and Earl Monroe-and it was
  difficult to forge the kind of unity we"d had before. Times were changing, and
  the new players flooding into the NBA were more interested in showing off their
  flashy skills and living the NBA high life than in doing the hard work of creating
  a unified team.
  Over the next two years, we added some talented players to the roster,
  including All-NBA star Spencer Haywood and three-time NBA scoring
  champion Bob McAdoo, but neither of them seemed to be that interested in
  mastering the Knicks" traditional combination of intense defense and selfless
  teamwork.
  Every day the gap between generations became more apparent. The new
  players, who were accustomed to being pampered in college, started
  complaining that nobody was taking care of their laundry or that the trainer
  wasn"t doing good enough tape jobs. The old Knicks were used to taking
  responsibility for our own laundry because there was no equipment manager
  then, and strange as it may sound, washing our own uniforms had a unifying
  effect on the team. If the newcomers weren"t willing to wash their own gear, we
  wondered whether they would take responsibility for what they had to do on
  court.
  It didn"t take long to find out. Within a remarkably short time, the Knicks
  transitioned into a dual-personality team that could run up 15-point leads, then
  collapse at the end because we couldn"t marshal a coordinated attack. We held
  several team meetings to discuss the problem, but we couldn"t agree on how to
  bridge the gap. Nothing Red did to stimulate team play worked.
  In 1976 the Knicks failed to make the playoffs for the first time in nine years.
  A year later Bradley retired and Frazier was traded to the Cleveland Cavaliers.
  Then Red stepped down and was replaced by Willis Reed.
  -
  I thought the 1977-78 season would be my last, but in the off-season the Knicks
  made a deal to send me to the New Jersey Nets. I was reluctant at first, but I
  agreed to come on board when coach Kevin Loughery called and told me that he
  needed my help to work with the younger players. "I know you"re at the end of
  your career," he said, "but coming to New Jersey could be a good bridge
  between playing and coaching."
  I wasn"t that interested in becoming a coach, but I was intrigued by
  Loughery"s maverick style of leadership. After training camp, Loughery said he
  wanted to move me over to assistant coach, but before that could happen forward
  Bob Elliott got injured and I was activated as a player. Nevertheless, I got a
  chance that year to work with the big men as a part-time assistant coach and take
  over for Kevin as head coach when he was thrown out of games by the refs,
  which happened fourteen times that season.
  Loughery, who had won two ABA championships, had an exceptional eye
  for the game and was gifted at exploiting mismatches. But what I learned from
  him was how to push the envelope and get away with it. Loughery was the first
  coach I knew who had his players double-team inbound passers at half-court, a
  high-risk move that often paid off. He also adopted Hubie Brown"s ploy of
  double-teaming the ball handler and made it a regular part of the defense, even
  though it wasn"t strictly legal. One of his biggest innovations was developing
  out-of-the-box isolation plays for our best shooters. That tactic didn"t exactly
  align with Holzman"s model of five-man offense, but it fit the Nets lineup, which
  was loaded with good shooters, and opened the way for new forms of creativity
  to flower in the years to come.
  Our star player was Bernard King, an explosive small forward with a
  superquick release who had averaged 24.2 points and 9.5 rebounds per game as a
  rookie the year before. Unfortunately, he also had a substance-abuse problem.
  One night that season he was found asleep at the wheel at a stop sign and was
  arrested for drunk driving and cocaine possession. (The charges were later
  dropped.) This incident pushed Loughery over the edge. He was known for
  being good at managing self-absorbed stars, but he felt he wasn"t getting through
  to King and was losing control of the team. So he threatened to quit. When
  general manager Charlie Theokas asked Loughery to suggest a replacement, he
  put my name forward. I was a little stunned when I heard this, but it felt good to
  know that someone of Kevin"s stature thought I could handle the job. Eventually
  Loughery backed down. Several months later, the Nets traded King to the Utah
  Jazz, where he spent most of the season in rehab.
  At the start of the 1979-80 season, Loughery told me that he was going to
  cut me from the active roster but offered me a job as a full-time assistant coach
  at a substantial pay cut. This was the moment I had always dreaded. I remember
  driving my car to the Nets" training center in Piscataway, New Jersey, and
  thinking that I was never going to feel the thrill of battle again. Sure, I said to
  myself, I might have some high moments in the future, but unless I had to go
  through a life-and-death crisis of some kind, I"d probably never have another
  experience quite like the one I"d had as a player in the NBA.
  Being a coach was not the same, or at least that was how I felt at the time.
  Win or lose, I"d always be one step removed from the action.
  Somewhere on the outskirts of Piscataway, I found myself having an
  imaginary conversation with my father, who had died a few months earlier.
  "What am I going to do, Dad?" I said. "Is the rest of my life going to be total
  drudgery, just going through the motions?"
  Pause.
  "How can anything else ever be as meaningful to me as playing basketball?
  Where am I going to find my new purpose in life?"
  It would take several years for me to find the answer.
  T
  5
  DANCES WITH BULLS
  Don"t play the saxophone. Let it play you.
  CHARLIE PARKER
  his wasn"t the first time that Jerry Krause had called me about a job with
  the Bulls. Three years earlier, when Stan Albeck was head coach, Jerry
  had invited me to interview for an assistant-coach slot. I was coaching
  in Puerto Rico at the time and arrived in Chicago sporting a beard and dressed
  for the tropics. Atop my head was an Ecuadorian straw hat with a blue parrot
  feather sticking out of it-very fashionable (and practical) down in the islands.
  Albeck took one look at me and invoked his veto power. Jerry had already
  rejected Stan"s first choice for assistant coach, so Stan"s veto may have been
  payback. In any case, I didn"t get the job.
  The second time around Krause advised me to lose the beard and wear a
  sport jacket and tie. The new head coach was Doug Collins, whom I"d played
  against when he was a star shooting guard for the Philadelphia 76ers. He was a
  smart, energetic coach whom Krause had hired to replace Albeck in 1986.
  Krause was looking for someone who could galvanize the Bulls" young players
  into a championship-contending team-which Doug did. Johnny Bach, who
  knew Collins from their days with the 1972 Olympics team, said Doug reminded
  him of coach Adolph Rupp"s famous pronouncement that there are only two
  kinds of coaches: those who lead teams to victory and those who drive them.
  Doug was definitely in the second category. Although he didn"t have a deep
  coaching background, he had boundless energy, which he used to rev up the
  players for big games.
  Doug and I hit it off immediately. On the ride back to my hotel after dinner
  with Jerry, Doug said he was looking for someone with a history of winning
  championships to inspire the players. Two days later Jerry offered me a job as
  assistant coach and gave me one more piece of fashion advice. The next time
  you come back to Chicago, he said, bring along your championship rings.
  The Bulls were a team that was about to break loose. They still had a few
  holes in their lineup: Their center, Dave Corzine, was not that quick or skilled on
  the boards, and their six-eleven forward, Brad Sellers, had chronic injury
  problems. But they had a strong power forward, Charles Oakley, a solid outside
  shooter, John Paxson, and two promising rookie forwards, Scottie Pippen and
  Horace Grant, whom Bach called "the Dobermans" because they were fast and
  aggressive enough to play smothering pressure defense.
  The star, of course, was Michael Jordan, who had blossomed the previous
  year into the most transcendent player in the game. Not only did he win the
  scoring title, averaging 37.1 points per game, he also tested the limits of human
  performance, creating breathtaking moves in midair. The only player I knew
  who came close to Michael"s leaps was Julius Erving, but Dr. J didn"t have
  Jordan"s remarkable energy. Michael would have a great game one night and
  follow it with an even more mind-boggling performance the next day, then come
  back two days later and do it all over again.
  The Bulls" chief rivals were the Detroit Pistons, a rough, physical team that
  proudly referred to themselves as "the Bad Boys." Led by point guard Isiah
  Thomas, the Pistons were always spoiling for a fight, and they had a team full of
  bruisers, including Bill Laimbeer, Rick Mahorn, Dennis Rodman, and John
  Salley. Early in my first season a fight broke out between Mahorn and the Bulls"
  Charles Oakley that erupted into a melee. Doug Collins rushed on court to calm
  things down and was hurled over the scorers" table. Johnny Bach also sprained
  his wrist trying to be a peacemaker. Thomas boasted later that the Pistons were
  "the last of the gladiator teams."
  The Pistons were a shrewd veteran team skilled at exploiting opponents"
  weaknesses. With the Bulls, that meant using physical intimidation and cheap
  shots to get the younger, less experienced players to lose it emotionally. But that
  tactic didn"t work with Jordan, who wasn"t easily intimidated. To contain him,
  coach Chuck Daly devised a strategy called "the Jordan Rules" designed to wear
  Michael down by slamming him with multiple bodies whenever he had the ball.
  Michael was an incredibly resilient player who would often make shots with two
  or three players hanging on him, but the Pistons" strategy was effective-
  initially, anyway-because the Bulls didn"t have many other options on offense.
  My job was to travel around the country and scout the teams the Bulls would
  be facing in the coming weeks. This gave me a chance to see firsthand how
  dramatically the rivalry of Magic Johnson"s Lakers and Larry Bird"s Celtics had
  transformed the NBA. Only a few years earlier the league had been in serious
  trouble, weighed down by drug abuse and out-of-control egos. But now it was
  soaring again with charismatic young stars and two of the league"s most storied
  franchises playing an exciting new brand of team-oriented basketball that was
  fun to watch.
  Even more important, this job was a chance for me to go to graduate school
  in basketball, with two of the best minds in the game: Johnny Bach and Tex
  Winter. I had just spent the past five years as head coach of the Albany Patroons
  and had experimented with all kinds of ideas about how to make the game more
  equitable and collaborative, including paying all the players the same salaries
  one year. We won the league championship during my first season as coach, and
  I discovered that I had a gift for making adjustments during games and getting
  the most out of the talent on the roster. But after a while I realized that my
  biggest weakness as a coach was my lack of formal training. I hadn"t gone to
  Hoops U or any of the summer clinics where coaches share trade secrets.
  Working with Johnny and Tex was my chance to play catch-up. In the process I
  realized that some of the long-forgotten strategies of the past could be revitalized
  and made relevant for today"s game.
  Bach was a master of Eastern-style basketball, the aggressive, in-your-face
  version of the game played east of the Mississippi. He grew up in Brooklyn and
  played basketball and baseball at Fordham and Brown before joining the navy
  and serving in the Pacific during World War II. After brief stints with the Boston
  Celtics and New York Yankees, he was named one of the youngest head coaches
  of a major college basketball team, at Fordham in 1950. Later he was successful
  coaching Penn State for ten years. Then he moved over to the NBA as an
  assistant coach and briefly served as head coach for the Golden State Warriors.
  In 1972, while he was an assistant coach of the U.S. Olympic team, Johnny hit it
  off with Collins, who played a pivotal role in the controversial gold-medal game.
  Doug scored the two free throws that would have won the game if an IOC
  official hadn"t inexplicably decided to put three seconds back on the clock after
  the buzzer had sounded.
  Unlike Tex, Johnny didn"t subscribe to any particular system of play. He was
  a walking encyclopedia of basketball strategy who relied on his quick wits and
  photographic memory to devise creative ways to win games. When I was in the
  office, Johnny would often show up at my desk with dog-eared books by
  coaching geniuses I"d never heard of and videotapes of current NBA teams using
  moves invented years ago.
  Once I was sitting at my VCR trying to decipher what kind of offense the
  Milwaukee Bucks were running, and I called Johnny over to look at the tape. He
  took one glance and said, "Oh, that"s Garland Pinholster"s pinwheel offense."
  Then he proceeded to explain that Pinholster was one of the nation"s most
  innovative coaches in the fifties and sixties. He was a coach at small Oglethorpe
  College in Georgia and amassed a 180-68 record using the continuous-motion
  offense he"d invented before losing interest in basketball and going into the
  grocery business and state politics.
  Bach, who focused primarily on defense, had a fondness for using military
  images and playing clips from old war movies to get the players ready for battle.
  One of his favorite symbols was the ace of spades, which the Marines in World
  War II used, according to Johnny, to honor their fallen comrades. If Johnny drew
  an ace of spades on the board next to an opposing player"s name, that meant the
  Bulls defenders were to "kill" that player whenever he had the ball.
  I wasn"t as thrilled with war imagery as Johnny was, so I started using music
  videos (and later movie clips) during my talks. I started off with Jimi Hendrix"s
  rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner," then moved over to David Byrne
  songs and Freddie Mercury"s "We Are the Champions." Eventually I learned to
  use the videos to get subtle messages across. During one playoff run, I created a
  video with the Talking Heads" anthem "Once in a Lifetime"-a song about the
  dangers of wasting the present moment.
  I"ve always felt that there is a strong connection between music and
  basketball. The game is inherently rhythmic in nature and requires the same kind
  of selfless, nonverbal communication you find in the best jazz combos. Once
  when John Coltrane was playing in Miles Davis"s band, he went off on an
  interminably long solo that made Miles furious. "What the fuck?" Miles shouted.
  "My axe just wouldn"t stop, brother," Coltrane replied. "It just kept on
  going."
  "Well, then, put the motherfucker down."
  Steve Lacy, who played with Thelonious Monk, set down a list of Monk"s
  advice for the members of his combo. Here"s a selection:
  Just because you"re not a drummer, doesn"t mean you don"t
  have to keep time.
  Stop playing all those weird notes (that bullshit), play the
  melody!
  Make the drummer sound good.
  Don"t play the piano part, I"m playing that.
  Don"t play everything (or every time); let some things go
  by . . . What you don"t play can be more important than
  what you do.
  When you"re swinging, swing some more.
  Whatever you think can"t be done, somebody will come
  along and do it. A genius is the one most like himself.
  You"ve got to dig it to dig it, you dig?
  What I love about Monk"s list is his basic message about the importance of
  awareness, collaboration, and having clearly defined roles, which apply as much
  to basketball as they do to jazz. I discovered early that the best way to get
  players to coordinate their actions was to have them play the game in 4/4 time.
  The basic rule was that the player with the ball had to do something with it
  before the third beat: either pass, shoot, or start to dribble. When everyone is
  keeping time, it makes it easier to harmonize with one another, beat by beat.
  The man who understood this better than anyone was Tex Winter, the other
  great basketball mind on the Bulls staff. Tex, an expert in free-flowing Westernstyle
  basketball, is best known for his work with the triangle offense-or triplepost
  offense, as he called it-which he learned playing for Coach Sam Barry at
  the University of Southern California. Although he didn"t invent the triangle
  offense, Tex expanded it with several key innovations, including creating a
  sequence of passes that led to coordinated movement among the players. Tex
  was also a gifted teacher who designed his own drills to make the players
  proficient in the basic actions.
  When Tex was twenty-nine years old, he landed the top job at Marquette and
  became the youngest ever head coach of a Division I college. Two years later he
  took over the men"s program at Kansas State, implemented the offense, and
  transformed the Wildcats into an NCAA tournament regular. During that period,
  Jerry Krause, then a scout, befriended Tex and spent a lot of time in Manhattan,
  Kansas, learning basketball strategy from him. At one point Jerry told Tex that if
  he ever became general manager of an NBA franchise, Tex would be his first
  hire. Tex didn"t think anything of it at the time. Then, years later, when he was
  coaching at LSU, he saw a news story on ESPN about Krause being named GM
  of the Bulls and said to his wife, Nancy, that the next phone call he got would be
  from Jerry. He was right.
  Ever since I started coaching in the CBA, I"d been looking for a system of
  offense that approximated the selfless ball movement we"d used with the
  championship Knicks. I played around with the flex system-a fast-moving,
  flowing offense popular in Argentina and Europe-but it was limited. I didn"t
  like the way the players had to space themselves in relation to one another and
  there was no way to disrupt the offense and do something else, if the situation
  demanded it. In contrast, the triangle not only required a high level of
  selflessness, but was also flexible enough to allow players a great deal of
  individual creativity. That suited me perfectly.
  The triangle gets its name from one of its key features-a sideline triangle
  formed by three players on the "strong" side of the floor. But I prefer to think of
  the triangle as "five-man tai chi" because it involves all the players moving
  together in response to the way the defense positions itself. The idea is not to go
  head to head against the defense but to read what the defense is doing and
  respond accordingly. For instance, if the defense swarms Michael Jordan on one
  side of the floor, that opens up a series of options for the other four players. But
  they all need to be acutely aware of what"s happening and be coordinated
  enough to move together in unison so they can take advantage of the openings
  the defense offers. That"s where the music comes in.
  When everyone is moving in harmony, it"s virtually impossible to stop them.
  One of the biggest converts to the triangle-eventually-was Kobe Bryant, who
  loved the unpredictability of the system. "Our teams were hard to play against,"
  Kobe says, "because the opposition didn"t know what we were going to do.
  Why? Because we didn"t know what we were going to do from moment to
  moment. Everybody was reading and reacting to each other. It was a great
  orchestra."
  There are all kinds of misconceptions about the triangle. Some critics believe
  that you need to have players of Michael and Kobe"s caliber to make it work.
  Actually, the reverse is true. The triangle wasn"t designed for the superstars, who
  will find ways to score no matter what system you use, but for all the other
  players on the team who aren"t capable of creating their own shots. It also gives
  every player a vital role in the offense, whether they end up shooting or not.
  Another misconception is that the triangle is far too complicated for most
  players to learn. In fact, once you master the fundamentals, it"s far easier to learn
  the triangle than the more complex offenses prevalent today. The main thing you
  need to know is how to pass the ball and read defenses accurately. At one time
  most players learned these skills in high school or college, but that"s not true
  with many of the young players coming into the NBA now. As a result, we had
  to spend a lot of time teaching them how to play the game, starting with the most
  basic skills, from dribbling with control to footwork and passing.
  Tex was a master at this. He had developed a whole series of drills to teach
  players how to execute fundamentals. He trained them to create the right amount
  of spacing between one another on the floor and to coordinate their movements
  according to a basic set of rules. As far as Tex was concerned, the genius was in
  the details, and it didn"t matter whether you were Michael Jordan or the lowest
  rookie on the team; Tex would badger you until you got it right.
  Every year Tex, who loved inspirational sayings, would recite to the team his
  favorite proverb about the importance of learning the details:
  For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
  For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
  For want of a horse the rider was lost.
  For want of a rider the message was lost.
  For want of a message the battle was lost.
  For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
  And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
  One thing I liked about Tex"s system, from a leadership perspective, was that
  it depersonalized criticism. It gave me the ability to critique the players"
  performance without making them think I was attacking them personally. Pro
  basketball players are highly sensitive to criticism because almost everything
  they do is judged on a daily basis by coaches, the media, and just about anyone
  who owns a TV set. The beauty of the system-and this applies to all kinds of
  systems, not just the triangle-was that it turned the whole team into a learning
  organization. Everybody from Michael on down had something to learn, no
  matter how talented or untalented he was. So when I came down hard on a
  player in practice, he understood that I was merely trying to get him to
  understand how to work the triangle offense. As I said earlier, the road to
  freedom is a beautiful system.
  Another aspect of the system I liked was its reliability; it gave the players
  something to fall back on when they were under stress. They didn"t have to
  pretend to be like Mike and invent every move they made. All they had to do
  was play their part in the system, knowing that it would inevitably lead to good
  scoring opportunities.
  The system also gave players a clear purpose as a group and established a
  high standard of performance for everyone. Even more important, it helped turn
  players into leaders as they began teaching one another how to master the
  system. When that happened, the group would bond together in ways that
  moments of individual glory, no matter how thrilling, could never foster.
  -
  Doug Collins wasn"t as enamored with the system as I was. When he took over
  the Bulls in 1986, he made an effort to implement it, but he soon abandoned it
  because it didn"t fit well with the defense he wanted to run. Collins was a strong
  believer in one of Hank Iba"s cardinal rules: The guards should be on their way
  to half-court for defensive purposes when the ball is rebounded or inbounded.
  The challenge with the triangle offense is that it often requires guards to move
  into one of the corners to create a triangle with two other players. That makes it
  harder for them to get back on fast breaks.
  So Doug moved away from the triangle but didn"t replace it with another
  system. Instead he had the players learn a repertoire of forty to fifty plays that
  were constantly in flux. Then he would call plays from the sidelines as the game
  progressed, based on what he saw happening on the floor. This style of coaching,
  which is not uncommon in the NBA, was well suited to Doug. He had
  exceptional court vision and got energized by being actively involved in the
  game. The downside was that it made the players overly dependent on his
  minute-by-minute direction. It also turned everybody except Michael into a
  supporting actor, because many of the plays were designed to capitalize on his
  scoring genius. Too often the Bulls offense consisted of four players creating
  room for M.J. to work his magic, then watching him do it. The press had already
  started referring to the Bulls sarcastically as Jordan and the Jordanaires.
  During training camp that first year, I told Doug I thought Michael was doing
  too much on his own and needed to emulate Magic and Bird in the way they
  worked with their teammates and transformed them into a team. I added that Red
  Holzman used to say that "the real mark of a star was how much better he made
  his teammates."
  "That"s great, Phil," Doug replied. "You"ve got to tell Michael that. Why
  don"t you go tell him right now?"
  I hesitated. "I"ve only been here a month, Doug. I"m not sure I know
  Michael well enough to tell him something Red told me." But Doug insisted that
  I go explain to Michael "the mark of a star."
  So I went down to the media room where Michael was talking to reporters
  and pulled him aside. This was my first real conversation with Michael, and I
  was a little embarrassed. I told him Doug thought he should hear what Holzman
  had to say about being a star, and I repeated Red"s famous line. Michael studied
  me for a few seconds, then said, "Okay, thanks," and walked away.
  I"m not sure what Michael thought of my pronouncement at the time, but
  what I learned later was that he was much more coachable than other stars
  because he had such a deep respect for his college coach, Dean Smith. He also
  had a keen interest in doing whatever it took to win his first NBA championship.
  The only other occasion when I had a personal exchange with M.J. while an
  assistant coach was at a season-ticket-holder luncheon in Chicago. My son, Ben,
  who was in grade school, was a huge Jordan fan. He had several pictures of
  Michael in his room and had told one of his teachers that his dream in life was to
  meet his idol. The year before, when we were living in Woodstock, I had taken
  Ben to see the Bulls play the Celtics in Boston and he had waited for a long time
  after the game to get Michael"s autograph. But when M.J. finally emerged from
  the locker room, he"d walked by without stopping. So now that I was with the
  Bulls I decided to take Ben to the season ticket holders" luncheon and introduce
  him to Michael in person. When we were there, I told M.J. about Ben"s long wait
  in the Boston Garden. Michael smiled and was very gracious toward Ben, but I
  felt a little uncomfortable about putting him on the spot.
  After that, I made a point of not asking M.J. for any special favors. I wanted
  our relationship to be squeaky clean. I didn"t want to be his tool. Later, when I
  took over as head coach, I made it a policy to give Michael a lot of space. I took
  care to create a protected environment for him where he could relate freely with
  his teammates and be himself without worrying about intrusions from the
  outside world. Even in those early days, the clamor of fans trying to get a little
  piece of Michael Jordan was mind-boggling. He couldn"t go out to restaurants
  without being hounded, and the workers at most hotels would line up outside his
  room looking for autographs. One night after a game in Vancouver, we literally
  had to peel dozens of Jordan worshippers off the team bus before we could pull
  out of the parking lot.
  One of the players I worked with closely during my tenure as an assistant
  coach was Scottie Pippen. We both started with the team the same year, and I
  spent a lot of time helping him learn how to pull up and shoot off the dribble.
  Scottie was a quick learner and devoted time to absorbing how the triangle
  worked. He had been a point guard in college before becoming a small forward,
  and he had an innate sense of how all the pieces fit together on the floor. Scottie
  had long arms and excellent court vision, which made him the perfect person to
  spearhead our defensive attack.
  What impressed me most about Scottie, however, was his development over
  time as a leader-not by mimicking Michael but by teaching his teammates how
  to play within the system and always offering a compassionate ear when they ran
  into trouble. This was critical because Michael wasn"t very accessible and many
  of the players were intimidated by his presence. Scottie was someone they could
  talk to, someone who would keep an eye out for them on court. As Steve Kerr
  says, "Scottie was the nurturer; Michael was the enforcer."
  -
  The Bulls started to take off during my first season with the team, 1987-88. We
  won fifty games and finished tied for second in the tough Central Division.
  Michael continued to soar, winning his second scoring title and his first MVP
  award. The best sign was the 3-2 victory over the Cleveland Cavaliers in the
  first round of the playoffs. But the Pistons rolled over the Bulls in five games in
  the conference finals, en route to the championship finals, against the Los
  Angeles Lakers.
  During the off-season Jerry Krause traded Charles Oakley to the Knicks for
  Bill Cartwright, a move that infuriated Michael because he considered Oakley
  his protector on the floor. Jordan made fun of Cartwright"s "butterfingers" and
  dubbed him "Medical Bill" because of his ongoing foot problems. But despite
  his small shoulders and narrow frame, Bill was a smart, rock-solid defender who
  could shut down Patrick Ewing and other big men. Once we ran a drill in
  practice that ended up pitting six-six Michael against seven-one Cartwright in a
  one-on-one battle of wills. Michael was determined to dunk over Cartwright, but
  Bill was equally determined not to let that happen. So they collided in midair
  and everyone held their breath while Bill slowly eased Michael to the floor.
  After that, Michael changed his tune on Cartwright.
  Cartwright wasn"t the only weapon the team needed to move to the next
  level. Collins was pushing hard for Krause to find a strong, playmaking point
  guard who could orchestrate the offense like Isiah Thomas did in Detroit. But the
  team had already gone through several point guards-including Sedale Threatt,
  Steve Colter, and Rory Sparrow-trying to find someone who would meet
  Jordan"s expectations. The latest candidate was Sam Vincent, who had come
  over in a trade with Seattle, but he didn"t last long. So Doug decided to make
  Jordan the point guard, which worked fairly well but reduced M.J."s scoring
  options and wore him down physically during the regular season.
  At one point, Doug got into a heated argument with Tex about the pointguard
  dilemma. Tex suggested that if Doug instituted a system of offense-not
  necessarily the triangle but any system-he wouldn"t have to rely so heavily on a
  point guard to run the offense. By this time, Doug had grown weary of listening
  to Tex"s constant stream of criticism, so he decided to banish him to the sidelines
  and reduce his role as a coach.
  When Krause heard about this move, he began to lose faith in Collins"s
  judgment. Why would anyone in his right mind exile Tex Winter to Siberia? The
  players seemed to be losing faith in Doug as well. He changed plays so
  frequently-often modifying them in the middle of games-that team members
  began to refer to the offense flippantly as "a play a day."
  A critical point came during a game in Milwaukee right before Christmas.
  Doug got into a battle with the refs and was tossed out late in the first half. He
  turned the team over to me and handed me his play card. The Bulls were so far
  behind, I decided to run a full-court press and give the players a free hand
  running the offense, rather than calling Doug"s plays. The team quickly turned
  the game around and we won handily.
  What I didn"t realize until later was that toward the end of the game the
  Chicago TV broadcast showed my wife, June, sitting next to Krause and his
  wife, Thelma, in the stands. That, as much as anything else, created a great deal
  of tension between Doug and me over the next few months.
  A few weeks later, I was in Miami planning to scout a game when I got a call
  from Krause telling me that he didn"t want me to be away from the team
  anymore. Doug and Michael, I learned later, had gotten in an argument of some
  kind, and Jerry wanted me available to step in if there was more friction on the
  team. Soon after, Jerry began to take me into his confidence.
  Eventually things settled down, and the Bulls stumbled through the rest of
  the season, finishing fifth in the conference with three fewer wins than the
  previous year. But the addition of Cartwright and the rise of Pippen and Grant
  made the team much better positioned than before to make a strong run in the
  playoffs.
  The first round against the Cavaliers went all five games, but Michael was
  bursting with confidence when he boarded the bus for the finale in Cleveland.
  He lit a cigar and said, "Don"t worry, guys. We"re going to win." Cleveland"s
  Craig Ehlo almost made him eat his words when he put the Cavs ahead by one
  with seconds left. But Michael responded with a balletic double-clutch shot, with
  Ehlo draped all over him, to win the game, 101-100. Afterward Tex said to me,
  "I guess now they won"t be changing coaches anytime soon." I had to smile. I
  didn"t care, because we were on our way to the Eastern Conference finals. The
  Bulls had come a long way from their 40-42 record the year before I"d joined the
  team. Next we faced the Pistons, and, as usual, it was an ugly affair. Chicago won
  the first game at the Silverdome, but after that the Pistons overpowered the Bulls
  with their intimidating defense and won the series, 4-2. Krause told me later that
  midway through that series he told owner Jerry Reinsdorf that the team needed
  to replace Collins with someone who could win a championship.
  After the playoffs I attended the NBA"s talent showcase in Chicago, an event
  organized by the league for draft-eligible players to show off their skills to
  coaches and scouts. While I was there, Dick McGuire, my first coach with the
  Knicks, asked me if I would be interested in replacing New York"s head coach,
  Rick Pitino, who was leaving to coach the University of Kentucky. I said I
  would, and suddenly the wheels were in motion.
  Shortly after that, Reinsdorf invited me to meet him at O"Hare Airport. I"d
  always liked Jerry because he had grown up in Brooklyn and was a big fan of the
  Knicks" selfless style of basketball. He"d gotten wind of my interest in the New
  York job and asked me if I could choose, which team I"d rather coach, the Bulls
  or the Knicks. I said I had a lot of affection for New York, having played there,
  but I also thought the Bulls were poised to win multiple championships, while
  the Knicks would be lucky to win one. In short, I said I"d rather stay with the
  Bulls.
  A few weeks later Krause called me in Montana and asked me to go to a
  secure phone. So I drove my motorcycle into town and called him back from a
  pay phone. He told me that he and Reinsdorf had decided to make a coaching
  change, and he offered me the job.
  I was thrilled, but the fans in Chicago were not so pleased. Collins was a
  popular figure in town and he"d taken the team to new heights during the past
  three years. When reporters asked Reinsdorf why he had made such a risky
  move, he said, "Doug brought us a long way from where we had been. You
  cannot say he wasn"t productive. But now we have a man we feel can take us the
  rest of the way."
  The pressure was on.
  A
  6
  WARRIOR SPIRIT
  Think lightly of yourself and think deeply of the world.
  MIYAMOTO MUSASHI
  s I sat by Flathead Lake in Montana that summer, contemplating the
  season ahead, I realized that this was a moment of truth for the Bulls.
  For the past six years we had been struggling to create a team around
  Michael Jordan. Now we had the talent in place to win a championship, but there
  was an important piece missing. In a word, the Bulls needed to become a tribe.
  To succeed we had to get by the Detroit Pistons, but I didn"t think we could
  outmuscle them unless we acquired a completely different lineup. They were just
  too good at fighting in the "alligator wrestling pond," as Johnny Bach called it.
  And when we tried to play the game their way, our players ended up getting
  frustrated and angry, which was just what the Pistons hoped would happen.
  What our team could do, though, was outrun the Pistons-and outdefend
  them as well. Nobody on the Pistons, except perhaps Dennis Rodman, was quick
  enough to keep up with Michael, Scottie, and Horace on the fast break. And with
  Bill Cartwright"s formidable presence under the basket, we had the makings of
  one of the best defensive teams in the league. M.J. had taken great pride in
  winning the Defensive Player of the Year award the previous season, and Scottie
  and Horace were quickly developing into first-rate defenders. But in order to
  exploit those advantages, we needed to be more connected as a team and to
  embrace a more expansive vision of working together than simply getting the
  ball to Michael and hoping for the best.
  When I was an assistant coach, I created a video for the players with clips
  from The Mystic Warrior, a television miniseries about Sioux culture based on
  the best-selling novel Hanta Yo by Ruth Beebe Hill. Ever since childhood I"ve
  been fascinated by the Sioux, some of whom lived in my grandfather"s
  boardinghouse, which was near a reservation in Montana. When I was with the
  Knicks, a Lakota Sioux friend from college, Mike Her Many Horses, asked me
  to teach a series of basketball clinics at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in
  South Dakota. The purpose was to help heal the rift in his community caused by
  the 1973 standoff between police and American Indian movement activists at the
  site of the Wounded Knee massacre. I discovered during those clinics, which I
  taught with my teammates Bill Bradley and Willis Reed, that the Lakota loved
  the game and played it with an intense spirit of connectedness that was an
  integral part of their tribal tradition.
  One of the things that intrigued me about Lakota culture was its view of the
  self. Lakota warriors had far more autonomy than their white counterparts, but
  their freedom came with a high degree of responsibility. As Native American
  scholar George W. Linden points out, the Lakota warrior was "the member of a
  tribe, and being a member, he never acted against, apart from, or as the whole
  without good reason." For the Sioux, freedom was not about being absent but
  about being present, adds Linden. It meant "freedom for, freedom for the
  realization of greater relationships."
  The point I wanted to make by showing the players The Mystic Warrior
  video was that connecting to something beyond their individual goals could be a
  source of great power. The hero of the series, who was based loosely on Crazy
  Horse, goes into battle to save his tribe after experiencing a powerful vision. In
  our discussion after watching the video, the players seemed to resonate with the
  idea of bonding together as a tribe, and I thought I could build on that as we
  moved into the new season.
  As I mentioned in the first chapter, management experts Dave Logan, John
  King, and Halee Fischer-Wright describe five stages of tribal development in
  their book, Tribal Leadership. My goal in my first year as head coach was to
  transform the Bulls from a stage 3 team of lone warriors committed to their own
  individual success ("I"m great and you"re not") to a stage 4 team in which the
  dedication to the We overtakes the emphasis on the Me ("We"re great and you"re
  not").
  But making that transition would take more than simply turning up the heat. I
  wanted to create a culture of selflessness and mindful awareness at the Bulls. To
  do that, I couldn"t just rely on one or two innovative motivational techniques. I
  had to devise a multifaceted program that included the triangle offense but also
  incorporated the lessons I had learned over the years about bonding people
  together and awakening the spirit.
  My first step was to talk with Michael.
  -
  I knew Michael wasn"t a fan of the triangle. He referred to it sarcastically as
  "that equal-opportunity offense" that was designed for a generation of players
  who didn"t have his creative one-on-one skills. But at the same time I knew that
  Michael longed to be part of a team that was more integrated and
  multidimensional than the current incarnation of the Bulls.
  This was not going to be an easy conversation. Basically I was planning to
  ask Michael, who had won his third scoring title in a row the previous season
  with an average of 32.5 points per game, to reduce the number of shots he took
  so that other members of the team could get more involved in the offense. I
  knew this would be a challenge for him: Michael was only the second player to
  win both a scoring title and the league MVP award in the same year, the first
  being Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in 1971.
  I told him that I was planning to implement the triangle and, as a result, he
  probably wouldn"t be able to win another scoring title. "You"ve got to share the
  spotlight with your teammates," I said, "because if you don"t, they won"t grow."
  Michael"s reaction was surprisingly pragmatic. His main concern was that he
  didn"t have much confidence in his teammates, especially Cartwright, who had
  difficulty holding onto passes, and Horace, who wasn"t that skilled at thinking
  on his feet.
  "The important thing," I replied, "is to let everybody touch the ball, so they
  won"t feel like spectators. You can"t beat a good defensive team with one man.
  It"s got to be a team effort."
  "Okay, I guess I could average thirty-two points," he said. "That"s eight
  points a quarter. Nobody else is going to do that."
  "Well, when you put it that way, maybe you can win the title," I said. "But
  how about scoring a few more of those points at the end of the game?"
  Michael agreed to give my plan a try. Shortly after our conversation, I later
  learned, he told reporter Sam Smith, "I"ll give it two games." But when he saw
  that I wasn"t going to back down, Michael dedicated himself to learning the
  system and figuring out ways to use it to his advantage-which is exactly what I
  had hoped he would do.
  It was fun watching Tex and Michael argue about the system. Tex admired
  Jordan"s skill, but he was a purist about the triangle and wasn"t shy about giving
  Michael a piece of his mind when he went off script. Meanwhile, Michael wasn"t
  shy about creating variations on Tex"s beautiful machine. He thought the system
  was at best a three-quarter offense. After that the team needed to improvise and
  use its "think power" to win games.
  It was a clash of visions. Tex believed it was foolhardy for a team to rely so
  heavily on one person, no matter how talented he was. Michael argued that his
  creativity was opening up exciting new possibilities for the game.
  "There"s no I in the word "team,"" Tex would say.
  "But there is in the word "win,"" Michael would counter with a grin.
  As far as I was concerned, they were both right-up to a point. I didn"t
  believe the triangle alone was the answer for the Bulls. What I was looking for
  was the middle path between Tex"s purity and Michael"s creativity. It took time,
  but once the players had mastered the basics, we added some variations to the
  system that allowed the team to set certain plays in motion to avoid intense
  defensive pressure. Once that happened, the Bulls" game really took off.
  Another change I introduced to make the Bulls less Jordan-centric was to
  shake up the team"s pecking order. Michael had a powerful presence on the floor,
  but he had a different style of leadership than Larry Bird or Magic Johnson, who
  could galvanize a team with their magnetic personalities. As Los Angeles Times
  columnist Mark Heisler put it, Jordan wasn"t "a natural leader, he was a natural
  doer." He drove the team with the sheer force of his will. It was as if he were
  saying, "I"m going out here, men, and I"m going to kick some ass. Are you
  coming with me?"
  Michael also held his teammates to the same high standard of performance
  he expected of himself. "Michael was a demanding teammate," says John
  Paxson. "If you were on the floor, you had to do your job and do it the right way.
  He couldn"t accept anyone not caring as much as he did."
  I thought we needed another leader on the team to balance Michael"s
  perfectionism, so I named Bill Cartwright cocaptain. Despite his soft-spoken
  demeanor, he could be deceptively forceful when he wanted to be, and he wasn"t
  afraid to stand up to Michael, which Jordan respected. "Bill was a quiet, quiet
  leader," says Michael. "He didn"t talk much, but when he did, everybody
  listened. He would challenge me when he felt I was out of place. Which was
  okay. We had that kind of relationship. We challenged each other."
  The players called Cartwright "Teach" because he took other big men to
  school when they tried to get past him in the lane. "Bill was the physical rock of
  our team," says Paxson. "He didn"t back down for anybody-and the game was
  much more physical then. He was like a big brother. If someone was picking on
  you, he was going to make sure you knew that he was there looking out for you."
  At thirty-two, Bill was the oldest player on the team. He knew instinctively
  what we were trying to do with the Bulls and had a gift for explaining it to the
  players better than I could. One of my weaknesses is that sometimes I speak in
  broad generalizations. Bill brought the conversation back to earth.
  -
  Basketball is a great mystery. You can do everything right. You can have the
  perfect mix of talent and the best system of offense in the game. You can devise
  a foolproof defensive strategy and prepare your players for every possible
  eventuality. But if the players don"t have a sense of oneness as a group, your
  efforts won"t pay off. And the bond that unites a team can be so fragile, so
  elusive.
  Oneness is not something you can turn on with a switch. You need to create
  the right environment for it to grow, then nurture it carefully every day. What the
  Bulls needed, I decided, was a sanctuary where they could bond together as a
  team, protected from all the distractions of the outside world. I prohibited
  players from bringing family and friends to our training facility, except on
  special occasions. I also restricted the media from observing practices. I wanted
  the players to feel that they could act naturally during practice without having to
  worry about doing or saying something that might show up in the papers the next
  day.
  As the season progressed, I slowly started to introduce the team to some of
  the tribal customs of the Lakota. Some of these were quite subtle. At the
  beginning of every practice, we had the core team-players, coaches, and
  training staff-convene in a circle at center court to discuss our objectives for
  that day. And we would end practice the same way.
  Lakota warriors always gathered in circular formations because the circle
  was a symbol of the fundamental harmony of the universe. As Black Elk, the
  famed Lakota wise man, explained it:
  Everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle. The
  sky is round, and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball,
  and so are the stars. . . . The sun comes forth and goes down
  again in a circle. The moon does the same and both are round.
  Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing and
  always come back again to where they were. The life of a man is
  a circle from childhood-to-childhood, and so it is in everything
  where power moves.
  For the Lakota everything is sacred-including the enemy-because they
  believe in the fundamental interconnectedness of all life. That"s why Lakota
  warriors didn"t seek to conquer other tribes. They were far more interested in
  performing acts of bravery, such as counting coup (touching an enemy with a
  stick), taking part in a raiding party to steal horses, or rescuing a fellow warrior
  who had been captured. For the Lakota going into battle was a joyful experience,
  much like playing a game, though the stakes were obviously much higher.
  Another Lakota practice I adopted was beating a drum when I wanted the
  players to congregate in the tribal room for a meeting. The tribal room-aka the
  video room-was decorated with several Indian totems I"d been given over the
  years: a bear-claw necklace (for power and wisdom), the middle feather of an
  owl (for balance and harmony), a painting illustrating the story of Crazy Horse"s
  journey, and photos of a newborn white buffalo calf, a symbol of prosperity and
  good fortune. Sometimes when the team lost a particularly lopsided game, I"d
  light a sage smudge stick-a Lakota tradition-and playfully wave it through the
  air to purify the locker room. The first time I did it, the players ribbed me: "What
  kind of weed you smokin" there, Phil?"
  The coaching staff also played a critical role in getting the players to shift
  consciousness. When I was an assistant coach, Tex, Johnny, and I used to sit
  around for hours talking about the history of the game and the right way to play
  it. We didn"t agree on everything, but we did develop a high level of trust and a
  commitment to modeling the sort of teamwork that we wanted the players to
  embrace.
  Needless to say, the coaching profession attracts a lot of control freaks who
  remind everyone constantly that they"re the alpha dog in the room. I"ve been
  known to do this myself. But what I"ve learned over the years is that the most
  effective approach is to delegate authority as much as possible and to nurture
  everyone else"s leadership skills as well. When I"m able to do that, it not only
  builds team unity and allows others to grow but also-paradoxically-
  strengthens my role as leader.
  Some coaches limit staff input because they want to be the dominant voice in
  the room. But I encouraged everyone to take part in the discussion-coaches and
  players alike-to stimulate creativity and set a tone of inclusiveness. This is
  especially important for players who don"t get a lot of playing time. My favorite
  poem about the power of inclusion is Edwin Markham"s "Outwitted":
  He drew the circle that shut me out-
  Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
  But love and I had the wit to win:
  We drew a circle that took him in!
  When I"m hiring coaches, my strategy is to surround myself with the
  strongest, most knowledgeable people I can find and give them a lot of room to
  express themselves. Shortly after I took over as head coach, I hired Jim
  Cleamons, one of my former Knicks teammates, to fill out the roster. He was one
  of the most skilled guards in the game, and I knew he could help nurture our
  young talent. But what endeared him to me most was that he had trained at Ohio
  State under coach Fred Taylor, one of the best system-oriented coaches in the
  history of the sport. Tex and Johnny couldn"t wait to pick Jim"s brain.
  Each assistant coach had a clear role. Tex was in charge of teaching everyone
  offensive skills as well as the basic fundamentals of the triangle system. Johnny
  oversaw the defense and specialized in getting the players revved up for each
  new opponent. And Jim worked one on one with the players who needed more
  instruction. Every morning the coaching staff and I would meet for breakfast and
  discuss the fine points of the practice plan, as well as the latest scouting reports.
  That allowed us to share information with one another and make sure we were
  all on the same page in terms of day-to-day strategy. Each coach had a high level
  of autonomy, but when we talked to the players, we spoke as one.
  -
  The team got off to a slow start that first year. Most of the players were wary of
  the system. "It was frustrating," says Scottie. "We didn"t have a good feel for
  each other. And late in games, we would go away from the offense because we
  didn"t have confidence in it." But in the second half of the season, the team
  started to get more comfortable and we went on a 27-8 streak. Most opposing
  teams were confused about how to cover Michael now that he was moving more
  without the ball. They couldn"t double- and triple-team him, as they did when he
  had possession. But they also couldn"t afford to take their eyes off him, no
  matter where he was, and that created a lot of unexpected openings for other
  players.
  We finished second in our division with a 55-27 record and breezed through
  the first two series of the playoffs, against Milwaukee and Philadelphia. But our
  next opponent, Detroit, was not as accommodating. Even though we"d beaten the
  Pistons during the regular season, memories of the mauling we had taken during
  the previous playoffs still haunted some of the players, especially Scottie, who
  had to leave game 6 with a concussion after being clocked from behind by center
  Bill Laimbeer. Scottie was also coping with a difficult personal issue. He"d
  missed most of the Philadelphia series in order to attend his father"s funeral, and
  the stress of having to grieve in public was difficult for him to bear.
  It was a brutal series that came down to a seventh game at the Pistons" new
  stadium in Auburn Hills, Michigan. We were struggling. Paxson had sprained his
  ankle in the previous game, and Scottie was suffering from a horrible migraine
  that blurred his vision so badly that he couldn"t distinguish the colors of the
  jerseys. Both men tried to stumble through the game anyway, but the team fell
  apart in an embarrassing second period, and we never recovered. We lost by 19
  points, and it felt like 100.
  After the game, Jerry Krause showed up in the locker room and launched
  into a tirade, which was unusual. And Michael was so angry he burst into tears
  in the back of the team bus. "I made up my mind right then and there it would
  never happen again," he said later.
  My reaction was more subdued. Yes, it was a difficult loss, one of the worst
  games I"ve ever had to coach. But once the noise died down, I noticed that the
  pain of humiliating defeat had galvanized the team in a way I"d never seen
  before. The Bulls were beginning to morph into a tribe.
  I
  7
  HEARING THE UNHEARD
  And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world
  around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the
  most unlikely places. Those who don"t believe in magic will
  never find it.
  ROALD DAHL
  n the foyer of my home in Southern California hangs a tall totemlike
  painting of the core players who won the Bulls" first three championships.
  It"s a series of portraits stacked vertically, starting with Michael Jordan at the
  top, followed by the other starters, then the backup players. With its elegant red
  border, subdued color palette, and dignified rendering of each player, the
  painting feels more like a sacred object than a collection of images. I like that the
  artist, Tim Anderson, made no distinction between the stars and the role players,
  except for the order in which they appear. Everyone"s picture is the same size,
  and each possesses the same quiet poise. To me, the painting is a tribute to the
  concept of team.
  After that wrenching loss to Detroit in the playoffs, we still had a long way
  to go before we reached that ideal. But we were definitely moving in the right
  direction. The players were beginning to embrace the system and show signs of
  becoming a more selfless, stage 4 team.
  Over the summer I spent time reflecting on what we needed to do to
  accelerate the process. For starters, we needed to pace ourselves through the
  grueling eighty-two-game season as if we were running a marathon, not a series
  of sprints. To unseat the Pistons, we had to secure home-court advantage early
  and peak at the right time, both physically and psychologically. Second, we
  needed to use our swarming, high-pressure defense more effectively, especially
  in the playoffs, when defense usually makes the difference between success and
  failure. Third, it was important to make sure that each game was meaningful in
  terms of what we were trying to do as a team. I often reminded the players to
  focus on the journey rather than the endgame, because if you give the future all
  your attention, the present will pass you by.
  The most important thing was to get the players to develop a strong group
  intelligence in order to work more harmoniously together. There"s a section in
  Rudyard Kipling"s The Second Jungle Book that sums up the kind of group
  dynamic I was looking for them to create. During the 1990-91 season that
  became our team motto:
  Now this is the Law of the Jungle-as old and true as the sky;
  And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall
  break must die.
  As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk, the Law runneth forward
  and back-
  For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf
  is the Pack.
  -
  When I started playing for the Knicks, I spent a couple of summers as a grad
  student in psychology at the University of North Dakota. During that time, I
  studied the work of psychologist Carl Rogers, whose groundbreaking ideas on
  personal empowerment have had a strong influence on my approach to
  leadership. Rogers, one of the founders of humanistic psychology, was an
  innovative clinician who, after years of experimenting, developed several
  effective techniques for nurturing what he called the "real self" rather than the
  idealized self we think we"re supposed to become. The key, he believed, was for
  the therapist to create a relationship with the client focused not on solving a
  problem but on nurturing personal growth.
  For that to happen, Rogers said, the therapist had to be as honest and
  authentic as possible and regard the client as a person of unconditional
  worthiness, no matter what his or her condition. The paradox, he writes in his
  seminal work, On Becoming a Person, "is that the more I am simply willing to
  be myself, in all this complexity of life and the more I am willing to understand
  and accept the realities in myself and in the other person, the more change seems
  to be stirred up."
  In Rogers"s view, it"s virtually impossible for anyone to change unless he
  thoroughly accepts who he is. Nor can he develop successful relationships with
  others unless he can discover the meaning of his own experience. He explains:
  "Each person is an island unto himself, in a very real sense, and he can only
  build bridges to other islands if he is first of all willing to be himself and
  permitted to be himself."
  I don"t pretend to be a therapist. But the process Rogers describes is not
  unlike what I"ve tried to do as a coach. Rather than squeeze everybody into
  preordained roles, my goal has always been to foster an environment where the
  players can grow as individuals and express themselves creatively within a team
  structure. I wasn"t interested in becoming best friends with the players; in fact, I
  think it"s important to maintain a certain distance. But I tried to develop genuine,
  caring relationships with each player, based on mutual respect, compassion, and
  trust. Transparency is the key. The one thing players won"t stand for is a coach
  who won"t be honest and straightforward with them. During my first year
  coaching the Bulls, B.J. Armstrong lobbied to replace John Paxson as the
  starting point guard. B.J. argued that he was a better playmaker than John and
  could beat him off the dribble. But he had been a reluctant convert to the triangle
  offense because he thought it would hamper his ability to show off his stylish
  one-on-one moves. I told him that I appreciated his enthusiasm, but I wanted
  him to share minutes with Pax because John worked better with the starters and
  we needed B.J. to energize the second unit. What"s more, the team flowed
  together more effectively when John was in the lineup. B.J. wasn"t thrilled with
  my decision, but he got the message. A few years later, after he"d demonstrated
  that he could run the offense and play cooperatively, we made him a starter.
  One of the hardest jobs of a coach is keeping the role players from
  undermining team chemistry. New York Yankees manager Casey Stengel used to
  say, "The secret of managing is to keep the guys who hate you away from the
  guys who are undecided." In basketball, the guys who hate you are usually the
  ones who aren"t getting as much playing time as they think they deserve. Having
  been a backup myself, I know how aggravating it can be if you"re languishing on
  the bench in the middle of a crucial game.
  My strategy was to keep the backups as engaged as possible in the flow of
  the game. If the triangle offense was working right, Tex used to say, the team
  should play together as if they were "five fingers on a hand." So when backup
  players went into the game, they needed to be able to merge seamlessly with the
  players on the court. During those early years, I used a ten-man rotation-five
  starters and five backups-to make sure the nonstarters had enough time on
  court to get in sync with the rest of the team. Late in the season I would trim the
  rotation down to seven or eight players, but I tried to pull the other backups in
  whenever possible. Sometimes role players can have a surprising impact. Take
  Cliff Levingston, a backup power forward who played limited minutes during
  the 1990-91 season but flourished in the playoffs because he matched up well
  against the Detroit front line.
  I"m not a big hugger or someone who doles out praise easily. In fact, some
  people find me aloof and enigmatic. My style is to show appreciation with subtle
  gestures-a nod of recognition here, a touch on the arm there. I learned this from
  Dick McGuire, my first coach on the Knicks, who used to come by my locker
  after games and quietly reassure me that he was looking out for me and would
  try to give me more time during the next game. As a coach, I tried to convey to
  each player that I cared for him as a person, not just as a basketball factotem.
  The great gift my father gave me was showing me how to be genuinely
  compassionate while also commanding people"s respect. Dad was a tall, majestic
  figure with a distinguished carriage, a warm smile, and a softness about the eyes
  that made him look trustworthy, caring, and a little mysterious. He resembled
  portraits I"ve seen of George Washington, a man who was soft-spoken and
  modest yet totally in control. As a child, I"d often stand next to my father and
  greet church members as they left services. Some said I looked like him in the
  dignified way I held my body. No question, I"ve benefited as a coach from
  having a large frame and a deep, resounding voice. When I talk to players, I
  don"t have to look up at them; we can converse eye to eye.
  Dad was a pastor in the true sense of the word. He was one of the few
  genuinely Christian men I"ve ever met. He lived by a simple set of rules dictated
  by the Bible and avoided lawsuits and animosity in general because they
  conflicted with his Christian ideals. While my mother often railed about fire and
  brimstone in her sermons, Dad focused primarily on benevolence and having a
  generous heart. He cared deeply for his parishioners and prayed for each one of
  them in his study after breakfast. The church members felt protected and
  reassured by him, which helped bind the community together. This was a lesson
  I never forgot.
  As a rule, pro basketball players are not forthcoming about their deepest
  yearnings. They prefer to communicate nonverbally or make jokes rather than
  reveal any vulnerability, particularly when they"re talking to their coach. So it
  can be tricky trying to unearth what makes each player tick.
  I was always looking for new ways to get inside the players" heads. When I
  started coaching the Bulls, I had the players create what I called a personal
  shield, a simple profile based on questions such as "What"s your greatest
  aspiration?" "Who"s influenced you the most?" and "What"s something people
  don"t know about you?" Later I asked them to fill out a more formal
  questionnaire and used their answers to probe more deeply during our one-onone
  meetings midway through the season.
  My favorite psychological tool was one June called a "social bull"s-eye,"
  which creates a picture of how people see themselves in relation to the group.
  On one of our long road trips, I"d give each of the players a sheet of paper with a
  three-ring bull"s-eye, representing the team"s social structure, in the center. Then
  I"d ask them to position themselves somewhere on the bull"s-eye based on how
  connected they felt to the team. Not surprisingly, the starters usually placed
  themselves somewhere near the eye, and the backups scattered themselves in the
  second and third rings. One year backup forward Stacey King, a fast-talking,
  stylishly dressed player who made everyone laugh, drew himself hovering far
  outside the third ring. When I asked him why, he said, "I don"t get any playing
  time, Coach." Which wasn"t true, but it was how he felt. On the surface, Stacey
  seemed confident and gregarious, but inside he felt like an outsider struggling
  for recognition. I don"t think I ever figured out how to heal that wound.
  -
  My intention was to give the players the freedom to figure out how to fit
  themselves within the system, rather than dictating from on high what I wanted
  them to do. Some players felt uncomfortable because they"d never been given
  that kind of latitude before. Others felt completely liberated.
  As the 1990-91 season opened, I decided to leave Michael alone. I knew he
  needed time to figure out how to work within the system in a way that made
  sense for him. During the off-season he had decided that he needed to bulk up to
  fend off the physical beating he was taking from the Pistons and other teams. He
  hired Tim Grover, a physical-training specialist who put him through a grueling
  series of workouts to increase his endurance and strengthen his upper and lower
  body. As always, Michael was incredibly disciplined about the workouts and
  arrived at training camp looking much bigger and stronger, particularly in his
  shoulders and arms.
  Michael loved challenges. So I challenged him to imagine a new way of
  relating to his teammates. He expected his teammates to perform at his level,
  even though there were only a handful of players in the league who could meet
  that standard. I encouraged him to take a fresh look at his role on the team and
  try to envision ways he could serve as a catalyst to get all the players to work
  together. I didn"t dictate to him what I wanted; I simply pushed him to think
  about the problem in a different way, mostly by asking him questions about the
  impact that this or that strategy might have on the team. "How do you think
  Scottie or Horace would feel if you did this?" I would say. I treated him like a
  partner, and slowly he began to shift his way of thinking. When I let him solve
  the problem himself, he was more likely to buy into the solution and not repeat
  the same counterproductive behavior in the future.
  Looking back, Michael says that he liked this approach because it "allowed
  me to be the person I needed to be." Sometimes I would tell him that he needed
  to be aggressive and set the tone for the team. Other times I"d say, "Why don"t
  you try to get Scottie going so that the defenders will go after him and then you
  can attack?" In general, I tried to give Michael room to figure out how to
  integrate his personal ambitions with those of the team. "Phil knew that winning
  the scoring title was important to me," Michael says now, "but I wanted to do it
  in a way that didn"t take away from what the team was doing."
  Every now and then, Michael and I would have a dispute, usually when I
  criticized one of his ego-driven moves. But our run-ins never blew up into major
  fights. "It took me a while to calm down," says Michael. "Maybe I had to look at
  myself in the mirror and try to understand exactly what Phil was saying. And I
  imagine he did the same thing. Every time we had one of those encounters, our
  mutual respect grew." I agree.
  Another player who made a significant leap that season was Scottie Pippen.
  Of course, he was used to making big leaps. He grew up, the youngest of twelve
  children, in Hamburg, Arkansas. His family didn"t have much money, in part
  because his father had been disabled by a stroke while working at a paper mill.
  Still, Scottie was the golden boy in the family. Though he didn"t get any
  scholarship offers, he enrolled at the University of Central Arkansas and worked
  his way through school, doing odd jobs and serving as varsity team manager. His
  debut as a walk-on for the freshman team was not spectacular: He averaged 4.3
  points and 2.9 rebounds per game. But over the next year he grew four inches to
  six feet five and returned to school, after playing hard all summer, far better than
  anyone else on the team. "I was always a good ball handler," says Scottie. "And
  that was a big advantage when I grew because now you had to be a center to
  guard me. And there weren"t that many big guys in the league."
  Scottie, who hit six feet seven by the time he graduated, averaged 26.3 points
  and 10 rebounds a game and was named a consensus All-American in his senior
  year. Jerry Krause, who had spotted him early, made a few deft trades in order to
  draft him fifth overall in 1987. But Scottie was pegged as a traditional small
  forward and had a difficult time fitting into that role because he wasn"t a strong
  outside shooter. But he did have the rare skill of being able to grab a rebound
  and drive all the way through traffic to attack the basket at the other end.
  Guarding Michael in practice also turned Scottie into a formidable defender. But
  what impressed me most when I first started working with him was his ability to
  read what was happening on the floor and react accordingly. He"d been a point
  guard in high school and still had that kind of share-the-ball mentality. While
  Michael was always looking to score, Scottie seemed to be more interested in
  making sure the offense succeeded as a whole. In that respect, he modeled
  himself more after Magic Johnson than after Michael Jordan.
  So in my second year as head coach I created a new position for Scottie
  -"point forward"-and had him share the job of moving the ball up court with
  the guards-an experiment that worked out far better than I expected. That
  switch unleashed a side of Scottie that had never been tapped, and he blossomed
  into a gifted multidimensional player with the ability to break games wide open
  on the fly. As he puts it, the shift "made me the player I wanted to be in the
  NBA."
  Scottie finished second on the team in scoring (17.8), rebounds (7.3), and
  steals (2.35) in 1990-91 and would be named to the All-Defense First Team the
  following year. The effect on the team was powerful. Shifting Scottie to point
  guard put the ball in his hands as much as in Michael"s, and it allowed M.J. to
  move to the wing and play a number of different roles in the offense, including
  leading the attack on transition. The shift also opened up possibilities for other
  players because Scottie was more egalitarian than Michael in the way he
  distributed the ball. All of a sudden a new, more collaborative group dynamic
  was evolving.
  -
  At that time most coaches subscribed to the Knute Rockne theory of mental
  training. They tried to get their players revved up for the game with win-one-forthe-
  Gipper-style pep talks. That approach may work if you"re a linebacker. But
  what I discovered playing for the Knicks is that when I got too excited mentally,
  it had a negative effect on my ability to stay focused under pressure. So I did the
  opposite. Instead of charging players up, I developed a number of strategies to
  help them quiet their minds and build awareness so they could go into battle
  poised and in control.
  The first thing I did with the Bulls was to teach the players an abbreviated
  version of mindfulness meditation based on the Zen practice I"d been doing for
  years. I didn"t make a big deal of it. We sat for about ten minutes or so during
  practice, usually before one of our video-viewing sessions. Some players thought
  it was weird; others used the time to take a nap. But they humored me because
  they knew that meditation was an important part of my life. From my point of
  view, getting the players to sit quietly together for ten minutes was a good start.
  And some players, notably B.J. Armstrong, took a serious interest in meditation
  and pursued it further on their own.
  I wasn"t trying to turn the Bulls into Buddhist monks. I was interested in
  getting them to take a more mindful approach to the game and to their
  relationships with one another. At its heart, mindfulness is about being present in
  the moment as much as possible, not weighed down by thoughts of the past or
  the future. According to Suzuki-roshi, when we do something with "a quite
  simple, clear mind . . . our activity is strong and straightforward. But when we
  do something with a complicated mind, in relation to other things or people, or
  society, our activity becomes very complex."
  To be successful at basketball, as author John McPhee once pointed out, you
  need to have a finely tuned sense of where you are and what"s happening around
  you at any given moment. A few players are born with this skill-Michael,
  Scottie, and Bill Bradley, to name a few-but most players have to learn it. What
  I discovered after years of meditation practice is that when you immerse yourself
  fully in the moment, you start developing a much deeper awareness of what"s
  going on, right here, right now. And that awareness ultimately leads to a greater
  sense of oneness-the essence of teamwork.
  John Paxson once sent me an article from the Harvard Business Review that
  he said reminded him of me. The article-"Parables of Leadership" by W. Chan
  Kim and Renée A. Mauborgne-was composed of a series of ancient parables
  that focused on what the authors called "the unseen space of leadership." The
  story that had caught Paxson"s eye was one about a young prince who was sent
  by his father to study how to become a good ruler with a great Chinese master.
  The first assignment the master gave him was to spend a year in the forest
  alone. When the prince returned, the master asked him to describe what he had
  heard, and he replied, "I could hear the cuckoos sing, the leaves rustle, the
  hummingbirds hum, the crickets chirp, the grass blow, the bees buzz and the
  wind whisper and holler."
  After the prince finished, the master told him to return to the forest to listen
  for what more could be heard. So the prince went back and sat alone in the forest
  for several days and nights, wondering what the master was talking about. Then
  one morning, he started to hear faint sounds that he had never heard before.
  Upon his return, the prince told the master, "When I listened most closely, I
  could hear the unheard-the sound of flowers opening, the sound of the sun
  warming the earth, and the sound of the grass drinking the morning dew."
  The master nodded. "To hear the unheard," he said, "is a necessary discipline
  to be a good ruler. For only when a ruler has learned to listen closely to the
  people"s hearts, hearing their feelings uncommunicated, pains unexpressed, and
  complaints not spoken of, can he hope to inspire confidence in the people,
  understand when something is wrong, and meet the true needs of his citizens."
  Hearing the unheard. That"s a skill everyone in the group needs, not just the
  leader. In basketball, statisticians count when players make assists, or passes that
  lead to scores. But I"ve always been more interested on having players focus on
  the pass that leads to the pass that leads to the score. That kind of awareness
  takes time to develop, but once you"ve mastered it, the invisible becomes visible
  and the game unfolds like a story before your eyes.
  To strengthen the players" awareness, I liked to keep them guessing about
  what was coming next. During one practice, they looked so lackadaisical I
  decided to turn out the lights and have them play in the dark-not an easy task
  when you"re trying to catch a rocket pass from Michael Jordan. Another time,
  after an embarrassing defeat, I had them go through a whole practice without
  saying a word. Other coaches thought I was nuts. What mattered to me was
  getting the players to wake up, if only for a moment, and see the unseen, hear the
  unheard.
  -
  Getting ready for the NBA playoffs is like preparing to go to the dentist. You
  know the visit is not going to be as bad as you think it is, but you can"t stop
  yourself from obsessing about it. Your whole being is pointed toward that event.
  The anxiety often creeps up on me in the middle of the night, and I"ll lie in bed
  thinking and rethinking our strategy for the next game. Sometimes in those wee
  hours, I"ll turn to meditation to unlock my mind and give me some relief from
  the barrage of second-guessing. But the most effective way to deal with anxiety,
  I"ve discovered, is to make sure that you"re as prepared as possible for whatever
  is coming your way. My brother Joe often talks about faith being one of the two
  things that can help you cope with fear. The other is love. Joe says you need to
  have faith that you"ve done all you could to make sure things turn out right-
  regardless of the final outcome.
  There"s a story I love to tell about how Napoléon Bonaparte picked his
  generals. After one of his great generals died, Napoléon reputedly sent one of his
  staff officers to search for a replacement. The officer returned several weeks later
  and described a man he thought would be the perfect candidate because of his
  knowledge of military tactics and brilliance as a manager. When the officer
  finished, Napoléon looked at him and said, "That"s all very good, but is he
  lucky?"
  Tex Winter called me "the luckiest coach in the world." But I don"t think
  luck has a lot to do with it. Sure, someone might get injured or some other
  calamity might befall the team. But I believe that if you"ve taken care of all the
  details, the laws of cause and effect-not luck-will usually determine the
  result. Of course, there are plenty of things you can"t control in a basketball
  game. That"s why we focused most of our time on what we could control: the
  right footwork, the right floor spacing, the right way to handle the ball. When
  you play the game the right way, it makes sense to the players and winning is the
  likely outcome.
  But there"s another kind of faith that"s even more important-the faith that
  we"re all connected on some level that surpasses understanding. That"s why I
  have players sit together in silence. Sitting silently in a group without any
  distractions can make people resonate with one another in profound ways. As
  Friedrich Nietzsche said, "Invisible threads are the strongest ties."
  I"ve watched those ties form several times in my career. The deep feeling of
  connection that occurs when players pull together is a tremendous force that can
  wipe away the fear of losing. That was the lesson the Bulls were about to learn.
  -
  Midway through the 1990-91 season, all the pieces started falling together. As
  the players became more comfortable with the triangle offense, Tex started to get
  them to focus on a sequence of critical actions we called "automatics," which
  could be set in motion if the opposing team was overloading coverage in one
  area of the floor. The critical point was what Tex called the "moment of truth"
  when the player moving the ball up court encountered the defense. If the defense
  focused a lot of pressure on him at that point, then he could launch an automatic
  play to shift the action to another part of the floor and open up new scoring
  possibilities. One of the team"s favorite automatics was what we called "the
  Blind Pig"-an action in which frontline players came up to relieve pressure on
  the point guard and the weakside forward (aka the pig) broke free, took the pass,
  and disrupted the defense. The Blind Pig was a critical play not only for the
  Bulls but also later for the Lakers, because it brought a shooter off a double
  screen on the weak side and put two of our best players in scoring position.
  The players were enthusiastic. The Blind Pig and other automatics allowed
  them to adapt to what the defense was doing in a coordinated way, without
  having to rely on me to call plays from the sidelines. "That became our number
  one weapon," recalls Scottie. "We felt very good about coming down the floor
  and just throwing the ball into play. We all started to run to certain spots because
  we were comfortable there. Everyone was happy. Michael was getting his shots
  increasingly. We had better balance getting back on transition. We were
  becoming a better defensive team. And then it became second nature for us."
  The automatics also taught the players how to take advantage of the defense
  by moving away from pressure rather than trying to attack it directly. This would
  be important when the team faced stronger, more physical teams, such as the
  Pistons. To beat Detroit, we needed to be resilient and not back down. But we
  were never going to beat them if we got into a wrestling match with them every
  time we came down the floor.
  Just before the All-Star break, the Bulls took off on an 18-1 run, including a
  morale-boosting 95-93 win over the Pistons in Auburn Hills. Even though Isiah
  Thomas was out with a wrist injury, the game was a key turning point in how we
  viewed ourselves as a team. After that, the Bad Boys didn"t seem so "bad"
  anymore.
  We finished the season with a league-leading 61-21 record, which gave us
  home-court advantage throughout the playoffs. We swept the Knicks 3-0, then
  won the first two games of the series with Philadelphia easily but ran into
  problems in game 3. Jordan arrived with tendinitis in his knee (probably picked
  up playing golf between games) and the 76ers" big forwards-Armen Gilliam,
  Charles Barkley, and Rick Mahorn-started pushing Horace Grant around and
  throwing him off his game.
  Horace was a six-ten power forward who had exceptional foot speed and
  good rebounding instincts. Johnny Bach called him "the intrepid one" because of
  his ability to trap quick ball handlers and make the pressure defense work.
  Horace, who"d grown up in rural Georgia, had bonded with Scottie early on and
  once told reporters that Pippen was "like my twin brother." But they"d drifted
  apart during the 1990-91 season, as Scottie gravitated closer to Michael.
  Meanwhile, Horace, who was trying hard to save his marriage, had turned to
  religion for solace.
  The previous year Johnny had suggested that I use Horace as a "whipping
  boy" to motivate the team. This is a fairly common practice on pro teams. In
  fact, I had played that role briefly when I was with the Knicks. The point was to
  designate one player who would get the lion"s share of criticism as a way to
  motivate the rest of the players to bond together. I didn"t entirely buy into this
  type of old-school coaching, but I was willing to give it a try. I knew the players
  liked Horace and would rally around him if I pushed too hard. And Johnny, who
  had a solid relationship with Horace, assured me that he was tough enough to
  take the pressure.
  We explained the idea to Horace and he was on board, at first. Ever since he
  was a kid, he"d dreamed about becoming a Marine, so strong discipline appealed
  to him. But as time went by, he began to bristle at the criticism. It all came to a
  head in the third quarter of game 3 against the 76ers.
  Gilliam had been hitting Horace in the back and pushing him off position all
  game, and the refs had been letting him get away with it. When Horace finally
  retaliated out of frustration, the refs noticed and called the foul.
  I was furious. I pulled Horace out of the game and started screaming at him
  for letting the 76ers manhandle him. Horace yelled back, "I"m tired of being
  your whipping boy." Then he started cursing me-unusual for him.
  Needless to say, we lost the game. I admit this wasn"t my finest moment. But
  I learned a key lesson: how important it was to relate to each player as an
  individual, with respect and compassion, no matter how much pressure I might
  be feeling. I met with Horace when the air had cleared and told him that we
  needed to start over. From that point on, I said, I would focus on giving him
  constructive criticism, and I hoped that he, in turn, would give me feedback on
  anything that might be troubling him.
  Before the next game, I met with the team for breakfast to discuss what had
  happened. I said that we"d broken the tribal circle and we needed to put it back
  together. At the end of the meeting, I asked Horace to read the team a passage
  from Psalms.
  Horace played like a man possessed that day. He burst out on the court,
  grabbed some key early rebounds, and finished with 22 points as we rolled to a
  101-85 win. More important, Horace stood up to Gilliam and the other big men
  without getting rattled. It was a good sign. The 76ers looked tired and broken,
  and they folded two days later in the decisive game 5. Next stop, Detroit.
  During the 1990 playoffs, I"d shown the team a video with scenes from The
  Wizard of Oz. The purpose was to illustrate how intimidated the players were by
  the Pistons" rough play. There was a shot of B.J. Armstrong driving to the basket
  and getting clobbered by the Detroit front line, followed by a clip of Dorothy
  saying, "This isn"t Kansas anymore, Toto." Another sequence showed Joe
  Dumars beating out Jordan off the dribble, while the Tin Man lamented not
  having a heart. Yet another had Isiah Thomas waltzing by Paxson, Horace, and
  Cartwright as the Cowardly Lion whined about not having any courage. The
  players broke into laughter at first, but that died down when they realized the
  message I was trying to convey.
  This time I didn"t need to play movie scenes. Instead I put together a series
  of clips for the NBA"s front office, showing the most egregious examples of the
  Pistons" cheap shots against the Bulls. I"m not sure how much impact the tape
  had on the officiating, but at least it showed we weren"t going to roll over
  quietly.
  It may not have mattered. The 1990-91 Pistons lineup wasn"t as intimidating
  as before, especially since they"d lost their bruising power forward Rick
  Mahorn. And our team was far more confident and poised than we had been a
  year earlier. My advice to the players was to strike first, rather than allow the
  Pistons to push us around early, and to avoid getting caught up in Detroit"s web
  of trash talk. I was pleased to see the way Scottie handled himself in game 1.
  When the newest Bad Boy, Mark Aguirre, threatened to mess him up, Scottie
  just laughed.
  Jordan had an off game that day, but the second unit stepped in and built up a
  9-point lead in the fourth quarter that made the difference. After the game, in a
  moment that surprised everyone, Jordan thanked his teammates for carrying him.
  I could sense that all of our efforts to shift the team"s mind-set were beginning to
  pay off. A few days later Scottie told Chicago Tribune reporter Sam Smith that
  he had noticed a change in Michael. "You can tell M.J. has more confidence in
  everyone," Scottie said. "And I"d have to say it"s come just in these playoffs.
  He"s playing team ball and for the first time I can say he"s not going out there
  looking to score. He seems to have the feeling, and we all seem to, really, that if
  we play together everyone can help."
  In game 2 we put Scottie in charge of moving the ball up court and shifted
  Paxson to the wing. That move created some difficult mismatches for the
  Pistons, which they never could resolve. We also made a few defensive switches
  that worked well, putting Pippen on their center, Laimbeer, and Cartwright on
  their small forward, Aguirre. Our defense was so wired that nothing seemed to
  work for the Pistons. By game 4 they were looking at a sweep on their home
  court, and when they couldn"t stop that, the game turned ugly. Laimbeer
  blindsided Paxson and Rodman knocked Scottie into the seats with a blow that
  could have ended his career. The worst moment, however, came at the end when
  the Pistons, led by Isiah Thomas, walked off the court without shaking our hands
  -an insult not just to the Bulls but to the game itself that bothers me to this day.
  Our next opponent was L.A. The Lakers were a storied franchise that had
  dominated the NBA in the previous decade and were still a powerful team, led
  by Magic Johnson, with James Worthy, Sam Perkins, Byron Scott, and Vlade
  Divac. This series would be the ultimate test for Michael, who had always
  measured himself against Johnson. Magic not only had the rings (five) and the
  MVP awards (three), he also had an impressive gift for leadership. In his rookie
  year he had taken over a team dominated by All-Stars, including Kareem Abdul-
  Jabbar, and masterfully piloted it to a championship. Michael was in his seventh
  year with the NBA and still looking for his first ring.
  We got off to a slow start and dropped game 1 in Chicago. Midway through,
  however, I noticed a weakness that I hadn"t seen on any of the tapes. Whenever
  Magic left the game, his teammates weren"t able to hold the lead against our
  second unit. Magic looked tired after the Lakers" grueling battle against Portland
  in the Western Conference finals, and it was clear that the Lakers were much
  weaker when he rested than we were when Michael was on the bench. This was
  something we could exploit.
  Our game plan was to put Scottie on Magic.
  In game 2 Michael got into foul trouble early, so moving Scottie over proved
  to be a good plan-the adjustment threw the Lakers" offense out of whack, and
  we won easily, 107-86. After the game I put a video together for Michael,
  showing him how Magic often left his man-Paxson-to help other players on
  defense. He was gambling that Michael wouldn"t give up the ball. Paxson was a
  strong clutch shooter, and in general Michael trusted him more than others in
  tight situations. But in the L.A. series Michael was reverting to his old habit of
  trying to win games by himself. Despite our victory in game 2, this was hurting
  us.
  The action shifted to L.A. for the next three games. In game 3 Michael tied
  the score with 3.4 seconds left in regulation by driving the ball to the free-throw
  line and nailing a quick jumper. Then we regrouped and grabbed a 104-96 win
  in overtime. Two days later our defense completely dominated the Lakers in
  game 4, holding them to their lowest point total-82-since the arrival of the
  shot clock, and we took a 3-1 lead in the series. Magic called it "an oldfashioned
  ass-kicking."
  In game 5 we were ahead most of the way, but midway through the fourth
  quarter the Lakers fought back and took the lead. I wasn"t happy with what I was
  seeing. Despite our discussions, Michael was still leaving Paxson in limbo. So I
  called a time-out and gathered the team together.
  "Who"s open, M.J.?" I asked, looking directly into Michael"s eyes.
  He didn"t answer. So I asked him again, "Who"s open?"
  "Paxson," he replied.
  "Okay, so find him."
  After that exchange, the game turned. Michael and others started delivering
  the ball to Paxson, and he responded by hitting 4 shots in a row. The Lakers
  drew within 2 points with a little over a minute left. But I noticed something
  different as Michael moved the ball up court. I expected him to make a move
  toward the basket, as he usually did in this kind of situation. But instead he was
  luring the defense in his direction and trying to create a shot for, yes, Paxson. It
  was a sweet ending. John nailed the two-pointer and we went on to win, 108-
  101.
  This was a profound moment for me. Eighteen years earlier I had won my
  first championship ring as a player in this stadium-the Los Angeles Forum.
  Now I had just won my first ring as a coach, and best of all, we had done it by
  playing the game the same way my Knicks team had played.
  The right way.
  Y
  8
  A QUESTION OF
  CHARACTER
  The way you do anything is the way you do everything.
  TOM WAITS
  ou"d think it would get easier the second time around, but that"s not
  how it works. As soon as the cheering stops, the dance of the wounded
  egos begins. Former UCLA head coach John Wooden used to say that
  "winning takes talent, to repeat takes character." I didn"t really understand what
  he meant until we started our second run for the ring. All of a sudden the media
  spotlight turned in our direction, and everyone connected to the Bulls whose
  name wasn"t Jordan began to vie for more attention. As Michael put it, "Success
  turns we"s back into me"s."
  The first glimmer I got of this came when Horace unloaded on Michael in
  the media for skipping out on the championship celebration at the White House.
  Attendance was optional, and before the event, Michael had informed Horace
  that he wasn"t planning to attend. Horace didn"t seem to have a problem with it
  at the time, but when we returned from Washington, he told reporters he was
  upset that Jordan hadn"t shown up. Michael felt betrayed by Horace but chose
  not to respond to his comments. I presumed that Horace had been hoodwinked
  by reporters into saying something he didn"t believe, so I didn"t fine him. But I
  warned him to be careful in the future about saying things to the press that might
  be divisive to the team.
  Horace wasn"t the only player who was envious of Michael"s fame, but he
  was the most outspoken. He had a hard time understanding that I had no control
  over Michael"s celebrity. It transcended the Bulls and the sport itself.
  As soon as the White House kerfuffle ended, another controversy arose that
  had a much longer-lasting impact on the team. It surrounded the publication of
  Sam Smith"s best-selling book The Jordan Rules, an account of the 1990-91
  championship season that tried to demythologize Michael and provide an inside
  look at the secret world of the Chicago Bulls. Smith, a smart, hardworking
  reporter whom I liked, based the book on his coverage of the Bulls for the
  Chicago Tribune. Some of the anecdotes portrayed Michael and Jerry Krause in
  a less-than-flattering light.
  Michael wasn"t happy with the book, but he shrugged it off, presuming, no
  doubt, that it wasn"t going to have a serious impact on his public image.
  However, Krause was far less detached. One night shortly after the book came
  out, he called me into his hotel room during a road trip and started ranting about
  Smith. He said he had uncovered "176 lies" in the book and pulled out his
  heavily marked-up copy to prove it. As soon as he started pointing out each
  alleged lie page by page, I cut him off, saying, "You"ve really got to let this thing
  go, Jerry."
  But he couldn"t. Jerry had been suspicious of reporters ever since he got
  caught in a media flare-up in 1976 that caused him to lose his position as
  executive of the Bulls after just three months on the job. He was in the middle of
  hiring a new head coach for the team when the papers reported that he"d offered
  the position to DePaul coach Ray Meyer. Jerry denied it, but the story wouldn"t
  die. Disappointed by Jerry"s handling of the situation, Bulls chairman Arthur
  Wirtz let him go.
  As the weeks went by, Jerry became obsessed with trying to suss out who
  had been Sam"s primary source for the book. There were dozens of sources, of
  course. Sam talked regularly with almost everybody connected with the team,
  including owner Jerry Reinsdorf. I arranged for Krause to meet with Sam and try
  to work things out, but that conversation went nowhere. Finally Jerry concluded
  that assistant coach Johnny Bach was the main culprit. I thought that was absurd,
  but the suspicion lingered and figured in Johnny"s dismissal years later.
  This was the first chink in my relationship with Jerry, which until then had
  been extremely productive. I was grateful to Jerry for believing in me and giving
  me the opportunity to coach the Bulls. I also admired the way he"d constructed
  the team, recruiting the right talent to complement Jordan, even though he often
  took a lot of heat from Michael and others for the moves he made. I enjoyed
  working with Jerry on creating the first incarnation of the Bulls" championship
  team, then rebuilding it later after Michael returned from his baseball sojourn.
  One thing I liked about Jerry was that he always sought a wide range of
  perspectives from coaches, players, and the scouting staff before making key
  decisions. He also placed great importance on finding players with a high degree
  of character and was relentless about digging into a potential recruit"s
  background to find out what he was made of.
  Early in my tenure as head coach, Jerry would greet the players on the first
  day of training camp and tell the same story, which summed up how he
  envisioned our relationship. Jerry was an only child, and when he was young, he
  said, he tried to play his parents against each other, going back and forth between
  them until he got the response he wanted. One day his father figured this out and
  said, "Look, Jerry, don"t ever come between your mother and me. We have to
  sleep together." I"d roll my eyes when he told this story and say something like,
  "Sorry, Jerry. No can do"-and it would get a good laugh.
  Obviously I had a different vision of how we should work together. I wanted
  to be supportive of Jerry, and I spent a lot of time mediating between him and the
  players. But I didn"t want to do anything that would jeopardize the bond of trust
  I"d developed with the team.
  Most of the players resented Jerry for one reason or another. It started with
  Michael. During his second year with the Bulls, Michael broke his left foot and
  had to sit out most of the season recovering from the injury. At a certain point,
  Michael insisted that his foot was fully healed, but Jerry refused to let him play
  until the doctors gave him the final okay. When Michael pushed back, Jerry told
  him that management had made the decision because he was their property, an
  unfortunate gaffe that alienated Michael and tainted his relationship with Krause
  from that day forward.
  Other players had issues with Jerry too. They didn"t like the way he stretched
  the truth about his past achievements as a scout to make himself look good. They
  were also annoyed when he became obsessed with recruiting Toni Kukoc, a
  promising forward from Croatia who Jerry predicted would be the next Magic
  Johnson, even though Toni had never played a game in the NBA. Scottie and
  Michael felt that Jerry"s flirtation with Toni, who later signed with the Bulls, was
  an insult to his own players, and they went out of their way to crush Kukoc and
  the Croatian national team during the 1992 Olympics.
  Most of all, the players were put off by Jerry"s constant attempts to hang out
  with them and be one of the guys. His short, roly-poly physique didn"t help his
  case, either. Michael nicknamed him "Crumbs" because of his less-than-perfect
  table manners and often poked fun at his weight and other idiosyncrasies when
  he rode on the team bus.
  This kind of tension on a team always makes me feel uneasy. When I was a
  kid, I hated discord of any kind. My older brothers, who were less than two years
  apart, fought constantly, and I was the peacemaker. My father used to discipline
  my brothers with his belt, and I remember sitting at the top of the cellar stairs
  bursting into tears listening to them get their whippings.
  The way I handled Jerry was to keep things light. I knew that his
  overreaction to The Jordan Rules stemmed from his feeling that he wasn"t
  getting the credit he deserved for building this great team. I understood. But I
  couldn"t fix it, so I tried to shift his mind with a touch of humor and compassion.
  I also tried to keep our relationship as professional as possible. As the team"s
  fame grew, the rift between Jerry and me widened. But professionalism sustained
  us. Despite the turmoil, Jerry and I were able to stay focused and get the job
  done.
  -
  With the players it was a different matter. I told them they needed to tune out the
  distractions-whether they came from the media, Krause, or another source-
  and focus their attention on winning a second championship. To that end, I
  redoubled my efforts to turn practice into a sanctuary from the messiness of the
  outside world. "We were a very popular team," says Scottie. "So we had to
  secure and protect each other. We couldn"t have people bringing their friends to
  practice and bugging guys for autographs. Because if you can"t have freedom of
  life with your teammates, where are you going to get it?"
  As the team turned its attention inward, the bond among the players began to
  re-form. The "me"s," to use Michael"s phrase, slowly transformed into a
  powerful We-and one of the strongest all-around teams I"ve ever coached. The
  system was clicking, and our defense was unstoppable. We got off to a 15-2 start
  and finished the season with 67 wins, 10 more than anyone else in the league.
  Our biggest losing streak was two games. At one point, Reinsdorf called and
  said, "I hope you"re not pushing the team to break the record." No, I told him, it
  was just happening spontaneously. B. J. Armstrong said he felt the Bulls were
  "in tune with nature" that season and that everything was fitting together "like
  fall and winter and spring and summer."
  Then came the playoffs. After beating Miami in three games, we faced a
  tough New York Knicks team, coached by Pat Riley, who had done a good job of
  turning the Knicks into a new version of the old Detroit Pistons. In fact, Riley
  had hired a former Pistons defensive coach, Dick Harter, to bring that kind of
  toughness to the Knicks. The NBA had put up with the Bad Boys of Detroit for
  the past five years, and after we"d dispatched them the previous year, there had
  been a collective sigh around the league. Muscle ball was out and finesse
  basketball was slowly coming back in vogue. Still, the Knicks had a powerful
  front line-made up of Patrick Ewing, Charles Oakley, and Xavier McDaniel,
  with Anthony Mason as the backup. Their strategy was to use their muscle to
  dominate the boards, slow down the tempo of the game, and take away the fast
  break. Their most effective weapon, however, was Riley"s ability to spin the
  media. He had learned a lot in L.A. about using the press to play the refs, and he
  fired his first salvo before the first playoff game. His point? If the refs didn"t get
  enamored with M.J., he said, and called a fair game, the Knicks would have a
  chance to win. I fired back, saying that Ewing was getting away with murder,
  taking extra steps every time he drove to the basket. The battle was on.
  I"ve always felt comfortable talking with reporters because I spent so much
  time hanging out with them during my playing days with the Knicks. I also
  learned from some of the stupid mistakes I made. In my first year as a starter-
  1974-75-the Knicks took off on a roll, but we didn"t have much depth and
  finished the season with a disappointing 40-42 record. So I told reporters that we
  might have made the playoffs, but we were "still losers." That was the big
  headline the next day: "Jackson Calls Knicks Losers."
  My other gaffe was even worse. During a fight between the Lakers and the
  Rockets in 1977, L.A."s Kermit Washington threw a punch at Houston"s Rudy
  Tomjanovich that smashed his face and nearly killed him. I told reporters that I
  thought it was an unfortunate situation but that I"d narrowly ducked a similar
  blow from 76er George McGinnis a week earlier and nobody had even noticed.
  "It seemed you had to be a star to get the league to notice," I complained. I still
  wish I could take back those words.
  The Knicks outmuscled us and got an easy ride from the refs en route to a
  surprising win in game 1. Early on Scottie Pippen severely sprained his ankle
  and the game slowed down to the Knicks" pace. We bounced back in game 2,
  lifted by several key shots by B.J. Armstrong. And Michael broke loose from the
  Knicks" crowbar defense to allow us to take back home-court advantage in game
  3.
  Horace compared game 4 to a World Wrestling Federation match, and
  Michael said the officiating was so bad he thought it would be impossible for us
  to win. I blamed the refs and got thrown out in the second half, as the Knicks
  took over and won, 93-86.
  My bad-boy side came out in the postgame interviews. I said, "I think
  they"re probably licking their chops on Fifth Avenue where the NBA offices are.
  I think they kind of like that it"s a 2-2 series. I don"t like "orchestration.". . . But
  they control who they send as referees. And if it goes seven, everybody will be
  really happy."
  Riley loved it. I had just handed him the perfect opening. The next day he
  told reporters that I was insulting his team. "I was part of six championship
  teams and I"ve been to the finals 13 times. I know what championship demeanor
  is about. The fact that he"s whining and whimpering about the officiating is an
  insult to how hard our guys are playing and how much our guys want to win. . . .
  That"s what championship teams are about. They"ve got to take on all comers.
  They can"t whine about it."
  The New York press bought it wholesale. The next day the papers were filled
  with Phil the Whiner stories. Before then New York fans had treated me like one
  of the family, even though I now worked for the enemy. But after Riley"s holierthan-
  thou speech, they started hurling catcalls at me in the street. It was strange,
  but I realized there was nothing I could say to undo what had been done.
  Winning was the best revenge.
  It took us seven games. My Lakota friends told me that I should "count
  coup" on Riley before game 7, so I did. As I walked by the Knicks bench, I
  stopped and reached out my hand to Pat and said: "Let"s give them a good
  show." He nodded, a little nonplussed that I was talking to him. As it turned out,
  the game was a good Michael Jordan show. Early on Xavier McDaniel was
  pushing around Scottie, who was recovering from his sprained ankle, so Michael
  stepped in and confronted the bigger, stronger power forward until he backed
  down. (I was so impressed by the way Michael defended his teammate, I later
  hung a picture of the stare-down over my office desk.) In the third quarter Jordan
  stymied McDaniel with one of the best turnaround plays I"ve ever seen. It started
  when Michael hit a jumper, then stole the Knicks" inbound pass and started
  driving to the basket for another quick 2 points. But Xavier knocked the ball out
  of his hands and charged downcourt for what looked like an easy layup. Except
  that Jordan was on his heels and knocked the ball away from behind just as
  McDaniel went up for the shot. That play destroyed the Knicks" spirit, and they
  never got close again. Afterward Riley graciously summarized what the Bulls
  had done. "They played like they are," he said.
  -
  Still, nothing came easy. After winning another hard-fought series against
  Cleveland, we faced the playoffs-hardened Portland Trail Blazers in the
  championship finals. They were a fast, dynamic team led by Clyde Drexler,
  whom some observers not based in Chicago considered on par with Jordan. Our
  plan was to play strong transition defense and force them to beat us with their
  outside shooting. M.J."s plan was to show the world that Drexler was no Michael
  Jordan. Michael was so determined Drexler"s teammate Danny Ainge later told
  author David Halberstam it was like watching "an assassin who comes to kill
  you and then cut your heart out."
  We came out strong and won the opener in Chicago, then let the next game
  slip away in overtime. Rather than take a late-night flight to Portland, as the
  Blazers did, I decided to fly the team out the next day and give them time off
  rather than make them slog through practice. The next day we burst out and took
  back the series lead, 2-1. After splitting the next two games, we returned to
  Chicago with a chance to put the series away on our home court.
  The Blazers were on a roll in game 6, running up a 17-point lead in the third
  quarter. Tex insisted that I take Jordan out because he had gone rogue and wasn"t
  playing within the system. I usually pulled Michael out two minutes before the
  end of the third period, but this time I took him out early and left the reserves in
  longer because they"d gone on a 14-2 run, helped by M.J."s backup, Bobby
  Hansen, who threw down a key three-pointer. Michael was not happy when I
  didn"t put him back in at the start of the fourth quarter. But I liked the backup
  players" energy and enthusiasm, and the Blazers seemed baffled about how to
  defend them. By the time Michael and the other starters returned to the game, the
  lead had shrunk to 5 points and the Blazers were reeling. Michael scored 12 of
  his 33 points and Scottie made some key shots to finish them off 97-93.
  Bring on the champagne. This was the first time we"d won a championship at
  home, and the fans went wild. After the traditional craziness in the locker room,
  I led the players back to the floor to join in the celebration. Scottie, Horace, and
  Hansen jumped on the scorers" table and started to dance, and Michael followed,
  waving the championship trophy. It was a joyous celebration.
  After a while I returned to my office to reflect on what had just transpired.
  Later, when I met with the players privately, I told them that winning back-toback
  championships was the mark of a great team. But what pleased me even
  more was that we"d had to navigate so many unexpected twists and turns to get
  there. Paxson called the season "a long, strange trip," referring to the famous
  Grateful Dead song. He was right. Our first championship run had been a
  honeymoon. This was an odyssey.
  T
  9
  BITTERSWEET VICTORY
  Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their
  mothers give birth to them, but . . . life obliges them over and
  over again to give birth to themselves.
  GABRIEL GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ
  hat summer Michael and Scottie headed to Barcelona to play for the
  Dream Team. Jerry Krause was not pleased. He argued that they should
  skip the Olympics and rest up for the coming season. But they ignored
  his request, and I"m glad they did. An important shift took place in Barcelona
  that would have an enormous impact on the future of the Bulls.
  Michael returned from the games raving about Scottie"s performance. Before
  the summer, Michael had regarded Pippen as the most talented member of his
  supporting cast. But after watching him outplay Magic Johnson, John Stockton,
  Clyde Drexler, and other future Hall of Famers in Barcelona, Michael realized
  that Scottie was the best all-around player on what many consider the best
  basketball team ever assembled. Scottie, Michael had to admit, had even
  outshone him in several of the games.
  Scottie came back with renewed confidence and took on an even bigger role
  with the Bulls. NBA rules prevented us from adding a third cocaptain to the
  roster (in addition to Michael and Bill Cartwright), but we gave Scottie that role
  ex officio. We also made B.J. Armstrong a starter, since John Paxson was
  recovering from knee surgery and his playing time was limited.
  In The Tao of Leadership, John Heider stresses the importance of interfering
  as little as possible. "Rules reduce freedom and responsibility," he writes.
  "Enforcement of rules is coercive and manipulative, which diminishes
  spontaneity and absorbs group energy. The more coercive you are, the more
  resistant the group will become."
  Heider, whose book is based on Lao-tzu"s Tao Te Ching, suggests that leaders
  practice becoming more open. "The wise leader is of service: receptive, yielding,
  following. The group member"s vibration dominates and leads, while the leader
  follows. But soon it is the member"s consciousness which is transformed, the
  member"s vibration which is resolved."
  This is what I was trying to do with the Bulls. My goal was to act as
  instinctively as possible to allow the players to lead the team from within. I
  wanted them to be able to flow with the action, the way a tree bends in the wind.
  That"s why I put so much emphasis on having tightly structured practices. I
  would assert myself forcefully in practice to imbue the players with a strong
  vision of where we needed to go and what we had to do to get there. But once
  the game began, I would slip into the background and let the players orchestrate
  the attack. Occasionally I would step in to make defensive adjustments or shift
  players around if we needed a burst of energy. For the most part, though, I let the
  players take the lead.
  To make this strategy work, I needed to develop a strong circle of team
  leaders who could transform that vision into reality. Structure is critical. On
  every successful team I"ve coached, most of the players had a clear idea of the
  role they were expected to play. When the pecking order is clear, it reduces the
  players" anxiety and stress. But if it"s unclear and the top players are constantly
  vying for position, the center will not hold, no matter how talented the roster.
  With the Bulls, we didn"t have to worry about who the top dog was, as long
  as Michael was around. Once I forged a strong bond with Michael, the rest fell
  into place. Michael related strongly to the "social bull"s-eye" I described earlier
  because he envisioned the leadership structure as a series of concentric circles.
  "Phil was the centerpiece of the team, and I was an extension of that
  centerpiece," he says. "He relied on me to connect with all the different
  personalities on the team to make the team bond stronger. He and I had a great
  bond, so everything I did, Scottie did, and then it fell down the line. And that
  made the whole bond stronger so that nothing could break it. Nothing could get
  inside that circle."
  Scottie was a different kind of leader. He was more easygoing than Michael.
  He"d listen patiently to his teammates vent, then try to do something about
  whatever was troubling them. "I think guys gravitated toward Scottie because he
  was more like us," says Steve Kerr. "Michael was such a dominant presence that,
  at times, he didn"t appear human. Nothing could get to Michael. Scottie was
  more human, more vulnerable like us."
  -
  The 1992-93 season was a long winter of discontent. Cartwright and Paxson
  were recovering from off-season knee surgeries, and Scottie and Michael were
  bothered by overuse injuries. I"d promised the players the year before that if we
  won a second championship we wouldn"t have grueling two-a-day practices
  during training camp. Instead we held one long practice each day, interrupted by
  breaks to watch game videos. But that schedule didn"t work out very well
  because the players stiffened up during the breaks.
  Some coaches like to run long practices, particularly after they"ve suffered a
  hard loss. My college coach, Bill Fitch, was a classic example. Once he got so
  exasperated with our lackadaisical performance at a game in Iowa, he made us
  practice when we got back to the UND campus, even though the plane didn"t
  arrive until after 10:00 P.M. I don"t believe in using practice to punish players. I
  like to make practices stimulating, fun, and, most of all, efficient. Coach Al
  McGuire once told me that his secret was not wasting anybody"s time. "If you
  can"t it get done in eight hours a day," he said, "it"s not worth doing." That"s
  been my philosophy ever since.
  Much of my thinking on this subject was influenced by the work of Abraham
  Maslow, one of the founders of humanistic psychology who is best known for
  his theory of the hierarchy of needs. Maslow believed that the highest human
  need is to achieve "self-actualization," which he defined as "the full use and
  exploitation of one"s talents, capacities and potentialities." The basic
  characteristics of self-actualizers, he discovered in his research, are spontaneity
  and naturalness, a greater acceptance of themselves and others, high levels of
  creativity, and a strong focus on problem solving rather than ego gratification.
  To achieve self-actualization, he concluded, you first need to satisfy a series
  of more basic needs, each building upon the other to form what is commonly
  referred to as Maslow"s pyramid. The bottom layer is made up of physiological
  urges (hunger, sleep, sex); followed by safety concerns (stability, order); love
  (belonging); self-esteem (self-respect, recognition); and finally selfactualization.
  Maslow concluded that most people fail to reach self-actualization
  because they get stuck somewhere lower on the pyramid.
  In his book The Farther Reaches of Human Nature, Maslow describes the
  key steps to attaining self-actualization:
  1. experiencing life "vividly, selflessly, with full concentration
  and total absorption";
  2. making choices from moment to moment that foster growth
  rather than fear;
  3. becoming more attuned to your inner nature and acting in
  concert with who you are;
  4. being honest with yourself and taking responsibility for what
  you say and do instead of playing games or posing;
  5. identifying your ego defenses and finding the courage to
  give them up;
  6. developing the ability to determine your own destiny and
  daring to be different and non-conformist;
  7. creating an ongoing process for reaching your potential and
  doing the work needed to realize your vision.
  8. fostering the conditions for having peak experiences, or
  what Maslow calls "moments of ecstasy" in which we think,
  act, and feel more clearly and are more loving and accepting
  of others.
  When I first encountered Maslow"s ideas in grad school, I found them
  extremely liberating. As an athlete I was familiar with peak experiences, but I"d
  never fully understood the complex psychology behind them. Maslow"s work
  opened a door for me to think more expansively about life. I was particularly
  drawn to his insights about how to get out of your own way and let your true
  nature express itself. Later when I became a coach, I found that Maslow"s
  approach of balancing physical, psychological, and spiritual needs provided me
  with a foundation for developing a new way of motivating young men.
  -
  Our biggest enemy during the 1992-93 season was boredom. Life in the NBA
  can be a stultifying, mind-numbing experience, particularly when you"re on a
  long road trip and every minute of every day is scheduled. My goal was to get
  the players to break free from their confining basketball cocoon and explore the
  deeper, more spiritual aspects of life. By "spiritual" I don"t mean "religious." I
  mean the act of self-discovery that happens when you step beyond your routine
  way of seeing the world. As Maslow puts it, "The great lesson from the true
  mystics . . . [is] that the sacred is in the ordinary, that it is to be found in one"s
  daily life, in one"s neighbors, friends, and family, in one"s backyard."
  To make your work meaningful, you need to align it with your true nature.
  "Work is holy, sacred, and uplifting when it springs from who we are, when it
  bears a relationship to our unfolding journey," writes activist, teacher, and lay
  monk Wayne Teasdale in A Monk in the World. "For work to be sacred, it must
  be connected to our spiritual realization. Our work has to represent our passion,
  our desire to contribute to our culture, especially to the development of others.
  By passion I mean the talents we have to share with others, the talents that shape
  our destiny and allow us to be of real service to others in our community."
  To tap into the sacred in work as well as in life, it"s essential to create order
  out of chaos. Teasdale quotes Native American songwriter James Yellowbank,
  who says, "The task of life is to keep your world in order." And that takes
  discipline, a healthy balance between work and play, and nourishment of mind,
  body, and spirit within the context of community-values deeply rooted in my
  own being, as well as my objectives for the teams I"ve coached.
  Getting the players to turn inward wasn"t always easy. Not everyone on the
  Bulls was interested in "spiritual" realization. But I didn"t hit them over the head
  with it. My approach was subtle. Every year the team went on a long West Coast
  road trip in November when the circus took over the stadium for a few weeks.
  Before the trip I would select a book for each of the players to read, based on
  what I knew about them. Here"s a typical list: Song of Solomon (for Michael
  Jordan), Things Fall Apart (Bill Cartwright), Zen and the Art of Motorcycle
  Maintenance (John Paxson), The Ways of White Folks (Scottie Pippen), Joshua:
  A Parable for Today (Horace Grant), Zen Mind, Beginner"s Mind (B.J.
  Armstrong), Way of the Peaceful Warrior (Craig Hodges), On the Road (Will
  Perdue), and Beavis & Butt-Head: This Book Sucks (Stacey King).
  Some players read every book I gave them; others dumped them in the trash.
  But I never expected everyone"s 100 percent engagement. The message I wanted
  to convey was that I cared enough about them as individuals to spend time
  searching for a book that might have special meaning for them. Or at least make
  them laugh.
  Another way I pushed the envelope was to have experts come in and teach
  the players yoga, tai chi, and other mind-body techniques. I also invited guest
  speakers-including a nutritionist, an undercover detective, and a prison warden
  -to show them new ways of thinking about difficult problems. Sometimes
  when we were traveling short distances-between Houston and San Antonio, for
  instance-we"d load everybody onto a bus to give them a chance to see what the
  world looked like beyond airport waiting rooms. Once, after a hard loss in a
  playoff series with the Knicks, I surprised everyone by taking the team on a ferry
  ride to Staten Island, rather than making them go through another round of
  enervating interviews with the New York media. On another occasion I arranged
  to have the team visit my former teammate, Senator Bill Bradley, in his
  Washington, D.C., office, where he gave us a talk about basketball, politics, and
  race. He"d just delivered a resounding speech on the Senate floor (shortly after
  Rodney King had been beaten by L.A. police officers) in which he banged a
  pencil against the mic fifty-six times for the number of hits that King had taken.
  On one wall in Bradley"s office hung a photo of the jump shot he missed in game
  7 of the 1971 Eastern Conference finals that effectively ended the Knicks" hope
  of repeating as champions that year. Bill kept it there as a reminder of his own
  fallibility.
  All these activities made us stronger not just as individuals but also as a
  team. "One of the best things about our practices," says Steve Kerr, who joined
  the Bulls in 1993, "was that they delivered us from the mundane. In the NBA if
  you have a coach that says the same thing every day and the practices are the
  same too, it gets old fast. But our communal gatherings were really important.
  Our team bonded in ways that the other teams I"ve played for never did."
  For Paxson, our adventures outside of basketball routines were transcendent.
  "It felt as if we were part of something really important," he says. "We felt like
  the good guys because we were trying to play the game the right way. It was as if
  we were part of something bigger than the game. And it was reinforced after we
  started to win, because the fans would let you know how important it was to
  them. I still have people come up and talk to me about where they were when we
  won our first championship and why it was such a priceless moment for them.
  We were playing the game the right way, and that"s what people long for."
  -
  "Transcendent" isn"t exactly the word I would use to describe the Bulls as the
  playoffs began in late April. We had struggled all season, limping along without
  Cartwright and other players who were nursing injuries. Although we ended up
  winning the division, we finished with 57 wins, 10 fewer than the year before.
  What"s more, we couldn"t count on home-court advantage throughout the
  playoffs, as we had in the previous season.
  As soon as the playoffs began, however, the players shifted to another level.
  At least, that"s how it seemed as we swept both Atlanta and Cleveland in the first
  rounds. But then we ran into the Knicks in New York and lost two games
  straight. This time the aspiring king slayer was John Starks, a quick, harddriving
  guard with a deadly three-point shot who was giving Jordan endless grief
  on defense. With forty-seven seconds left in game 2, Starks went airborne over
  Michael and Horace for an in-your-face dunk that put the Knicks up by five. Pat
  Riley called Starks"s move "the exclamation mark."
  When we returned to Chicago, I showed the players a video of the dunk and
  told Michael we needed to stop Starks from penetrating our defense and cut off
  his post passes to Ewing. That got Michael"s attention.
  But Michael"s challenges weren"t restricted to the basketball court. That
  week New York Times columnist Dave Anderson revealed that Michael had been
  spotted gambling in Atlantic City on the day of game 2, and Anderson
  questioned whether his late-night field trip had hampered his performance. All of
  a sudden an army of reporters descended on our training facility, asking detailed
  questions about Michael"s gambling habits, which he found offensive. He
  stopped talking to the media, and so did his teammates. I thought the story was
  ludicrous. "We don"t need a curfew," I told reporters. "These are adults. You
  have to have other things in your life or the pressure becomes too great."
  Unfortunately, the story wouldn"t die. Soon afterward a book was published
  by businessman Richard Esquinas claiming that Michael owed him $1.25
  million for gambling losses on golf. Michael denied that the losses were that big,
  and it was later reported that he"d agreed to pay Esquinas a $300,000 settlement.
  Other stories began to surface about Michael getting fleeced for large sums of
  money by shady golf hustlers. As the coverage escalated, Michael"s father,
  James Jordan, came to his son"s defense. "Michael doesn"t have a gambling
  problem," he said. "He has a competitiveness problem."
  Fortunately, none of these distractions affected the team"s play. If anything,
  they helped to focus everyone"s energy on the task at hand. Michael roared out in
  game 3, shutting down Starks and leading the Bulls to a decisive four-game
  sweep. "The big thing about this team is everyone in here has a burning desire to
  win," said Cartwright. "Everyone in here really hates to lose. That"s the attitude
  we take onto the court. We just hate to lose, and when you have guys like that,
  they"ll do anything to win."
  -
  The next series-the championship finals against Phoenix-was billed as a
  showdown between Michael and Charles Barkley, who had emerged as a
  superstar that year after winning the MVP award and piloting the Suns to a
  league-leading 62-20 record. I wasn"t that concerned about Barkley because our
  players knew most of his moves from his days on the 76ers. A bigger threat, I
  thought, was point guard Kevin Johnson, who spearheaded their lightning-quick
  fast break, the key to their high-scoring offense. I was also concerned about
  guard-forward Dan Majerle and his maddening three-pointers.
  Johnny Bach encouraged me to stay with our full-court defensive pressure to
  contain Johnson-using B.J., Pax, and Horace to trap him in the backcourt-and
  it helped us steal the first two games in Phoenix. But when we returned to
  Chicago, the Suns came back to life and won two of the next three games,
  including a triple-overtime marathon in game 3. But Michael was unflappable.
  As we boarded the plane for game 6, he showed up smoking a footlong cigar.
  "Hello, world champs," he said. "Let"s go to Phoenix and kick some ass."
  The game was an all-out battle. Afterward I thought the best slogan for this
  series would be "Three the Hard Way," because the Suns defense held us to only
  12 points in the fourth quarter. But our defense was even more effective,
  restricting the Suns to a paltry 24 percent shooting average in the final period.
  It all came down to a play that put a smile on Tex Winter"s face. Jordan came
  into the game with eight minutes left and took over, scoring our first 9 points in
  the period, including a breakaway jam that put us within 2 points at the thirtyeight-
  second mark. At the break, I called the players together and said with a
  straight face, "Let"s go away from M.J." Some of the players looked at me as if I
  were mad. Then they realized I wasn"t serious and the tension broke.
  As it turned out, it wouldn"t be Michael who took the final shot. He dribbled
  up court and hit Pippen, who passed it back to M.J. But when the Suns" defense
  collapsed on him, he passed the ball back to Scottie, who started driving toward
  the basket. At the last moment Scottie dished off to Horace on the baseline. Then
  Horace, who saw Danny Ainge closing in to foul him, tossed the ball to Paxson,
  who was wide open at the top of the key. And John nailed the three-pointer.
  Talk about a peak experience. Years later, in an interview with author Roland
  Lazenby, Paxson described what was going through his mind. "It was a dream
  come true," he said. "You"re a kid out in your driveway shooting shots to win
  championships. When you get down to it, it"s still just a shot in a basketball
  game. But I think it allowed a lot of people to relate to that experience, because
  there are a lot of kids and adults who lived out their own fantasies in their
  backyards. It made the third of the three championships special. It"s a real nice
  way of defining a three-peat, by making a three-point shot."
  It wasn"t the shot that captivated me, however. It was the pass from Michael
  that led to the pass from Scottie that led to the pass from Horace that led to the
  shot. That sequence of passes would never have happened if we hadn"t spent all
  those months and years not only mastering all of Tex"s drills but also developing
  the kind of group intelligence needed for a team to perform as one. That night
  the triangle was a thing of beauty.
  After the game, the sports pundits began comparing the Bulls with the giants
  of the past. With this victory, we became only the third team in history-along
  with the Minneapolis Lakers and the Boston Celtics-to win three NBA
  championships in a row. It was flattering to be included in the same sentence
  with those hallowed teams. But what they missed was the real story: the inner
  journey the players had gone through to transform the Bulls from a stage 3 ("I"m
  great, you"re not") team into a stage 4 ("We"re great, they"re not") team.
  I"ve always been against packing suitcases before a big game, just in case the
  basketball gods favor our opponent and we have to stay around to play another
  day. So after the win, we returned to our hotel, packed our luggage, and
  celebrated on the plane back to Chicago, where a huge, ecstatic crowd of fans
  was waiting to greet us.
  This season had been a hard ride. The pressure kept building and building
  until it felt like it might never stop. But the players turned to one another for
  strength, and then ended it all with a moment of pure basketball poetry that made
  all the pain and ugliness melt away. That night I awoke suddenly after a few
  hours of sleep, overwhelmed by a feeling of deep satisfaction. Then I drifted
  back and was out for hours.
  -
  Soon the feelings of joy turned to sorrow. In August Michael Jordan"s father was
  murdered on his way home from a funeral in Wilmington, North Carolina.
  Michael was shattered. He was very close to his father, who had retired and
  spent a good deal of time in Chicago as Michael"s chief supporter. The media
  hordes shadowed Michael everywhere after his dad"s death, and it pained him
  that his fame made it difficult for his family to mourn in private. There was a
  time when all Michael had to deal with was a handful of sportswriters, many of
  whom he knew personally. Now he was being stalked by a large, faceless crowd
  of celebrity journalists who had no qualms about invading corners of his
  personal life that had once been off limits.
  For a long time I suspected Michael might want to step away from the game
  -and all the pressures it entailed-and do something else with his life. He"d
  been dropping hints for months that he might be interested in switching to
  professional baseball, and he"d even gone as far as having his trainer, Tim
  Grover, design a baseball-oriented workout program. So it didn"t surprise me
  when Michael met with Jerry Reinsdorf over the summer and told him he
  wanted to leave the Bulls to play for Jerry"s other club: the White Sox. Jerry told
  Michael that before he could give him an answer, he needed to talk it over with
  me.
  I wasn"t interested in trying to talk Michael out of following his dream, but I
  wanted to make sure he"d examined the move from every possible angle. I talked
  to him more as his friend than as his coach, never raising my own personal
  interest in the matter. For starters, I appealed to his sense of a higher calling. I
  said that God had given him a remarkable talent that made millions of people
  happy, and I didn"t think it was right for him to walk away. But he had an answer
  for that. "For some reason, God is telling me to move on, and I must move on,"
  he said. "People have to learn that nothing lasts forever."
  Then we tried to figure out a way that he could compete in the playoffs
  without playing the whole regular season. But he"d already considered
  everything I suggested and rejected the idea. Finally I realized he had made his
  mind up and was serious about leaving the game he had dominated for so long. It
  was very moving.
  "We sat in that room getting all emotional and talking about the steps I
  needed to take," Michael recalls. "And I walked away with the understanding
  that Phil was a great friend. He made me think about a lot of different things, and
  didn"t let me rush into the decision. But at the end of the day he totally
  understood that I needed a break. That I had gotten to a point when I was
  battling a lot of demons rather than focusing on basketball. And walking away
  was what I needed to do at that particular time."
  But as Michael walked out the door, somehow I sensed that this wasn"t going
  to be the end of the story.
  I
  10
  WORLD IN FLUX
  If you live in the river you should make friends with the
  crocodile.
  INDIAN PROVERB (PUNJABI)
  t was supposed to be a night of celebration. Michael Jordan was there with
  his family for the 1993 ring ceremony and home opener at Chicago Stadium.
  This was his first public appearance since he"d announced his retirement on
  October 6, and the fans were eager to express their gratitude. "Deep down in my
  heart," Michael said to the crowd after receiving his third ring, "I will always be
  a Chicago Bulls fan and I"ll support my teammates to the fullest."
  What we needed that night, however, wasn"t just another fan. I"m not sure if
  it was Michael"s presence in the front row or the fact that we were playing the
  Miami Heat, an oft-beaten rival that was looking for vengeance, but we went on
  to play one of the worst games in franchise history. How bad was it? We set team
  records for fewest points scored in a period (6), in a half (25), and in our beloved
  stadium (71). It was so bad the Miami bench trash-talked us shamelessly all
  night without any consequences and the fans started streaming out midway
  through the third period.
  After the 95-71 blowout, Miami"s center, Rony Seikaly, said he was worried
  that Michael was going to "take his suit coat off and be Superman against us
  again." Actually, I"m glad he didn"t. What better way for the players to learn that
  they no longer could count on Michael to bail them out than to lose by such
  historic proportions with the man himself sitting in the front row?
  The sports pundits thought we were on life support now that Michael had
  retired. If we were lucky, they said, we might win thirty games. And the odds in
  Vegas were twenty-five to one against our winning a fourth championship. But I
  was guardedly optimistic. The core of our championship team sans Michael was
  still intact, and I believed the team spirit we"d built over the years could carry us
  into the playoffs. I wrote down what I thought would be a reasonable goal for the
  season: forty-nine wins. But I didn"t feel confident enough yet to share it with
  anyone.
  My biggest concern was figuring out how to replace the 30-plus points
  Michael averaged every game. Because Jordan"s retirement happened so late in
  the year, Jerry Krause didn"t have many options left. So he signed Pete Myers, a
  reliable free-agent guard (and former Bull) who was a solid defender, an
  exceptional passer, and a quick study on the triangle offense. But in his seven
  years in the NBA he had averaged only about 3.8 points per game-not exactly
  Jordanesque numbers. A stronger possibility was Toni Kukoc, whom Jerry had
  finally persuaded to join the Bulls after a long courtship. Kukoc, a six-eleven
  forward billed as "the best player in the world outside of the NBA," was a gifted
  shooter who had averaged 19 points per game in the Italian pro league and had
  led Croatia"s national team to a silver medal in the 1992 Olympics. But Toni had
  yet to be tested in the NBA, and I questioned whether he was tough enough to
  withstand the punishment. Two other additions were guard Steve Kerr and center
  Bill Wennington, both of whom showed promise but had yet to post big
  numbers. Clearly, it was going to take a village to fill the Jordan gap.
  -
  In the preseason I"d invited George Mumford, a sports psychologist and
  meditation teacher, to join us at training camp to give the players a mini
  workshop on coping with the stress of success. But a few days before George
  arrived, Michael announced his retirement, and the team was going through an
  identity crisis. So George talked about the two aspects of every crisis: danger
  and opportunity. If you have the right mind-set, he said, you can make the crisis
  work for you. You have the chance to create a new identity for the team that will
  be even stronger than before. Suddenly, the players perked up.
  George had an interesting background. He"d played basketball at UMass and
  roomed with NBA great Julius Erving and Boston College coach Al Skinner. But
  he had a serious injury that forced him off the team. During recovery he grew
  interested in meditation, and he spent several years studying at the Cambridge
  Insight Meditation Center. He later started exploring new ways to integrate
  meditation, psychology, and organizational development. When I met him, he
  was working with Jon Kabat-Zinn, founder of the Stress Reduction Clinic at the
  University of Massachusetts Medical School and a pioneer in research on the
  effects of mindfulness on pain management and overall health.
  George had a gift for demystifying meditation and was able to explain it in
  language that made sense to the players. He also had an intuitive feel for the
  issues they were grappling with because of his friendship with Dr. J and other
  elite athletes. I"d already introduced mindfulness meditation to most of the
  players, and they knew how much it could help them improve their ability to
  read what was happening on the floor and react more effectively. But George
  wanted to move them to the next level. He believed that mindfulness training
  would help them become both more focused as individuals and more selfless as
  a team.
  The word "mindfulness" has become so diluted in recent years that it"s lost
  much of its original meaning. It comes from the Sanskrit word smriti, which
  means "remember." "Mindfulness is remembering to come back to the present
  moment," writes Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. This is an ongoing process that
  is not limited to the act of meditation itself. "Sitting and watching our breath is a
  wonderful practice, but it is not enough," he adds. "For transformation to take
  place, we have to practice mindfulness all day long, not just on our meditation
  cushion." Why is this important? Because most of us-basketball players
  included-spend so much time bouncing back and forth between thoughts of the
  past and the future that we lose touch with what"s happening right here, right
  now. And that prevents us from appreciating the deep mystery of being alive. As
  Kabat-Zinn writes in Wherever You Go, There You Are, "The habit of ignoring
  our present moments in favor of others yet to come leads directly to a pervasive
  lack of awareness of the web of life in which we are embedded."
  George taught mindfulness as a way of life, what he called "meditation off
  the cushion." That meant being fully present not just on the basketball floor but
  throughout the rest of the day as well. The key, he said, was not just to sit and
  calm your mind but to learn to read and react effectively in any situation based
  on what"s happening at that very moment.
  One of the first things he noticed about the players, particularly the younger
  ones, was that they were trapped in a restrictive mind-set that made it difficult
  for them to adapt to their new reality. "Many of these guys were the main dude
  on their college teams," he says. "But now they were in the NBA and there were
  a lot of players who were faster, quicker and stronger. So they had to figure out a
  new way to compete and be successful. The thing that got them here was not
  going to get them to the next level."
  The example George gives is Jared Dudley, a forward for the Phoenix Suns
  whom he has worked with. At Boston College, Dudley was a high-scoring postup
  player with an aggressive style that won him the nickname "Junkyard Dog."
  But when he got to the pros, he realized he had to take on a different role.
  Working with George, he discovered how to adapt to the situation and grow as a
  player. George remembers: "Jared looked around and said, OK, they need
  somebody to play defense-I"ll do that. They need somebody to hit three"s-I"ll
  do that. He was always thinking: How do I want to play and how do I need to
  change?" The result: Jared flourished in his new role, and averaged 12-plus
  points per game in 2011-12.
  Our goal was to help the players make a similar shift. They each needed to
  find a role for themselves that played to their strengths. At first George focused
  on getting them simply to pay attention and adjust their behavior to the team"s
  goals. But after working with the players for a while, he realized that the first
  step was to help them understand that what they were learning to do on the court
  would also enhance their own individual growth. As George says, they needed to
  see how "in the process of becoming a we, they could also be their best me."
  -
  None of this was accomplished overnight. For most people, the process of
  waking up to the connectedness between oneself and others, as well as to the
  wisdom of the present moment, takes years. But the members of the 1993-94
  team were especially receptive. They wanted to prove to the world that they
  could be more than Michael"s supporting cast and win a championship on their
  own. They weren"t as talented as some of the other teams I"ve coached, but they
  knew intuitively that their best hope was to bond together as seamlessly possible.
  At first it looked as if the home opener might be prophetic. Several players
  were sidelined with injuries-including Scottie, John Paxson, Scott Williams,
  and Bill Cartwright-and by the end of November our record was 6-7. But I was
  beginning to see signs that the team was gelling-including last-minute wins
  against the Lakers and the Bucks. And when Scottie returned, the team erupted,
  winning thirteen of the next fourteen games. At the All-Star break, we were 34-
  13 and on track to win sixty games.
  Scottie was the ideal leader for this team. At the start of the season he took
  over Michael"s extralarge locker to make a statement, but to his credit he didn"t
  try to turn himself into a clone of M.J. "Scottie hasn"t tried to be something he"s
  not," Paxson said at the time. "He hasn"t tried to score 30 a game. He just plays
  the way Scottie Pippen plays, and that"s to distribute the ball. It"s the old
  standard: Great players make other players better. And Scottie has definitely
  done that." To wit: Horace and B.J. made the All-Star team for the first time.
  Toni blossomed into a strong clutch shooter. And Kerr and Wennington turned
  into reliable go-to scorers.
  Coaching Toni was a challenge for me. He was used to playing a more
  freewheeling style of basketball in Europe and was frustrated by the constraints
  of the triangle offense. He couldn"t understand why I gave Scottie so much
  freedom and slapped his wrist whenever he made the same move. I explained
  that Scottie might look like he"s freelancing, but every move he made was
  geared toward making the system work more effectively. When Toni went rogue,
  there was no telling what was going to happen next.
  Toni was especially unpredictable on defense, which drove Scottie and other
  players crazy. To increase his level of mindfulness, I developed a special form of
  sign language to help us communicate with each other during games. If he
  strayed from the system, I"d give him a look, and I expected him to give me a
  sign of acknowledgment. This is the essence of coaching: pointing out mistakes
  to players and having them signify to you that they know they"ve done
  something wrong. If they don"t acknowledge the mistake, the game is lost.
  The Bulls fell into a slump after the All-Star break, and we didn"t push out of
  it until March. But we finished the season with a 17-5 run and a convincing 55-
  27 record. The surge continued through the first round of the playoffs with
  Cleveland, which we swept 3-0. Then we ran into a roadblock in New York,
  losing the first two games of the series.
  Game 3 had the most bizarre finish of any game I"ve coached. But it also
  was a key turning point for the team.
  Patrick Ewing drove across the lane and lofted a hook shot that tied the
  score, 102-102. I called a time-out and designed a play that had Scottie
  inbounding a pass to Kukoc for the final shot. Scottie wasn"t happy with the
  play, and when the huddle broke up, he retreated to the far end of the bench,
  sulking.
  "Are you in or out?" I asked him.
  "I"m out," he replied.
  I was surprised by his answer, but the clock was ticking, so I had Pete Myers
  toss in the pass to Kukoc, who put in a jumper for the win.
  As I walked off court into the locker room, I was puzzled about what to do.
  This was unusual behavior for Scottie. He had never challenged one of my
  decisions before. In fact, I considered him the ultimate team player. I presumed
  that the pressure of not being able to put the game away on the previous
  possession had made him crack. If I came down too heavily on him at that
  moment, I feared, Scottie might sink into a funk that could last for days.
  As I was taking out my contact lenses in the bathroom, I heard Bill
  Cartwright groaning in the shower, gasping for air. "Bill, are you okay?" I asked.
  "I can"t believe what Scottie did," he said.
  A few minutes later I gathered the players in the dressing room and gave Bill
  the floor. "Look, Scottie, that was bullshit," he said, staring at his fellow
  cocaptain. "After all we"ve been through on this team. This is our chance to do it
  on our own, without Michael, and you blow it with your selfishness. I"ve never
  been so disappointed in my whole life."
  He stood there with tears in his eyes and everyone sat in stunned silence.
  After Bill finished talking, I led the team in the Lord"s Prayer and left for the
  press conference. The players stayed behind and talked over the situation.
  Scottie apologized to them for letting the team down, saying he was frustrated by
  the way the game ended. Then others chimed in about how they felt. "I really
  think it cleansed us as a team," said Kerr later. "We got some things out of our
  system and realized what our goals are again. The crazy thing is, it helped us."
  It"s amusing to look back on how the media handled the story. They went
  into high moralizing mode, arguing that I should do everything short of
  incarcerating Scottie. Most coaches would probably have suspended him or
  worse, but I didn"t think being punitive was the best way to handle the situation.
  The next day Scottie assured me that he had put the incident behind him, and
  that was that. And I could tell by the way he moved during practice that this
  wasn"t going to be a big issue for him.
  Some people applauded my clever management strategy. But I wasn"t trying
  to be clever. In the heat of the game, I simply tried to stay in the moment and
  make decisions based on what was actually happening. Rather than asserting my
  ego and inflaming the situation further, I did what needed to be done: find
  someone to throw in the ball and go for the win. Afterward, rather than trying to
  fix things myself, I let the players solve the problem. I acted intuitively, and it
  worked.
  The team came alive in the next game, led by Scottie, who amassed 25
  points, 8 rebounds, and 6 assists, en route to a 95-83 victory that tied the series
  2-2. "All of a sudden there was a lovefest going on," said Johnny Bach after the
  game. "It was in Chicago instead of Woodstock."
  I wish there were a fairy-tale ending to this story, but the plot took another
  bizarre turn. We were leading by one point in the final seconds of game 5 when
  referee Hue Hollins decided to step through the looking glass. Most refs try to
  avoid making calls that decide big games as the clock is running down. But this
  was Madison Square Garden, and the age-old rules of basketball didn"t seem to
  apply. With 7.6 seconds left, John Starks got trapped along the sideline and tossed a
  desperation pass to Hubie Davis at the top of the key. Scottie stormed out to
  cover Davis, and Hubie got off a rushed, off-kilter jumper that didn"t come close
  to the basket. Or at least that"s how it looked on the replay. But that"s not what
  happened in Hollins"s parallel universe. He called a foul on Scottie, saying he
  had made contact with Hubie and disrupted the shot. (Davis had kicked out his
  legs and Scottie collided with them, a move the NBA has since deemed an
  offensive foul.) Needless to say, Hubie hit the two free throws, and the Knicks
  went ahead in the series, 3-2.
  We beat the Knicks decisively in game 6, but the fairy tale ended in game 7.
  After the 87-77 loss, I gathered the players together to pay homage to our
  achievement. This was the first time in years that we"d ended a season without
  being surrounded by TV cameras. We should absorb this moment, I told the
  team, because losing is as much a part of the game as winning-and I really
  meant it. "Today they beat us," I said. "We were not defeated."
  -
  It was a difficult summer. Suddenly, the team started to come apart. Paxson
  retired and became a radio announcer for the team. Cartwright announced his
  retirement but changed his mind after being offered a lucrative deal by the
  Seattle SuperSonics. Scott Williams grabbed a big contract with Philadelphia.
  And Horace Grant, who was eligible for free agency, initially accepted an offer
  from Jerry Reinsdorf to stay with the Bulls but shifted and went to Orlando
  instead.
  I also had to let go of Johnny Bach. Tensions between Jerry Krause and
  Johnny had hit the boiling point and were making it difficult for us to work
  together as a group. Jerry, whose nickname in the media was "the Sleuth"
  because of his reputation for surreptitiousness, was already suspicious of Johnny
  because of his supposed leaks to Sam Smith for The Jordan Rules. Now Jerry
  was claiming that Johnny was responsible for leaking confidential information
  about our interest in seven-seven Romanian center Gheorghe Muresan. This was
  an outrageous accusation. Even though we"d been following Muresan closely in
  Europe and had even brought him in for a secret tryout, there were several other
  teams that had been scouting him, including Washington, which ended up
  drafting him.
  Nevertheless, I thought it would be best for everyone concerned, including
  Johnny, to have him move on, and he landed a spot as an assistant coach for the
  Charlotte Hornets. Johnny"s departure had a dispiriting effect on my staff and the
  players, and it created a crack in my relationship with Krause.
  Another troubling development in the 1993-94 off-season was the conflict
  between Pippen and Krause over the possible trade of Scottie to the Seattle
  SuperSonics for forward Shawn Kemp and swingman Ricky Pierce. Scottie was
  stunned when he heard about the deal from reporters and didn"t believe Krause
  when he told him that he was just listening to trade offers, as he would with any
  player. Seattle"s owner eventually pulled the plug on the deal under pressure
  from the Sonics" fans. But the damage had been done. Scottie felt insulted by the
  way he"d been treated, and it tainted his perception of Jerry from that point on.
  Team morale began to improve in late September when we signed free-agent
  shooting guard Ron Harper and formally announced that we didn"t have any
  plans to trade Pippen. I warned Scottie against getting caught in a media war
  with Krause. "I know you"ve got this feud going on," I said, "but it"s not helping
  you and it"s not helping the team. Frankly, it"s making you look bad. Things are
  going to work out for you, Scottie. You had an MVP-like season last year. Why
  don"t you just let it go?"
  "Yes, I know," he said, with a shrug. "It is what it is." Nevertheless, the flareups
  between Pippen and Krause continued for some time, and as late as January
  1995 Scottie was asking to be traded.
  Still, the acquisition of Harper was promising. He was six feet six, with a
  strong drive and a nice shooting touch and had averaged close to 20 points a
  game during his nine years with the Cavaliers and the Clippers. Ron had had a
  devastating ACL injury in 1990 and had recovered, but he wasn"t the same threat
  we"d faced in the "89 playoffs against Cleveland. Yet we were optimistic that he
  could fill at least part of the Jordan scoring gap. As for the rest of the lineup, I
  was less certain. Our biggest weakness was our two untested newcomers at
  power forward-Corie Blount and Dickey Simpkins.
  As the season got under way, I was troubled by the team"s lack of
  competitive spirit. This was a new problem for us. Michael had such an
  overpowering drive to win that it rubbed off on everybody else. But now that all
  the players on the core championship teams had left, except for Scottie, B.J.
  Armstrong, and Will Perdue, that drive was only a faint memory. Typically, we"d
  build up leads in the first half then succumb to pressure in the fourth quarter
  when the games got more physical. By the All-Star break we were struggling to
  stay above .500 and losing games on the road that in years past would have been
  victories for us.
  Then one morning in early March, Michael Jordan showed up at my office in
  the Berto Center. He"d just left spring training and returned home, after refusing
  the White Sox"s offer to be a replacement player during Major League Baseball"s
  upcoming lockout season. Michael said he was considering a return to basketball
  and wondered if he could come to practice the next day and work out with the
  team. "Well, I think we"ve got a uniform here that might fit you," I replied.
  What followed was the weirdest media circus I"ve ever witnessed. I did
  everything I could to protect Michael"s privacy, but word soon got out that
  Superman was in the house. Within days an army of reporters were gathered
  outside our training facility, waiting to hear when Michael was going to suit up
  again. After more than a year of being fixated on the O.J. Simpson murder case,
  America was yearning for good news about a sports superhero. And the mystery
  surrounding Michael"s comeback gave the story an additional allure. When
  Michael finally decided to return, his agent sent out what may be the pithiest
  press release in history. All it said was, "I"m back."
  Michael"s first game-on March 19, against the Pacers in Indianapolis-was
  a worldwide media event that attracted the largest television audience ever for a
  regular-season game. "The Beatles and Elvis are back," quipped Indiana"s coach,
  Larry Brown, as a phalanx of TV cameras crowded into the locker rooms before
  the game. And during warm-ups, Corie Blount saw a TV crew taking a shot of
  Michael"s Nikes and said, "Now they"re interviewing his shoes."
  Michael"s arrival had an enormous impact on the team. Most of the new
  players were in awe of his basketball skills and competed intensely during
  practice to show him what they could do. Still, there was a vast gulf between
  Michael and his teammates that was difficult for him to bridge. To build the deep
  level of trust that a championship team requires usually takes years of hard work.
  But this team didn"t have that luxury. Michael didn"t know many of the players
  very well, and there wasn"t enough time left in the season to change that.
  At first it didn"t seem to matter. Though Michael had trouble finding his
  shooting rhythm in that first game in Indiana, he erupted in the next game
  against Boston and the team began a 13-3 run. If anyone had doubts about
  Michael"s ability the second time around, he erased them six days later when he
  scored 55 points against the Knicks in Madison Square Garden-the highest
  total for any player that year.
  After the game, however, Michael came to my office and voiced some
  reservations. "You"ve got to tell the players they can"t expect me to do what I did
  in New York every night," he said. "In our next game, I want them to get up and
  get going-to play as a team."
  This was a new Michael. In the past he would have reveled in his triumph
  over the Knicks-and most likely attempted a repeat performance the following
  day. But he"d returned from his baseball sabbatical with a different perspective
  on the game. He wasn"t interested in going solo anymore; he longed for the team
  harmony that had made the Bulls champions.
  He would have to wait. After we pushed past the Charlotte Hornets, 3-1, in
  the first round of the playoffs, we faced Orlando, a young, talented team
  designed to exploit our weaknesses. The Magic had Shaquille O"Neal, one of the
  most dominant centers in the league, and Horace Grant, who matched up well
  against us at power forward. It also featured a deadly trio of three-point shooters
  -Anfernee Hardaway, Nick Anderson, and Dennis Scott. Our strategy was to
  double-team Shaq and force him to beat us at the foul line. We also decided to
  put Michael on Hardaway and have the defenders covering Horace slide off him,
  when necessary, to collapse on Shaq or chase down three-point shooters. This
  approach might have worked if our offense had been more in sync throughout
  the series.
  One of the most startling moments came in game 1 when Michael, who was
  having an off night, got stripped by Anderson with ten seconds left and the Bulls
  up by one. Then after the Magic went ahead, he threw the ball away, ending our
  chance of winning. After the game I put my arm around Michael and tried to
  console him. I told him we"d turn the experience around and use it in a positive
  way to help guide us going forward. "You"re our guy, and don"t ever forget that,"
  I said.
  Michael bounced back in game 2, leading us to victory with a 38-point surge.
  We split the next two games in Chicago, but Horace made us pay for leaving him
  open too often in game 5. He hit 10 of 13 from the field on the way to 24 points,
  to pilot the Magic to a 103-95 win.
  Horace"s performance was a minor blip, though, compared to our
  embarrassing collapse at the end of game 6. It looked like we were in pretty
  good shape when B.J. put us ahead 102-94 with 3:24 left. Then the whole team
  imploded and we went scoreless from that point on. We missed 6 shots in a row
  and turned the ball over twice, while the Magic went on a maddening 14-0
  romp, including a breakaway dunk by Shaq to end the game. The season was
  over.Michael was remarkably calm afterward. He spent half an hour talking to
  reporters about how challenging it was for him to gel with his new teammates. "I
  came back with the dream of winning," he said. "I thought it was realistic. Now
  looking back, maybe it wasn"t, because we lost."
  This was the kind of game that can haunt you for years, if you let it. "Just
  swallow this loss and digest it," I advised the players. "Then get on with your
  lives." Still, I knew it wasn"t going to be easy to let this one go.
  A few days later, however, while I was still struggling to get a handle on
  what had gone wrong, I suddenly came up with a vision of how to turn the
  Chicago Bulls into a champion team again.
  I couldn"t wait to get started.
  I
  11
  BASKETBALL POETRY
  It"s more fun to be a pirate than to join the Navy.
  STEVE JOBS
  "m often asked to reveal the secret of the 1995-96 Bulls, which some
  consider the greatest basketball team ever assembled. How could a team that
  was going nowhere in May transform a few months later into a team that
  couldn"t be beaten?
  The simple answer would be that it was all about the superstars: Michael
  Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and Dennis Rodman. But talent can only get you so far in
  this game. Other teams have been far more loaded than the Bulls but couldn"t
  achieve anything close to this team"s success. Another explanation might be the
  magic of the triangle offense. But even Tex Winter would admit that the triangle
  was only part of the answer.
  In truth, it was a confluence of forces that came together in the fall of 1995
  to transform the Bulls into a new breed of championship team. From a triballeadership
  perspective, the Bulls were moving from being a stage 4 team to a
  stage 5. The first series of championships transformed the Bulls from an "I"m
  great, you"re not" team to a "We"re great, they"re not" team. But for the second
  series, the team adopted a broader "Life is great" point of view. By midseason it
  became clear to me that it wasn"t competition per se that was driving the team; it
  was simply the joy of the game itself. This dance was ours, and the only team
  that could compete against us was ourselves.
  The first breakthrough was a shift in vision. Right after our loss to Orlando
  in the "95 playoffs, it struck me that we needed to reimagine the way we used
  our backcourt. In the midnineties most teams had small guards. It was dogma in
  the NBA that unless you could find another Magic Johnson, the smart strategy
  was to go small in the backcourt to keep pace with the quick, undersized point
  guards who dominated the league at the time. But I"d learned from watching
  Scottie Pippen play point guard that having a six-seven player with an extralong
  wingspan in that position created all kinds of fascinating possibilities.
  What would happen, I wondered, if we had three tall, long-armed guards on
  the court at the same time? Not only would it create confusing mismatches for
  other teams, but it would also improve defense immeasurably because big guards
  could switch off and defend post players without resorting to double-teaming. It
  would also allow us to move away from using full-court pressure all the time,
  which was taking its toll on some of our older players. With big guards, we
  could apply pressure more effectively inside the three-point line.
  In the off-season we had to figure out which players we were going to leave
  unprotected for the expansion draft. It came down to a decision between B.J.
  Armstrong, our current point guard, and Ron Harper, our former starting
  shooting guard who had been displaced when Michael returned to the lineup. I
  hated to give up B.J. He was a solid point guard with a good three-point shot,
  and he played dependable defense. But at six feet two, 175 pounds, he wasn"t big
  enough to switch and defend larger players or trap big centers like Shaquille
  O"Neal. Although Ron had not lived up to expectations as a scorer, he was
  adapting well to the triangle and was a great team defender. Ron was also big for
  a guard-six feet six, 185 pounds, with the strength and athleticism to play
  almost any position. So Jerry Krause and I decided to stick with Ron instead of
  B.J. During our end-of-the-year meeting I told Ron that I had big plans for him
  in 1995-96, but he needed to get in better condition and reinvent himself as
  more of a defensive player than a scoring threat. Moving to a big-guard strategy
  represented a significant philosophical shift for the team. But if it worked, it
  would make us more flexible, more explosive, and impossible to contain.
  -
  The second breakthrough was acquiring Dennis Rodman as our new power
  forward. During the off-season we drew up a list of possible candidates for the
  job, and Rodman"s name was at the bottom. We"d discussed Dennis before, but
  Krause was always cool to the idea, saying Rodman wasn"t "our kind of person."
  After being traded by Detroit to San Antonio in 1993, Dennis had had a difficult
  time adjusting to the Spurs culture, even though he excelled as the league"s
  leading rebounder. He flouted the rules, showing up late for practices, acting out
  on court, and wearing gaudy clothing and jewelry. In fact, San Antonio"s
  management got so fed up with his rebellious antics, it fined him thousands of
  dollars multiple times and benched him during the crucial game 5 of the 1995
  Western Conference finals, which the Spurs ended up losing to the Houston
  Rockets.
  Although I shared some of Jerry"s concerns, I was less troubled by Dennis"s
  eccentricities than I was by his selfish style of play. I"d heard from coaches
  who"d worked with him that he was so fixated on rebounding that he was
  reluctant to help teammates on defense. I also questioned whether he could work
  with Michael and Scottie, who resented him for the brutal way he had
  manhandled the Bulls when he was with the Pistons. But scout Jim Stack
  thought we might lose Rodman if we didn"t act quickly, so Jerry decided to give
  him a serious look.
  Two weeks later Jerry invited me to his house to meet Rodman and his agent,
  Dwight Manley. When I arrived, Dennis was lounging on the couch in
  sunglasses and a "poor boy" hat. He remained mute during the whole
  conversation, so I asked to speak to him privately on the patio. But all he wanted
  to talk about was how much he was going to get paid. I told him that the Bulls
  paid for production, not promise, and if he played up to his potential we would
  take care of him.
  The next day I met with Dennis again, in the tribal room at the Berto Center.
  This time Dennis was more open. I asked him what had gone wrong in San
  Antonio. He said it had started when he invited Madonna, whom he was dating
  at the time, to visit the locker room after a game. The media feeding frenzy that
  ensued had ticked off the guys in the front office.
  I expressed my concern over his reputation for selfishness. He said that his
  real problem in San Antonio was that he was sick of helping out center David
  Robinson, who, he said, was intimidated by Houston"s Hakeem Olajuwon. "Half
  the Spurs players had their balls locked up in the freezer every time they left the
  house," he added sarcastically.
  I laughed. "So do you think you can master the triangle?" I asked.
  "Oh yeah, that"s no problem for me," he said. "The triangle"s about finding
  Michael Jordan and getting him the ball."
  "That"s a good start," I replied. Then we got serious. "If you think you"re up
  for this job," I said, "I"m going to sign off on this deal. But we can"t screw it up.
  We"re in position to win a championship, and we really want to get back there."
  "Okay."
  After that, Dennis took a look at the Native American artifacts in the room
  and showed me the necklace he"d been given by a Ponca from Oklahoma. Then
  we sat silently together for quite a while. Dennis was a man of few words, but
  sitting with him, I felt reassured that he would come through for us. We
  connected on a nonverbal level that afternoon. A bond of the heart.
  The next day Jerry and I had a follow-up meeting with Dennis to go over the
  team"s rules about attendance, punctuality, and other issues. It was a short list.
  After I finished reading it, Dennis said, "You won"t have any problem with me,
  and you"ll be getting an NBA championship."
  I checked with Michael and Scottie later that day to see if they had any
  reservations about playing with Rodman, and they said no. So Jerry went ahead
  and sealed the deal, trading Will Perdue to the Spurs for Rodman. And I braced
  myself for the ride of my life.
  Before Dennis arrived at training camp, I had a long discussion with the
  players. I warned them that he was probably going to ignore some of the rules
  because it was hard for him to abide by certain guidelines. I would probably
  have to make some exceptions for him at times, I said. "You"re going to have to
  be grown up about this," I added. And they were.
  Most of the players developed a fondness for Dennis right away. They soon
  realized that all his wild offstage theatrics-the nose rings, the tattoos, the latenight
  parties in gay bars-were all part of an act he"d created, with the help of
  Madonna, to get attention. Underneath, he was just a quiet boy from Dallas with
  a generous heart who worked hard, played hard, and would do anything to win.
  Somewhere in the middle of training camp, I realized that Dennis was going
  to bring a new dimension to our team that I hadn"t anticipated. Not only was he a
  magician on the boards, but he was also a smart, mesmerizing defender who
  could guard anyone, even Shaq, who had six inches and close to a hundred
  pounds on him. With Dennis in the lineup, we could run fast breaks and also
  settle back and play a tough half-court game. Most of all, I just liked watching
  him play. He was so uninhibited and joyful when he stepped on the floor, like a
  boy discovering how to fly. On some level, I told the other coaches, he reminded
  me of me.
  The shadow side of Dennis was more of a challenge. Sometimes he was like
  a pressure cooker about to explode. He went through periods of high anxiety that
  lasted forty-eight hours or more, and the pressure would build inside of him until
  he had to release it. During those times, his agent would often ask me to give
  Dennis the weekend off, if we didn"t have any games, and they would go to
  Vegas and party for a couple days. Dennis would be a wreck by the end of it, but
  then he"d come back and work out until he got his life back together.
  That year I stopped pacing along the sidelines during games because I
  noticed that whenever I got agitated, Dennis would become hyperactive. And if I
  argued with a ref, it would only give him license to do the same. So I decided to
  become as quiet and restrained as possible. I didn"t want to set Dennis off,
  because once he got agitated, there was no telling what he might do.
  -
  The third breakthrough was Michael"s new approach to leadership. During the
  first run of championships, Michael had led primarily by example, but after the
  loss to Orlando he realized he needed to do something dramatically different to
  motivate this team. Simply glaring at his teammates and expecting them to be
  just like him wasn"t going to cut it anymore.
  Michael was at a tipping point. He had been stung by press commentary
  during the Orlando series contending that he had lost his edge and wasn"t the
  same Michael Jordan anymore. So he returned to the gym that summer
  determined to get his body back in basketball shape. He even had a basketball
  court set up in the studio in L.A. where he was filming Space Jam so he could
  practice between takes and work on a new fadeaway jumper that would
  eventually become his trademark shot. By the time he arrived at training camp in
  October, he had the hard look of vengeance in his eyes.
  A week into camp I was scheduled to do a phone conference with the media
  at a time that conflicted with our morning practice. When my assistant came
  down to the court to tell me it was time to get on the phone, I instructed the other
  coaches to postpone the scrimmage and give the players some shooting drills
  until I returned. The call was only fifteen minutes long, but before I was off the
  phone our equipment manager, Johnny Ligmanowski, was at my door saying,
  "You"d better come. M.J. just punched Steve and he"s in the locker room getting
  ready to leave practice." Apparently, Kerr and Jordan had gotten into a bit of a
  scuffle that escalated back and forth until Michael popped Steve in the face and
  gave him a black eye.
  When I got to the locker room, M.J. was about to step into the shower. He
  said, "I"ve got to go." And I told him, "You"d better call Steve and get it straight
  before tomorrow."
  This was a major wake-up call for Michael. He had just gotten into a fight
  with the smallest guy on the team over nothing. What was going on? "It made
  me look at myself, and say, "you know what? You"re really being an idiot about
  this whole process,"" Jordan recalls. "I knew I had to be more respectful of my
  teammates. And I had to be more respectful of what was happening to me in
  terms of trying to get back into the game. I had to get more internal."
  I encouraged Michael to start working more closely with George Mumford.
  George understood what Michael was going through because he had seen his
  friend Julius Erving experience similar pressures after he turned into a superstar.
  It was difficult for Michael to develop close relationships with his teammates
  because, as George puts it, he was "a prisoner in his own room." He couldn"t go
  out with them in public and just hang out, as Scottie often did. Many of the new
  players were still in awe of him, and that too created a distance that was hard to
  bridge.
  Michael was impressed with the mindfulness training George had been doing
  with the team because it helped bring the players closer to his level of mental
  awareness. In George"s view, Michael needed to shift his perspective on
  leadership. "It"s all about being present and taking responsibility for how you
  relate to yourself and others," says George. "And that means being willing to
  adjust so that you can meet people where they are. Instead of expecting them to
  be somewhere else and getting angry and trying to will them to that place, you
  try to meet them where they are and lead them where you want them to go."
  While Michael had been away playing baseball, George and I had made
  changes in the team"s learning environment to enhance the players" ability to
  grow mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. If Michael was going to gel with this
  team and be its floor leader, he would have to get to know his teammates more
  intimately and relate to them more compassionately. He would need to
  understand that each player was different and had something important to offer
  the team. It was his job, as leader, to figure out how to get the best out of each
  one of them. As George puts it, Michael had to "take his ability to see things on
  the basketball court and use that to improve the way he related to others."
  Michael was open to the challenge, because he too had changed during his
  time away. He was still a fierce competitor, but he had also mellowed in certain
  ways. He was less judgmental of others and more conscious of his own
  limitations. Playing minor-league baseball, where he spent long hours passing
  the time with his teammates, Michael had rediscovered the joy of bonding with
  other men, and more than anything he wanted to have that experience again with
  the Bulls.
  Working with Mumford, Michael adopted a new way of leading based on
  what worked best with each player. With some players, he decided, he would get
  physical, either by demonstrating what needed to be done with his body or, in
  Scottie"s case, simply by being present. "Scottie was one of those guys for whom
  I had to be there every single day," says Michael. "If I took a day off, he would
  take a day off. But if I was there every single day, he would follow." With other
  players-Dennis in particular-Michael would go emotional. "You couldn"t yell
  at Dennis," he says. "You had to find a way to get into his world for a few quick
  seconds so that he could understand what you were saying." With still others
  Michael would communicate primarily on a verbal level. Example: Scott
  Burrell, a forward on the 1997-98 Bulls. "I could yell at him and he would get
  it," says Michael, "but it didn"t hurt his confidence at all."
  One person he didn"t have to worry about was Kerr. The fight had forged a
  strong bond between the two players. "From that day forward Michael looked at
  me differently," Steve says. "He never picked on me again. He didn"t trash talk
  with me anymore. And he started trusting me on the court too." Adds Michael,
  "I have the most respect for Steve because, one, he was thrown into a situation
  where he really had no chance of winning. And, two, he stood up. When I started
  fouling him, he came back at me. Which got me angry. But that"s where the
  mutual respect comes from."
  From Michael"s perspective, the second run of championships was harder
  than the first because of the personalities involved. Most of the players on the
  first championship teams had been together for several years and, together, had
  fought many battles. As M.J. says, "We"d go up the hill and get knocked down,
  knocked down, and knocked down, until we climbed over it as a group." But
  during the second run, most of the players didn"t know one another very well,
  yet everybody expected the team to win right out of the gate. "I think we needed
  Phil more for the second run than the first," says Michael now. "In the first run,
  the egos hadn"t set in yet. But in the second run, we had a lot of different
  personalities to mesh together and the egos were really strong. And Phil had to
  bring us together as a brotherhood."
  -
  All the pieces fell together beautifully. We didn"t have a dominant big man like
  the sixties Celtics and other great teams from the past, but these Bulls had a
  remarkable sense of unity, on both offense and defense, and a powerful
  collective spirit.
  Everything we did was designed to reinforce that unity. I had always insisted
  on structured practices with a clear agenda that the players would receive ahead
  of time. But we also started organizing other aspects of the team process to
  create a sense of order. In general, I used discipline not as a weapon but as a way
  to instill harmony into the players" lives. This was something I"d learned from
  years of mindfulness practice.
  That season we asked the players to arrive at the training facility at ten every
  morning to do forty-five minutes of strength training and warm-ups. Michael
  preferred to work out earlier at home with his private trainer, Tim Grover, and
  that year he invited Scottie and Harper to take part in the program, which they
  dubbed "the Breakfast Club." By ten they, too, would show up to warm up for
  practice, which started at eleven. We"d focus on refining our triangle skills, as
  well as our defensive goals for the upcoming game or week. Then we"d move
  into an offensive segment, including a full-court scrimmage. I"d often put Pip or
  M.J. with the second unit and see what influence their presence would bring to
  the practice. Afterward, the guys would hang around and work on their shots,
  and our trainer, Chip Schaefer, would get them recharged with fresh blended
  fruit drinks. If we were headed for a road trip, we might go upstairs to our team
  room and have a short video session.
  At first Dennis tried to skirt the rules, as if he were playing a game. One rule
  was that players had to show up for practice on time with their shoelaces tied
  and all their jewelry put away. Dennis would often appear with one shoe untied
  or a piece of jewelry hidden somewhere. Sometimes I"d give him a silly fine or
  make a joke about his appearance, and other times we"d just ignore him. I told
  him that it wasn"t me he had to worry about if he came late to practice; it was his
  teammates. Once he realized that none of us were really interested in his little
  rebellions, the problem went away.
  One thing I loved about this team was that everyone had a clear idea about
  their roles and performed them well. Nobody groused about not getting enough
  playing time or enough shots or enough notoriety.
  Jordan focused on being consistent and stepping up, when needed, to deliver
  a decisive blow. In early December, after scoring 37 points against the Clippers,
  he announced to reporters that he felt "pretty much all the way back now as a
  player." He joked about being compared to his former self all the time.
  "According to some people," he said, "I"m even failing to live up to Michael
  Jordan. But I have the best chance of being him because I am him."
  Scottie felt liberated not having to live up to the Jordan legacy anymore and
  gave an MVP-level performance in his new role as chief orchestrator of the
  action, which felt much more natural to him. Harper also adapted extremely well
  to his job as multipurpose guard and defensive bulldog. Meanwhile, Dennis
  exceeded all expectations. Not only did he master the system in a short period of
  time, but he also blended perfectly with Michael, Scottie, and Harper on defense.
  "We basically had four attack dogs in the starting lineup," says Kerr, "and they
  could all guard four or five positions on the floor. It was incredible."
  Dennis played the game with such wild enthusiasm that he soon became a
  fan favorite. People loved to watch him hustle for loose balls and pull down
  rebounds to ignite fast breaks. Early in the season Dennis started dyeing his hair
  different colors and tearing off his jersey after games and tossing it to the crowd.
  The fans loved it. "All of a sudden," he said, "I"m like the biggest thing since
  Michael Jordan."
  The fifth starter was Luc Longley, a seven-two, 265-pound center from
  Australia who wasn"t as mobile and explosive as Shaq but was big enough to
  plug up the middle and force other centers off their games. His backup was Bill
  Wennington, who had a good short-range jumper that he often used to lure his
  man away from the basket. Later in the season, we also added two other big men
  to the lineup, James Edwards and John Salley, both of whom, like Dennis, were
  former Detroit Bad Boys.
  At first Toni Kukoc balked when I made him the team"s sixth man, but I
  persuaded him that it was the most effective role for him. As a starter he often
  had trouble playing forty minutes without getting worn down. But as sixth man
  he could come in and give the team a scoring boost, which he did in several key
  games. He could also use his exceptional passing skills to reenergize the team
  when Scottie wasn"t on the floor. Meanwhile Steve Kerr played a key role as a
  long-range scoring threat; guard Randy Brown was a high-energy defensive
  specialist; and Jud Buechler was a talented swingman. In addition, we had two
  backup power forwards, Dickey Simpkins and rookie Jason Caffey.
  We had absolutely everything in place that we needed to fulfill our destiny-
  talent, leadership, attitude, and unity of purpose.
  -
  When I look back on the 1995-96 season, I"m reminded of another parable that
  John Paxson discovered about the emperor Liu Bang, the first leader to
  consolidate China into a unified empire. In W. Chan Kim and Renée A.
  Mauborgne"s version of the story, Liu Bang held a lavish banquet to celebrate his
  great victory and invited master Chen Cen, who had advised him during the
  campaign. Chen Cen brought as guests three of his disciples, who were
  perplexed by an enigma at the heart of the celebration.
  When the master asked them to elaborate, they said that the emperor was
  sitting at the central table with his three heads of staff: Xiao He, who masterfully
  administered logistics; Han Xin, who led a brilliant military operation, winning
  every battle he fought; and Chang Yang, who was so gifted at diplomacy that he
  could get heads of state to surrender before the fighting began. What the
  disciples had a hard time understanding was the man at the head of the table, the
  emperor himself. "Liu Bang cannot claim noble birth," they said, "and his
  knowledge of logistics, fighting, and diplomacy does not equal that of his heads
  of staff. How is it then that he is emperor?"
  The master smiled and asked them "What determines the strength of a
  chariot"s wheel?"
  "Is it not the sturdiness of the spokes?" they replied.
  "Then why is it that two wheels made of identical spokes differ in strength?"
  asked the master. "See beyond what is seen. Never forget that a wheel is made
  not only of spokes, but also of the space between the spokes. Sturdy spokes
  poorly placed make a weak wheel. Whether their full potential is realized
  depends on the harmony between them. The essence of wheel-making lies in the
  craftman"s ability to conceive and create the space that holds and balances the
  spokes within the wheel. Think now, who is the craftsman here?"
  After a long silence, one of the disciples asked, "But master, how does a
  craftsman secure the harmony among the spokes?"
  "Think of sunlight," replied the master. "The sun nurtures and vitalizes the
  trees and flowers. It does so by giving away its light. But in the end, in which
  direction do they grow? So it is with a master craftsman like Liu Bang. After
  placing individuals in positions that fully realize their potential, he secures
  harmony among them by giving them all credit for their distinctive
  achievements. And in the end, as the trees and flowers grow toward the sun,
  individuals grow toward Liu Bang with devotion."
  Liu Bang would have made a good basketball coach. The way he organized
  his campaign was not unlike the way we brought the Bulls into harmony for the
  next three seasons.
  -
  The start of the 1995-96 season reminded me of Joshua fighting the battle of
  Jericho. The walls just kept tumbling down. Every time we moved to a new city,
  it seemed, something would go wrong with the other team. A star player would
  be injured or a key defender would foul out at just the right moment or the ball
  would bounce in the right way at just the right time. But it wasn"t all luck. Many
  of our opponents didn"t know how to deal with our three big guards, and our
  defense was remarkably skilled at breaking down offenses in the second and
  third periods. By the end of January, we were 39-3, and the players started to talk
  about breaking the record of sixty-nine wins held by the 1971-72 Lakers.
  I was worried that they might get drunk on winning and run out of steam
  before we reached the playoffs. I considered slowing down the pace, but nothing
  seemed to stop this juggernaut. Not even injuries. Rodman injured his calf early
  in the season and was out for twelve games. During that time we were 10-2.
  Then in March Scottie missed five games with an injury, while Dennis reverted
  to his old ways and got suspended for six games for head-butting a ref and
  defaming the commissioner and head of officials. Still, we lost only one game
  during that period.
  As we approached the seventy-game mark, the media hype was out of
  control. ABC News reporter Chris Wallace dubbed the team "the Beatles of
  basketball" and designated Michael, Scottie, Dennis, and me as the new Fab
  Four. The day of the big game-against the Bucks-TV helicopters shadowed
  our team bus all the way to Milwaukee, with crowds massed at the overpasses on
  the interstate holding up signs of support. When we arrived at the Bucks"
  stadium, a crush of fans was gathered outside hoping to get a peek at Rodman"s
  hair.
  Naturally, we had to make the game dramatic. We were so wound up by the
  time the game started that we fell apart in the second quarter, hitting only 5 of 21
  from the field for 12 points. But then we slowly clawed our way back in the
  second half and won in the final seconds, 86-80.
  The main emotion we felt was relief. "It was a very ugly game, but
  sometimes ugly is beautiful," said Michael. But his mind was already on the
  future. "We didn"t start out the season to win 70 games,"" he added. "We started
  out the season to win the championship and that"s still our motivation."
  We finished the season with two more wins, and Harper came up with a new
  Gershwinesque team slogan, "72 and 10 don"t mean a thing without the ring." To
  inspire the players, I adapted a quote from Walt Whitman and taped it on their
  lockers before the first game of the playoffs, against the Miami Heat.
  "Henceforth we seek not good fortune, we are ourselves good fortune."
  Everyone expected us to dance our way to the championship, and those are
  always the hardest kinds of games to win. I wanted the players to know that
  despite our remarkable season, the rest of the way wasn"t going to be easy. They
  would have to make their own luck.
  And they did. We swept Miami and rolled over New York in five games.
  Next up was Orlando. To prep the players for the series, I spliced a few clips
  from Pulp Fiction into the game tapes. The players" favorite scene showed a
  seasoned criminal, played by Harvey Keitel, instructing two hit men (Samuel L.
  Jackson and John Travolta) on how to clean up a particularly gruesome murder
  scene. Midway through the proceedings he quips, "Let"s not start sucking each
  other"s dicks quite yet."
  Ever since we were humiliated by the Magic in the 1995 playoffs, we had set
  our sights on a rematch. In fact, we had rebuilt the team primarily with Orlando
  in mind. But the first game was anticlimactic. Our defense was just too
  overpowering. Dennis held Horace Grant to no points and 1 rebound in the first
  part of the game. Then Horace hyperextended his elbow in a collision with Shaq
  and was out for the rest of the series. We also shut down two other players who
  had hurt us badly the year before: Dennis Scott (0 points) and Nick Anderson
  (2). We ended up winning 121-83.
  The Magic rebounded in game 2, but we broke their spirit when we erased an
  18-point deficit in the third period and went on to win. They were also crippled
  by injuries to Anderson (wrist), Brian Shaw (neck), and Jon Koncak (knee). The
  only Magic players who posed any kind of scoring threat were Shaquille O"Neal
  and Penny Hardaway, but that wasn"t enough. The series ended, appropriately,
  with a 45-point scoring blitz by Michael in game 4 on the way to four-game
  sweep.
  The odds against our next rival, the Seattle SuperSonics, winning the
  championship finals were nine to one. But they were a young, talented team that
  had won sixty-four games that season and could give us trouble with their outof-
  the-box pressure defense. The key was to stop their stars, point guard Gary
  Payton and power forward Shawn Kemp, from building up momentum and
  outrunning us. I decided to put Longley on Kemp to capitalize on Luc"s size and
  strength, and I gave Harper the assignment of covering Payton.
  At first it looked as if the series might be over early. We won the first two
  games in Chicago, buoyed by our defense and Rodman"s 20 rebounds in game 2,
  during which he also tied an NBA finals record with 11 offensive boards. But
  Harper reinjured his knee that night and had to sit out most of the next three
  games. Luckily, the Sonics made a tactical error after game 2, flying back to
  Seattle Friday night after the game rather than waiting, as we did, until Saturday
  morning to take a more leisurely flight. The Sonics still looked bleary-eyed on
  Sunday afternoon, and we were able to put them away 108-86.
  At that point the debate over whether the Bulls were the greatest team ever
  became pretty intense. I ignored most of the chatter, but I was pleased when
  former Portland Trail Blazers coach Jack Ramsay said the Bulls had the kind of
  defense that "defies a period of time." In my view, the team the Bulls most
  closely resembled was the 1972-73 New York Knicks. Like the Bulls, that
  Knicks team was made up largely of newcomers. The players were very
  professional and liked playing together, but they didn"t spend a lot of time
  together off the court. I told the Bulls early in the year that as long as they kept
  their professional lives together, it didn"t matter to me what they did with the rest
  of their time. These players weren"t that close, but they weren"t that distant
  either. Most important, they had a deep respect for one another.
  Unfortunately the basketball gods weren"t cooperating. With Harper injured,
  it was harder for us to contain the Sonics" attack, and we lost the next two
  games. Still leading the series, 3-2, we returned to Chicago determined to close
  out the finals in game 6. The game was scheduled for Father"s Day, which was
  an emotional time for Michael, and his offensive game suffered as a result. But
  our defense was insurmountable. Harper returned for the game and closed down
  Payton, and Michael did a brilliant job of holding Hersey Hawkins to a mere 4
  points. The player who stole the game, however, was Dennis, with 19 rebounds
  and a lot of key put-backs on missed shots. At one point late in the fourth
  quarter, Dennis fed Michael for a backdoor cut that put the Bulls up 64-47 with
  6:40 left. After the shot, Michael observed Dennis skipping downcourt, and they
  both erupted with laughter.
  When the buzzer sounded, Michael gave Scottie and me a quick hug, darted
  to center court to grab the ball, then retreated to the locker room to get away
  from the TV cameras. When I got there, he was curled up on the floor hugging
  the ball to his chest, tears streaming down his face.
  Michael dedicated the game to his father. "This is probably the hardest time
  for me to play the game of basketball," he said. "I had a lot of things on my
  heart, on my mind. . . . And maybe my heart wasn"t geared to where it was. But I
  think deep down inside, it was geared to what was most important to me, which
  was my family and my father not being here to see this. I"m just happy that the
  team kind of pulled me through it because it was a tough time for me."
  That was a poignant moment. But when I look back on that season, it"s not
  the finale that stands out in my mind. It"s a game we lost to the Nuggets in
  February that ended our eighteen-game winning streak. They call that kind of
  game a "bookie"s dream" because we had flown to Denver from L.A. the day
  before and hadn"t had time to adjust to the altitude change.
  The Nuggets were a sub-.500 team, but they shot 68 percent in the first
  quarter and built up a surprising 31-point lead. Many teams would have rolled
  over at that point, but we refused to surrender. We did everything: We went big,
  we went small, we moved the ball, we shot threes, we sped up the tempo, we
  slowed it down, and midway through the fourth quarter we went ahead on a
  pirouetting breakaway dunk by Scottie Pippen. Michael led the comeback,
  scoring 22 points in the third quarter, but this wasn"t a one-man show. It was an
  inspiring act of perseverance by everyone on the team. And even though we lost
  in the closing seconds, 105-99, the players walked away feeling they had
  learned something important about themselves. They learned that, no matter how
  dire the situation, they would find the courage somehow to battle to the very end.
  That night the Bulls found their heart.
  Z
  12
  AS THE WORM TURNS
  To dare is to lose one"s footing momentarily. Not to dare is to
  lose oneself.
  SØREN KIERKEGAARD
  en teacher Lewis Richmond tells the story of hearing Shunryu Suzuki
  sum up Buddhism in two words. Suzuki had just finished giving a talk
  to a group of Zen students when someone in the audience said, "You"ve
  been talking about Buddhism for nearly an hour, and I haven"t been able to
  understand a thing you said. Could you say one thing about Buddhism I can
  understand?"
  After the laughter died down, Suzuki replied calmly, "Everything changes."
  Those words, Suzuki said, contain the basic truth of existence: Everything is
  always in flux. Until you accept this, you won"t be able to find true equanimity.
  But to do that means accepting life as it is, not just what you consider the "good
  parts." "That things change is the reason why you suffer in this world and
  become discouraged," Suzuki-roshi writes in Not Always So: Practicing the True
  Spirit of Zen. "[But] when you change your understanding and your way of
  living, then you can completely enjoy your new life in each moment. The
  evanescence of things is the reason you enjoy your life."
  Nowhere is this truer than in the game of basketball. Part of me longed for
  the great ride we had in 1995-96 never to end, but even before the next season
  started, I could sense change in the air. Little did I know that the next two
  seasons would provide me with some tough lessons on dealing with
  impermanence.
  The summer of "96 was a period of great upheaval in the NBA-the sports
  equivalent of musical chairs. Close to two hundred players switched teams as a
  result of a free-agency boom that year. Fortunately, Jerry Reinsdorf opted to
  keep the Bulls roster virtually intact so that we could make another run for a
  championship. The only players we lost were center James Edwards, who was
  replaced by Robert Parish, and journeyman Jack Haley, a friend of Rodman"s
  from the Spurs whose primary job was being Dennis"s minder.
  The price tag for keeping the team together wasn"t cheap: The Bulls payroll
  that year was $58 million plus, the highest ever in the NBA. The biggest line
  item, of course, was Michael Jordan"s salary of $30 million. In 1988 Michael
  had signed an eight-year, $25 million deal with the Bulls that seemed like a big
  paycheck at the time but had long since been surpassed by several lower-level
  stars. Jordan"s agent had proposed a two-year, $50 million deal to Reinsdorf, but
  Jerry opted for a one-year deal instead and soon regretted it. The next year he
  would have to up Jordan"s salary to $33 million. Reinsdorf also worked out oneyear
  deals with me and Dennis Rodman.
  One of the biggest changes I noticed was a shift in Dennis"s level of interest
  in the game. During his first year with us he was driven to prove-to himself and
  others-that he could still play great basketball without losing control of his
  emotions. But now he seemed bored with the game and drawn to other
  amusements. In my amateur opinion, Dennis was suffering from attentiondeficit/
  hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, a condition that limited his ability to
  concentrate and caused him to get frustrated and act out in unpredictable ways.
  That"s why he was so enchanted with Las Vegas, haven of endless distractions.
  Now that Dennis had become a national star, the media world was offering
  him all sorts of opportunities that threatened to divert his attention away from
  the game even further. In addition to endorsement deals and club appearances, he
  was costarring in the movie Double Team with Jean-Claude Van Damme and
  hosting a reality show on MTV called The Rodman World Tour. The event that
  garnered the most publicity, though, was the book tour for his best seller Bad as
  I Wanna Be, for which he appeared in a wedding dress and announced that he
  was marrying himself.
  Another change that would eventually have a significant impact was the
  advancing age of our lineup. Rodman was thirty-five; Michael would be turning
  thirty-four in February 1997; and Scottie and Harper were in their early thirties.
  In general, the team was in excellent condition and played much younger than its
  years, but injuries were beginning to slow us down. Both Luc and Harp were
  recovering from off-season surgeries. And Scottie, who had played for Dream
  Team III in Atlanta during the 1996 summer off-season, was suffering from a
  sore ankle. I couldn"t think of any top guards who"d done well in the NBA after
  age thirty-four. When would time run out for Michael Jordan?
  Still, I was grateful that we hadn"t been decimated by free agency like so
  many other teams. We could build on what we"d already achieved and deepen
  our relationships with one another. I told the team that this might be our last run
  together, so we should make it something special. Michael had a similar point of
  view. When reporters asked him what he thought the impact of all the one-year
  contracts might be, he sounded like a Zen monk: "I think what we"re showing is
  that we"re going to play for the moment. . . . We"re going to come out here and
  play each and every game like it"s our last."
  -
  It certainly looked that way in the opening weeks. We had our best start ever: 12-
  0, including a 32-point blowout against the Miami Heat. But Dennis seemed
  detached, even bored in some of the games. And soon he started acting out,
  challenging refs and making inflammatory remarks about them to the media. In
  December we suspended him for two days for his offensive comments about
  NBA commissioner David Stern and other league officials. Dennis"s erratic
  behavior and his disappointing performance were especially troubling because
  we were already missing center Luc Longley, who had injured his shoulder while
  bodysurfing in California. We"d arrived in L.A. on a Saturday for a Sunday-night
  special at the Forum. Sunday afternoon I got a call from Luc: "Coach, I screwed
  up. A rogue wave caught me while bodysurfing and I separated my left shoulder.
  Sorry, mate." I gave him a pass and told him to get the medical attention he
  needed. We"d cover for him while he mended.
  Things went from troublesome to worse. During a game in Minneapolis in
  January, Dennis was struggling for a rebound with the Timberwolves" Kevin
  Garnett when he collided with a courtside photographer and ended up kicking
  him in the groin. The NBA suspended him for eleven games, which cost him
  more than $1 million in lost income and fines. By the time he returned, Michael
  and Scottie had lost patience with him. "All I know is that Dennis doesn"t give a
  damn about most things," said Scottie. "I"m not sure he"s capable of learning any
  lessons from his suspensions. I don"t expect him ever to change because if he
  did, he wouldn"t be the Worm, the personality he has invented for himself."
  The Bulls went 9-2 with Rodman out, and the players were adjusting to the
  idea of going for the championship without him. "We can be better with Dennis,
  we know that," Michael said. "But we can survive without Dennis, we know
  that, too. Our will to win is just as great without Dennis." When asked what
  advice he"d give Rodman on his return, Michael said, "I"d tell him to wear pants
  all the time."
  Most of the players liked Dennis because he was our court jester. In Native
  American culture he would be known as a heyoka, which means "backwardwalking
  man." Heyokas-also called tricksters-not only walked backward but
  also rode backward, wore women"s clothes, and made people laugh. Dennis had
  a way of making everybody lighten up when things were tense. How could you
  get down on yourself when there"s this crazy guy on the team who had dyed his
  hair with a big yellow happy face?
  But Dennis also had a dark side. Once when he didn"t show up for practice, I
  went to his house to see how he was doing. When I arrived, he was splayed out
  on his bed-nothing but a mattress on the floor-in a daze, watching videos.
  He"d gone on a bender the night before and was almost incoherent. I decided I
  needed to stay in much closer touch with him than I"d done in the past,
  especially since we"d let go of Jack Haley, who used to keep tabs on him
  between games. I suggested to Dennis that he start working with the team"s
  psychologist, and he agreed to give it a try. But he refused to go to the man"s
  office, so they held their first session in a shopping mall.
  Other coaches had treated Dennis as if he were a child and tried to force him
  to submit to their will with rigid discipline. But that tactic had failed miserably.
  My approach was to relate to him as an adult and hold him accountable for his
  actions the same way I did everyone else on the team. He seemed to appreciate
  this. Once he told reporters that what he liked about me was that I treated him
  "like a man."
  Shortly after Dennis returned from his third suspension of the season, Steve
  Kerr and Jud Buechler came to me and asked if the players could welcome
  Dennis back into the group with a special trip. Their idea was to borrow a bus
  the day after our game in Philadelphia on March 12 and return for a light
  practice the next day before our game that night with the New Jersey Nets. I
  agreed because I thought it would help weave Rodman back into the team faster
  -not to mention the fact that the Nets had the worst record in the league.
  So the next day Dennis and his band of happy warriors set off in a bus they"d
  rented, which was plastered with promo photos for Howard Stern"s movie
  Private Parts. The next morning I was eating breakfast with the coaching staff at
  the Four Seasons in Philly when the bus rolled up right in front of us and
  unloaded the players who were laughing, messing around, generally having a
  good time. I was thinking, This is going to be the worst practice we"ve ever had.
  I was right. The players were so out of it they could barely stand up, so I called
  off practice after forty minutes and told them to rest up for the game, which we
  lost, 99-98. But in the end it was worth it. Making Dennis feel as if he were part
  of the team again was more important than another W in the record books.
  After Dennis and Luc returned to the lineup, the Bulls roared back. Scottie
  was in his prime, orchestrating the action so well that Michael later dubbed him
  "my MVP." Michael was more relaxed and settling into a less energy-draining
  style of play, with more medium-range jumpers and less one-on-one aerial
  theatrics. But most of all the players had the look of champions. No matter what
  calamities befell them, they felt confident that they would find a way to deal
  with them together. There"s a Zen saying I often cite that goes, "Before
  enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry
  water." The point: Stay focused on the task at hand rather than dwelling on the
  past or worrying about the future. This team was getting very good at doing that.
  -
  Unfortunately, the Rodman reprieve didn"t last long. In late March he sprained
  his left knee and was sidelined until the end of the regular season. The team was
  headed for a big road trip to the East Coast at the time, and I was worried that if
  Dennis was left to do rehab on his own in Chicago, he might backslide again. So
  we devised a plan for him to stay at his agent"s house in Southern California and
  finish rehab there.
  It seemed like a reasonable idea. We assigned Wally Blase, a young assistant
  trainer, to escort Dennis to his agent"s house in Orange County and make sure he
  did his exercises every day. Before they took off, I called them both into my
  office and instructed them to go directly to California without any side trips.
  Then I gave Wally an eagle feather to seal the deal and told Dennis jokingly,
  "Take care of Wally and make sure he wears a condom."
  "All right, bro," Dennis replied.
  This was pre-9/11, and our security team figured out a way to get Dennis and
  Wally on the plane without going through the gate. So Wally"s first inkling that
  this was not going to be a routine trip came when they were buckling up and the
  pilot announced that they would be landing in Dallas-Fort Worth in two hours
  and twenty minutes. Dallas-Fort Worth! Yikes! thought Wally. They hadn"t even
  left Chicago and they"d already broken the first rule. Wally asked Dennis what
  was going on. "Don"t worry about it, bro," he said. "I talked to my agent. We
  need to visit my mom in Dallas and take a look at the house I just bought her."
  Rodman"s plan sounded plausible. But when they arrived at the baggage
  terminal, two white stretch limos filled with scantily clad women were there to
  greet them. After visiting Mom, they cruised the Dallas clubs all night with the
  ladies, then returned to their hotel suite. Wally fell asleep on the couch.
  The next morning Dennis woke Wally up at eight thirty. "Get up, bro," he
  said. "You can sleep when you"re dead." They went to the gym, where Dennis
  worked out like crazy. Over breakfast Wally asked him when their flight left for
  California. "Not today, bro," Dennis replied. "Ever been to a NASCAR race?" It
  was the grand opening of the Texas Motor Speedway that day, and a top model
  Dennis had the hots for was going to be there. So they rented a helicopter and
  flew to the speedway to avoid traffic. When they landed, Dennis said, "Let"s go
  meet the king, Richard Petty," and dragged Wally off to the VIP suite in the
  infield.
  By the third day Wally was losing it. He told Dennis that he was going to
  lose his job if they didn"t get to California soon. But Dennis wasn"t ready to
  leave Dallas. "C"mon, bro," he said. "Yesterday was a bush-league race. Today"s
  the real race." So they headed to the speedway again. Exasperated, Wally called
  his boss, head trainer Chip Schaefer, and reported that they were still in Dallas.
  "Don"t worry about it," said Chip. "At least he hasn"t gotten into any trouble."
  The next day they finally made it to Southern California, and Wally thought
  things might slow down. But as soon as they landed, Dennis wanted to take a
  look at his new Lamborghini. While they were at the garage, Dennis handed
  Wally the keys to his other car, a yellow Porsche. "Have you ever driven a
  Porsche?" he asked. Wally shook his head. "Don"t worry about it," Dennis said,
  and the two of them took off through the streets of Orange County as if they
  were competing in the Daytona 500.
  It was one excellent adventure after another. One day they went to The
  Tonight Show and had their picture taken with Rodney Dangerfield and the band
  No Doubt. Another day they met with movie producer Jerry Bruckheimer to
  discuss a possible role for Dennis in Armageddon. Another day they went to an
  Anaheim Ducks game and had their pictures taken with some of Wally"s hockey
  idols. "It was like the movies Get Him to the Greek and Almost Famous all rolled
  into one," says Wally.
  By the end of it, Wally and Dennis were so tight we often took Wally on road
  trips to be Dennis"s buddy. The next year, during a break in the championship
  finals in Utah, Dennis said he was tired of boring Salt Lake City and rented a jet
  for them to go to Vegas. What Dennis didn"t tell him was that he"d planned this
  jaunt as a birthday party for Wally and had invited a bunch of his friends,
  including actress Carmen Electra, singer-songwriter Eddie Vedder, and hockey
  legend Chris Chelios. "It was the night of my life," says Wally.
  Wally, who"s now head athletic trainer for the Atlanta Hawks, understood
  Dennis immediately. Yes, he"s messed up and insecure, Wally says, but he"s also
  "one of the nicest human beings you will ever meet." Dennis"s greatest
  achievement, in Wally"s view, was his ability to create the "perfect scenario for a
  professional athlete." "He"s the only pro athlete that people expected to go out
  and party with strippers," he says. "Joe Namath did it and was chastised in New
  York, and Michael Jordan got caught gambling on a golf course, and everybody
  was hell-bent for leather. But with Dennis, moral ineptitude was part of his deal,
  and he created this persona that made people say, "Oh yeah, that"s perfectly
  normal." It"s genius when you think about it."
  That may be true, but I think the secret of Dennis"s appeal was the playful
  way he bucked the system. This made him an inspirational model for people,
  young and old, who felt themselves to be on the outskirts of society. I got many
  letters from special-education teachers who told me that their students who had
  ADHD loved Dennis because he was successful in life despite his debilitating
  condition. To them, he was a true champion.
  -
  What a strange year! Even though we were missing several of our stars for part
  of the season, we managed to finish with a 69-13 record, tying the 1971-72
  Lakers for the second-best record ever for an NBA team. But Dennis and Toni
  were still recovering from injuries, and the team lacked the cohesiveness we"d
  enjoyed earlier in the year. One positive addition: In the final weeks of the
  season, we picked up six-eleven forward/center Brian Williams, aka Bison Dele,
  to give us more muscle inside. Williams played a key role backing up Luc and
  Dennis throughout the playoffs.
  The first two rounds were uneventful. We swept Washington 3-0, and
  pushed past Atlanta in five games after losing home-court advantage in game 2,
  the first time any team had beaten us at home during the playoffs in two years.
  The next round-the Eastern Conference finals against the Miami Heat-
  turned out to be a clash of two radically different basketball cultures. The team
  had been taken over by Pat Riley during the 1995-96 season and, with Alonzo
  Mourning at center and Tim Hardaway at point guard, had the makings of a
  classic Riley team. Much has been made of my rivalry with Pat over the years,
  particularly in the New York tabloids. But the main difference between us is
  philosophical, not personal. Riley has had a great deal of success with his
  bruising, old-school approach to the game. Like Riley"s Knicks, the Heat were
  physical, aggressive, and primed to foul you on every play as long as they could
  get away with it. Our approach, on the other hand, was freer and more open. We
  played intense defense but specialized in stealing the ball, cutting off passing
  lanes, and pressuring ball handlers into making mistakes.
  At first it looked like it was going to be a walkover. We breezed past Miami
  in the first game, 84-77, led by Jordan, who had a spectacular 37-point, 9-
  rebound performance. A key factor in the game was the defensive shift we made
  at halftime, putting Harper on Hardaway and Michael on three-point specialist
  Voshon Lenard. Next we wrestled our way to a 75-68 victory in game 2, the
  lowest-scoring playoff game in NBA history. In game 3 we devised a way to
  counter Miami"s strong-arm defense by spreading out the triangle offense,
  making it difficult for the Heat to clog up the lane. And we danced to a 98-74
  win.
  During an off day, Michael decided to play forty-six holes of golf, and he
  had one of his worst starts ever in game 4, hitting only 2 of 21 shots from the
  field, as Miami glided to a 21-point lead. Michael nearly put us over the top in
  the fourth quarter, though, scoring 20 of our 23 points, but we ran out of time
  and lost, 87-80.
  The most important moment came late in the third quarter when Mourning
  slammed Scottie and gave him a knot on his forehead as big as a golf ball.
  Michael was enraged and declared that game 5 was going to be a personal
  grudge match for him. "When my teammate got a knot on his head," he said, "I
  got a knot on my head."
  Michael started making Miami pay right away in game 5, scoring 15 points
  in the first quarter. But the rest of the team had to step up when Scottie sprained
  his foot in the first quarter after another collision with Mourning and was out for
  the duration. Toni, who had struggled early in the series, replaced Scottie and hit
  6 points in the first quarter to widen the Bulls" lead. I was particularly pleased by
  the reserves, who outscored Miami"s bench, 33-12, led by Brian Williams, who
  put down 10 points, and Jud Buechler, who made some key stops on defense.
  The final score: Bulls 100, Heat 87.
  Riley was humbled by the loss. "Dynasties get better as they get older," he
  said, adding that he thought the Bulls were "the greatest team in the history of
  the game since the Celtics, when they won 11 in 13 years." This was the fourth
  time one of his teams had been knocked out of the playoffs by the Jordan-led
  Bulls. "We all have the misfortune of being born at the same time as Michael
  Jordan," he added.
  -
  The Utah Jazz weren"t convinced. This was the team"s first trip to the
  championship finals, but the Jazz had some potent weapons: power forward Karl
  Malone, who had beaten out Jordan for the MVP award that year, and point
  guard John Stockton, one of the craftiest ball handlers in the game. The Jazz also
  had a wily outside shooter, Jeff Hornacek, who"d averaged 14.5 points per game
  that year. Our biggest concern was the Stockton and Malone trademark screenroll,
  which had often bedeviled our team in the past. But I also wanted to contain
  Malone"s inside game. Karl"s nickname was "the Mailman" because he
  supposedly always delivered. He was big, aggressive, and difficult to manage
  under the boards, even for Rodman. So I put Luc Longley on him early in the
  series, hoping that he could slow him down with his size.
  In game 1, however, it wasn"t Malone"s drive that decided the game but his
  restless mind. With the score tied 82-82 and 9.2 seconds to go, Malone was
  fouled as he battled for a loose ball under the basket. As he went to the line,
  Scottie whispered in his ear, "The Mailman doesn"t deliver on Sundays." Karl
  missed the first shot. Clearly rattled, Karl bounced his second attempt off the rim
  into Jordan"s hands. I expected the Jazz to double-team Michael on the last play,
  but instead they let forward Byron Russell go one on one against him, not a good
  idea. Jordan faked out Russell and put in a jumper to win the game, 84-82.
  We breezed past the Jazz in game 2, but Utah exploded when it returned
  home for game 3, led by Malone"s 37-point, 10-rebound performance. His
  secret? He revealed that he took the scenic route to the stadium through the
  mountains on his Harley. The next game, I gave Rodman his first chance during
  the series to shut down the Malone machine. In true form, Dennis poked fun at
  Malone before the game, saying he was planning "to go rent a bike and ride in
  the hills and try to find God or somebody." But it didn"t do much good. Malone
  scored 23 points, pulled down 10 rebounds, and made two key free throws with
  eighteen seconds to go. At which point Pippen said, "I guess the Mailman does
  deliver on Sundays here." Later we learned that our equipment manager had
  mistakenly served our players Gaterlode, a high-carbohydrate drink, instead of
  Gatorade throughout the game, which explained why the team was so sluggish in
  the closing minutes. Each of the players, it was estimated, had ingested the
  equivalent of about twenty baked potatoes.
  The next game involved one of the most inspiring acts of perseverance that
  I"ve ever witnessed. The morning of game 5, with the series tied 2-2, Michael
  woke up with what appeared to be a stomach virus but later turned out to be food
  poisoning. It was so debilitating that he skipped the shootaround that morning
  and spent most of the day in bed. We had seen Michael play through all kinds of
  ailments before, but this was the most disturbing. "I"ve played many seasons
  with Michael, and I"ve never seen him as sick," said Scottie. "It was to the point
  where I didn"t think he was going to be able to put his uniform on."
  Michael was severely dehydrated and he looked as if he might pass out at
  any moment, but he persisted, scoring 38 points on 13-for-27 shooting, including
  the game-winning three-pointer with twenty-five seconds left. This was a
  remarkable feat, but what most people don"t understand about this game was that
  it couldn"t have happened without a remarkable team effort. Scottie masterfully
  orchestrated the coverage to make sure Michael didn"t have to worry about
  defense and could focus whatever energy he could muster on creating shots. But
  Scottie didn"t even mention that after the game. "The effort that he came out and
  gave us was just incredible," he said of Michael"s performance. "The leadership.
  He just kept everybody patient and made big shot after big shot. . . . He"s the
  MVP in my eyes."
  The next game, back in Chicago, was another struggle. We fell back early
  and were behind most of the game, but the team refused to quit. Scottie and
  Michael both had exceptional games, but this time it was the reserves that made
  some of the most inspiring plays: Jud Buechler nailing a critical three-pointer at
  the close of the third period. Toni making a dazzling spinning layup on Hornacek
  while hobbling around on a sore foot. Brian Williams standing up to Malone and
  pushing him off his spots. The most beautiful moment, however, was the shot
  Steve Kerr, who had been struggling all series, took to end the game.
  The Jazz were leading by 9 points early in the fourth period, but with eleven
  seconds left, the scored was tied, 86-86, and the ball was in Michael"s hands.
  The Jazz were determined not to make the same mistake they had in game 1. So
  as Michael dribbled up the left side against Byron Russell, Stockton moved over
  to double-team him, leaving Kerr open at the top of the key. At first Michael
  tried to split the defenders, but as soon as he went into the air, he realized it
  wasn"t going to work. "It was unbelievable how he kept hanging in the air,"
  Hornacek said later. "Stockton and Byron Russell were on him and I was on
  Kukoc, and Kukoc cut to the basket, so I had to go with him. I couldn"t give him
  a layup. And Michael looked at Toni forever, Michael just hanging there, and
  then somehow he switched and threw it out to Steve."
  Kerr squared up just beyond the free-throw line and shot a picture-perfect
  jumper to break the tie, and Kukoc made a final dunk to win the game-and the
  championship.
  This had been a grueling journey filled with injuries, suspensions, and other
  challenges. But the exquisite harmony-and resilience-of the team during the
  closing minutes made it all worthwhile. Afterward, Michael, who scored 39
  points and was named the finals MVP, said he wanted to split it with Scottie.
  "I"ll take the trophy," he said, "but I"m going to give Scottie the car. He deserves
  it as much as I did."
  Michael used the postgame press conference to put pressure on Jerry
  Reinsdorf, who had been noncommittal with the media, to bring everybody back
  for another run next season. My one-year contract was expiring, and several
  teams had already expressed interest. In addition, Scottie was heading into the
  final year of his contract, and there were rumors that he might be traded. To up
  the ante, Michael, whose contract was also running out, said he wouldn"t return
  if Pippen and I weren"t on board.
  Three days later tens of thousands of fans crowded into Grant Park to
  celebrate our victory. The highlight was Kerr"s tongue-in-cheek account of how
  his famous shot "actually" happened.
  "When we called time-out with twenty-five seconds to go," he recalled, "we
  went into the huddle and Phil said, "Michael, I want you to take the last shot,"
  and Michael said, "You know, Phil, I don"t feel comfortable in these situations.
  So maybe we ought to go in another direction." Then Scottie said, "You know,
  Phil, Michael said in his commercial that he"s been asked to do this twenty-six
  times and he"s failed. So why don"t we go to Steve."
  "So I thought to myself, "I guess I"ve got to bail Michael out again. I"ve been
  carrying him all year, so what"s one more time?" Anyway, the shot went in, and
  that"s my story and I"m sticking to it."
  Michael and Scottie were falling over laughing, and the crowd loved it. But
  as I looked around the audience, I noticed there was one person sitting right
  behind Kerr who didn"t even crack a smile. That person was Jerry Krause.
  W
  13
  THE LAST DANCE
  When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge.
  TULI KUPFERBERG
  hen I was with the Knicks, Dave DeBusschere taught me an
  important lesson. In 1971-72 the Knicks brought in Jerry Lucas to
  back up Willis Reed, who had been struggling with injuries. Jerry
  was a versatile six-eight forward/center, a great rebounder, and an adept passer
  with a nice outside shot. Dave didn"t have a high opinion of Jerry before he
  arrived. He thought he was an oddball egoist who seemed more concerned about
  bolstering his scoring and rebounding averages during games than about
  winning. But when Lucas joined the Knicks, Dave figured out a way to work
  with him. When I asked him how he could switch so quickly, he replied, "I"m
  not going to let my personal feelings get in the way of us reaching our team
  goal."
  For the last two years of my tenure with the Bulls, that"s how I felt about
  Jerry Krause. Though Jerry and I had our differences, I respected his basketball
  intelligence and enjoyed working with him on building the Bulls" championship
  teams. But our relationship had been slowly going south since our disagreement
  over Johnny Bach three years earlier. Moreover, the negotiations with him over
  my contract had deteriorated into a cool standoff during the 1996-97 season. As
  with most relationships, both of us contributed to the collapse. I was driven by
  the need to protect the team"s privacy and autonomy at all costs, while Jerry was
  desperately trying to regain control of the organization. This kind of conflict is
  not unusual in the sports world, but unfortunately for us, our differences were
  being played out on a large public stage.
  Looking back, I think my struggle with Jerry taught me things about myself
  that I couldn"t have learned any other way. The Dalai Lama calls it "the enemy"s
  gift." From a Buddhist perspective, battling with enemies can help you develop
  greater compassion for and tolerance of others. "In order to practice sincerely
  and to develop patience," he says, "you need someone who willfully hurts you.
  Thus, these people give us real opportunities to practice these things. They are
  testing our inner strength in a way that even our guru cannot."
  I wouldn"t exactly call Jerry my "enemy." But our conflict certainly tested
  my inner strength. Though Jerry and I agreed on most basketball-related issues,
  we had opposing views on how to manage people. I tried to be as open and
  transparent as possible; Jerry tended to be closed and secretive. To a certain
  degree, he was a victim of the system; it"s hard to make good deals in the NBA
  without being cautious about sharing information. But Jerry wasn"t a very skilled
  communicator, so when he talked to the players, he often came off as inauthentic
  or, worse, duplicitous. I felt compassion for Jerry because I knew at heart he
  wasn"t the coldhearted Machiavellian the media portrayed him to be. He just
  wanted to show the world that he could build a championship team without
  relying on Michael Jordan, and he was eager to make that happen.
  During the middle of the 1996-97 season, Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf
  proposed that Krause and my agent, Todd Musburger, work out the basic terms
  of a new contract for me. We asked for an increase that would make my salary
  comparable to what other top coaches, such as Pat Riley and Chuck Daly, were
  making at the time. But despite my record, Krause had a hard time seeing me at
  that level, and the negotiations fell apart. To his credit, Jerry Reinsdorf realized
  that it wasn"t fair for me to have to go through the playoffs-the time when most
  coaching positions are filled-not knowing whether I"d have a job the following
  season. So he agreed to let other organizations contact me, and soon I had
  interest from several other teams, including Orlando.
  But I wasn"t ready to give up on the Bulls. Shortly after the playoffs,
  Reinsdorf flew to Montana, and we worked out a one-year deal that worked for
  both of us. He wanted to bring everyone back to try to win one more ring. Later
  that summer he also hammered out one-year deals with Jordan (for $33 million)
  and Rodman ($4.5 million, plus incentives for up to $10 million), pushing the
  players" payroll (minus Scottie) up to $59 million for the 1997-98 season. Now
  the only question mark that remained was Pippen.
  Scottie wasn"t having a good summer. He had injured his foot during the
  playoffs and required surgery, which would put him out of action for two to three
  months. He was also in the final year of his seven-year contract and was getting
  increasingly resentful of the low salary he was being paid relative to other
  players in the league. In 1991 Scottie had signed a five-year extension to his
  contract for $18 million, which had seemed like a good deal at the time.
  However, since then wages had skyrocketed in the NBA; and now there were
  more than a hundred players making more than Scottie, including five members
  of his own team. So even though many considered him to be the best player in
  the NBA not named Jordan, he would have to wait another year, until his
  contract ran out, to cash in on his performance. In the meantime, there was still
  an outside chance that he might be traded.
  To make matters worse, Krause had threatened to take legal action against
  Scottie if he played in his annual summer charity game and risked further
  damage to his foot. This infuriated Scottie, who said he felt that Krause was
  treating him as if he were his personal property. Krause asked me to intervene
  with Scottie, but I was reluctant to aggravate the situation. So Scottie went ahead
  with the charity game and, to get back at Krause, postponed surgery until the
  start of training camp.
  I wasn"t happy with this turn of events. Nor was Michael. We had both stood
  up for Scottie over the summer, but by delaying surgery he was putting the
  whole season in jeopardy. Scottie did so much to help the team gel, it was hard
  to imagine getting very far without him for as much as half of the regular season
  while he was recovering.
  During our annual media day before the start of the season, Krause decided
  to talk to reporters and made the faux pas of his life. I presumed the reason Jerry
  came to the sessions was to clarify for reporters that my leave-taking was a
  mutual decision between him and me. In the process, however, he said that
  "players and coaches don"t win championships; organizations do." The next day
  he tried to correct the mistake, saying that what he"d meant to say was that
  "players and coaches alone don"t win championships," but the damage had
  already been done. Michael in particular was outraged by Jerry"s dismissive
  remark and turned it into a rallying cry for the team throughout the season.
  Later that day Krause asked me to come to his office and told me, "I don"t
  care if you win eighty-two games. This is your last year." There it was. When
  Reinsdorf had visited me in Montana, we had talked about this being my last
  season, but it wasn"t until Krause said those words that I really believed it. It was
  disturbing at first, but after I"d given it some thought, it felt incredibly liberating.
  At least now I had some clarity.
  -
  I dubbed the season "the Last Dance" because that"s what it felt like. No matter
  what happened, most of the players whose contracts were up-including
  Michael, Scottie, Dennis, Luc, Steve, and Jud-wouldn"t be wearing a Bulls
  uniform the next year. The finality of it gave the season a certain resonance that
  bonded the team closely together. It felt as if we were on a sacred mission,
  driven by a force that went beyond fame, glory, and all the other spoils of
  victory. We were doing this one for the pure joy of playing together one more
  time. It felt magical.
  That"s not to say it was easy. The team had gotten another year older.
  Rodman was thirty-seven; Pippen, thirty-three; and Michael and Harper would
  be turning thirty-five and thirty-four, respectively, during the year. We needed to
  husband our energy during the regular season so we would be in good shape
  when the playoffs rolled around. But that was going to be difficult without
  Scottie on the floor. We needed to figure out a way to manage until he returned.
  Without Pippen to direct the action, the team was having a difficult time
  finding its rhythm and got off to a rugged start. Our big problem was finishing
  close games, which used to be our specialty. The low point came in Seattle at the
  end of November when we lost, 91-90, to the SuperSonics and dropped to
  eighth place in the Eastern Conference with an 8-6 record. Our opponents were
  starting to smell blood.
  During our trip to Seattle Scottie"s anger boiled over. He told reporters that
  he was so fed up with management that he no longer wanted to play for the
  Bulls. After the game he got drunk on the bus to the airport and launched into an
  ugly tirade against Krause, who was sitting up front. I tried to contain Scottie"s
  outburst by pointing to the beer bottle in my hand and indicating that he"d had
  too much to drink.
  When we returned to Chicago, I hooked Scottie up with our team
  psychologist to help him deal with his anger. I still worried, though, about his
  frame of mind. On Thanksgiving he called me late at night to discuss his
  situation. He told me he was dead serious about being traded, and I tried to get
  him to think about the problem from a different angle. I was concerned that if he
  pushed too hard with his demand at that moment, he might get blackballed in the
  league as a troublemaker and jeopardize his chances of signing with one of the
  top teams the following season. As far as I could tell, the best move for Scottie
  careerwise was to finish out the season with the Bulls. I advised him not to let
  his anger with management poison his desire to come back and help lead the
  team to a sixth championship. He answered that he didn"t want to give
  management a chance to break his heart.
  I could tell this was going to take time. In the end I decided that the best
  strategy was to have the players bring Scottie around, just as they had done after
  his 1.8-second meltdown four years earlier. I asked Harper, Scottie"s best friend
  on the team, to let him know how much his teammates needed his help. I also
  nixed the idea of having Scottie travel with the team to prevent another
  embarrassing confrontation between him and Krause on the road. What"s more,
  Scottie"s rehab was progressing more slowly than expected because his muscles
  had atrophied so much. His vertical leap was down from thirty inches to
  seventeen inches in mid-December, which meant that it would take another
  month for him to return to form. Which was fine. I figured that the more time
  Scottie spent working out with his teammates, the more likely he would get in
  touch with the joy he had always felt playing the game. By late December I
  could see that he was softening to the idea of coming back to the Bulls.
  In the meantime, the team was trying to right itself. In mid-December we
  were 15-9, after beating the Lakers at home, 104-83, but the team still hadn"t
  gelled and was relying too heavily on Michael. During a film session I made
  what I intended as a joke after watching a clip of Luc messing up a play.
  "Everybody makes mistakes," I said. "And I made one coming back here with
  this team this year." At which point Michael said, "Me too," in a somber tone.
  Shortly after that, Luc, who was obviously hurt by our comments, said, "It"s easy
  to be a critic." When Tex jumped on him and accused him of having a bad
  attitude, Luc said, "I wasn"t talking about the coaching staff. Michael is the one
  being critical." To which Michael replied, "The only thing that upsets me is
  when we lose. I think you should resolve to make yourself better next time.
  Change."
  The room fell silent. "It"s over," Michael added. "We"re not going to lose
  anymore."
  Actually, he wasn"t far off. Right after that, we began to rebound and went
  on a 9-2 run. One move that made a big difference was turning Toni Kukoc into
  a starter when we played teams with big forwards. This allowed him to act as a
  third guard, much like Pippen did, and take advantage of his creative ballhandling
  skills. Toni was a maverick, always looking for the play no one else
  could imagine. Sometimes this worked brilliantly. However, Toni didn"t have the
  mental toughness or physical ability to navigate the rugged NBA eighty-twogame
  schedule as the primary scorer or ball handler. And without Toni to anchor
  it, our bench was much weaker.
  The big surprise was Rodman. He had struggled in 1996-97, and I worried
  that he might be losing interest in the game again. But during Scottie"s rehab, we
  asked him to step up and give the team an energy boost, and he suddenly started
  playing MVP-level basketball on both ends of the court.
  Michael likes to tell the story of how he and Dennis bonded during this
  period. The key was their mutual love of cigars. "When Scottie got hurt, that left
  me and Dennis as leaders of the team," recalls Michael. "So I went to Dennis
  and said, "Look, I know your antics. I know you like getting technicals. I know
  the image you try to project. But I need you, man, to stay in the game. I don"t
  need you to get kicked out. Scottie is not here. That means you"re going to have
  to lead from upfront, as opposed to being behind Scottie and me."" For the most
  part Dennis lived up to the challenge. Then during one game, he got angry and
  was thrown out. "Now I"m steaming," says Jordan. "I"m pissed because we had
  this conversation and he left me hanging. That night he came knocking at my
  hotel room door and asked for a cigar. In the whole time we"d been together,
  he"d never done that. But he knew he had let me down. And that was his way of
  saying, "I"m sorry.""
  -
  Scottie returned to the lineup on January 10 against the Golden State Warriors,
  and the team transformed overnight. It was like watching a great conductor
  return after a leave of absence. All of a sudden, everyone knew what notes to
  play and how to harmonize. From that point on, we went on a 38-9 run and tied
  the Utah Jazz for the best record in the league, 62-20.
  As the regular season wound down, I thought it was important for us to have
  some closure as a team. This was the end of an era, and I wanted us to take some
  time to acknowledge our accomplishments and the strength of our connection.
  My wife, June, suggested that we perform a ritual that she had used with
  children whose parents had died in the hospice program where she worked. So I
  scheduled a special team meeting before the start of the playoffs and asked
  everyone to write a short paragraph about what the season and our team had
  meant to them.
  We met in the tribal room. It was just the inner core of the team: the players,
  the coaches, and the training staff. Only about half of the people wrote
  something ahead of time, but everyone spoke. Steve Kerr talked about the thrill
  of becoming a father while he was with the team and bringing his four-year-old,
  basketball-crazed son into the Bulls locker room to meet Michael, Scottie, and
  Dennis. Head trainer Chip Schaefer quoted the famous passage from 1
  Corinthians 13:
  If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love,
  I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the
  gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all
  knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but
  have not love, I am nothing.
  Michael wrote a short poem for the occasion. It was very moving. He praised
  everyone"s dedication and said he hoped that the bond we"d formed would last
  forever. Then he added: No one knows what the future holds, but let"s finish it
  right.
  It was touching to hear a group of hardened NBA players revealing
  themselves to one another in this tender way. After each person spoke, I asked
  him to put his message in a coffee can. Then we turned the lights out, and I set
  fire to their words.
  I"ll never forget that moment. The quiet aura in the room. The fire burning in
  the darkness. The intense intimacy we felt sitting silently together and watching
  the flames die down. I don"t think the bond among us had ever been stronger.
  -
  During the final week of the regular season, we lost two games, including a
  home game to the Pacers. That raised some questions in my mind as we entered
  the playoffs, even though we had locked up home-court advantage in the Eastern
  Conference. My main concern was fatigue. Michael and Scottie were playing big
  minutes, and I wasn"t sure our bench was strong enough to give them the
  breathing room they needed late in games. Our strategy at the outset was to play
  tough defense, conserve energy, and set Michael up to take over in the closing
  minutes. One bright spot was the reemergence of Kukoc, who had struggled the
  previous year with a bad case of plantar fasciitis but was playing so well now
  that Sam Smith suggested that the Bulls" Big Three should now include Toni
  instead of Rodman. As for Dennis, I worried about his inconsistency and lack of
  focus, especially now that we no longer had Brian Williams to back him up. To
  strengthen our inside defense, we"d traded forward Jason Caffey and brought
  back Dickey Simpkins, a bigger, more aggressive player-and a former Bull-
  who we hoped would help Dennis and Luc clog the lane.
  We swept the New Jersey Nets in the first round after a sluggish start in the
  first two games, which Chicago Tribune columnist Bernie Lincicome
  characterized as "dead men dribbling." In the next series, the Charlotte Hornets
  gave us a surprise in game 2, beating us with a strong fourth-quarter push led by
  former teammate B.J. Armstrong. Being one-upped by B.J. inspired the team-
  and Michael in particular-to explode and finish off the Hornets in five games.
  Our next opponent, the Pacers, would not go down so easily. They were a
  powerful contender, coached by Celtics great Larry Bird and featuring one of the
  best shooters in the league, Reggie Miller, along with a tough front line led by
  center Rik Smits. During one of their Breakfast Club sessions, Michael, Scottie,
  and Harp came up with a creative defensive strategy for neutralizing the Pacers"
  backcourt. They suggested having Pippen cover point guard Mark Jackson
  because he had done so well against him in the past and putting Harper on Miller
  because he was good at breaking through screens. Michael, in turn, would guard
  the small forward (either Jalen Rose or Chris Mullin), which would free him
  from expending a lot of energy chasing down Reggie on defense.
  I gave the scheme the go-ahead and it worked well, forcing the Pacers into
  46 turnovers in the first two games, as we cruised to a two-game lead in the
  series. After the second game, however, Larry complained to the media about the
  physical play of Pippen. Ergo, the next time we met, Scottie got into foul trouble
  early in the game. Then Larry foiled our defensive scheme by substituting the
  quicker Travis Best for Jackson. As a result, we had to change our plan and put
  Harp (or Kerr) on Best and Michael on Miller. In the fourth quarter Reggie
  manipulated his way through enough screens to get some free space and score 13
  points en route to a 107-105 victory.
  The closing seconds of game 4 reminded me of the 1972 Olympics final, i.e.,
  totally chaotic. We were leading 94-93 with 4.7 seconds left when Scottie was
  fouled and missed two free throws. Then Harper and Miller got into an
  altercation, and Ron pulled Reggie down onto our bench and started hitting him.
  Both players were later fined, and Rose, who jumped up to join in the scuffle,
  was suspended for one game. (I was fined too, for comparing the refs to the "72
  Olympics officials who nullified the U.S. team"s win with a bad call.) When
  everything settled down, Reggie pushed Michael out of his way with both hands,
  grabbed an inbound pass, and hit a three-pointer with 0.7 seconds left to win the
  game.
  In game 5 we resorted to our deadliest weapon-our defense-and shut
  down the Pacers 106-87 in Chicago to go ahead 3-2 in the series. "Tonight was
  unexpected dominance," said Michael. "When everybody"s focused and playing
  our game, we can really play the game of basketball." So far, so good. But two
  days later the Pacers tied the series again in Indianapolis, in another game tainted
  by dubious officiating. With 1:27 left, Scottie"s old nemesis, Hue Hollins, called
  him for illegal defense, a technical foul that allowed Miller to tie the game, 87-
  87. Then, with the Pacers ahead by two in the closing seconds, Michael drove to
  the basket and fell. To us it looked like a tripping foul, but the refs looked the
  other way. Game over.
  Could this be the end of the Bulls dynasty? I"ve always been wary of playing
  seventh games. Anything can happen, and it usually does. If we lost, it might
  also mean that this would be Michael"s last game. Before the game I talked to
  the players about the prospect of defeat. We could lose this game, I said, but
  what"s important is playing with the right kind of effort, and not being overtaken
  by the fear of losing. Michael understood that. To him losing was not an option.
  During a team huddle, he said, with a cold, determined look in his eye, "We are
  not going to lose this game."
  Nothing came easy. Michael was struggling, hitting only 9 for 25 from the
  field. But when his jump shot wasn"t working, he manufactured points by
  driving to the hoop in a crowd and drawing fouls. He ended up with 28 hard-won
  points, 10 of which came at the line. He also pulled down 9 rebounds and made
  8 assists.
  Michael"s drive was contagious-especially with the bench. Toni scored 21
  points; Kerr had 11; and Jud Buechler grabbed 5 rebounds in eleven minutes. In
  fact, our work on the boards was the key to the game. We hit only 38.2 percent
  from the field that night, but we outrebounded the Pacers 50-34, which gave us a
  lot of second opportunities to score. And Rodman, who was having an off night,
  contributed a mere six to the total.
  During the middle of the fourth quarter, the team missed 10 straight points
  and fell behind 77-74-and I thought we might be history. But then the whole
  team started getting creative, scrambling for the ball and looking for anything
  that might break the game open. Michael fired a pass to Longley, and Scottie,
  who was not having a good night offensively, pulled down Luc"s miss and hit a
  jumper with less than five minutes left that put us ahead for good, 81-79. We
  went on to win 88-83.
  "It"s about heart, and I think you saw a lot of heart out on the basketball
  court," an exhausted Michael said afterward. "It was a great effort. It"s truly a
  championship team in terms of finding ways to win and making it happen."
  -
  The next series-the championship finals against the Utah Jazz-wouldn"t be a
  dream vacation either. First of all, we didn"t get home-court advantage because
  the Jazz had swept us during the regular season. That meant we"d have to win
  two games on the road against them, unless we won three in a row at home,
  which had never been done before in the postseason. The key to beating the Jazz
  was to sabotage their great screen-roll game by pressuring the point guards, John
  Stockton and Howard Eisley. Karl Malone was a machine on offense, but he
  didn"t excel at creating his own shots the way Michael did. Malone relied on the
  point guards to set things in motion for him. If we could cut off the point guards,
  we"d stifle Malone.
  In game 1, I pulled Harper late in the game because he seemed tentative on
  offense. And Kerr couldn"t contain Stockton in the closing minutes, so we lost,
  88-85, in overtime. We edged out the Jazz, 93-88, in the second game, then
  returned to Chicago to make history. For game 3 we decided to have Pippen
  double-team Stockton as he moved the ball across half-court, and Scottie"s size
  and wingspan made it difficult for John to initiate the offense. We won 96-54,
  and the Jazz walked off with the record for the fewest points scored in a playoff
  game by one team. Veteran Jazz coach Jerry Sloan said, "I don"t know if I"ve
  ever seen a team play any better defensively since I"ve been in the business."
  We won the next two games at home, giving us a 3-1 edge in the series.
  Scottie was so dominant in game 4 that Sam Smith called for him to be named
  finals MVP over Jordan. But first we had to win, and that was proving harder
  than we imagined. There was so much hype in Chicago about game 5, which
  could be Michael"s grand finale, that the players had a difficult time focusing on
  the game, and we lost, 83-81.
  It all came down to game 6 in Utah. Actually, it came down to 18.8 seconds
  in that game-one of the most dramatic moments in the history of sports. I didn"t
  want to play another game 7, especially in the Delta Center, where the boisterous
  home crowd held powerful sway over the refs in big games. But things didn"t
  look good when we arrived at the stadium for game 6. Scottie had serious back
  spasms and would be out much of the game. Harper had a stomach flu. Longley
  was playing limited minutes because of foul trouble. Dennis was averaging 6.75
  rebounds in the series, well below his 15.0 average during the regular season.
  Kukoc and Kerr were performing well, but I didn"t think they could offset the
  loss of Pippen. Before the game I asked Michael if he could play the full fortyeight
  minutes. "If you need it I can," he said.
  Scottie left the game in pain after the first seven minutes and was out for the
  rest of the first half. Somehow we held it together and finished the half down by
  only 5 points. Scottie returned after the break and played for nineteen minutes,
  mostly as a decoy on offense. As the fourth quarter began, Utah was leading 66-
  61 and slowly losing ground to the Bulls, who tied the score at 77 with five
  minutes left.
  But we had a problem: Michael"s legs were tiring, and he couldn"t get any
  lift on his jump shot. I urged him to drive to the basket instead, because the Jazz
  didn"t have a center on the floor to jam up the middle. If he was forced to go to
  his jumper, I advised, he should make sure he completed the follow-through,
  which he hadn"t been doing. With 41.9 seconds left, John Stockton hit a twentyfour-
  foot jumper that put the Jazz ahead 86-83. I called time-out and told the
  players to run a variation on one of my favorite plays-which involved clearing
  out space on one side of the floor for Michael so he could create his own shot.
  Scottie tossed in the ball to Michael at half-court and M.J. drove past Byron
  Russell on the right side and put in a high-arching layup to make it 86-85 Utah.
  As expected, the Jazz didn"t call a time-out and started to launch one of their
  standard plays. Michael anticipated where the pass was going and slipped around
  Karl to steal the ball from him.
  That"s when everything started to slow down. Michael, who often had an
  otherworldly sense of what was happening on the floor, moved the ball up court
  and sized up the situation. Kerr and Kukoc were on the floor, so Utah couldn"t
  risk double-teaming him. That left Russell all by himself to guard Michael as he
  calmly let the clock run down like a big cat studying its prey. Then Russell made
  a stab for the ball, and Michael moved right as if he were driving to the basket,
  gave Byron a little push, and pulled up short and sent him flying to the floor.
  Slowly, ever so slowly, Michael squared up and lofted a beautiful shot to win the
  game.
  Afterward Michael recounted what was going through his mind in those
  closing seconds. It sounded like a poem on mindfulness. "When I got that [steal],
  the moment became the moment," he said. "Karl never saw me coming, and I
  was able to knock the ball away. When Russell reached, I took advantage of the
  moment. I never doubted myself. It was a two-point game, a three-point game,
  we kept hanging close. When I got the ball, I looked up and saw 18.8 seconds
  left. I let the time tick until I saw the court the way I wanted it. John Stockton
  was over on Steve Kerr, so he couldn"t gamble and come off. And as soon as
  Russell reached, I had a clear path. I knew we could hold for 5.2 seconds."
  I couldn"t believe what had just happened. I thought I had witnessed
  Michael"s greatest moment during his famous flu game the year before. But this
  was on a different level. It was as if the whole thing had been scripted. Even
  though Michael would return to basketball years later to play for the Washington
  Wizards, this is the shot everyone thinks of as his final bow. A perfect ending if
  ever there was one.
  -
  After all the celebrations were over, Michael invited the members of the team
  and their guests to a party at one of his restaurants in Chicago. When dinner was
  over, the team retired to the cigar room to smoke stogies and reminisce about our
  time with the Bulls. The stories ranged from the mundane to the profane. Then
  each of us gave a toast to another member of the team. I celebrated Ron Harper
  for his selfless act of switching from an offensive star to a defensive specialist,
  thereby setting up our run for the second three-peat. Scottie gave the final toast,
  to Michael, his partner and fellow leader. "None of this could have happened
  without you," he said.
  There had been a lot of speculation after the finals about what would happen
  to the Bulls. Would Reinsdorf try to bring the team together again for one more
  run? The only way that could happen was if Michael pulled some kind of
  miracle deal comparable to his last shot. But in my mind I was already gone.
  And I told Michael that he shouldn"t link his decision to me.
  I had one more meeting with Reinsdorf at our championship party. He
  offered me a chance to stay with the Bulls, but without any guarantee that he"d
  bring back Michael and Scottie. He and Krause had decided to rebuild the team,
  a process that didn"t interest me. Besides, I was desperately in need of a break.
  June and I were planning to move to Woodstock, New York, where we"d lived
  before I joined the Bulls. So I graciously turned him down. Michael waited for
  the lockout to end in January 1999 before officially announcing his departure.
  As I walked out of the Berto Center on my last day, there were some
  reporters waiting outside. I chatted with them briefly, then climbed on my
  motorcycle and sped away. It was a bittersweet moment. I felt a great sense of
  relief, leaving behind all the drama of the past year. But I also knew it was going
  to be a challenge to let go of my deep attachment to this team that had given me
  so much.
  The Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron talks about letting go as an opportunity
  for true awakening. One of her favorite sayings is "Only to the extent that we
  expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be
  found in us."
  That"s what I was searching for. And I knew it wasn"t going to be easy. But
  as a new future unfolded before me, I took comfort in the knowledge that letting
  go is a necessary, if sometimes heart-wrenching, gateway to genuine
  transformation.
  "Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing," writes
  Chodron. "We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem,
  but the truth is that things don"t really get solved. They come together again and
  fall apart again. It"s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room
  for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy."
  I felt all those emotions during my final year in Chicago. And before long I
  would be headed off on another wild ride that would test me even more.
  I
  14
  ONE BREATH, ONE MIND
  Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious
  breathing is my anchor.
  THICH NHAT HANH
  was in the middle of nowhere-a small village on Iliamna Lake in Alaska-
  when I heard the news. My sons, Ben and Charlie, were with me. We were on a
  fly-fishing trip in a secluded wilderness area, and the fishing wasn"t going very
  well. So that afternoon we knocked off early and boated up the Iliamna River to
  see the falls. When we arrived back at the village, a throng of children
  surrounded us.
  "Are you Phil Jackson?" one of the boys asked.
  "Yes," I replied. "Why?"
  "I hear you got the job with the Lakers."
  "What? How do you know that?"
  "We got a dish. It"s on ESPN."
  That"s how my adventure began. Actually, it didn"t come as a total surprise.
  My agent, Todd, and I had discussed the deal before I left for Alaska. I"d given
  him the go-ahead to negotiate with the Lakers since I would be unreachable by
  phone. Still, it was a bit of a shock to get the news from an Inuit boy in a place
  as far away in spirit from the glitzy, high-stakes culture of Los Angeles as any I
  could imagine.
  This was not a simple move for me. After the 1997-98 season, June and I
  had relocated to Woodstock, New York, a town where we"d lived before. Our
  hope was to revitalize our marriage, which had suffered during the past stressful
  year with the Bulls. What"s more, June had grown weary of her role as an NBA
  wife. Now that all of our children were out of the house, she was looking
  forward to creating a new, more fulfilling life. So was I-or so I thought. I
  explored other interests, including giving speeches on leadership and working on
  my friend Bill Bradley"s presidential campaign. But in the end, I couldn"t find
  anything that captured my imagination as much as leading young men to victory
  on the basketball court.
  Toward the end of the 1998-99 season, I started getting calls from teams
  interested in talking to me and I had meetings with the New Jersey Nets and the
  New York Knicks. Neither of these conversations went anywhere, but they
  whetted my appetite to get back in the game. Needless to say, this was not the
  kind of reaction June was expecting. She thought I was ready to put basketball
  behind me and move into a field with a less demanding travel schedule. But that
  was not to be, and over the summer we decided to separate.
  Soon after, as I moved back to Montana-my true place of refuge-the
  Lakers called. The team was loaded with talent, including rising stars Shaquille
  O"Neal and Kobe Bryant, and two of the best outside shooters in the league,
  Glen Rice and Robert Horry. But the Lakers had struggled in the playoffs
  because of weak group chemistry, and the players lacked the mental toughness to
  finish off big games.
  Mulling over whether or not to accept the job, I remembered sitting in my
  hotel room during my cross-country trek and watching the Lakers get swept by
  the San Antonio Spurs in the Western Conference semifinals. It had been painful
  to watch. The Spurs" big men, Tim Duncan and Dave Robinson, were forcing
  Shaq to take off-balance fadeaway jump shots instead of his power move to the
  middle and then beating Shaq downcourt to break through the Lakers" defense.
  Watching those games, I"d found myself visualizing ways to counter the Spurs"
  strategy and transform the Lakers into the team they were destined to be.
  That"s the message I wanted to deliver in late June at my first news
  conference as the newly appointed head coach of the team. The event was held
  at the Beverly Hills Hilton, and while I was preparing my remarks, Kobe
  dropped by my room, carrying a copy of my book, Sacred Hoops. He asked me
  to sign the book and said he was really excited about working with me because
  he was a big Bulls fan. It was a good sign.
  "This is a team that is talented, young, and on the verge," I told reporters that
  day. "It"s been on the verge, and it hasn"t gotten over the top. It"s a similar
  situation that happened ten years ago in Chicago, and we hope to have the same
  type of success."
  The key, I said, was to get the Lakers to trust one another enough to work
  together effectively and make the transition from a me team to a we team, the
  way the Bulls had in the early 1990s. "When you have a system of offense, you
  can"t be a person that just is taking the basketball and trying to score," I
  explained. "You have to move the basketball, because you have to share the
  basketball with everybody. And when you do that, you"re sharing the game, and
  that makes a big difference."
  After the news conference, Jerry West drove me out to Westchester to visit
  Jerry Buss at his new Spanish-style palazzo on the bluffs overlooking the ocean.
  Dr. Buss, who has a Ph.D. in physical chemistry but made his fortune in real
  estate during the 1970s, had the good luck to buy the Lakers (plus the Forum and
  the Los Angeles Kings) in 1979, the year Magic Johnson arrived and led the
  team to five championships over the next decade. Since then, the team had not
  lived up to its promise.
  Dr. Buss was smart but very low-key, dressed in jeans, a plain shirt, and his
  trademark sneakers. He said he was proud of the great success the Lakers had
  enjoyed in the past, but he wanted to win one more championship.
  "I think you can win three, maybe four championships," I said.
  "Really?" he replied, stunned.
  He was impressed by my chutzpah. He said later that he"d never heard a
  coach set such a high bar for himself at the start of the season. But the truth is, I
  wasn"t bluffing.
  -
  It was a strange summer. Not long after I returned to Montana after my meetings
  with the Lakers" organization, my daughter Chelsea came to visit with her
  boyfriend and shattered her ankle in an off-road motorcycle accident that put her
  in a cast for eight weeks. Since getting around was difficult, she decided to take
  a leave from her job in New York and recuperate in Montana, where my son Ben
  and I could take care of her. June also came out for several weeks to lend a hand.
  One day Shaq dropped by the house unannounced. He"d ventured to
  Montana in order to perform at a rap concert in nearby Kalispell. I wasn"t home
  when he arrived, so June invited him in. When I drove up, Shaq was bouncing
  on a trampoline down by the lake and creating quite a sensation in the
  neighborhood. All of a sudden, dozens of boats filled with curious onlookers
  crowded into the bay near our house to gawk at this giant leaping through the air.
  Shaq did not disappoint. After the trampoline exhibition, he started doing
  comical backflips off the dock, then took off on a madcap Jet Ski tour of the bay.
  Since he was already wet, I asked Shaq to help me move a large tree that had
  toppled in our yard during a recent storm. It was impressive watching him work.
  "We"re going to have a lot of fun, Coach," he said when we were finished.
  That"s what Shaq was all about: fun.
  When the time came to pack up and drive to L.A., I felt anxious about my
  new life. I worried about what would happen to my kids now that I was
  becoming a single dad and moving to a new, unfamiliar city. To ease the
  transition, my daughters Chelsea and Brooke put together a mix tape for me of
  songs about starting over. It had been more than twenty-five years since I"d
  driven through the back roads of California. As I crossed the Sierra Nevada
  range, Willie Nelson"s soulful version of "Amazing Grace" came on, and I was
  so overwhelmed with emotion that I pulled over, stopped the car, and cried.
  Looking out over the sunlit California peaks, I felt as if I were putting a dark
  chapter of my life behind me and heading toward something bright and new.
  And my kids understood. This was their way of saying, "Move forward, Dad.
  Live life. Don"t close yourself off."
  My first days in L.A. were magical. A friend found me a beautiful, airy
  house on the beach in Playa del Rey, not far from the airport and the Lakers"
  future practice facility. My new home had plenty of room for guests. To my
  delight, Brooke, who had just graduated from the University of Colorado, moved
  in a few weeks later to help me get settled, then stayed on to pursue a graduate
  degree in psychology. And during my first week in town, Bruce Hornsby, a
  songwriter friend who had introduced me to the Grateful Dead, invited me to a
  concert at the Greek Theatre in Griffith Park, where he was performing with
  Linda Ronstadt, Jackson Browne, and other music-world icons. It was a warm
  September evening, and the crowd was friendly and easygoing. Very California.
  I felt right at home.
  One of my first jobs was to attend the NBA"s annual business meeting in
  Vancouver. While I was there, I finally got to meet Dr. Buss"s daughter, Jeanie,
  the team"s executive VP of business operations, who hosted a dinner for the
  Lakers executives. She was smart and attractive, with beautiful eyes and a
  playful sense of humor. The next day I bumped into her at the airport. She was
  heading home to celebrate her birthday with friends, but her flight had been
  delayed, so we ended up chatting in the lounge. She told some amusing stories
  about Dennis Rodman"s disastrous stint with the Lakers in 1999, which sounded
  like a bad reality show gone Theatre of the Absurd.
  I still felt pretty raw emotionally and wasn"t sure if I was ready for a new
  relationship. But then it happened. The next day I came into the office and found
  a slice of Jeanie"s birthday cake sitting on my desk. When I dropped by her
  office to thank her, she blushed and I sensed this gift was more than a collegial
  gesture. So I invited her to dinner that night. Things were definitely looking up.
  -
  As we gathered at the University of Santa Barbara for training camp, I saw the
  Lakers as a stage 3 team with a decidedly "I"m great, you"re not" point of view.
  One of the team"s biggest strengths was Shaq"s dominance at center. The triangle
  offense was designed for powerful centers who could dominate the lane, post up
  effectively, and catalyze the offense with sharp passing. Shaq could do all those
  things as well as or better than the centers we"d had in Chicago, but he was also
  an explosive scorer who attracted double- and triple-teams, which opened up all
  sorts of possibilities. Los Angeles Times columnist Mark Heisler wrote that Shaq
  represented an evolutionary step: "the first 300-pound seven-footer the NBA had
  ever seen who wasn"t fat." Shaq had ballooned up to 350 pounds over the
  summer, but when he was in shape, he was stronger, faster, and more mobile
  than any other center in the league. He was also extremely gifted at running fast
  breaks. However, he wasn"t as strong at rebounding or playing defense as I had
  expected, and I noticed that he was averse to moving out of the lane to cover
  screens, which made him vulnerable to good screen-roll teams, such as the Jazz,
  the Spurs, and the Trail Blazers.
  Kobe was one of the most creative shooting guards I"d ever seen, capable of
  dazzling moves comparable in many ways to those of his idol, Michael Jordan. I
  admired Kobe"s intense desire to win, but he still had a lot to learn about
  teamwork and self-sacrifice. Though he was a brilliant passer, his first instinct
  was to penetrate off the dribble and dunk over whoever was in his way. Like
  many younger players, he tried to force the action rather than letting the game
  come to him. I was toying with the idea of having him play point guard, but I
  questioned whether he"d be able to contain his ego long enough to master the
  triangle system.
  Rice was another gifted player. A former All-Star small forward with the
  Charlotte Hornets, he had a precision jump shot that used to drive Scottie Pippen
  mad. Earlier in his career Glen had also been a quick, aggressive defender, but
  he"d fallen out of practice since joining the Lakers. The lineup also included
  Horry, a willowy six-ten power forward who was later dubbed "Big Shot Rob"
  because of his talent for shooting last-minute game-winning shots. Rob had won
  two rings with Houston before being traded, first to Phoenix, then to L.A. But
  his scoring average had tapered off and I was concerned that he might not have
  enough strength and size to battle the bigger power forwards in the league.
  The team also had some promising backup players, including Rick Fox and
  Derek Fisher, both of whom would become important leaders later on. Rick was
  a former University of North Carolina star who was big and mobile enough to
  play both forward positions. He"d been drafted by Boston but languished there
  for several years during the post-Larry Bird era. Rick was known for making
  senseless errors, which the players called "Ricky Ball," but he was also a clutch
  shooter, a strong defender, and a selfless team player. Fisher, a six-one, twohundred-
  pound point guard from the University of Arkansas at Little Rock, was
  smart, aggressive, and versatile, with a good outside shot and natural leadership
  abilities.
  Our biggest weaknesses were at point guard and power forward. We pushed
  hard to make a deal with Houston for Scottie Pippen, but we lost out to the
  Portland Trail Blazers, our strongest rival in the Western Conference that year.
  Luckily, we were able to acquire Ron Harper, whose contract had run out with
  the Bulls, and A.C. Green, a veteran power forward who not only was a strong
  defender but was also well versed in the triangle, having played for former Bulls
  coach Jim Cleamons on the Dallas Mavericks. We also picked up backup center
  John Salley, who had won rings with the Bulls and the Pistons.
  The reason we recruited so many experienced players was to reverse the
  Lakers" sorry history of caving under pressure because of immaturity and lack of
  discipline. In 1998 the Lakers missed 15 of their first 18 shots on the way to
  their most embarrassing defeat in team history, a 112-77 blowout by the Jazz in
  game 1 of the Western Conference finals. Horry said the game reminded him of
  The Wizard of Oz because the team played with "no heart, no brain, no courage."
  To which coach Del Harris added, "And no wizard."
  I also assembled an experienced coaching staff, primarily made up of
  veterans I"d worked with in Chicago, including Cleamons, Frank Hamblen, and
  Tex Winter (much to Jerry Krause"s dismay). I also retained Lakers assistant
  coach Bill Bertka.
  Our plan was to begin at the beginning, teaching the players the rudiments of
  the system, starting with basic passing and shooting drills. The team soaked up
  everything we threw at them. When I asked the players to form a circle in the
  center of the court on the first day of training camp, it reminded Chip Schaefer,
  an athletic-performance coordinator I"d brought over from the Bulls, of that old
  E.F. Hutton television commercial. "Everyone was just hanging on every word,
  even the veterans," recalls Chip. "Everybody"s just, "Shhhhh. I want to hear
  everything this guy has to say."" Later, during practice, Chip noticed Rick Fox
  grinning from ear to ear. "He said, "I feel like I"m back in junior high again,""
  says Chip. "But it wasn"t like, "Oh my God, I"m back in junior high school." He
  was beaming because there"s something about fundamentals that basketball
  players love."
  Fish takes a broader view. "We"d been through a couple of years of
  frustrating playoffs," he says. "Although we had a lot of talent, we still hadn"t
  figured out a way to maximize our potential. So when Phil and the staff were
  hired, it brought everybody to attention and got us to focus in a way I hadn"t
  seen in the first three years we played together. Whatever Phil said, whatever he
  wanted us to do and however he wanted us to do it, everybody seemed to have
  that kind of kindergarten impressionable spirit. And it made us into a machine,
  an efficient group that can be compared to some of the best teams in history."
  My experience was somewhat different that first day. Although I was pleased
  by everyone"s eagerness to learn, I was vexed by how short the players" attention
  spans were. Before training camp I"d sent them a three-page letter on the triangle
  offense, mindfulness meditation, and other topics I planned to discuss during
  camp. But when I started delivering my first serious talk, they had a difficult
  time focusing on what I was saying. They looked at the ceiling; they fidgeted;
  they shuffled their feet. This was an issue I"d never encountered with the Bulls.
  To remedy the problem, psychologist George Mumford and I designed a
  program of daily meditation practice for the players, slowly increasing the time
  spent in each session from three minutes to ten minutes. I also introduced the
  players to yoga, tai chi, and other Eastern practices to help them balance mind,
  body, and spirit. In Chicago we"d used meditation primarily to increase
  awareness on the court. But with this team our goal was to bond the players
  together so that they would experience what we called "one breath, one mind."
  One of the basic principles of Buddhist thought is that our conventional
  concept of the self as a separate entity is an illusion. On a superficial level, what
  we consider the self may appear to be separate and distinct from everything else.
  After all, we all look different and have distinct personalities. But on a deeper
  level, we are all part of an interconnected whole.
  Martin Luther King Jr. spoke eloquently about this phenomenon. "In a real
  sense, all of life is interrelated," he said. "All persons are caught in an
  inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever
  affects one directly affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until
  you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I
  am what I ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality."
  The thirteenth-century Japanese Buddhist teacher Nichiren took a more
  pragmatic view. He wrote in a letter to his disciples who were being persecuted
  by feudal authorities that they should chant together "with the spirit of many in
  body but one in mind, transcending all differences among themselves to become
  as inseparable as fish and the water in which they swim." The unity that
  Nichiren prescribed was not a mechanical uniformity, imposed from without, but
  a connection that respected the unique qualities of each individual. "If the spirit
  of many in body but one in mind prevails among the people," he added, "they
  will achieve all their goals, whereas if one in body but different in mind, they
  can achieve nothing remarkable."
  That was the kind of unity I wanted to foster with the Lakers. I didn"t expect
  to turn the players into adepts, but I thought that meditation practice would help
  them break out of their me-oriented view of themselves and give them a glimpse
  of a different way of relating to others and the world around them.
  When I first started coaching the Bulls, they had already started transforming
  themselves into a one-mind-oriented team. The Lakota ideal of the warrior
  appealed to them because they had been through so many battles with their
  major rival, the Detroit Pistons. But that approach didn"t resonate as strongly
  with the Lakers. They had many enemies, not just one, and the most troubling of
  all, from my perspective, was the culture that fed them.
  By the time most future NBA players are middle schoolers, they become
  immersed in a universe that reinforces egoistic behavior. As they grow older and
  continue to succeed, they become surrounded by legions of agents, promoters,
  groupies, and other sycophants who keep telling them they"re "da man." It
  doesn"t take long before they start to really buy into it. What"s more, L.A. is a
  world devoted to celebrating the notion of the glorified self. Everywhere the
  Lakers went-not just the superstars but the other players as well-they were
  greeted as heroes and offered endless, often lucrative, opportunities to bask in
  their wonderfulness.
  My intention was to offer them a safe, supportive refuge from all that
  craziness and put them in touch with their deep-but as yet undeveloped-
  longing for real connection. That was the essential first step on which the team"s
  future success would depend.
  R
  15
  THE EIGHTFOLD
  OFFENSE
  Greatness is a spiritual condition.
  MATTHEW ARNOLD
  ick Fox describes my approach to coaching as a play in three acts. The
  way he sees it, during the first twenty or thirty games of each season
  I"d sit back and let the characters reveal themselves. "Most coaches
  come into a season with an idea of what they"re going to do and impose that on
  the players," he explains. "But I always felt that Phil came to the table with an
  open mind. "Let"s see how each individual expresses himself. Let"s see how the
  group responds under fire and whether it"s capable of solving problems." He
  never appeared too concerned about the team at that point. Never any panic.
  Never overanalyzing anything because that would be premature."
  Act 2 would take place during the twenty or thirty games in the middle of the
  season, before and after the All-Star game. "That"s when he would nurture the
  team, when guys were starting to get bored," Rick adds. "Phil would spend more
  time with each of us then. He"d give us books. I always felt that he drove me the
  hardest during that time."
  Then, during the last twenty or thirty games leading up to the playoffs, act 3
  would begin and, according to Fox, my whole demeanor would change-the
  way I"d look, talk, and move my body-as if I were saying, "This is my time."
  In the run-up to the playoffs, I"d often restrict the media"s access to the players
  and take a more assertive role in promoting the team. "Phil gave us new
  confidence and an identity we didn"t have before," says Rick. "But he would
  also take the pressure off of us and put it on himself. He would turn whole cities
  against him. And everyone would get upset at him and wouldn"t be thinking
  about us. It was like, "Look at this mess I"ve created over here," and we would be
  able to do what we were doing without the spotlight being on us."
  As the players used to say, "Sounds good." Of course, things didn"t always
  turn out so neatly.
  Before my first season with the Lakers started, I met with Shaq, Harper, and
  Kobe, and I told them that this was going to be Shaq"s team and the offense
  would run through him. But I added that Kobe would be the floor leader, not
  unlike the relationship between Kareem and Magic in a previous era. I didn"t
  feel that Kobe was ready to be cocaptain yet, so I put Ron in that spot and asked
  him to serve as Kobe"s mentor while he learned how to be a leader. I wanted to
  spell everything out at the beginning so there wouldn"t be any ambiguity about
  roles-especially with Kobe.
  We didn"t really get a chance to try out this structure, though, because Kobe
  broke his right hand during the first preseason game and was out until December.
  We picked up Brian Shaw, a big, versatile journeyman guard, to help cover for
  Kobe while he was out, and the team started to come together, going 12-4 in the
  first month. Our first loss was to the Trail Blazers, who did a good job of
  trapping our guards, sabotaging our offense, and fouling Shaq as soon as he got
  the ball. Afterward I asked Scottie, who was now with the Trail Blazers, what he
  thought of our team, and he quipped, "I think your triangle looks more like a
  square."
  Later that month during a game against the Nets, I called a play we referred
  to as a "home run," but Horry missed it and the play fell apart. When I asked
  Robert what had happened, he said, "I didn"t hear your call." At which point I
  made a reference to the Bible, knowing that Horry came from a religious family.
  "The sheep know their master"s voice," I said. "It"s all about recognizing the
  master"s voice and responding to his call." Salley asked me what I meant by that
  politically incorrect statement, and I told him that it referred to a parable about
  the sheep knowing the master"s voice that Jesus used as a metaphor to explain
  his disciples" understanding of the will of God. For weeks after that incident, the
  players would kid me when I called them to the circle at the start of practice,
  saying, "Yes, master."
  Kobe returned on December 1 and the team continued its streak into January.
  But the offense wasn"t flowing as smoothly as it had before. Kobe was having a
  difficult time staying in the triangle and would frequently go rogue, which
  annoyed his teammates. Many of them told me they didn"t like playing with
  Kobe because he didn"t respect the system. I"d been through this before with
  Michael, but Kobe, who had recently turned twenty-one, wasn"t as mature and
  open-minded as Jordan.
  If children are fated to live out the unfulfilled dreams of their parents, Kobe
  was a textbook case. His father, Joe "Jellybean" Bryant, was a six-nine forward
  for the legendary 1970s Philadelphia 76ers. Bryant Sr. once claimed that he
  played the same kind of game as Magic Johnson, but the NBA wasn"t ready for
  his playground style. So after stints with two other teams, he finished his career
  in Italy, where Kobe grew up.
  The youngest of three children (and the only boy), Kobe was the golden
  child in the family who could do no wrong. He was a bright, talented
  overachiever with a natural gift for the game. He spent long hours practicing,
  imitating the moves of Jordan and others he studied on tapes his relatives sent
  from the United States. When he was thirteen, the family moved back to
  Philadelphia, and he soon developed into a star at Lower Merion High School.
  John Lucas, then head coach of the 76ers, invited Kobe to scrimmage with the
  team over the summer and was surprised by the young player"s courage and
  level of skill. Not long afterward, Kobe decided to forgo college and jump right
  into the pros, even though he had high enough SAT scores to take his pick of
  schools. Jerry West said Kobe"s predraft workout at age seventeen was the best
  he"d ever seen. Jerry made a trade with the Hornets to draft Kobe thirteenth
  overall in 1996-the same year he lured Shaq away from Orlando with a sevenyear,
  $120 million free-agent deal.
  Kobe had big dreams. Soon after I started with the Lakers, Jerry called me
  into his office to report that Kobe had asked him how he had averaged 30-plus
  points a game when his teammate, Elgin Baylor, was also scoring 30-plus points
  per game. Kobe was hell-bent on surpassing Jordan as the greatest player in the
  game. His obsession with Michael was striking. Not only had he mastered many
  of Jordan"s moves, but he affected many of M.J."s mannerisms as well. When we
  played in Chicago that season, I orchestrated a meeting between the two stars,
  thinking that Michael might help shift Kobe"s attitude toward selfless teamwork.
  After they shook hands, the first words out of Kobe"s mouth were "You know I
  can kick your ass one on one."
  I admired Kobe"s ambition. But I also felt that he needed to break out of his
  protective chrysalis if he wanted to win the ten rings he told his teammates he
  was shooting for. Obviously, basketball isn"t an individual sport. To achieve
  greatness, you must rely on the good offices of others. But Kobe had yet to reach
  out to his teammates and try to get to know them. Instead of spending time with
  them after games, he usually went back to his hotel room to study tapes or chat
  with his high-school friends on the phone.
  Kobe was also a stubborn, hardheaded learner. He was so confident in his
  ability that you couldn"t simply point out his mistakes and expect him to alter his
  behavior. He would have to experience failure directly before his resistance
  would start to break down. It was often an excruciating process for him and
  everyone else involved. Then suddenly he would have an aha moment and figure
  out a way to change.
  One of those moments happened in early February. That"s when the team
  was struck by a puzzling malaise. After a less-than-stellar performance, I closed
  the locker room to all but the players and asked what had happened to cause
  them to suddenly stop playing together. It was a rhetorical question, but I let
  them know we"d take it up the following day after practice. We gathered in a
  small video room at Southwest Los Angeles Community College-our
  temporary practice space. There were four rows of five chairs, and in the first
  row sat Shaq, Fox, Fish, Harp, and Shaw. Kobe was in the last row with his
  hoodie pulled over his head. I reviewed the demands that the triangle offense
  placed on each team member, then concluded: "You can"t be a selfish player and
  make this offense work for the team"s good. Period." When I opened the floor to
  comments, there was complete silence, and I was about to adjourn the meeting
  when Shaq spoke up. He got right to the point, saying, "I think Kobe is playing
  too selfishly for us to win." That got everyone fired up. Some of the players
  nodded in support of Shaq, including Rick Fox, who said, "How many times
  have we been through this?" No one in that room came to Kobe"s defense. I
  asked him if he had anything to say. Kobe finally addressed the group, and in a
  calm, quiet voice he said he cared about everyone and just wanted to be part of a
  winning team.
  I wasn"t pleased with the meeting. I worried that having everyone"s
  complaints on the table without any resolution would have a negative effect on
  team harmony. In the days that followed, we lost four out of five games,
  including a 105-81 "massacre" by the Spurs in the Alamodome. One night that
  week I had a dream about spanking Kobe and giving Shaq a smack. "Shaq needs
  and Kobe wants-the mystery of the Lakers," I wrote in my journal.
  The players started blaming one another for the breakdown, and I realized
  that I had to address the unrest head-on. The first thing I did was meet Shaq for
  breakfast to discuss what it means to be a leader. I started by relating the story of
  how Michael galvanized the Bulls with his confidence in himself and his
  teammates before the must-win game 5 against Cleveland in the 1989 playoffs.
  The Cavaliers had just beaten us at home to tie the series, and Michael had had
  an off night. Still, that didn"t faze him. His uncompromising faith revved up the
  team, and we won the final game-not surprisingly, on a last-second miracle
  shot by Jordan.
  I told Shaq he needed to find his own way to inspire the Lakers. He needed
  to express his confidence and natural joy for the game in such a way that his
  teammates-Kobe especially-felt that if they joined forces with him, nothing
  would be impossible. A team leader"s number one job, I explained, was to build
  up his teammates, not tear them down. Shaq had probably heard this kind of
  spiel before, but this time I think it clicked.
  With Kobe I took a different tack. I tried to be as direct as possible and show
  him in front of the other players how his selfish mistakes were hurting the team.
  During one film session, I said, "Now I know why the guys don"t like playing
  with you. You"ve got to play together." I also indicated to him that if he didn"t
  want to share the ball with his teammates, I would gladly work out a trade for
  him. I had no trouble being the bad cop in this situation. (See under: Sometimes
  you have to pull out the big stick.) I knew Harper would soften the blow later by
  explaining to Kobe-in far less strident terms-how to play more selflessly
  without sacrificing his creativity.
  I also talked to Kobe about what it takes to be a leader. At one point I told
  him, "I guess you"d like to be the captain of this team someday when you"re
  older-maybe like twenty-five." He replied that he wanted to be captain
  tomorrow. To which I said, "You can"t be captain if nobody follows you."
  Eventually it sank in. Kobe began looking for ways to fit himself into the
  system and play more collaboratively. He also made an effort to socialize more
  with his teammates, especially when we were on the road. And after the All-Star
  break, everything started to come together. We went on a 27-1 streak and
  finished the season with the best record in the league, 67-15.
  The players seemed relieved that we"d put to sleep a problem that had
  haunted the team for the past three years. As Rick Fox put it, Kobe"s me-first
  attitude "was a land mine that was about to explode. We all knew that somebody
  had to step on it, but nobody wanted to. So Phil did it, and we all walk a lot more
  freely now."
  -
  As we prepared for the playoffs, I thought it might be useful for the players to
  have a refresher course on selfless basketball, but this time from a different
  perspective-that of the Buddha. So I devoted one of our practice sessions to
  talking about the Buddha"s thinking and how it applies to basketball. I probably
  lost some of the players early on, but if nothing else, the discussion took their
  minds off the pressure of the upcoming postseason.
  In a nutshell, the Buddha taught that life is suffering and that the primary
  cause of our suffering is our desire for things to be different from the way they
  actually are. One moment, things may be going our way, and in the next moment
  they"re not. When we try to prolong pleasure or reject pain, we suffer. On the
  bright side, the Buddha also prescribed a practical way for eliminating craving
  and unhappiness by following what he called the Noble Eightfold Path. The
  steps were right view, right thinking, right speech, right action, right livelihood,
  right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.
  I thought the teachings might help explain what we were trying to do as a
  basketball team.
  1. RIGHT VIEW-involves looking at the game as a whole
  and working together as a team, like five fingers on a hand.
  2. RIGHT THINKING-means seeing yourself as part of a
  system rather than as your own one-man band. It also
  implies going into each game with the intention of being
  intimately involved with what"s happening to the whole
  team because you"re integrally connected to everyone on it.
  3. RIGHT SPEECH-has two components. One is about
  talking positively to yourself throughout the game and not
  getting lost in aimless back talk ("I hate that ref," "I"m going
  to get back at that bastard"). The second is about controlling
  what you say when you"re talking with others, especially
  your teammates, and focusing on giving them positive
  feedback.
  4. RIGHT ACTION-suggests making moves that are
  appropriate to what"s happening on the floor instead of
  repeatedly showboating or acting in ways that disrupt team
  harmony.
  5. RIGHT LIVELIHOOD-is about having respect for the
  work you do and using it to heal the community rather than
  simply to polish your ego. Be humble. You"re getting paid a
  ridiculous amount of money to do something that"s really
  simple. And fun.
  6. RIGHT EFFORT-means being unselfish and exerting the
  right amount of energy to get the job done. Tex Winter says
  that there"s no substitute for hustle, and my addendum is, if
  you don"t hustle, you"ll get benched.
  7. RIGHT MINDFULNESS-involves coming to every game
  with a clear understanding of our plan of attack, including
  what to expect from our opponents. It also implies playing
  with precision, making the right moves at the right times,
  and maintaining constant awareness throughout the game,
  whether you"re on the floor or on the bench.
  8. RIGHT CONCENTRATION-is about staying focused on
  what you"re doing at any given moment and not obsessing
  about mistakes you"ve made in the past or bad things that
  might happen in the future.
  What worried me about this team was the ghosts of playoffs past. The
  players had a tendency to lose patience and panic when the pressure started
  building and they couldn"t get by on talent alone. As one Buddhist teacher I
  know put it, they tended to put a head on top of a head when the game started
  going into a nosedive. In other words, they let their fear or anger persist and steal
  their focus from the task at hand.
  With the Lakers I found that I had to be a model of calmness and patience,
  much more so than with the Bulls. I had to demonstrate that the key to inner
  peace is trusting in the essential interconnectedness of all things. One breath, one
  mind. That"s what gives you strength and energy in the midst of chaos.
  -
  The first round of the playoffs against Sacramento was an enlightening
  experience. The Kings had a fast, explosive young team with a deft passing
  attack that was hard to stop when the players were in full motion. The player I
  worried about most was Chris Webber, who was too strong and quick for our
  power forward duo of A.C. Green and Robert Horry. That meant he could break
  free and help out Vlade Divac on Shaq. I was also impressed with the Kings"
  bench, led by Predrag Stojakovic, a chilling outside shooter. Our best bet, I
  figured, was to slow the pace down and neutralize the Kings" running game.
  That worked in the first two games, which we won handily, but when the
  five-game series moved to Sacramento"s noisy bandbox stadium, the Kings
  capitalized on some generous officiating and Shaq"s lackluster defense to pull
  the series even, 2-2. After the third game a Sacramento reporter asked me if
  these were the most energetic fans I"d ever seen, and I told him no. "I coached
  basketball in Puerto Rico, where if you won on a visiting floor, your tires were
  slashed and you might be chased out of town with rocks breaking the windows
  of your car." But here, I said, "We"re talking about semi-civilized in Sacramento.
  These people are just maybe redneck in some form or fashion." I meant it tongue
  in cheek, but the remark launched a backlash in the state"s capital that haunted us
  for years.
  The final must-win game in the Staples Center was a trial by fire for the
  young Lakers. "If you don"t win this one," I told the players, "then you don"t
  deserve to move into the next round. You"ve got to play to win, not play to avoid
  losing." And they rose to the occasion. The refs finally started calling Webber
  for playing a zonelike defense on Shaq, which freed the big man to take over the
  game, hitting 7 of his first 8 field-goal attempts and finishing with 32 points and
  18 rebounds, as we went on to win, 113-86. "We knew if we didn"t play our A
  game, we"d make history tonight," Shaq said. "And we didn"t want to make that
  kind of history."
  In the next series we jumped to a relatively easy 3-0 lead over Phoenix, but
  we fell apart in game 4, allowing the Suns to score an embarrassing 71 points in
  the first half.
  During halftime I didn"t talk to the players at first; I let them sulk and bicker
  among themselves until about two minutes before game time. Then I stormed
  into the locker room and hurled a bottle of Gaterlode against the wall to get their
  attention. I rarely throw tirades, but they needed to hear how I felt about their
  inconsistency and lack of discipline at a time when they couldn"t afford to get
  sloppy. After the game, which we lost 117-98, I made a more thoughtful speech.
  "You guys are a little tired of each other and don"t want to work together as a
  cohesive unit," I said. "All of this is understandable at this stage of a long
  season. To win a championship, however, you"ve got to find a way to match
  each other"s energy and to match your opponent"s energy. You"ve just got to
  figure out what it takes to win night after night. Let"s learn from this game and
  don"t let it happen again." Two nights later the Suns couldn"t make anything
  work, and we breezed to victory, 87-65.
  I knew from the start that our opponents in the Western Conference finals-
  the Portland Trail Blazers-were going to be the team to beat in the playoffs.
  They had the most expensive roster in the league ($73.9 million), including
  center Arvydas Sabonis (bigger than Shaq at seven feet three inches and 292
  pounds), fiery power forward Rasheed Wallace, left-handed point guard Damon
  Stoudamire, versatile spot shooter Steve Smith, and Pippen, who could do
  everything. They also had a dynamic bench, featuring guards Bonzi Wells and
  Greg Anthony, and six-ten swing man Detlef Schrempf. To tweak them, I
  dubbed the Blazers "the best team money can buy."
  The player I was worried about, of course, was Scottie. He had a Ph.D. in the
  triangle offense and knew every possible way to disrupt it. To keep Scottie from
  harassing our guards, we put six-nine Horry in the backcourt and had Harper
  rove around the top of the floor as a small forward. We also tried using Kobe as
  a traditional point guard so we could exploit the mismatch between our big
  guards and Portland"s five-ten Stoudamire. Both strategies worked better than
  expected. Our biggest advantage, though, was at center. Despite his height,
  Sabonis wasn"t mobile enough to contain Shaq, so the Blazers often tripleteamed
  him and resorted to a hack-a-Shaq strategy late in games. The Blazers
  might be bigger and more athletic than us, said Kobe, but "Shaq will match up
  with about four of them on his own."
  The first game was a walk. Our bench had a big second quarter and Shaq
  erupted for 41 points as we sailed to a 109-94 victory. But in game 2 Scottie
  started to drive on Glen Rice and penetrate our defense, racking up 17 points in
  the first half to lead the Blazers to a double-digit lead before he fell and
  dislocated two fingers. Miraculously, we were down by only three at halftime,
  but then our offense completely imploded in the third quarter, scoring only 8
  points, a franchise low in the playoffs. This game was a warning bell for me. I
  tried to let the players figure out on their own how to find their inner resolve and
  reverse the collapse, but it didn"t happen. One thing I did know, however, was
  that we had to stop Scottie"s free-ranging attack. After the game I told Kobe that
  he would be covering Scottie.
  We won the next two games in Portland to take a 3-1 lead in the series. The
  first was an inspiring come-from-behind victory featuring a go-ahead jumper by
  Harper with 29.9 seconds left. The highlight of the second win was Shaq"s
  perfect nine-for-nine performance on the line, the best he"d ever done in the
  playoffs. But after that, when dreams of rings started floating in everyone"s head,
  the Blazers scorched us in back-to-back games to tie the series, 3-3.
  Nothing was working. We were down by 15 points at the half in game 6 and
  Fox went into a rage. "Here we go again," he said, referring to the Lakers"
  history of collapsing during the playoffs. "Everybody"s got a blank look on his
  face. So what are we going to do about it? Are we going to let the referees
  dictate the terms of the game? Are we going to be passive and get blown out
  again? Or are we going to stand up on our own feet? Are we going to provide
  support for each other?"
  Tex said to me, "You"d better tell him to shut up."
  "No," I replied. "Somebody"s got to say these things"-meaning a player on
  the team and not the coach.
  Did I tell you how much I dislike seventh games? Well, this one was
  especially challenging. The Blazers were on a roll, and we were struggling to
  contain them. Then in the third period, they took off, scoring 18 points on seven
  possessions, and suddenly we were down 16 and floundering. To be honest, I
  thought we were dead in the water. So I called time-out and tried to inject some
  life into our dazed and confused troops.
  Then something beautiful happened: The team found itself. The Blazers were
  killing us with high screen-rolls because Shaq was averse to coming out of his
  comfort zone and getting caught chasing after players such as Stoudamire or
  Smith. During moments like this, Shaq was in danger of falling into a downward
  spiral of self-defeat, which had crippled him during big games in the past. The
  perfect example of putting a head on top of a head. So I told him, in no uncertain
  terms, that this was his moment. He needed to move out of the lane and start
  breaking down the screen-rolls no matter what. He nodded in agreement.
  The other thing we needed to do was to stop trying to feed the ball to Shaq,
  who was being swarmed to death and had only 2 field goals in the first three
  quarters. We had a lot of players open, and the Blazers were daring us to make
  the shots they were giving us.
  "Forget about Shaq," I said. "There are four guys around him. Shoot the shot,
  just shoot it."
  The attack came from all angles. Brian Shaw, who was subbing for Harper,
  took off, hitting some key three-pointers, setting up Shaq for a big score, and
  battling Brian Grant for an important rebound. Kobe starting clicking on some
  plays we orchestrated for him. And our defense, led by a newly emboldened
  Shaq, shut down the Blazers" top shooters. During one stretch, the Lakers
  outscored the Blazers 25-4.
  Then, with less than a minute left and the Lakers up by four, Kobe drove
  toward the basket and surprised everyone by lofting a beautiful pass to Shaq two
  feet above the rim, which he grabbed and dunked. It was a gratifying moment to
  see these two men come together for a perfectly coordinated play that put the
  game out of reach. That pass symbolized how far Kobe and Shaq had progressed
  since that unsettling team meeting during the winter when their egos collided.
  After that they had worked out a mutually agreeable way to collaborate that
  culminated in this dramatic closeout shot. That moment was an important
  turning point for our new team.
  -
  The championship finals against the Indiana Pacers would not be as
  transformative as our battle with the Trail Blazers. But it had its own dangers.
  The Pacers were the best shooting team in the league and had a lot of ways to
  make our lives difficult.
  Their biggest threat, of course, was shooting guard Reggie Miller, known for
  his uncanny ability to weave through picks and hit game-winning jumpers. But
  they also had small forward Jalen Rose, a one-on-one artist; center Rik Smits, an
  impressive jump shooter; point guard Mark Jackson, a strong post-up player;
  versatile power forwards Dale Davis and Austin Croshere; and a strong bench
  that included three-point whiz Sam Perkins and superquick guard Travis Best. In
  addition, Indiana had one of the best coaching staffs in the game, with Dick
  Harter, a defensive guru, Rick Carlisle, the offensive coordinator, and Larry
  Bird, the head coach.
  We got off to a good start. In game 1, in L.A., Shaq overwhelmed the Pacers
  with 43 points and 19 rebounds and Miller went flat, hitting only 1 of 16 shots.
  The game was decided early. Then two days later we had a replay, beating the
  Pacers with another Shaq virtuoso performance and 21-point nights for both
  Rice and Harper. The downside: Kobe sprained his ankle in the first quarter, and
  it looked as if he might have to miss the next game too.
  Indiana bounced back and won game 3 in Indianapolis. But that wasn"t the
  big story. Rice"s wife, Christina, complained to reporters after the game that I
  was short-timing Glen, and the media jumped all over it. She told Los Angeles
  Times columnist Bill Plaschke, "If it was me, I would have already been Latrell
  Sprewell II" (referring to then-Warriors star Latrell Sprewell"s choking attack on
  his coach P.J. Carlesimo). This was an outrageous comment, but Glen and I had
  already talked about restricting his playing time in certain situations, and he was
  on board. He handled the media masterfully, supporting his wife but not publicly
  defending her charges.
  Besides, I had something more immediate to worry about: Kobe"s ankle.
  Before the start of game 3, Kobe pleaded with me to put him in the game, even
  though his ankle was killing him. But after watching him painfully stand up on
  his toes in the hallway outside our locker room, I decided it was too risky to
  chance it and had him sit this one out.
  Kobe was still in a great deal of pain three nights later, for game 4, but he
  insisted he could play through it, and it turned out to be his big night. The game
  was tight most of the way and went into overtime, but Shaq fouled out in the
  first minute of OT, and Kobe took over, hitting 8 of our 16 points to set up a
  120-118 win. Afterward Shaq rushed on court and hugged the man he was now
  calling his "big little brother."
  I was impressed with Kobe. This was the first time I saw how impervious he
  was to excruciating pain. He wasn"t going to let anything stop him. That night he
  reminded me of Michael Jordan.
  Then, true to form, we dropped the next game in dramatic fashion, losing by
  33 points, the worst defeat of the season. The game was such an all-around
  fiasco, it made me question whether this team had the right stuff to win a
  championship. But Fox put a more optimistic spin on the game, saying, "It
  makes snapping back a whole lot of fun when you take a beating like we did
  today."
  After reviewing the game tapes, we decided to change some of our defensive
  assignments, putting Harper on Miller, Kobe on Jackson, and Rice on Rose. We
  also moved A.C. over to front Smits because Rik had trouble catching passes
  that were lobbed over a defender"s head. As expected, Smits had a bad game,
  hitting one for eight from the field. But the rest of the team was shooting in the
  Staples Center as if they were still playing at home. It wasn"t until the fourth
  period-with the Pacers ahead 84-79-that the game started to turn.
  One of our best moves was a play we called the "fist chest," which involved
  having two players do a screen-roll on the wing while another filled the corner.
  The beauty of the play was that it drew three Pacers away from the lane to cover
  the screen-roll and the corner shooter. That forced them to either cover Shaq one
  on one (a big mistake) or leave the corner shooter with a wide-open three (even
  worse).
  We ran the fist chest six times in the fourth period, and it helped open up the
  floor for us. We also had success with a number of other plays, including one we
  dubbed the "Shaw-Shaq redemption," featuring Brian Shaw feeding Shaq with a
  lob pass high on the backboard. Kobe also came alive, hitting shots, pulling
  down rebounds, and most of all feeding Shaq, as we went on a 15-4 run at the
  start of the period to take the lead.
  We were up 110-103 with 3:02 left when Bird finally resorted to the hack-a-
  Shaq strategy. In the next twenty-one seconds, they fouled Shaq twice, and he hit
  only one of his four free throws. So I decided to pull him out until the twominute
  mark, when the Pacers would be hit with a technical if they deliberately
  fouled him. In the meantime, though, Indiana kept clawing back and narrowed
  the lead to 110-109 with 1:32 remaining.
  That"s as close as they got. With thirteen seconds left, Kobe hit two free
  throws to seal the win, 116-111. As he walked off the court, he pointed to his
  ring finger then waved his index finger in the air, as if to say this was just the
  first of many championships.
  -
  After the game, Dr. Buss teased me about my lack of patience. "Why did you
  have to win in the first year and make it seem so easy?" he joked. "It"s making
  the rest of us look stupid for not doing it before."
  To be honest, I never expected to win our first ring so quickly. I thought it
  would take the players at least two years to learn the system and gel into a
  cohesive unit. But this team was on the fast track to glory. It was gratifying to
  see that the basic principles we"d developed with the Bulls could be so effective
  in transforming a very different kind of team into champions. Obviously, Shaq"s
  dominance was a key factor in our victory, and so was Kobe"s relentless
  creativity. But what pleased me even more was the synergy the two of them
  exhibited in the last part of the season, after they realized that they needed each
  other to achieve the only goal that mattered.
  I too had a personal breakthrough that season. I learned to overcome my fear
  of the unknown and create a new life in a new city without losing what I loved
  most. This was a time for me to establish new, deeper relationships with my
  children-not just Brooke, who lived in the house, but also my other children,
  who visited regularly. It was also a time for me to continue to open up spiritually.
  During difficult moments, meditation had helped me cope with all the
  uncertainty and self-doubt that arise when you break from the past and throw
  yourself into a new life. I felt more alive than I had in years.
  What gave me the most pleasure, though, was watching this group of
  talented but undisciplined players shape themselves into a force to be reckoned
  with. They still had a lot to learn, but I was impressed by how quickly they had
  shifted from a me-oriented stage 3 team to a we-focused stage 4. Slowly, ever so
  slowly, they developed the confidence to bounce back from adversity and tap
  into a source of inner strength many of them had never experienced before. They
  faced their demons head-on and didn"t blink.
  S
  16
  THE JOY OF DOING
  NOTHING
  Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows
  by itself.
  ZEN PROVERB
  ometimes when I"m filling out forms, I list my profession as
  "magician." I"m not trying to be mischievous. It"s just that when I think
  of the ego-balancing act NBA coaches have to perform, making magic
  may be the best way to describe what we do.
  That was certainly true in the fall of 2000, when we regrouped in L.A. to
  start the new season. The year after winning a championship is always the
  hardest. That"s when everybody"s ego rears its head and the uncanny chemistry
  the team felt just a few months earlier suddenly dissolves into thin air.
  Rick Fox compares winning an NBA championship to getting your first
  Oscar. "It defines who you are," he says. "For the rest of your life you mean
  something." But it also changes your expectations. "You win a championship
  and you all go away and get patted on the back for several months," he adds.
  "Then you return for the new season, and you"re saying, "This is what I want to
  happen for me.""
  Most players try to conceal their personal agendas. But they"re not hard to
  detect, especially when everybody starts playing together. One of the beauties of
  the triangle offense is that it exposes each player"s mind-set without his ever
  having to say a word.
  The first thing I noticed was a loss of drive. The players had put their hearts
  and souls into winning the championship, and now many of them were on cruise
  control. But I decided not to ride them too hard in the early part of the season.
  Now that they were champions, I told them, it was time for them to start figuring
  out how to solve problems on their own.
  Still, something was missing. We"d lost some of our savviest players in the
  off-season: Glen Rice left for New York as a free agent, A.C. Green got picked
  up by Miami, and John Salley retired. To fill the holes we"d acquired some solid
  players, including two former Bulls-forward Horace Grant and center Greg
  Foster-and J.R. Rider, a shooting guard who was capable of hitting 20-plus
  points a game, if he could stay focused. I also talked Ron Harper into postponing
  retirement for another year and made Rick Fox a cocaptain as well as the starting
  small forward. But as we trudged through the first two months of the season,
  losing more games than I thought we should, I could sense that this one was
  going to be an emotional roller-coaster ride. The team had lost its esprit de corps.
  -
  One player whose agenda wasn"t hard to figure out was Kobe Bryant. He had
  worked hard over the summer-claiming to have taken 2,000 shots a day-and
  he"d made another quantum leap in performance. The fans loved his spectacular
  new moves, and his popularity soared, as he threatened to overtake Shaquille
  O"Neal in the all-important sale-of-eponymous-jerseys statistic. Kobe was off to
  an exhilarating start, leading the league in scoring and shooting close to 50
  percent from the field. In early December he outscored rival Vince Carter 40-31
  in a win over the Raptors in Toronto, and a local broadcaster proclaimed, "The
  Lakers were known last year as Shaq"s team. Not anymore."
  But Kobe was building his résumé at the expense of the rest of the team.
  Early in the season I"d asked him to keep playing the way he had the year
  before, running the offense through Shaq and sticking with the system until the
  final minutes of the game. Kobe responded by nearly doubling the number of
  shots he took each game and adopting an erratic style of passing-or more often,
  not passing-that infuriated his teammates, especially Shaq. Kobe"s selfishness
  and unpredictability gave the other players a sinking feeling that he didn"t trust
  them anymore, which further eroded team harmony.
  The previous year Kobe had embraced the triangle offense. He couldn"t wait
  to test drive the system that had turned Michael and the Bulls into champions.
  But at the start of this season he told me he thought the offense was boring and
  too simple, and it prevented him from displaying his gifts. I understood, but I
  told him we needed to win the most games with the fewest mishaps, including
  injuries and end-of-the-season fatigue. I don"t think he bought it.
  For me part of the challenge was that the Lakers were a very different team
  from the Bulls. We hadn"t had a dominant center like Shaq in Chicago, so we"d
  adjusted the system to make the offense accommodate Jordan. With the Bulls
  we"d also had a great floor leader, Scottie Pippen, the man I"ve always said
  helped Michael to become Michael. By default the role of orchestrator on the
  Lakers fell to Kobe, but he wasn"t interested in becoming Shaq"s Pippen. He
  wanted to create shots for himself.
  Rick Fox describes Kobe during this period as "willful and determined, like
  a bull in a china shop." In his first years with the Lakers, Rick often competed
  with Kobe for playing time. "Kobe"s an alpha male," he says. "He looks at the
  world with the eye of someone who says, "I know more than you," and if you
  were in his way, he was going to push and push until you pushed back. And if
  you didn"t push back, he was going to eat you."
  Rick compares Kobe"s competitive drive to that of M.J., whom Fox worked
  with at Jordan"s basketball camps when he was a college student. Rick says:
  "There are no other individuals I"ve known who act like they do. To them,
  winning at all costs is all that matters. And they demand that everyone around
  them act the same way, regardless of whether they can or not. They say, "Find
  somewhere inside yourself to get better, because that"s what I"m doing every day
  of the week, every minute of the day." They have no tolerance for anything less.
  None."
  But Fox noticed a difference between Michael and Kobe. "Michael had to
  win at everything," he recalls. "I mean he couldn"t drive from Chapel Hill to
  Wilmington without making it a race. Whether you wanted to compete or not, he
  was competing with you. But I think Kobe competes with himself more than
  anything else. He sets barriers and challenges for himself, and he just happens to
  need other people to come along with him. He"s playing an individual sport in a
  team uniform-and dominating it. Once he steps off the court, though, he"s not
  interested in competing with you in the way you dress or how you drive. He"s
  obsessed with chasing the goals he set for himself at age 15 or 16."
  Which is exactly what was making Kobe so difficult to coach. In his mind he
  had it all figured out. His goal was to become the greatest basketball player of all
  time. And he was certain he knew what he had to do to get there. Why should he
  listen to anybody else? If he followed my advice and cut back his scoring, he"d
  fall short of his ultimate goal.
  How was I going to get through to this kid?
  -
  The player who was the most irritated by Kobe"s self-serving style was Shaq.
  After the playoffs, I"d told Shaq to have a good time over the summer and
  come back relaxed and ready to go. He got the first part of the message, but
  unfortunately he had trouble with the "ready to go" part. He arrived in training
  camp overweight and out of condition, and it took him almost half the season to
  get back in fighting shape. He looked exhausted, as if he were still trying to
  recover from the previous season, when he led the league in scoring and won all
  three MVP awards.
  But early in 2000-2001 his shooting percentage declined, and his free-throw
  touch-which had never been great-disappeared. In early December Shaq
  broke Wilt Chamberlain"s futility-at-the-line record by going 0 for 11 against
  Seattle. It got so bad that fans started sending me amulets and crystals to bring
  him luck. Even his three-year-old daughter started giving him tips. Tex Winter
  tried to work with Shaq but gave up after two days, saying that he was
  "uncoachable on free throws." So we brought in Ed Palubinskas, an Australian
  free-throw champion Shaq"s agent had discovered, and his work paid off handily.
  By the end of the season, Shaq had improved his percentage on the line from
  37.2 percent to 65.1 percent.
  In late December, after a game against the Suns in which Kobe scored 38
  points and Shaq struggled to get 18, O"Neal told general manager Mitch
  Kupchak and me that he wanted to be traded. Kupchak, who had replaced Jerry
  West after West had resigned unexpectedly over the summer, didn"t take the
  request seriously. Mitch believed that Shaq was simply expressing his frustration
  with Kobe"s attempts to hijack the offense.
  This was the start of what evolved into a full-fledged feud between Shaq and
  Kobe over the question of who would lead the team. Clearly the alliance they"d
  formed the year before was falling apart.
  I had encouraged the two of them to get to know each other better, in the
  hope that this would strengthen their bond. But Kobe balked at the idea of
  getting too close to Shaq and was appalled by the big guy"s attempts to turn him
  into his "little brother." As Kobe explained, they came from different cultures
  and had little in common. Shaq was an army brat from the South by way of
  Newark, New Jersey, and Kobe was the worldly son of a former NBA player
  from Philadelphia by way of Italy.
  They also had strikingly different personalities. Shaq was a generous, funloving
  guy who was more interested in getting you to laugh at his jokes than in
  winning the scoring title. He couldn"t understand why Kobe always wanted to
  make everything so hard. "That"s what drove Kobe crazy about Shaq," says Fox.
  "In the most serious moments, Shaq had to have fun. If he wasn"t having fun, he
  didn"t want to be there."
  Kobe, on the other hand, was cool and introverted and could be bitingly
  sarcastic. Even though he was six years younger than Shaq, he seemed older and
  more mature. As former Lakers coach Del Harris said, "You ask what Kobe was
  like as a kid. That"s just it, he was never a kid." But I think it was easy to
  mistake Kobe"s worldliness and intense focus for maturity. As far as I could see,
  he still had a lot of growing up to do-and because of his nature, he"d have to do
  it the hard way.
  -
  Shortly after Shaq made his halfhearted trade appeal, a cover story on Kobe by
  Ric Bucher appeared in ESPN the Magazine in which Kobe hinted at being
  interested in moving to another team. The article referred to a conversation I"d
  had with him early in the season, asking him to turn down his game. Kobe"s
  answer to me, in the story, was "Turn my game down? I need to turn it up. I"ve
  improved. How are you going to bottle me up? I"d be better off playing
  somewhere else." He also took a shot at Shaq. "If Shaq were a 70 percent free
  throw shooter," Kobe said, "it would make things so much easier. We have to
  know our strengths and weaknesses. I trust the team. I just trust myself more.
  Yeah, we won last year with the offense going through Shaq. But instead of
  winning the series in five and seven games, this year we"ll have sweeps."
  Recognizing how inflammatory these remarks might be to his teammates,
  Kobe tried to soften the blow by giving them a heads-up before the article
  appeared. But that didn"t keep Shaq from going ballistic. "I don"t know why
  anybody would want to change except for selfish reasons," he told reporters after
  our next practice. "Last year we were 67-15 playing with enthusiasm. The city
  was jumping up and down. We had a parade and everything. Now we"re 23-11,
  so you figure it out." Then he dropped the bomb. "Clearly if the offense doesn"t
  run through me," he said, "the house doesn"t get guarded. Period."
  It was tempting to inject my own ego into this dispute. In fact, that"s what
  most of the media pundits thought I should do. But I was wary of turning what I
  considered a ridiculous sandbox fight into something more serious. I"d seen that
  happen too many times in Chicago when Jerry Krause would bluster his way
  into a volatile situation and end up making things worse. I generally prefer
  taking a page from the playbook of the other Chicago Jerry-Jerry Reinsdorf.
  He once said that the best way to handle most flare-ups is to sleep on them. The
  point is to avoid acting out of anger and creating an even stickier mess. And if
  you"re lucky, the problem may resolve itself.
  I"m not averse to taking direct action if that"s what is called for, but like
  Reinsdorf, I"ve discovered that you can solve many difficulties with what Laotzu
  called non-action. This approach is often misinterpreted as passivity, but
  actually it"s just the reverse. Non-action involves being attuned to what"s
  happening with the group and acting-or non-acting-accordingly. In the
  foreword to his adaptation of Lao-tzu"s Tao Te Ching, Stephen Mitchell
  compares non-action to athletic performance. "A good athlete can enter a state of
  body-awareness in which the right stroke or the right movement happens by
  itself, effortlessly, without any interference of the conscious will," he writes.
  "This is the paradigm for non-action: the purest and most effective form of
  action. The game plays the game; the poem writes the poem; we can"t tell the
  dancer from the dance." Or as Lao-tzu proclaims in Mitchell"s work:
  Less and less do you need to force things,
  until finally you arrive at non-action.
  When nothing is done,
  nothing is left undone.
  With Shaq and Kobe I decided not to force the issue. Rather than try to
  strong-arm them into making nice, I let their conflict play itself out over the next
  few weeks. I didn"t think it was worth escalating the fight and distracting the
  team from what I saw as the real problem: getting the players to regain the focus
  and self-discipline they"d had during our first championship run.
  The day after the ESPN the Magazine article appeared I asked the media to
  back off the story. "This is our business," I said. "It isn"t your business." Of
  course, I knew even as I said it that this was a futile request. We were in L.A.,
  after all, the storytelling capital of the world. How could reporters resist a story
  about two young superstars clashing over who was going to be top dog?
  At the same time, I didn"t try to suppress the story or pretend it didn"t exist.
  As Brian Shaw says, I let it "manifest" itself. "Phil allowed Shaq to be who he
  was and he allowed Kobe to be who he was," says Brian, "but at the same time,
  he let it be known that he was driving the bus. So when it got off course, he was
  going to be the one to steer it back in place. But as long as we stayed on the
  road, we could go ahead and take it wherever we wanted to."
  During the next few weeks, Shaq and Kobe took their soap opera to absurd
  extremes. If Kobe noticed Shaq sidling up to one reporter, he"d refuse to talk to
  him or her, then promise an exclusive to someone else. And if Shaq saw that
  Kobe was getting his feet taped by one trainer, he"d insist on having his feet
  taped by another trainer. And so it went.
  I was impressed by the way the rest of the players handled the situation.
  Most of them refused to take sides. Robert Horry made fun of the whole affair,
  calling it "a so-called feud between two big hot dogs." Brian Shaw, who had
  played with O"Neal in Orlando, said it reminded him of the clash between Shaq
  and rising star Penny Hardaway, except that Penny was okay playing Robin to
  Shaq"s Batman, and Kobe wasn"t. Brian liked to say that the Lakers weren"t
  Shaq"s team or Kobe"s team; they were Dr. Buss"s team, because he was the one
  writing the checks.
  Rick Fox said the Shaq-Kobe split was reminiscent of the standoff between
  Larry Bird and Kevin McHale when Fox joined the Celtics in the early nineties.
  Larry was serious about everything, while Kevin took a more playful attitude
  toward the game. McHale made jokes at practice and often tossed crazy shots in
  the layup line, which drove Larry nuts. Everybody on the team was expected to
  pick sides between Larry and Kevin. It was a nightmare.
  Fortunately, the Shaq-Kobe split didn"t reach that point. By the time the All-
  Star game rolled around in mid-February, both players were sick of the spat and
  told reporters that they"d moved on. "I"m ready to stop answering these stupid
  questions," Shaq said. Meanwhile Kobe took the view that many of his
  teammates shared. "The things that don"t kill you only make you stronger," he
  said. Now that he"s matured and is raising two headstrong daughters, Kobe laughs
  at what it must have been like dealing with him during that crazy season. "Both
  of my girls," he says, "they"re at the stage where they feel like they know
  everything. It reminds me of me. I can imagine the headaches I gave Phil." But,
  he adds, "even though there were times when it seemed like I wasn"t learning
  anything, I was learning."
  From Kobe"s perspective I used the rift between him and Shaq to strengthen
  the team. "Phil had two alpha males that he had to get going in the same
  direction," Kobe says now. "And the best way to do that was to ride my butt
  because he knew that"s how he could get Shaq to do what he wanted him to do.
  That was fine with me, but don"t act like I don"t know what"s going on."
  In that sense, he"s right. I pushed Kobe hard that season because he was more
  adaptable than Shaq. In fact, Tex, who was Michael Jordan"s toughest critic,
  thought I should lighten up on Kobe. But I thought he needed strong direction on
  how to mature and grow. Kobe had all kinds of weapons. He could pass; he
  could shoot; he could attack off the dribble. But if he didn"t learn to use Shaq the
  right way and take advantage of his enormous power, the team would be lost.
  Even though I knew it would inhibit Kobe"s freewheeling style somewhat, I
  thought the best strategy for us was to get the ball to the big guy and have the
  defense collapse around him. It"s not unlike football, where you have to establish
  your ground game before you can launch your aerial game. In basketball, you
  need to go inside first before you can go to your shooters and cutters for easy
  baskets.
  Kobe understood this, but he had other forces driving him. "It was tough for
  Phil to rein me in," reflects Kobe, "because by nature I"m a number one. I had to
  go against my nature to become a number two. I knew I could lead a team, but it
  was a challenge for me because I"d never heard of a number two stepping into a
  lead role later on and winning."
  But eventually, Kobe says, he reenvisioned the problem. "The way I looked
  at it," he explains, "I saw myself as a Navy Seal type of guy who goes in and
  does his job quietly. He doesn"t get the accolades that he should have gotten, but
  the true basketball purists know what he"s done."
  -
  After the All-Star break we went on a long road trip that I hoped would help
  bring the team closer together. As part of my annual give-each-player-a-book
  program, I presented Shaq with a copy of Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse"s fictional
  account of the life of the Buddha. I thought the book might inspire Shaq to
  reexamine his attachment to material possessions. In the story the young prince
  Siddhartha renounces his luxurious life to seek enlightenment. The point I
  wanted Shaq to understand was that everyone has to find his or her own spiritual
  path-and accumulating more toys was not the way to get there. It was my way
  of nudging him to explore the road to inner peace-by quieting his mind,
  focusing on something other than his own desires, and becoming more
  compassionate toward his teammates, especially Kobe, who was dealing with
  some attachment issues of his own.
  I was amused by the book report Shaq turned in a few weeks later. The gist
  was: This book is about a young man who has power, wealth, and women (much
  like me), and gives them all up to pursue a holy life (not so much like me). I
  would have been surprised if Shaq all of a sudden went on a search for
  enlightenment after reading the book, but I think the message about compassion
  hit home with him. He has a generous soul.
  Kobe was a different story. The book I selected for him was Corelli"s
  Mandolin, a novel set on a small Greek island occupied by the Italian army
  during World War II. During the course of the story, the islanders have to accept
  the fact that they no longer control their own destiny and must come together
  and adapt to the new reality. In the end, they win by losing. I hoped that Kobe
  might resonate with the message and its parallels to his own struggles with the
  Lakers. Unfortunately, he wasn"t interested.
  Still, life has a way of teaching us the lessons we need to learn. In the second
  half of the season, Kobe suffered a number of injuries-a sprained right ankle, a
  sore right hip, a sore right shoulder, and a sore right pinkie-that made him
  come face-to-face with his own vulnerability. Although earlier in the season
  Kobe had angered some of the veterans by saying that the team had "too many
  old legs," in March he was struggling and revealed to Brian Shaw that the
  players he most identified with were the old-timers, Harper, Grant, and Shaw
  himself. In her book about the 2000-2001 season, Ain"t No Tomorrow, Elizabeth
  Kaye explores how Kobe"s injuries softened his attitude toward his teammates
  and himself. "For the first time, on the court," reports Kaye, "Kobe could not
  simply power his way through everything. "There are cracks and holes that I"ve
  always been able to get through," he told Shaw, "that I can"t quite get through
  right now. I can"t elevate the way I want to."
  ""That"s how I feel every single day," Shaw told him. "So now this is where
  you grow up. This is where you say, OK, I have to rely less on my athletic ability
  and more on my smarts.""
  Luckily, not all the players were hobbled by injuries during the latter part of
  the season. After missing sixty-two games with a stress fracture in his foot,
  Derek Fisher returned, fired up and brimming with newfound confidence. His
  timing couldn"t have been better. With Harper injured and Kobe out with the flu,
  we needed someone who could ignite the offense and lead the team out of its
  midseason doldrums.
  When he charged out on the court for his first game-against the Boston
  Celtics at home-I could tell that this was a different Derek. He came out
  blasting, scoring a career-high 26 points, plus 8 assists and 6 steals. Not only
  that, his fearless attack on both ends of the court galvanized the team. That was
  the turning point in the season.
  But we still had a few more hurdles to get over. The following week, just
  before a game in Milwaukee, a story appeared in the Chicago Sun-Times by
  columnist Rick Telander in which I mentioned a rumor I"d heard about Kobe
  sabotaging his team"s games in high school early on so that he could make a
  dramatic comeback and dominate in the end. Not only was this an irresponsible,
  off-the-cuff remark, it turned out to be untrue. Kobe wasn"t amused, and the
  Lakers soon got a call from his attorney threatening to sue me for slander. I
  apologized to Kobe in person, then later in front of the whole team. Still, I"d
  crossed a line and I knew it. What I didn"t know then was that it would take
  years for me to fully win back Kobe"s trust.
  To make matters worse, during the Milwaukee game Kobe resprained his bad
  ankle, then missed the next nine games. This was a real blow coming so close to
  the playoffs. But while he was out, the team pushed it up another notch. In early
  April we went on an eight-game streak to close out the regular season. Midway
  through that streak, Kobe returned for a game against Phoenix at home, and it
  was clear that he had suited up as a "Navy Seal" that night. He spent most of the
  game giving the Suns a clinic on how to play righteous basketball, dishing off
  regularly to his teammates even after they flubbed their shots and playing
  aggressive defense, as we rolled to a 106-80 blowout. He told reporters after
  finishing with a (for him) mere 20 points, "It"s not about scoring. It"s about
  stopping people."
  -
  Basketball unfolds in strange ways. On many levels, this had been the toughest
  season of my career-tougher even than my last hurrah in Chicago. Who would
  have guessed that this team, which had looked like it was going to implode at
  any moment, would pull itself together at the end of the season and go on a
  winning streak to rival those of the best teams in the history of the game?
  This was a team-despite all the turmoil-that knew it was destined for
  greatness, if only it could get out of its own way. During the heat of the
  meltdown, I talked a lot about the power of community. In L.A. it wasn"t as easy
  to build community by traditional means because the players lived far away from
  one another and the city itself was seductive and distracting. But all the
  hardships we faced that season forced us to reunite.
  In her book The Zen Leader, Ginny Whitelaw describes how joy arises when
  people are bound together by a strong sense of connectedness. "This joy may be
  more subtle than the "jump for joy" variety," she writes. "It may feel like full
  engagement in what we do, and a quiet satisfaction arising. It may feel like
  energy that keeps renewing itself, much as pumping a swing seemingly gives us
  more energy than it takes."
  This kind of joy is contagious and impossible to fake. The spiritual teacher
  Eckhart Tolle observes: "With enthusiasm you find you don"t have to do it all
  yourself. In fact, there is nothing of significance you can do by yourself.
  Sustained enthusiasm brings into existence a wave of creative energy and all you
  have to do then is ride the wave."
  As the playoffs began, the Lakers were riding that wave. I was struck by how
  poised and relaxed the players were in the closing minutes of games, compared
  to the previous year. Nothing seemed to faze them.
  "The one thing people are starting to notice about our team now is how much
  composure we have," Fish told the Los Angeles Times"s Tim Brown. "We"re not
  playing out of control; we"re not turning the basketball over a lot. I think those
  are trademarks of not only Phil, but our whole coaching staff. Their personality."
  Fish was impressed by how the coaching staff continued to prepare the team
  meticulously for every game, no matter what was going on with Shaq and Kobe.
  Clearly the players were beginning to internalize the coaching staff"s chopwood-
  carry-water attitude. A key moment occurred during the second game of
  the Western Conference finals against the San Antonio Spurs when I was ejected
  in the third quarter of the second game for stepping into a ref"s space and
  supposedly impeding his ability to do his job. In the past, the team would have
  lost its bearings and gone into a slide, but this time the players turned up the
  defense and ended the game with a 13-5 surge to win, 88-81. "We"ve matured,"
  said Fox afterward, "to the point where we maintained our composure. Outside
  of Phil."
  After sweeping the Portland Trail Blazers in the first round, we faced the
  Sacramento Kings, who tried several different tactics to stop Shaq without much
  success. In game 1 Vlade Divac played him straight up, and Shaq scored 44
  points and grabbed 21 rebounds. Then they put Scot Pollard on him for most of
  game 2, but that reduced Shaq"s numbers by just 1 point and 1 rebound. Finally
  in game 3 on their home court, the Kings upped the pressure even more,
  swarming Shaq and hacking him relentlessly in the fourth quarter. Happily, that
  created a world of opportunities for other players, especially Kobe, who scored
  36 points as we mounted a 3-0 lead in the series.
  Later that night Kobe flew back to L.A. to spend time with his wife, Vanessa,
  who had been hospitalized with excruciating pain. He stayed with her until she
  stabilized, then flew back to Sacramento for game 4, during which he erupted for
  48 points and 16 rebounds to lead the team to another sweep. His wild
  enthusiasm inspired his teammates. "I was prepared to do whatever," he said. "I
  was going to run and push myself to exhaustion. It doesn"t matter."
  By the time we arrived in San Antonio for the conference finals, we had won
  fifteen straight (including regular-season games), and the pundits were already
  speculating about our becoming the first team to sweep the playoffs. Getting past
  San Antonio wasn"t going to be easy, though. They had two of the best big men
  in the game-David Robinson and Tim Duncan-and the best record in the
  league that season, 58-24. The last time we"d faced them, they had beaten us on
  our home court. But that was in March, before Fish"s comeback. Ancient history.
  Robinson and Duncan did a respectable job on Shaq, holding him to 28
  points. But nobody on the Spurs seemed to know what to do with Kobe, who put
  up 45 points, the highest total by anyone against the Spurs in playoff history. An
  exuberant Shaq fist-bumped Kobe at the end of the game and gushed, "You"re
  my idol." Later O"Neal told reporters, "I think he"s the best player in the league
  -by far. When he"s playing like that, scoring, getting everybody involved,
  playing good defense, there"s nothing you can say. That"s where I"ve been trying
  to get him all year."
  When I"d first started working with Kobe, I"d tried to persuade him not to
  push so hard and to let the game flow more naturally. He"d resisted then, but not
  now. "Personally, I just tried to feed off my teammates," he said after that game.
  "That"s one way that I am improving: learning how to use my teammates to
  create opportunities, just playing solid and letting the game and the opportunities
  come to me." He was sounding more and more like me.
  When we returned to L.A. for game 3, we went on a 111-72 romp during
  which Kobe and Shaq combined for 71 points, or one fewer than the entire Spurs
  lineup. Then two days later we closed out the series. This time the hero was Fish,
  who made 6 of 7 three-point shots and scored a career-high 28 points.
  Although we tried to play it down, it was hard to ignore that something big
  was happening. "It"s become greater than Shaquille," said Fox after the game 3
  win. "It"s become greater than Kobe, greater than any effort by one or two
  people. I"ve never seen it before. It"s as though we"re starting to round into the
  team we thought we"d be."
  -
  None of this talk about making history intimidated the Philadelphia 76ers, the
  team we faced in the championship finals. They were a tough, fiery team led by
  guard Allen Iverson who that year at six feet, 165 pounds, became the smallest
  player ever to win the MVP award. Iverson dismissed talk of a sweep, pointing
  to his heart and saying, "Championships are won here."
  After his whirlwind performance in the Staples Center in game 1, it looked
  as if he might be right. He scored 48 points, and the Sixers snuffed out our 5-
  point lead in overtime, ending our storied streak at 19. I was actually relieved
  when the media hoopla surrounding the streak died down. Now we could focus
  on beating the Sixers without distractions. Before the next game Iverson told
  reporters that the Sixers were going to "spread the war," hoping to intimidate
  Kobe and the rest of the team. But Kobe didn"t back down when Iverson"s jibes
  turned into a trash-talk shouting match at midcourt. And he silenced Iverson by
  scoring 31 points with 8 rebounds, as we banged out a 98-89 win.
  That was just the beginning. Game 3 in Philadelphia was another street fight,
  but this time Shaq and Fish fouled out with a little over two minutes left and the
  Lakers up by 2. No problem. In the closing minutes, Kobe and Fox gutted it out,
  while Horry appeared out of nowhere to nail the win with another one of his
  trademark three-pointers and four free throws. "The 76ers have heart, but so
  what?" said Shaw. "You can have heart and lose. We have heart and we have
  injuries and we just play through it."
  The rest of the series flew by. We won game 4 with "a whole lotta Shaquille
  O"Neal," as Iverson put it. Then we clinched the title two days later in a game
  that few would call a work of art. As often was the case, Horry summed up the
  moment perfectly. "It"s closure," he said, referring to the difficult season. "So
  much turmoil. So many problems. So many people talking about what we
  weren"t going to do. It"s closure. That"s what it boils down to."
  I was relieved that this crazy season was finally over. Yet when I reflect back
  on it, I realize that I learned an important lesson that year about transforming
  conflict into healing. Gandhi once said, "Suffering cheerfully endured ceases to
  be suffering and is transmuted into an ineffable joy." If we had tried to squelch
  the strife instead of letting it play itself out naturally, this young, growing team
  might never have come together the way it did in the end. Without the pain, the
  Lakers would not have discovered their soul.
  O
  17
  ONE-TWO-THREE-
  LAKERS!
  To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.
  GEORGE MACDONALD
  ne day early in the 2001-02 season, Rick Fox told me he wasn"t
  feeling high anymore, and it was driving him crazy. He wasn"t talking
  about drugs; he was referring to the spiritual high he"d felt during our
  second championship run. Rick grew up in a Pentecostal family in the Bahamas,
  and he understood right away when I talked about basketball as a spiritual game.
  He said that when everybody was playing with one mind, it was a beautiful
  experience that made him feel higher than anything else he"d ever done. Then,
  all of a sudden, the feeling evaporated like a dream, and he longed to get it back.
  I knew what he was talking about. I"d been there myself. The feeling Rick
  described is sometimes referred to as "spiritual addiction"-a sense of
  connectedness so powerful, so joyful, you never want it to stop. Trouble is, the
  more you try to hang on to the feeling, the more elusive it becomes. I tried to
  explain to Rick that his experience during the previous season, though profound,
  was just one moment in time; it was a losing battle to try to re-create it because
  everything had changed, including Rick himself. Sometimes basketball can be a
  joyride, as it was for us at the end of 2000-01, and sometimes it can be a long,
  hard slog. But if you look at each season as an adventure, it takes on a beauty all
  its own.
  I knew on day one that 2001-02 wasn"t going to be easy. Three-peats never
  are. The good news was that Kobe and Shaq were getting along. They weren"t
  taking potshots at each other, and I often saw them laughing together at practice
  and after games. During a road trip to Philadelphia, Shaq and several other
  players attended a jersey-retiring ceremony for Kobe at Lower Merion High
  School, and Shaq hugged Kobe on stage afterward.
  Not all the changes were so welcome; the team was in a state of flux again.
  In general, the Lakers" rosters were much more fluid than the Bulls" had been.
  There"s a group portrait in Jeanie"s office of the players who took part in all three
  championships during my first run as the Lakers" coach. The painting includes
  just seven players: O"Neal, Bryant, Horry, Fox, Fisher, Shaw, and Devean
  George. The rest of the roster was filled with an ever-changing rotation of
  players, some who played critical roles, others who never quite found their
  niche. This musical-chairs environment made it challenging to sustain a strong
  sense of team unity from one season to the next.
  In the off-season we lost the last two ex-Bulls on the team: Ron Harper to a
  long-postponed retirement and Horace Grant to a spot on the Orlando Magic. We
  replaced them with two solid players: Mitch Richmond, a six-time All-Star
  guard, and Samaki Walker, a promising power forward from the San Antonio
  Spurs. But it was impossible to replace Ron and Horace"s championship
  experience and steadying influence on the team.
  If the second season felt like a soap opera at times, the third was reminiscent
  of Oblomov, the Russian novel about a young man who lacks willpower and
  spends most of his time lying in bed. Our biggest problem was boredom. That"s
  true of many championship teams, but it was more pronounced with the Lakers.
  This team had been so successful so fast that the players had begun to believe
  that they could flip a switch whenever they wanted to and automatically rise to
  another level-the way we had done the year before.
  Fox had an interesting theory about what was going on. He thought the
  players" egos were so inflated by the start of the season that they believed they
  knew more than the coaches did about what they had to do to win another ring.
  As he puts it, "The first year we all blindly followed. The second year we
  joyfully contributed. And the third year we wanted to drive the ship." Rick
  remembers having a lot more debates that year than before about the coaches"
  decision-making process. "I wouldn"t call it anarchy," he adds, "but I started to
  see guys act out more and express their opinions more and try to figure out ways
  to get around the triangle." The result, he says, was that the team was often out
  of sync.
  This didn"t surprise me. I"d seen it before with the Bulls during their first
  three-peat season. As far as I was concerned, the Lakers were evolving into a
  more mature team, the inevitable result of our effort to empower the players to
  think for themselves instead of being dependent on the coaching staff for all the
  answers. I always welcomed debate, even if it disrupted team harmony
  temporarily, because it showed that the players were engaged in solving the
  problems. The big danger was when a critical mass of players jettisoned the
  principle of selflessness upon which the team was founded. That"s when chaos
  ensued.
  The mistake that championship teams often make is to try to repeat their
  winning formula. But that rarely works because by the time the next season
  starts, your opponents have studied all the videos and figured out how to counter
  every move you made. The key to sustained success is to keep growing as a
  team. Winning is about moving into the unknown and creating something new.
  Remember that scene in the first Indiana Jones movie when someone asks Indy
  what he"s going to do next, and he replies, "I don"t know, I"m making it up as we
  go along." That"s how I view leadership. It"s an act of controlled improvisation,
  a Thelonious Monk finger exercise, from one moment to the next.
  -
  But complacency and oversize egos weren"t the team"s only problems.
  My biggest worry was Shaq"s health. Before he left for the summer, he had
  promised to return at his rookie weight, 290 pounds. Instead, he showed up
  weighing more than 330 pounds, recovering from surgery on his left pinky, and
  with severe toe problems.
  With Shaq, as with the rest of the players, I needed to suss out the most
  effective way to communicate. Fortunately, from the beginning Shaq and I were
  able to get through to each other with a minimum of bullshit. At times I"d be
  very direct. For example, just before the second game of the finals in 2001, I told
  him not to be afraid of going after Allen Iverson when he drove to the basket.
  Shaq was so taken aback by the implication that he was frightened of Iverson
  that he forgot to lead the team in the "1-2-3-Lakers" pregame chant. Still, that
  night O"Neal blocked 8 shots and, in effect, neutralized the Iverson threat. At
  other times, I"d motivate him indirectly through the media. During our
  midseason doldrums in 2000-01, I goaded Shaq into hustling more by telling
  reporters I thought the only players who were going all out were Kobe and Fox.
  Shaq felt stung by this comment, but after that he became much more aggressive
  on the floor.
  Shaq had a great deal of respect for male authority figures because that"s
  how he"d been raised by his stepfather, Phil, a career military man whom Shaq
  called "Sarge." In fact, during my first year with the team, Shaq started referring
  to me as his "white father." He was so hardwired to respect authority that he
  would often have other people tell me when he didn"t want to do something.
  That first season I asked him to play forty-eight minutes a game instead of his
  typical forty. Shaq gave it a try for a week or two, going most of the way in
  several games, but then he decided he needed more rest. Instead of telling me
  himself, he appointed John Salley his messenger. On another occasion Shaq sent
  one of the trainers in to tell me that he wouldn"t be coming to practice that day.
  When I asked why, the trainer said that Shaq, who had been training to become a
  police officer, had been up all night cruising the city looking for cars on the
  LAPD"s stolen-vehicles list. At heart the big guy dreamed of being a real-life
  Clark Kent.
  The Lakers staff called Shaq "the Big Moody" because he tended to get
  grumpy when he was struggling with injuries or disappointed in his game. Much
  of his frustration was directed at me. Early in the 2001-02 season I fined him for
  taking two days off when his daughter was born instead of the one day he"d
  requested. In response, Shaq told reporters, "That motherfucker knows what he
  can do with that fine." But in the next game, he scored 30 points with 13
  rebounds against Houston.
  Grandstanding in the press didn"t trouble me as much as when Shaq lashed
  out in person at one of his teammates. That happened in a game against the San
  Antonio Spurs during the 2003 playoffs. Shaq was furious because Devean
  George had made a mistake at the end of the game that allowed Malik Rose to
  pick off an offensive rebound and put up the game-winning shot. Shaq started to
  go after Devean in the locker room after the game, but Brian Shaw made him
  stop. Shaw was the team"s truth teller. He had a good read on the team"s prickly
  interpersonal dynamics, and I encouraged him to speak his mind. "My mother
  always told me growing up that my mouth would get me in trouble someday,"
  says Brian, "because if I saw something that wasn"t right, I had to point it out. I
  felt that as long as I was telling the truth, I"d be all right. You can"t be mad at the
  truth."
  When Brian saw Shaq attacking Devean, he called out to him, "If you"d used
  that much energy blocking out under the boards, you would have gotten yourself
  a rebound and we probably would have won the game. So instead of taking it out
  on Devean, why don"t you take responsibility for where you came up short?" At
  that point, Shaq let Devean go and went after Brian, who tried to tackle him but
  ended up getting dragged around the locker room by Shaq until his knees were
  bleeding and the other players pulled him off.
  "Shaq was mad at me because I hurt his feelings," says Brian. "But a couple
  days later, he came up to me and said, "You know, you were right. It was my bad.
  I shouldn"t have gone off like that.""
  Kobe was also going through a difficult transition that season. During the
  previous spring, he"d fallen out with his family over his marriage to Vanessa
  Laine, a then-eighteen-year-old recent high school graduate. Kobe"s parents, Joe
  and Pam, who had been living with him in his Brentwood home, argued that he
  was too young to marry. But Kobe was eager to start his new life. "I do
  everything young," he told reporters. Joe and Pam, who had been regulars at
  Lakers games, returned to Philadelphia but didn"t attend the championship finals
  that year in the family"s hometown. It wasn"t until two years later that Kobe and
  his parents reconciled. In the meantime he and Vanessa moved to a new house, a
  block away from her mother in Newport Beach, and had their first child, Natalia.
  In his rush to make it in the NBA, Kobe had missed out on college and some
  of the growing pains that go along with being out in the world for the first time.
  After breaking with his parents, he started to establish himself as his own man,
  sometimes in surprising ways. Kobe had always avoided clashes with other
  players, but during the 2001-02 season, he became belligerent at times. Once he
  got into an argument with Samaki Walker while traveling on the team bus, then
  suddenly took a pop at him. Samaki laughed it off, saying, "It was good to see
  the intensity." Later, during a game in the Staples Center, Kobe reacted violently
  to Reggie Miller"s trash talk, balling his fist and chasing Miller around the court
  until they crashed into the scorer"s table. Kobe was suspended for two games.
  Kobe had a lot of pent-up rage inside, and I worried that he might do
  something he might regret someday. But Brian, who had become Kobe"s
  confidant and mentor, thought that these clashes were signs that Kobe was
  "branching out into manhood and establishing what he was going to stand for
  and what he wasn"t." Watching Kobe, whom I had named cocaptain that year, go
  through these growing pains, says Brian, "you could see that he was obviously
  maturing, becoming more of a good teammate and one of the guys. There were
  times when he would still go off and say things, but for the most part he was
  much more comfortable in his own skin and a lot more confident about being
  who he is."
  -
  Improvising was the only way we could get through the 2001-02 season.
  Nothing that happened followed any pattern I"d seen before. We took off on a
  16-1 run, the best start in franchise history, and the media began whispering that
  it looked like we could break the Bulls" 72-10 season record. That didn"t last
  long. In December we sank into a puzzling lethargy that lasted through mid-
  February. Even though we held our own with our toughest rivals, we lost six
  times during that period to last-place teams, including twice to the rebuilding
  Bulls. We leveled off somewhat after that, but we were never able to flip that
  illusory switch everybody was talking about.
  I knew this team was capable of playing much better basketball. The trick
  was trying to hold body, mind, and spirit together until we got to the playoffs.
  One of my biggest disappointments was figuring out how to get the most out of
  Mitch Richmond. Mitch was a terrific scorer who"d averaged 22.1 points coming
  into the season, but he had a difficult time adapting to the triangle offense. He
  also wasn"t adept at jumping in and out of games off the bench because he
  needed a lot of time to warm up his legs. Fortunately, Shaw was able to fill in for
  Mitch as the third guard at the end of the season. Because the bench wasn"t that
  strong, we had to rely heavily on the starters to play extra minutes, and the
  cracks were beginning to show. To prevent the starters from getting worn out too
  early, I decided to lighten up on the team during the final stretch. As a result, we
  entered the playoffs tied for second place in the Western Conference and still
  searching for our mojo.
  We swept Portland in the first round, but we didn"t look impressive doing it.
  It wasn"t until we lost at home to the Spurs in the second game of the Western
  Conference semifinals, tying the series at 1-1, that we woke up and started
  playing like champions.
  Shaq was suffering. To add to his toe problems, he"d sliced the forefinger of
  his shooting hand in game 1 and sprained his left ankle in game 2. Still, I thought
  he needed to be more aggressive and told him so. When reporters questioned me
  about him before game 3 in San Antonio, I said, "I had a heated conversation
  with Shaq, actually, about getting actively involved in chasing the ball down. . . .
  He said, basically, his toe [hurts]." Shaq had been avoiding the media that week,
  but when a reporter pressed him for a comment, he said, "Ask Phil, he knows
  every other fucking thing."
  But Shaq came through in the game the way I expected. He scored 22 points
  despite his torn finger and pulled down 15 rebounds despite his troublesome
  feet. He also helped contain the Spurs" biggest threat, Tim Duncan, who missed
  17 of 26 shots from the field.
  Although Shaq rallied, this was Kobe"s moment. With 6:28 left and the
  Lakers ahead, 81-80, Kobe scored 7 points in an 11-2 run that sealed the win.
  Afterward he sounded as if he"d just returned from a meditation workshop. "I
  was more centered and focused on all the stuff around me," he said. "If you get
  too emotionally wrapped up in a game, you overlook the little details. You have
  to step outside the circle."
  That game showed me just how good this team could be in the fourth quarter.
  In game 4, we were behind by 10 points with 4:55 left, and Kobe came alive
  again, hitting 2 three-pointers, then making a rebound and put-back in the last
  5.1 seconds to put the game away, 87-85. Two nights later we went on a 10-4
  run in the final minutes to win the series, 4-1. This team was finally finding its
  identity as one of the great closers in the game. It was not a moment too soon.
  -
  The fans in Sacramento-home to our opponents in the Western Conference
  finals-loved to hate the Lakers. Ever since I"d joked a few years earlier that the
  state capital was a semicivilized cow town, the fans had been trying to get back
  at me, clanging cowbells and screaming obscenities behind our bench, among
  other diversionary tactics. Of course, it didn"t help that we had eliminated the
  Kings from the playoffs for the past two years.
  But this time the team"s faithful had reason to be optimistic. Their boys had
  finished the season with the best record in the league (61-21) and had homecourt
  advantage through the playoffs. The Kings were one of the best shooting
  teams I"ve ever seen. In addition to All-Star power forward Chris Webber, the
  team had a balanced lineup of shooters who could hurt you from all directions,
  including Vlade Divac, Predrag Stojakovic, Doug Christie, and Hedo Turkoglu,
  plus a quick new point guard, Mike Bibby, who was fearless when it came to
  penetrating defenses and putting up clutch shots.
  We won the first game in Sacramento, setting a record for consecutive
  playoff wins on the road (12). But the Kings struck back in game 2, taking
  advantage of Kobe, who was recovering from an attack of food poisoning. The
  big surprise came in game 3, which the Kings won handily behind Bibby and
  Webber, who combined for 50 points. Unfazed, Kobe joked with reporters after
  the game, "Well, we"re not bored now."
  The miracle shot happened in game 4. It looked bleak in the first half, when
  we fell behind by 20 points and couldn"t get our offense moving. But we shifted
  the momentum in the second half, slowing down their fast-paced offense and
  eating away at their lead. With eleven seconds left, we had narrowed the lead to
  2. Kobe drove to the basket and missed. Shaq grabbed the rebound and also
  missed. Kings center Vlade Divac batted the ball away and it ended up in the
  hands of Robert Horry, who was standing alone at the three-point line. As if
  everything were scripted, he squared up, released his shot, and watched it drop
  perfectly as the buzzer sounded. Lakers 100, Kings 99.
  This was vintage Robert Horry, the kind of shot that young boys dream
  about. But we still had a long way to go before we could silence the cowbells.
  The Kings roared back and took game 5 on their home court, going ahead 3-2 in
  the seven-game series. But the Lakers didn"t panic. At 2:30 A.M. on the morning
  of game 6, Kobe phoned his new best friend, Shaq, and told him, "Big fella,
  need you tomorrow. We"ll make history." Shaq was still up, of course, mulling
  the upcoming game, and they revved each other up. "Facing elimination, this is
  nothing for us," Kobe later told reporters. "He felt the same way I did."
  Shaq was unstoppable that night. He scored 41 points with 17 rebounds and
  completely dominated in the paint. The Kings threw everybody they could at
  him, and in the closing minutes both Divac and Scot Pollard fouled out, and all
  they had left was backup center Lawrence Funderburke, who was helpless
  against Shaq"s inside moves. "You have to foul me to stop me-period," Shaq
  said later. Kobe was also on fire, scoring 31 points, including four critical free
  throws in the final seconds that nailed down the victory, 106-100.
  The following Sunday a welcoming committee of Kings fans bared their
  butts as our bus arrived at Arco Arena for game 7. The players laughed. If
  nothing else, the prank helped take some of the edge off what may have been the
  toughest game they"d ever faced. This was an excellent road team, but playing a
  seventh game on an opponent"s court is the most drop-dead-challenging test. The
  last time I had been in this predicament was as a player in 1973 when we had to
  beat the Celtics in a seventh game in Boston to win the Eastern Conference
  finals. That was one of the most unnerving-and exhilarating-moments of my
  career.
  The Lakers were remarkably calm. Earlier that day we had meditated
  together at the hotel, and I"d been pleasantly surprised to see that everyone was
  seated and ready to go when I walked into the room. As we sat in silence, I could
  sense that the players were pulling themselves together, preparing mentally for
  the showdown that awaited them. These men had been through a lot together and
  knew instinctively that their connection with one another would be the force to
  dispel anxiety as the pressure mounted during the game.
  They were right. This wasn"t just a basketball game; it was a grueling
  marathon that lasted more than three hours. But in the end, it was the Lakers"
  collective composure that won the day. The lead changed seventeen times, and
  the game went into overtime when Bibby made two free throws to tie the score
  at 100, and Shaq missed a fourteen-footer at the buzzer. It was a brutal test of
  wills, and, as Fish told Bill Plaschke, we had to dig "deeper than we"ve ever dug
  before."
  I was more animated than usual because I wanted to keep the players
  focused. Kobe said he thought the Kings were playing better basketball than we
  were. But we scrambled harder, which paid off in the final minutes of the game.
  Fox pulled down a playoff career record of 14 rebounds, and Horry grabbed 12
  more. Meanwhile, the Kings were visibly shaken. Normally coolheaded, they
  misfired on 14 of their 30 free throws, while we hit all but 6 of our 33. And
  during the final two minutes of overtime, they squandered a 2-point lead by
  missing 5 shots in a row and turning over the ball twice.
  The closeout was a group effort. Shaq hit a short jumper, then nailed two free
  throws, while Fish and Kobe each hit two from the line to put the game out of
  reach. Afterward the players were so weary they could barely celebrate, but they
  weren"t surprised by the outcome. "We"ve been playing together for five years,"
  said Horry. "If we don"t understand what to do by now, something"s wrong."
  Shaq, who played a grueling fifty-one minutes, seemed less buoyant than
  usual after the game. But as our bus was pulling out of the parking lot, he spotted
  a crowd of Sacramento fans cursing at us and, lowering his pants, decided to
  give them a fond farewell, Sacramento style. One of our guys called it "a full
  moon rising."
  In my mind that was the title game, but we still had the championship finals
  to get through. Our opponent, the New Jersey Nets, had one of the best point
  guards in the game, Jason Kidd, and an impressive power forward, Kenyon
  Martin, but they didn"t have an answer for Shaq. They tried to have rookie Jason
  Collins cover him, but Shaq walked all over him, averaging 36 points en route to
  his third straight finals MVP award. Riding on Shaq"s shoulders, we swept the
  Nets and became the first Lakers team to win three rings in a row since the club
  moved from Minneapolis in the early sixties. Now we could legitimately call
  ourselves a dynasty.
  With this victory, I tied Red Auerbach"s record for most championship titles
  won: nine. The media made a big deal about this, especially after Auerbach said
  it was hard to consider me a great coach because I"d never built a team or trained
  young players. I said that I was dedicating the victory to my mentor, Red
  Holzman, who would have been thrilled to see me tie his archrival, had he still
  been alive.
  What mattered more to me, though, was what had happened to the team.
  When I started with the Lakers I thought we could accomplish great things if we
  could get to the point where the players trusted one another enough to commit to
  something larger than themselves. Midway through that long, hard season, when
  we were being embarrassed by the Memphis Grizzlies, I"m not sure I would
  have bet money on our chance of making history. But in the final hour, when it
  really mattered, the players dug deep and formed themselves into a
  championship team built on trust.
  The player who understood this best-surprisingly-was Kobe Bryant. Not
  long before, he would have scoffed at the idea. But he had grown, and the team
  had grown with him. "We"ve been through so many battles," he said, "the trust
  naturally grows. The more wars you fight together the more you understand the
  people you"re in battle with."
  One breath. One mind. One spirit.
  I
  18
  THE WISDOM OF ANGER
  Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of
  throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.
  THE BUDDHA
  t was supposed to be a peaceful summer. As I tooled through the Rockies on
  my motorcycle in late June, I was glad to put the 2002-03 season behind
  me. It had been a tough year, marred by a lot of injuries-from Shaq"s toe to
  Kobe"s knee to Rick Fox"s foot. We"d limped into the playoffs and barely
  survived a grueling first-round series against the Timberwolves. The capper,
  injurywise, for me took place during the semis against the San Antonio Spurs.
  That"s when I learned that one of my coronary arteries was 90 percent blocked
  and I required an emergency angioplasty. As it turned out, the heart procedure
  had a much happier ending than the contest with the Spurs. For the first time in
  my four years with the Lakers we didn"t even make it to the Western Conference
  finals, let alone capture a ring.
  Yes, I was more than ready to let go of that season. Since my surgery I"d
  been feeling better than I had in years, and I welcomed the chance to
  contemplate the next chapter as I sailed across the mountains. Although the team
  had lost Robert Horry to the Spurs in the off-season, we"d acquired Gary Payton
  and future Hall of Famer Karl Malone. Malone was the quintessential power
  forward who could score 20-plus points and get 8 to 10 rebounds per game,
  while plugging up the lane with his sizable body. Payton was not only one of the
  best point guards in the league but also a tenacious defender (hence his
  nickname, "the Glove") who I hoped would slow down some of the league"s
  pesky small guards. I had some concerns about how to mesh these big talents
  with Shaq and Kobe without creating a lot of bruised egos. Still, this was a good
  problem, and I was jazzed.
  I took my time riding my BMW from L.A. across Arizona, up through Four
  Corners and into Durango, Colorado, where I caught up with a friend and a
  cousin. After crossing the breathtaking mountain pass into Ouray, my next stop
  was Eagle, Colorado, a small town near Vail. I was there to pick up a buddy
  from high school-we were heading to our fortieth reunion in Williston, North
  Dakota. When we left I had no idea that in a few days Eagle would make
  headlines and embroil me in a nightmare of pain and misinformation.
  My friend and I had passed through Deadwood, South Dakota, and had just
  checked into a motel in my hometown of Williston when I got the phone call.
  -
  It was Mitch Kupchak calling to tell me that Kobe had been arrested in Eagle for
  alleged sexual assault. Without informing me or anyone else on our staff, Kobe
  had scheduled knee surgery with a specialist in Vail. Apparently, the night before
  the operation he had invited a nineteen-year-old woman to his hotel room in
  nearby Edwards for what he termed "consensual" sex. The following day the
  woman went to the police claiming that she"d been forcibly raped.
  Watching the story unfold over the next few weeks, it was hard to assess
  what had actually happened. I had difficulty believing that Kobe was capable of
  committing such an act, and the evidence seemed superficial at best. On July 18,
  the day he was formally charged, he held a news conference with his wife,
  Vanessa, by his side. Kobe vehemently denied raping his accuser but admitted
  tearfully to having had an adulterous sexual encounter with her.
  I was not without sympathy for Kobe and tried to reach him, without
  success, after I heard the news. This was a lot to handle for a young man who
  had just turned twenty-four-especially someone who often boasted to his
  teammates that he planned to be monogamous for life. Now he was being
  charged with a crime that could put him behind bars for years. What"s more,
  Kobe had always been meticulous about his public image, and suddenly he was
  fodder for the tabloid media and late-night comedians.
  For me, the incident cracked open an old wound that had never fully healed.
  Several years earlier, when my daughter Brooke was in college, she had been the
  victim of an assault while on a date with a campus athlete. I had never felt
  entirely clear about my response. Brooke expected me to get angry and make her
  feel protected. Instead I suppressed my rage-as I"d been conditioned to do
  since childhood. In truth, there wasn"t much I could have done; the case was in
  the hands of the police, and meddling on my part would probably have done
  more harm than good. Still, burying my fury and maintaining a calm exterior
  didn"t give Brooke any comfort; it left her feeling vulnerable. (In the end, after
  filing a report with the police, Brooke chose not to press charges.)
  The Kobe incident triggered all my unprocessed anger and tainted my
  perception of him. I discussed my inner emotional wrestling match with Jeanie
  and was surprised by her pragmatic take on the situation. In her view, this was a
  legal battle, and Kobe was one of our star employees. We needed to provide him
  with the best support possible to help him fight this battle and win.
  To me, the way forward wasn"t so clear-cut. Although I knew it was my
  professional responsibility to help Kobe through this ordeal, it was hard for me
  to shake my anger because of what had happened to Brooke.
  My struggle to come to terms with my anger reminds me of an old Zen story:
  One rainy evening two monks were walking back to their monastery when they
  saw a beautiful woman who was having difficulty navigating the puddles in the
  road. The elder monk offered to help and carried her over the puddles to the
  other side of the road.
  Later that evening the younger monk approached the elder monk and said,
  "Sir, as monks we"re not supposed to touch women."
  "Yes, brother," replied the elder monk.
  "So then, sir, why did you lift that woman by the roadside?"
  The elder monk smiled and said, "I left her on the side of the road, but you
  are still carrying her."
  Like the younger monk, I had a fixed idea in my head and it distorted my
  view of Kobe throughout the 2003-04 season. No matter what I did to extinguish
  it, the anger kept smoldering in the background. Which, unfortunately, set the
  tone for much of the weirdness that followed.
  -
  Of course, Kobe"s alleged crime and my reaction to it weren"t the only factors at
  play that year. When I returned to L.A. in September, there was a perfect storm
  brewing with the team. Not only did we have to deal with Kobe"s legal issues,
  but he was also due to become a free agent at the end of the season. This, in turn,
  would force Dr. Buss to make some tough decisions about the future of the
  organization. The early signs indicated that Kobe wanted to move to another
  team where he could be the main man and not have to compete with Shaq for
  that honor. The team he seemed most interested in was our local rival, the
  Clippers. Early in the season he made an awkward attempt to discuss his future
  with Clippers coach Mike Dunleavy-a violation of NBA rules. To his credit,
  Mike didn"t let the conversation get very far.
  Meanwhile Shaq wasn"t feeling the love. He came to training camp asking
  for a two-year, $60 million extension on his contract, due to run out in 2006.
  That would be a high price to pay for a star who was already beginning to lose
  some of his edge. Dr. Buss, who had always been generous with Shaq, balked at
  the price tag. So Shaq acted out as only Shaq could. During an exhibition game
  against the Golden State Warriors in Hawaii, he slammed down a dunk and
  shouted to Dr. Buss, who was sitting courtside, "Now you going to pay me?"
  Another aspect of the gathering storm was my contract, also scheduled to
  expire that year. Dr. Buss and I met before the season started to discuss the
  general outline of a deal and agreed to hammer out details later. Part of me
  wanted to take some time off from basketball to clear my head and focus on
  other interests. To a large degree, my decision would depend on the outcome of
  negotiations with Kobe and Shaq. If the Lakers had to make a choice between
  the two stars, I favored keeping Shaq because it would be easier to build a
  championship team around him than around Kobe. As the season progressed,
  however, it became clear that Dr. Buss didn"t share my view.
  Before the start of training camp, I met with Kobe and tried to get a read on
  how he was doing. He"d lost weight and appeared tired and gaunt. He"d also
  developed a hard edge that I hadn"t seen before. I assured him that I would make
  it as easy as possible for him to get through the season. When I asked Kobe how
  he was feeling, he was not especially forthcoming; his way of handling stress
  was to retreat inside. Toward the end of our conversation, however, he told me,
  with a determined look, that he wasn"t going to put up with Shaq"s bullshit
  anymore.
  He was serious. After Kobe"s shaky debut in a late exhibition game, Shaq
  suggested that Kobe needed to modify his game and rely more on his teammates
  until his leg got stronger. Kobe snapped back that Shaq should worry about his
  own position, not the guard spot. But Shaq wouldn"t let it go. "Just ask Karl and
  Gary why they came here," he said. "One person. Not two. One. Period. So he"s
  right, I"m not telling him how to play his position. I"m telling him how to play
  team ball." Shaq also said that if Kobe didn"t like him voicing his opinion, he
  could opt out next year because "I ain"t going nowhere."
  A few days later Kobe hit back with a searing critique of Shaq"s leadership in
  an interview with Jim Gray on ESPN. If this was going to be Shaq"s team, Kobe
  said, he needed to set an example. That meant not coming to camp fat and out of
  shape and not blaming others for the team"s failures. ""My team" doesn"t mean
  only when we win," Kobe said. "It means carrying the burden of defeat just as
  gracefully as you carry a championship trophy." Kobe also said that if he
  decided to leave the Lakers at the end of the season, a major reason would be
  "Shaq"s childlike selfishness and jealousy."
  Shaq was furious and told Mitch Kupchak that he was going to mess Kobe
  up the next time he saw him. So Mitch and I decided to separate Shaq and Kobe
  when they arrived at the training facility the following day to prevent one of
  them from doing something stupid. I took Shaq and Mitch took Kobe. Later
  when I spoke to Kobe, he revealed that what really angered him about Shaq was
  his decision to have toe surgery too close to the start of the previous season,
  which Kobe believed had put our chances of winning a fourth ring in jeopardy.
  I"d never heard Kobe mention that before.
  Fortunately, after the last round of heated exchanges, things quieted down for
  a while. It helped to have on the team veteran players like Karl and Gary who
  had little or no patience for this kind of juvenile one-upmanship. It also helped
  that we got off to a brilliant 19-5 start. Alas, our success was short lived. In
  December Karl injured his right knee in a home game against the Suns and was
  out for most of the season. We didn"t have a strong backup for Karl, and we went
  into a period of malaise until we rebounded late in the season.
  -
  My strategy of giving Kobe space didn"t seem to be working. The more liberty I
  gave him, the more belligerent he became. Much of his anger was directed at
  me. In the past Kobe had been passive-aggressive when he didn"t want to do
  something I asked of him. Now he was aggressive-aggressive. He made sarcastic
  cracks in practice and challenged my authority in front of the other players.
  I consulted a psychotherapist, who suggested that the best way to deal with
  someone like Kobe was to (1) dial back the criticism and give him a lot of
  positive feedback, (2) not do anything that might embarrass him in front of his
  peers, and (3) allow him to think that what I wanted him to do was his idea. I
  tried some of these tactics and they helped somewhat. But Kobe was in heavyduty
  survival mode, and when the pressure became unbearable, his instinctive
  reaction was to lash out.
  I realized there wasn"t much I could do to change his behavior. But what I
  could do was change the way I reacted to his angry outbursts. This was an
  important lesson for me.
  Managing anger is every coach"s most difficult task. It requires a great deal
  of patience and finesse because the line between the aggressive intensity needed
  to win games and destructive anger is often razor thin.
  In some Native American tribes, the elders used to identify the angriest
  braves in the village and teach them to transform their wild, uncontrolled energy
  into a source of creative power and strength. Those braves often became the
  most effective tribal leaders. That"s what I"ve tried to do with the young players
  on my teams.
  In Western culture we tend to view anger as a flaw that needs to be
  eliminated. That"s how I was raised. As devout Christians, my parents felt that
  anger was a sin and should be dispelled. But trying to eliminate anger never
  works. The more you try to suppress it, the more likely it is to erupt later in a
  more virulent form. A better approach is to become as intimate as possible with
  how anger works on your mind and body so that you can transform its
  underlying energy into something productive. As Buddhist scholar Robert
  Thurman writes, "Our goal surely is to conquer anger, but not to destroy the fire
  it has misappropriated. We will wield that fire with wisdom and turn it to
  creative ends."
  In fact, two recent studies published in the Journal of Experimental Social
  Psychology demonstrate a link between anger and creativity. In one study,
  researchers discovered that feelings of anger initially improved the participants"
  ability to brainstorm creatively. In another study, the same researchers found that
  subjects who were prompted to feel angry generated more creative ideas than
  those who experienced sadness or a nonemotional state. The conclusion: Anger
  is an energizing emotion that enhances the sustained attention needed to solve
  problems and leads to more flexible "big picture" thinking.
  No question, anger focuses the mind. It"s an advance-warning system
  alerting us to threats to our well-being. When viewed this way, anger can be a
  powerful force for bringing about positive change. But it takes practice-and no
  small amount of courage-to be present with such uncomfortable feelings and
  yet not be swept away by them.
  My practice when anger arises is to sit with it in meditation. I simply observe
  it come and go, come and go. Slowly, incrementally, over time I"ve learned that
  if I can stay with the anger, which often manifests itself as anxiety, and resist my
  conditioned response to suppress it, the intensity of the feeling dissipates and
  I"m able to hear the wisdom it has to impart.
  Sitting with your anger doesn"t mean being passive. It means becoming more
  conscious and intimate with your inner experience so that you can act more
  mindfully and compassionately than is possible in the heat of the moment.
  This is hardly easy, but acting mindfully is key to building strong, trusting
  relationships, especially when you"re in a leadership role. Says Buddhist
  meditation teacher Sylvia Boorstein, "An unexpressed anger creates a breach in
  relationships that no amount of smiling can cross. It"s a secret. A lie. The
  compassionate response is one that keeps connections alive. It requires telling
  the truth. And telling the truth can be difficult, especially when the mind is
  stirred up by anger."
  -
  From the moment of Kobe"s arrest, I had a lot of practice working with my anger
  that year, and Kobe was my main teacher. In late January he showed up at the
  training facility with a bandaged hand and announced that he"d have to miss that
  night"s game. It seems he"d accidentally put his hand through a glass window
  while moving boxes in his garage and required ten stitches in his index finger. I
  asked him to do some running during practice and he agreed but never did it.
  Afterward I asked him why he"d lied to me, and he said he was being sarcastic.
  I wasn"t laughing. What kind of adolescent game was this guy playing?
  Whatever it was, I didn"t want any part of it.
  After practice I went upstairs and told Mitch Kupchak we needed to talk
  about trading Kobe before the mid-February deadline. "I can"t coach Kobe," I
  said. "He won"t listen to anyone. I can"t get through to him." It was a futile
  appeal. Kobe was Dr. Buss"s wunderkind, and he was unlikely to trade him, even
  if it meant jeopardizing our shot at another ring.
  A few days later Dr. Buss, who worried that his young star might jump to
  another team, visited Kobe in Newport Beach and tried to persuade him to
  remain with the Lakers. Obviously, I wasn"t party to the meeting, but shortly
  thereafter, while we were riding on the team bus, Kobe told Derek Fisher, "Your
  man"s not coming back next year." The "man" he was talking about was me.
  I felt completely blindsided. Clearly, Dr. Buss had shared information with
  Kobe about the team-and my future-before consulting me. It was a harsh
  blow, and Kobe seemed to be reveling in it. Deep down, this turn of events made
  me question whether I could trust Kobe or Dr. Buss.
  Later that day I called Mitch and told him I thought that he and Dr. Buss
  were making a big mistake. If they had to choose between Shaq and Kobe, I
  advised going with Shaq because Kobe was impossible to coach. And, I added,
  "You can take that to the owner."
  A few days later my agent called to tell me that the Lakers were suspending
  contract negotiations with me. When the Lakers announced the news on
  February 11, reporters asked Kobe if my departure would affect his free-agency
  plans and he replied coldly, "I don"t care." Shaq was stunned. He couldn"t
  fathom how after all we"d been through, Kobe could throw me under the bus. I
  asked Shaq to refrain from stirring things up. The last thing the team needed was
  another verbal shooting match between the two players.
  Jeanie was convinced that the Lakers were deliberately trying to undermine
  me, and she was probably right. Still, I found the announcement strangely
  liberating. Now I could focus on the task at hand-winning one more
  championship-without having to worry about the future. The die had been cast.
  -
  After the All-Star break, I met with Kobe to clear the air. Obviously, my laissezfaire
  approach with him had backfired and was having a negative effect on the
  team. Kobe had interpreted my efforts to give him a wide berth as indifference.
  So I decided to take another tack and work much more actively with him. My
  intention was to help him focus his attention on basketball so that the game
  would become a refuge for him in the way that it had been for Michael Jordan
  when he was being hounded by the media over his gambling problems.
  But the team was in a perilously fragile state. I asked Kobe to stop making
  divisive comments that confused the young players and threatened to divide the
  team even further. Now that the issue of my contract had been settled, I added,
  we were free to focus on this year alone and not worry about anything else. "You
  and I can work this out, right?" I asked him. He nodded. I knew this wasn"t the
  end of the friction between us. But it was a good beginning.
  The question of Kobe"s free agency was a dark cloud hanging over the team.
  Nobody knew which way he was going to turn. To complicate matters, he was
  away from the team a great deal, in both body and spirit. And when he was
  present, he seemed detached and often fell back on his old habit of trying to win
  games on his own. We hadn"t exactly gelled into "Dream Team IV" as some
  sportswriters had predicted early in the season.
  Kobe wasn"t our only problem. Gary Payton was having adjustment issues of
  his own. Gary was used to having the ball in his hands most of the time, but now
  he had to share it with several other ball-hungry players. And he was struggling
  to find his rhythm. As the point guard for the Sonics, he was used to attacking
  off the dribble and posting up smaller guards. Now he had to work within the
  triangle offense, which he felt stifled his ability to express himself creatively.
  Not only that, he"d lost a step or two on defense, which caused columnist Mark
  Heisler to joke that his nickname should be changed from "the Glove" to "the
  Pot Holder."
  Still, soon after Karl Malone returned to the lineup in March, the team
  started to win again and went on an 11-0 streak. During that period I began to
  give Fish more playing time late in games because he had a better feel for the
  system than Payton. I also made Kobe the team"s floor general and put him in
  charge of directing the action.
  But the rift between Kobe and rest of the team was growing. During the final
  week of the season, Kobe, who had never been shy about shooting, took just one
  shot in the first half of a game against Sacramento, allowing the Kings to take a
  19-point lead and win handily. The media concluded that Kobe had intentionally
  tanked the game to improve his negotiating position with Dr. Buss. Kobe said he
  was just doing what the coaches had asked him to do-share the ball-but
  nobody bought it. One player, speaking anonymously, told the Los Angeles
  Times"s Tim Brown, "I don"t know how we can forgive him."
  This led to an ugly scene at practice the next day. Kobe burst into the training
  facility in a rage and polled every player, one by one, trying to find out who was
  responsible for the quote. It was a wrenchingly painful episode.
  At the start of the season, one writer had called the Lakers "the greatest array
  of talent ever assembled on one team." Now we were slumping into the playoffs
  in second place in the Western Conference and feeling as if we were coming
  apart at the seams. The injuries were mounting. Malone had sprained his right
  ankle, Devean George had strained his calf, Fish had pulled a muscle in his
  groin, and Fox was hampered by a dislocated right thumb.
  But the injuries weren"t the worst of it. Given all the distractions, my greatest
  concern was that the team had yet to find its identity. As Fish said, "This year
  just seems like nothing ever really got settled. Every time it seemed like we were
  kind of settling in and getting to know each other and playing good, something
  would happen that would take us back a couple steps. I think that was the biggest
  difference with this season. There was never really a point where we got
  comfortable as a team."
  -
  It wasn"t until we fell behind 2-0 in the Western Conference semifinals against
  the San Antonio Spurs that we started to wake up. In game 3, at the Staples
  Center, we reverted to our standard winning formula-playing ironclad defense
  and feeding Shaq in the post-and overwhelmed the Spurs, 105-81. The next
  game featured a stunning performance by Kobe, who flew back from his
  arraignment in Colorado to score 42 points with 6 rebounds and 5 assists,
  leading the Lakers to a come-from-behind victory and a 2-2 tie in the series.
  Afterward an overjoyed Shaq dubbed Kobe "the best player ever"-including
  Michael Jordan. This wasn"t the first time Kobe had lifted the team after flying
  back from one of his court appearances in Colorado. But it was the most
  inspiring. Basketball, he said, was "kind of like a psychologist. It takes your
  mind away from so many things. So many things."
  The fifth game, in San Antonio, was when the magic really happened. We
  were up by 16 in the third quarter, but the Spurs clawed back and regained the
  lead in the closing minutes. With eleven seconds left Kobe put up a twentyfooter
  that gave us a 72-71 edge. That set up what should have been the final
  play with five seconds on the clock: an off-balance fallaway eighteen-footer by
  the Spurs" Tim Duncan that miraculously went in.
  The Spurs started jumping up and down as if the game already had been
  won. I told the players at the time-out that even though there was less than half a
  second left on the clock, we were still going to win. Payton took the ball out of
  bounds, and Robert Horry, who knew our last-second shot set, took the passing
  lane away. As a result, Gary had to call another time-out. This time I told him to
  look for the open man, whoever it was, and he found Fish breaking free on the
  left side of the key. With nanoseconds left, Fish grabbed the pass and shot a
  miracle turnaround jumper. Swish. Game.
  -
  We put away the Spurs in game 6 and proceeded to take apart the Timberwolves
  in six games to win the Western Conference finals. But Malone reinjured his
  knee in the last game, which disrupted our momentum and put a big question
  mark over the upcoming championship finals against the Detroit Pistons.
  Even before Malone"s accident, I was nervous about the Pistons. They were a
  young, cohesive team that was peaking at the right moment, having just won the
  Eastern Conference finals against the team with the league"s best record, the
  Indiana Pacers. Our players didn"t take the Pistons that seriously because they
  didn"t have a lot of big-name stars, but they were coached by one of the best,
  Larry Brown, and created tough matchup problems for us. Chauncey Billups, a
  strong, inventive playmaker, could easily outrun Payton or Fisher; Tayshaun
  Prince, a six-nine, long-armed defender, would give Kobe trouble; and we had
  no good answer for their power-forward double threat of Rasheed Wallace and
  Ben Wallace. Brown"s strategy was to draw offensive fouls on Shaq by having
  his big men fall down when he backed in. Before each series I spent a lot of time
  visualizing new ways to neutralize our next opponent"s attack. With the Pistons,
  I was drawing a blank.
  It started with game 1 in L.A. The Pistons outmaneuvered us defensively and
  grabbed back home-court advantage, even though Shaq and Kobe combined to
  score 59 points. We rebounded in game 2 and squeaked out a win in overtime.
  But when the series moved to Detroit, we started to struggle and weren"t able to
  recover. Malone"s knee continued to cause him problems and the engine ground
  to a halt. The Pistons roared to victory in five games.
  My biggest disappointment during this season was our inability to shut out
  all the distractions and mold this talented group of superstars into the
  powerhouse it should have been. There were some great individual performances
  -from Kobe, Karl, and others-but in the end we remained a collection of
  mostly aging veterans with tired legs, struggling to keep up with a young,
  hungry, energetic team that was not unlike the Lakers of a few years past.
  To Fox, the reason we lost was simple. "A team always beats a group of
  individuals," he said. "We picked a poor time to be a group of individuals."
  For Fish, the demise of the Lakers started much earlier, in the middle of our
  third championship run. As soon as success became a normal part of the team"s
  culture, he says, "the players started to take more credit for what was happening.
  So there was less focus on what the coaching staff brought to the equation and
  more focus on whose team it was. Was it Shaq"s team or Kobe"s team? And
  which guys on our roster needed to step up and get better? All those things
  began to creep into the locker room, and it really changed the energy and the
  cohesion that was there those first few years."
  -
  The collapse happened quickly. Shortly after the playoffs ended, Dr. Buss
  confirmed what Mitch Kupchak had already told me. He said that the team was
  moving in a different direction and wouldn"t be renewing my contract. And not
  surprisingly, he was planning to trade Shaq and hoped to re-sign Kobe. I told Dr.
  Buss that losing Shaq would probably mean handing over at least one
  championship to whoever got him. He said he was willing to pay that price.
  My prophecy came true. In mid-July, the Lakers traded Shaq to Miami, and
  he led the Heat to a championship two years later. One day after the Shaq trade,
  the Lakers announced that Kobe had re-signed with the team. His trial in
  Colorado proceeded with jury selection on August 27 and was over by
  September 1. The judge dismissed the charges after the prosecution dropped the
  case. Apparently, their key witness, Kobe"s accuser, refused to testify.
  Coaching legend Cotton Fitzsimmons once said that you don"t know what
  kind of coach a guy"s going to be until he"s been fired. I"m not sure what this
  says about me, but in any case, I was ready to take a break from basketball and
  find some other ways to nourish my mind and spirit. I had some work to do on
  The Last Season, a book I was writing about my time with the Lakers. After that,
  I was heading far away from L.A. on a seven-week head-clearing trip to New
  Zealand, Australia, and various points around the South Pacific.
  Despite all the intense drama, I felt good about what I"d accomplished with
  the Lakers during the five years I had been with the team, even though I wished I
  could have rewritten the ending. And I was encouraged by the positive shift in
  my relationship with Kobe by the time I left. Coming to terms with anger is
  always treacherous and inevitably puts you in touch with your own fears,
  frailties, and judgmental mind. But the steps Kobe and I took that season, each in
  our own way, laid the foundation for building a stronger, more conscious
  connection in the future.
  When I look back at this time, it feels like the end of an important chapter for
  me-in a good way. Coaching the Lakers was like having a wild, tempestuous
  fling with a beautiful woman. And now it was time to move on and try
  something new.
  I
  19
  CHOP WOOD, CARRY
  WATER
  Forget mistakes, forget failures, forget everything, except what
  you"re going to do now and do it. Today is your lucky day.
  WILL DURANT
  "d just started my sabbatical in Australia when I got a call from Jeanie. She
  said the situation with the Lakers was dire. The team had gone into a tailspin
  and the new coach, Rudy Tomjanovich, had resigned. Could I come back
  and save the team?
  I can"t say I was surprised. Rudy was a good coach who had won two
  championships with the Houston Rockets, but he had inherited a no-win
  situation in Los Angeles. What"s more, Rudy had just completed treatment for
  cancer and just wasn"t up to the job physically or emotionally.
  The team wasn"t up to the job either. The roster had been decimated in the
  off-season. Not only did the Lakers trade Shaq, but they also lost Karl Malone to
  retirement, Rick Fox to the Celtics (he retired a few months later), and Gary
  Payton and Fish to free agency. There were a few new players who came over
  from Miami in the Shaq trade-forward Lamar Odom, guard Caron Butler, and
  center/forward Brian Grant, who had knee issues. Kobe was trying to carry this
  as-yet-formless bunch all by himself but couldn"t.
  I told Jeanie that returning to L.A. was out of the question. I wasn"t prepared
  to give up the rest of my trip, included a tour of New Zealand by motorcycle
  with my brothers. Nor did I have any interest in trying to rescue a team that was
  long past salvaging. "How about next season?" Jeanie asked.
  "I"ll think about it," I replied.
  I suppose I might have felt a momentary flicker of schadenfreude, but, in
  fact, the demise of the Lakers didn"t make me happy. I"d worked hard to
  transform the team into a champion, and it was painful to watch my former
  assistant coach, Frank Hamblen, try in vain to hold things together at the end of
  the 2004-05 season. This was the first time the Lakers had failed to make the
  playoffs since the early 1990s.
  When I returned home, I talked to a number of other teams with open
  coaching positions, including New York, Cleveland, and Sacramento. But none
  of those jobs appealed to me as much as the idea of rebuilding the Lakers from
  the ground up-something I hadn"t had the chance to do the first time around.
  But before I said yes, I needed to get a read on whether Kobe and I could work
  together again.
  I hadn"t talked to Kobe since our tense end-of-the-season meeting a year
  earlier. Since then, I"d published The Last Season, in which I revealed my
  frustrations about trying to coach him during the turbulent 2003-04 season. I had
  no idea what kind of reception I"d get from him, but when I called I didn"t sense
  any hard feelings. Kobe"s only request was for me to be more discreet with the
  media and not share personal information about him with reporters. That seemed
  reasonable.
  I think we both realized that in order to succeed we needed each other"s
  support and goodwill. Prior to the 2004-05 season, Kobe had boasted that as
  long as he played for the Lakers, the team would never fall below .500. But
  that"s exactly what happened: The Lakers tied for last place in the Pacific
  Division with a 34-48 record. That turned out to be a real wake-up call for Kobe.
  He"d never known such failure before, and it forced him to acknowledge that
  he"d have to wholeheartedly join forces with others if he was going to win any
  more championships.
  I knew that if I accepted the job, my first crucial task would be to restore the
  team"s lost pride. To my mind the sports pundits and fans had turned on Kobe
  and blamed him-unfairly-for breaking up the Lakers" great championship
  lineup. I thought my return might help put some of that noise to sleep. I was also
  intrigued by the possibility of building a new championship team centered on
  Kobe instead of Shaq. But to make that happen, Kobe and I would have to forge
  a deeper, more collaborative relationship, and he"d have to grow into a different
  kind of leader than he"d been in the past. That would take time, I knew, but I
  didn"t see any insurmountable obstacles in the way. Kobe seemed as eager as I
  was to bury the past and move on.
  -
  When I met with Dr. Buss to hammer out the details of a three-year deal, I
  needed his assurance that I"d be given a bigger role in personnel decisions and
  not be kept in the dark, as had been the case during the Shaq-versus-Kobe standoff
  in 2003-04. Dr. Buss agreed but turned down my other request-getting part
  ownership of the team. Instead he offered me a salary increase and explained
  that he planned to hand over control of the Lakers to his six children. As part of
  that move, he"d brought in his son, Jim, to learn the business so that he could
  eventually take over the basketball side of the Lakers. Meanwhile, Jeanie would
  continue overseeing sales, marketing, and finance.
  Jim Buss had been promoted to VP of player personnel when I returned in
  the 2005 postseason. He was eager to draft Andrew Bynum, a talented highschool
  center from New Jersey, and asked me to take a look at him when he
  came to L.A. for a tryout. My only reservation about Andrew was his running
  gait, which would lead to serious knee problems later on. But otherwise I
  thought he had the potential to develop into a formidable big man. I gave the
  deal my okay, and we made him the tenth pick overall. At seventeen, he was the
  youngest player ever to be drafted by the NBA.
  My biggest concern about recruiting players right out of high school has
  always been the temptations of the NBA life. Many young players get so
  seduced by the money and fame that they never develop into mature young men
  or live up to their promise as athletes. In my view, the key to becoming a
  successful NBA player is not learning the coolest highlight-reel moves. It"s
  learning how to control your emotions and keep your mind focused on the game,
  how to play through pain, how to carve out your role on the team and perform it
  consistently, how to stay cool under pressure and maintain your equanimity after
  crushing losses or ecstatic wins. In Chicago we had a phrase for this: going from
  a basketball player to a "professional" NBA player.
  For most rookies it takes three or four years to get there. But I told Andrew
  that we were going to fast-track him because of the key role we envisioned for
  him on the team. I explained that if he pledged to dedicate himself to the task,
  I"d pledge to support him all the way. Andrew assured me that I didn"t need to
  worry about his maturity; he was serious about stepping up. And he stayed true
  to his word. By the next season he would be the Lakers" new starting center.
  Andrew wasn"t the only player on the team who required this kind of
  training. We had several young players who needed to be schooled in the basics
  -including Smush Parker, Luke Walton, Brian Cook, Sasha Vujacic, Von Wafer,
  Devin Green, and Ronny Turiaf. Instead of a deficit, I saw this as an opportunity
  to build the new team from the bottom up, with a core group of young players
  who could learn the system together and provide us with a lot of energy off the
  bench. Given the team"s makeup, I found myself being less authoritarian and a
  more patient father figure than usual. This was a team that was crawling its way
  up from infancy-a new experience for me-and I had to nurture the players"
  confidence with care.
  One major hurdle to get over with my new team was the lack of consistent
  scoring options beyond Kobe. I"d originally hoped that Lamar Odom would fill
  that bill. A former number-four pick overall who averaged 15-plus points a
  game, Lamar was a graceful six-ten forward with a freewheeling style of play
  that reminded me of Scottie Pippen. He was great at pulling down rebounds and
  pushing the ball up court to break down the defense in the open floor. With his
  size, agility, and playmaking skill, Lamar created matchup problems for a lot of
  teams, and I thought we might be able to turn him into a strong "point forward"
  à la Pippen. But Lamar had trouble learning the intricacies of the system and his
  game often fell apart when we needed him the most. I found that the best way to
  use Lamar was to give him the freedom to react spontaneously to whatever was
  happening on the floor. Whenever I tried to box him in to a set role, his spirit
  seemed to deflate.
  There were others whose performance didn"t quite match my expectations.
  Shortly after I returned, we picked up Kwame Brown in a trade with
  Washington, hoping to add some muscle to our front line. We knew that Kwame
  had been a disappointing number-one pick overall for the Wizards, but, at six
  feet eleven and 270 pounds, he had a good one-on-one game and the strength
  and quickness to defend the top big men in the league. What we didn"t know
  until much later was that he didn"t have any confidence in his outside shot. At
  one point during a game against Detroit, Kobe came over to the bench, laughing.
  "You might as well take Kwame out of the game, Phil," he said. "He just told me
  not to pass him the ball because he might get fouled and have to shoot a free
  throw."
  Another player who had looked promising at first but lacked mental
  toughness was Smush Parker. Although on paper veteran Aaron McKie and
  European newcomer Sasha Vujacic looked stronger than Smush, he outplayed
  them both in training camp and scored 20 points in three of the first four regularseason
  games, so we anointed him starting point guard. Smush was a slight,
  crafty player who was good at slipping through defenses to attack the basket and
  playing tough, full-court defense. His shooting was erratic, but his spirited play
  helped energize the offense and get us off to a strong start that season.
  But Smush had had a difficult childhood that left him fragile emotionally and
  limited his ability to bond with others. When he was young, his mother had died
  of AIDS. If everything was going his way, Smush could be the most energetic
  player on the floor. But when the pressure mounted, he had a hard time holding
  himself together. He was a time bomb waiting to explode.
  -
  Meanwhile Kobe continued to excel. In the first part of the season I told him to
  let loose since the team had yet to master the system-and he responded by
  shooting for the history books. Kobe scored 40-plus points in twenty-three
  games during the regular season and averaged a career-high 35.4 points. The
  highlight was his 81-point game against the Toronto Raptors in January at the
  Staples Center. He got ticked off in the third quarter when the Raptors went
  ahead by 18 points and he erupted for 55 points in the second half to lead the
  team to a 122-104 victory. Kobe"s 81 was the second-highest total in NBA
  history, behind Wilt Chamberlain"s legendary 100-point game in 1962. What
  made Kobe"s performance different was the variety of shots he took from all
  over the floor, including 7 three-pointers-which didn"t exist in the NBA in
  Wilt"s day. To put Kobe"s performance in perspective, the highest total Michael
  Jordan ever hit in a game was 69.
  Ever since Kobe was a rookie, the question of whether he would become
  "the next Michael Jordan" had been the subject of endless speculation. Now that
  Kobe"s game had matured, this no longer seemed like a frivolous question. Even
  Jordan has said that Kobe is the only player who can be compared to him, and I
  have to agree. Both men have an extraordinary competitive drive and are
  virtually impervious to pain. Michael and Kobe have both played some of their
  best games under crippling conditions-from food poisoning to broken bones-
  that would sideline lesser mortals for weeks. Their incredible resilience has
  made the impossible possible, allowing each of them to make game-turning
  shots with packs of defenders hanging all over them. That said, their styles are
  different. Michael was more likely to break through his attackers with his power
  and strength, while Kobe often tries to finesse his way through mass pileups.
  As their coach, it"s the differences between them that intrigue me more than
  their similarities. Michael was stronger, with bigger shoulders and a sturdier
  frame. He also had large hands that allowed him to control the ball better and
  make subtle fakes. Kobe is more flexible-hence, his favorite nickname, "Black
  Mamba."
  The two men relate to their bodies differently as well. Trainer Chip Schaefer,
  who worked extensively with both players, says that Kobe treats his body like a
  finely tuned European sports car, while Michael was less regimented in his
  behavior and given to indulging his taste for good cigars and fine wine. Still, to
  this day Schaefer marvels at how graceful Michael was as he moved up the floor.
  "What I do for a living is all about athletic movement, and I"ve never seen
  anybody else move like that," he says. "The only word for it is beautiful."
  The differences between Michael"s and Kobe"s shooting styles are also
  pronounced. Michael was a more accurate shooter than Kobe. He averaged
  nearly 50 percent from the field during his career-an extraordinary figure-and
  was often in the 53 percent to 54 percent range during his prime. Kobe averages
  a respectable 45 percent, but his hot streaks tend to go longer than Michael"s did.
  Jordan was also more naturally inclined to let the game come to him and not
  overplay his hand, whereas Kobe tends to force the action, especially when the
  game isn"t going his way. When his shot is off, Kobe will pound away
  relentlessly until his luck turns. Michael, on the other hand, would shift his
  attention to defense or passing or setting screens to help the team win the game.
  No question, Michael was a tougher, more intimidating defender. He could
  break through virtually any screen and shut down almost any player with his
  intense, laser-focused style of defense. Kobe has learned a lot from studying
  Michael"s tricks, and we often used him as our secret weapon on defense when
  we needed to turn the direction of a game. In general, Kobe tends to rely more
  heavily on his flexibility and craftiness, but he takes a lot of gambles on defense
  and sometimes pays the price.
  On a personal level, Michael was more charismatic and gregarious than
  Kobe. He loved being with his teammates and security guards, playing cards,
  smoking cigars, and joking around. Kobe is different. He was reserved as a
  teenager, in part because he was younger than the other players and hadn"t been
  able to develop his social skills in college. When Kobe joined the Lakers, he
  avoided fraternizing with his teammates. But his inclination to keep to himself
  shifted as he grew older. Increasingly, Kobe put more energy into getting to
  know the other players, especially when the team was on the road. During our
  second series of championships, he became the life of the party.
  Both Michael and Kobe have impressive basketball IQs, but I wouldn"t call
  either of them "intellectual" in the conventional sense of the word. Michael
  attended the University of North Carolina and is gifted at math, but he didn"t
  show much interest in the books I gave him to read while I was his coach. Nor
  did Kobe, for that matter, though now he picks my brain regularly for book
  suggestions, especially ones about leadership. Kobe could have attended any
  college he wanted, but he skipped that step because he was in too much of a
  hurry to conquer the NBA. Still, he must have wondered whether he made the
  right choice, because in the summer of 1997 he strapped on a backpack and took
  a course in advanced Italian at UCLA.
  One of the biggest differences between the two stars from my perspective
  was Michael"s superior skills as a leader. Though at times he could be hard on
  his teammates, Michael was masterful at controlling the emotional climate of the
  team with the power of his presence. Once he bought into the triangle, he knew
  instinctively how to get the players on board to make it work.
  Kobe had a long way to go before he could make that claim. He talked a
  good game, but he"d yet to experience the cold truth of leadership in his bones,
  as Michael had. Soon that too would begin to change.
  -
  Midway through the 2005-06 season, the players began to feel comfortable
  playing within the system, and they were starting to win games-even when
  Kobe wasn"t breaking any records. I was thrilled to see the team progress faster
  than expected. We finished the regular season with an 11-3 run and rolled into
  the playoffs with a 45-37 record, an eleven-game bump over the previous
  season.
  The momentum kept building, and we sailed to an unexpected 3-1 lead in
  the first round over the division-leading Phoenix Suns. Our game plan was to
  have Kobe draw double-teams, then feed Kwame and Lamar down low, a
  strategy that seemed to be working. Our come-from-behind win in game 4 was
  remarkable. With 0.7 seconds left in regulation, aided by a key steal by Smush,
  Kobe tossed up a baseline shot to tie the game, then hit a fallaway seventeenfooter
  with 0.2 seconds remaining for the win in overtime. "This is the most fun
  I"ve ever had," he said after the game. "Because this is us. This is us, the entire
  team, enjoying the moment with the entire city of Los Angeles."
  We didn"t celebrate for long. Hours before game 5 we learned that Kwame
  was being investigated for alleged sexual assault in L.A. The charges were
  eventually dropped, but the reports distracted the players and kept us from
  putting the series away in game 5. Then the momentum shifted in the Suns"
  favor. In game 6 Smush was increasingly reluctant to shoot, so Kobe encouraged
  him to focus on putting pressure on point guard Steve Nash defensively and not
  to worry about scoring. Still, despite a heroic 50-point performance by Kobe, we
  went down in overtime. After the game Smush fell apart emotionally, having
  scored just 5 points on 12 shots. And the team headed back to Phoenix to face
  the Suns in game 7 on their home turf. It wasn"t much of a contest. At the half I
  told Kobe to revert to our original strategy and feed Lamar and Kwame in the
  post. So he dialed his game back and took only 3 shots in the second half.
  Unfortunately, Lamar and Kwame were missing in action and scored a combined
  total of 20 points, despite endless opportunities. As the game devolved into a
  121-90 rout, the Lakers" worst loss ever in a game 7, I was reminded of how
  important character is when it comes to winning big games. What this team
  needed was more heart.
  Not only did the team have some weaknesses, but so did I-a serious hip
  problem. I had hip replacement surgery just before the start of our 2006-07
  training camp. This restricted my ability to move up and down the floor to
  monitor each player"s performance during practice, and I had to learn to coach
  games from a specially designed chair. Interestingly, though I worried that my
  limited mobility might diminish my authority, just the opposite occurred. I
  learned to be forceful without being overbearing-further lessons in the school
  of less is more.
  The 2006-07 season started with a flourish, but things got rocky in the
  second half when several players-including Lamar, Kwame, and Luke Walton
  -were down with injuries. The lineup got so thin at one point that I had to use
  six-five guard Aaron McKie as our power forward and Andrew Bynum took
  over at center. In February the team went into free fall, losing thirteen out of
  sixteen games in a single stretch. By mid-March Kobe was fed up and took
  matters into his own hands. Which worked for about two weeks. He scored 50-
  plus points in five of seven games and we won all but two. However, the other
  players complained about never seeing the ball, and I asked Kobe to back off.
  Usually I tried to work the tail end of a season so that the team peaked going
  into the playoffs. But there was no hope of that happening this time. The team"s
  chemistry was shot, and we"d run out of magic tricks. We ended the season with
  a 4-8 run and I finally gave up on Smush, replacing him with rookie Jordan
  Farmar, who was quicker and more reliable at covering fleet-footed guards.
  But we needed a lot more than speed to keep pace with Phoenix in the first
  round. If anything, the Suns were an even stronger team that year. They"d won
  the Pacific Division title three years in a row and had the best point guard in the
  business, Nash, who had previously won two straight MVP awards. The Suns
  certainly didn"t lack confidence. Before game 1, the Los Angeles Times ran a
  story that included an excerpt from Sports Illustrated writer Jack McCallum"s
  book :07 Seconds or Less, in which Suns coach Mike D"Antoni critiqued several
  of our players" defensive flaws. "Kwame is awful," he said. "Odom"s a very
  average defender. Vujacic can"t guard anybody. And Bryant in the open floor
  takes chances that aren"t good."
  I didn"t agree with Mike"s assessment, but I was impressed by the Suns" level
  of chutzpah going into the series. Still, I thought we could surprise them again, if
  only we could stay focused.
  That turned out to be a big "if." Throughout the series I showed the players
  clips of the movie Hustle & Flow, because, in my opinion, they needed more of
  both to outmaneuver the Suns. Obviously, they didn"t get the message. The team
  sleepwalked through the first two games in Phoenix, then came alive to win in
  game 3 in L.A., only to fall back into a doze and lose the series, 4-1. I was so
  frustrated by the team"s low energy in the decisive game 4 that I threw a mock fit
  and sent everyone home early from practice the next day. But lack of hustle (not
  to mention flow) was only part of the problem. We needed a blast of more
  seasoned talent to turn this team into a viable contender. Some of the young
  players I"d hoped would evolve into champions just couldn"t hold their own in
  the clutch.
  I wasn"t the only one losing patience. Kobe was furious that the team hadn"t
  made any significant personnel moves since trading Shaq to Miami. After game
  5, he told reporters he was tired of being "a one-man show," scoring 50 points a
  game and losing. "I"m not with that," he said. "I"m about winning. I want to win
  championships and win them now. So, [the Lakers] have some decisions to
  make."
  It wasn"t an empty threat. After the playoffs he asked me how much progress
  we were making to bring in new talent. I told him we had talked about free
  agents and were considering players who might be available, but so far no deals
  had been made. "I guess I"m going to have to do something about that," he said.
  A few weeks later, enraged by a story in the Los Angeles Times by Mark
  Heisler in which a "Laker insider" claimed that Kobe was responsible for the
  post-Shaq mess, Kobe made his displeasure public in a radio interview with
  ESPN"s Stephen A. Smith. He criticized Dr. Buss for not being up front with him
  about the direction he wanted to take the team and demanded to be traded. Later,
  when speaking to other reporters, Kobe confirmed his desire to move on and said
  that he"d be willing to waive the no-trade clause in his contract to make that
  happen. In fact, during a training session that off-season for the 2008 Olympic
  team, he gave reporters no indication of whether or not he"d be suiting up in
  purple and gold when training camp rolled around in October.
  There was one strong trade possibility in the offing that had the potential to
  get Kobe to change his mind and stay. That was with Minnesota for center Kevin
  Garnett. My hope was that Garnett would be a good partner for Kobe and that
  his addition to the lineup would help calm Kobe down and motivate him to
  recommit to the team. What"s more, bringing Garnett on board could set us up
  for another solid championship run. But the trade fell apart at the last minute
  when Boston made an offer that Minnesota and Garnett found more attractive.
  Years later Garnett admitted that he wasn"t in favor of the L.A. deal, in large part
  because of Kobe"s dissatisfaction with the team.
  None of us was thrilled by the prospect of trading Kobe. It"s almost
  impossible to get equal value when you trade a player of his stature. The best
  deal you can hope for is one that gets you two solid starters and maybe a good
  draft pick, but not a comparable star. Nevertheless, Dr. Buss met up with Kobe in
  Barcelona over the summer and agreed to entertain trade offers from other teams
  as long as Kobe stopped mouthing off about it in the media. After a month or
  two without any progress, Kobe and his agent requested permission to put
  together a deal themselves and had several conversations with the Chicago Bulls,
  but nothing ever came of those efforts.
  Right before the start of the 2007-08 season, Dr. Buss, Jim Buss, Mitch
  Kupchak, and I held several meetings with Kobe and his agent to discuss
  possible trades. None of them made any sense from a business perspective, so
  Dr. Buss asked Kobe to hang in there while we waited for better offers to
  emerge. Explaining his rationale, he told Kobe, "If I had a diamond of great
  value-say four carats-would I give it up for four diamonds of one carat each?
  No, there is no equal value we can get from a trade that would match what you
  bring to the team."
  I granted Kobe a few days off from practice to mull over his options. I wasn"t
  unsympathetic to his dilemma, even though I still believed we could turn the
  Lakers around. No question, losing Kobe would be a blow to the organization
  and to me personally. Kobe and I had been through tough times together, and
  during the past two seasons we"d started to forge a stronger relationship.
  The will-he-or-won"t-he question hung over the team like a thick band of
  clouds, and the rest of the players were distressed by all the uncertainty. I
  counseled them not to worry because Kobe"s decision was out of our hands. All
  we could do was rededicate ourselves to the team and prepare for the upcoming
  season. We needed to be ready for whatever happened, with Kobe or without
  him. As with everything else in life, the instructions remain the same, despite
  changing circumstances: Chop wood, carry water.
  A
  20
  DESTINY"S CHILDREN
  Connection is why we"re here. It"s what gives purpose and
  meaning to our lives.
  BRENÉ BROWN
  funny thing happened while we were in limbo: A new, more dynamic team
  began to emerge.
  Opening night at the Staples Center was rocky. We lost 95-93 to the Rockets,
  and the crowd booed Kobe when he was introduced. But three days later we
  went to Phoenix and beat our nemesis, the Suns, decidedly, 119-98. Our leading
  scorer that night was newcomer Vladimir Radmanovic with 19 points, and we
  had four other players in double digits. Derek Fisher, who had rejoined the
  Lakers in the off-season, viewed the win as a harbinger of things to come. As he
  later put it, "That game planted just the small seed in our mind that if we played
  the right way, we could be pretty darn good."
  By mid-January, we had a 24-11 record and had beaten most of the best
  teams in the league. One of the reasons for our early success was the coming of
  age of Andrew Bynum, who had been working on his footwork and passing
  skills with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Kurt Rambis and had developed into a
  serious scoring threat. Kobe was quick to notice and started using him in screenrolls,
  which created a lot of easy shots for Andrew. In the first three months, he
  averaged a career-high 13.1 points and 10.2 rebounds a game.
  Another reason for our success was the influx of energy from several young
  backup players, including Radmanovic, Jordan Farmar, Luke Walton, and Sasha
  Vujacic. Although this crew still had a lot to learn, they"d come a long way. Best
  of all, they were lively and enthusiastic and improved the team"s chemistry. And
  when they were clicking, they added a new, fast-moving dimension to our attack
  that was hard to stop. In late November we also acquired another talented young
  player, Trevor Ariza, in a trade with Orlando. He was a quick, versatile small
  forward who could attack the basket and hit outside shots on the run.
  The third-and probably most important-reason for our early breakthrough
  was the second coming of Derek Fisher. Fish was a veteran of our run of three
  straight championships, and his return to the Lakers after three years at Golden
  State and Utah gave us a mature, experienced leader who could run the offense
  and give the team a much-needed sense of order.
  As I"ve mentioned, one of the keys to our approach is to give players the
  freedom to find their own destiny within the team structure. Fish wasn"t a
  creative playmaker like Steve Nash or Chris Paul. But he took advantage of his
  strengths-mental toughness, clutch outside shooting, and coolheadedness under
  pressure-to create a role for himself that not only worked for him but had a
  profound impact on the team.
  "It sounds more mystical than it really is," he says of the process he went
  through. "The coaches" goal was to set down some basic guidelines for us on
  how to play basketball together as a group. And then you were expected to
  create your own chart for everything else. It was an uncanny way of creating
  organization without over-organizing. It wasn"t about what they thought you
  should be doing, the way many coaches do. They stepped back and let you find
  your own way."
  In his first incarnation with the Lakers, Fish started out as a backup guard.
  But he was a diligent student of the game and he continued to add new skills to
  his repertoire until he worked his way into a starting role in 2001, after Ron
  Harper left. And though at first he had trouble breaking through screens on
  defense, he learned to use his formidable strength to muscle his way around big
  men. He also developed a deadly three-point shot that came in handy in the
  closing minutes when opponents would gang up on Kobe, leaving Fish wide
  open to do serious damage. By the time we reached the three-peat season, Fish
  had become the Lakers" third leading scorer behind Shaq and Kobe.
  He also was one of the most selfless players I"ve ever coached and a role
  model for the rest of the players. At the start of the 2003-04 season, I asked him
  to give up his starting job to make room for Gary Payton, and he did so without
  complaint. Yet as the season progressed, I increased his playing time, especially
  at the close of games. The offense just flowed more smoothly when Fish was on
  the floor.
  After that season, he became a free agent and landed a lucrative five-year
  deal with the Warriors, but he never found a comfortable role for himself there.
  Two years later they traded him to Utah, where he played a key role as a backup
  guard in the team"s drive to the Western Conference finals. But when his
  daughter was diagnosed with eye cancer that year, Fish approached me about
  coming back to L.A., where she could get better medical care. Eventually he
  worked out a deal with Mitch Kupchak that involved getting out of his contract
  with the Jazz and signing a new one with the Lakers at a reduced salary.
  When Fish showed up, I made him cocaptain. I also told him that I wanted to
  give backup point guard Jordan Farmar 20-plus minutes per game because he
  was good at coming off the bench and igniting the attack with his quickness and
  speed. Fish was fine with that, and together they averaged 20.8 points per game.
  Once I asked Fish what he needed to improve his game. He replied that he"d like
  to get more shots, but he knew that he"d have to take what he could get because
  someone had to run the offense, and it wasn"t going to be Kobe or Lamar.
  Fish was the perfect leadership partner for Kobe. They had come up together
  as rookies and trusted each other implicitly. Derek was more patient than Kobe
  and more balanced in his approach to problem solving. While Kobe infused the
  team with his drive to win, Fish had a gift for inspiring players with his words
  and keeping them grounded and focused. "Every time Derek gave a speech,"
  says Luke Walton, "I felt that there should be music playing in the background,
  like one of those epic sports movies. When he talked, I wanted to write it down
  because nobody could have said it better."
  Sometimes Fish acted as a mediator between Kobe and me. Once when I got
  on Kobe in a team meeting for shooting too much and disrupting the offense, he
  stormed off in a rage, saying he wouldn"t take part in the day"s shootaround. But
  Fish skillfully intervened, talking privately with Kobe and getting him to cool
  down.
  When he returned to the Lakers, Fish quickly realized that he and Kobe had
  to adopt a different style of leadership from the one that had worked for us
  during our first run. There were no other championship veterans on this team, no
  Ron Harpers or John Salleys or Horace Grants. So Fish realized that if they
  wanted to get through to our roster of young, inexperienced players, he and
  Kobe would have to put themselves in their shoes. "We couldn"t lead this team
  from 10,000 feet," he says now. "We had to come back to sea level and try to
  grow with our guys. And as that process took place, we started to feel a real
  connectivity and brotherhood."
  -
  January was a turning point for the team. Midway through the month Bynum
  dislocated his left kneecap in a game against Memphis-a tough blow that put
  him out of commission for the rest of the season. But the next day, in a radio
  interview, Kobe paid a tribute to Andrew that put an end to speculation that
  Kobe might be traded. During the off-season Kobe had poked fun at Bynum"s
  inexperience, but now he sounded like his biggest fan, claiming that the Lakers
  were "a championship caliber team with him in the lineup."
  Two weeks later I learned from Kupchak that he"d worked out a deal with
  the Grizzlies to bring All-Star center Pau Gasol to Los Angeles. (In return,
  Memphis got Kwame Brown, Aaron McKie, Javaris Crittenton, and the rights to
  Pau"s brother Mark, currently an All-Star center with the Grizzlies.) The Pau
  deal reminded me of the moment in 1968 when the Knicks acquired Dave
  DeBusschere in a trade with Detroit, a deal one writer called "the basketball
  equivalent of the Louisiana Purchase." Like DeBusschere, Pau was mature and
  intelligent with a deep understanding of the game and a willingness to take on a
  diminished role, if necessary, to improve the team"s chances of winning. He was
  the right personality at the right time. As soon as he arrived, we transformed
  from a team struggling to eke out 100 points a game to a fast-paced scoring
  machine, averaging 110-plus and having a lot more fun doing it.
  A star on Spain"s national team, Pau grew up immersed in a more
  collaborative European style of basketball, which made it easy for him to adapt
  quickly to the triangle offense. Pau"s game was ideally suited for the triangle:
  Not only was he a solid seven-foot, 250-pound post player with a wide range of
  midrange jumpers, hook shots, and strong up-and-under moves, but he also was
  an excellent passer and rebounder who was quick enough to ignite fast breaks.
  His main weakness was his lower-body strength. He often got pushed off the
  block by some of the stronger, more aggressive big men.
  Before Pau came on the scene, we were going through a minor losing streak,
  and some of the younger players were starting to act out in ways that were
  having a negative effect on morale. But all those issues disappeared as soon as
  Pau showed up. For one thing, the trade removed two of the most rebellious
  players-Kwame and Javaris. But even more important, Pau"s gracious
  demeanor shifted the emotional climate on the team. It was hard to complain
  when one of the finest talents in the league was playing alongside you, doing
  whatever it took to win.
  Pau"s arrival also allowed several players to expand their games in
  unexpected ways. Lamar Odom, for instance, had been struggling for years-
  unsuccessfully-to establish himself as a strong number two player. But Pau"s
  presence on the floor took the pressure off and freed Lamar to revert to the
  looser, freewheeling style of ball he was more comfortable with.
  Kobe"s game changed for the better as well. Kobe was thrilled to have a big
  man on the team with "a pair of hands," as he put it, and the two players quickly
  developed into one of the best one-two combinations in the league. Pau"s
  presence also gave Kobe the opportunity to focus more attention on playmaking
  and letting other players take shots. That made him a better team player overall
  and, by extension, a better leader. Kobe was ecstatic with the key acquisitions
  we"d made that season, notably Fish, Trevor Ariza, and Pau. "Got a new point
  guard, got a new wing, got a Spaniard, and then it was all good," he said. "I had
  a bunch of Christmas presents that came early."
  Kobe"s bitter discontent that had infected the team in the preseason was now
  ancient history. Best of all, the character and heart needed to create a
  brotherhood of champions had been restored.
  -
  All of a sudden, everything started to break our way. With Pau in the lineup, we
  went on a 26-8 run and finished the season with the best record in the Western
  Conference, 57-25. And Kobe was voted the league"s MVP, in part because he
  had blossomed into a better all-around player. The only team with a better record
  was the Celtics, who had acquired Garnett and sharp-shooting guard Ray Allen
  in the off-season and danced to the third-best record in franchise history, 66-16.
  Usually talent wins out in the playoffs, but sometimes victories are decided
  by happenstance. For us it was a little bit of both. We pushed past the Nuggets
  and Jazz in the first two rounds, playing some of the most spirited, integrated
  basketball I"d seen in years. Afterward, while we waited to see which team we"d
  face in the Western Conference finals, a strange turn of events tipped the odds in
  our favor. The defending-champion Spurs won a hard-fought game 7 in New
  Orleans, only to be held up at the airport after the game. The team was forced to
  sleep on one plane while they waited for another to arrive. As a result, their
  flight didn"t arrive until 6:30 A.M. Pacific time. Coach Gregg Popovich refused to
  blame this nightmare trip for his team"s lackluster performance in the next two
  games, but I"m certain it played a role. They built up a 20-point lead in the third
  quarter of game 1 but flagged in the fourth, and we stole the game away from
  them, 89-85. Three days later they looked exhausted as we ran over them in a
  30-point rout. The Spurs bounced back and won game 3 in San Antonio. But
  Kobe took over in the next two games and we closed out the series in five.
  That set up a long-anticipated showdown with Boston. The rivalry between
  the Lakers and Celtics is one of the most storied in sports. In fact, Dr. Buss was
  so obsessed with the Celtics that he had put winning more championships than
  them on his bucket list. At the time we trailed Boston by two, 16-14, and had a
  dreadful 2-8 record against them in head-to-head clashes in the finals. This was
  the first time the two teams had faced each other in the finals since 1987, when
  the Lakers triumphed, 4-2.
  I wasn"t sure if our team was ready to knock the Celtics off again. They had
  a powerful front line, led by Garnett, Paul Pierce, and Kendrick Perkins, and I
  worried that they might be able to outmuscle us under the basket, especially with
  Andrew Bynum out of the picture. I also was concerned that our team had been
  too successful too soon and hadn"t been tested hard enough in the earlier rounds
  to stand up to a tough, physical team like Boston.
  The Celtics took game 1 in Boston, 98-88, inspired in part by the return of
  Pierce in the fourth quarter after leaving the game in the third with what looked
  like a serious knee injury. Then they cruised to a 2-0 lead in the series three days
  later. I was impressed with the way they played Kobe. They didn"t double-team
  him, but they had several defenders switch off and assist whoever was covering
  him. That often prevented him from penetrating inside and kept him exiled to the
  perimeter for most of the game. Garnett, who was the league"s Defensive Player
  of the Year, did an excellent job on Lamar, sitting on his left hand and
  challenging him to make jump shots. This made Lamar increasingly insecure.
  Garnett felt confident enough to sag off Lamar at times and help Kendrick
  Perkins punish Pau when he moved into the lane.
  We bounced back briefly, winning game 3 at home, but collapsed in the
  second half of the next game and blew a 24-point lead to fall behind 3-1 in the
  series. After staving off embarrassment in game 5, we returned to Boston to
  endure such a lopsided defeat in the final game (131-92) that it haunted us all
  summer.
  The tone was set early in the first quarter when Garnett plowed down the
  lane, knocked Pau to the ground, and dunked the ball over him while he lay on
  the floor trying to keep from getting hit. Naturally, none of the refs called a foul.
  After the game, Kobe and I sequestered ourselves in a locker room used by
  the Boston Bruins, who play in the same stadium. Kobe was in a depressed state
  and took his time before going into the shower room. While we were sitting
  there, Ron Artest, who was then playing for the Sacramento Kings, dropped by
  and told us that he would like to be part of the Lakers someday. Little did we
  know that Artest would play a critical role for us the next time we faced the
  Celtics in the finals two years later.
  The nightmare continued after we left the stadium. By then the streets were
  filled with mobs of rowdy Celtics fans, cursing the Lakers and trying to turn
  over the team bus while we were stalled in traffic. One fan stood on the front
  bumper, glared at me, and gave me the finger. I was angry at the Boston police
  for not doing anything to break up the crowd. But in the end I was thankful for
  the disturbance because it galvanized everybody on the bus into committing
  themselves to returning to Boston and repaying the Celtics in kind.
  There"s nothing like a humiliating loss to focus the mind.
  -
  After we returned home, my former Knicks teammate Willis Reed called to
  console me about the Boston fiasco. I told him I thought our players needed to
  grow up and take responsibility for what had happened during the finals.
  "I figured you just left your guys out there to die in game 7," he said, "so that
  they could learn something from that awful feeling."
  "Yes," I said. "Because you can"t really understand what that"s like unless
  you go through it yourself."
  From that point on, none of the players needed convincing. When they
  returned to L.A. in October for the 2008-09 training camp, there was a fire in
  their eyes that I hadn"t seen before. "There"s no experience that wrenches your
  gut like making the NBA finals and losing," says Fish. "We went into the offseason
  questioning everything because we had come so close, but we were still
  so far away. I think that loss forced us all to ask ourselves, "Do we really want
  this?""
  The answer was decidedly yes. From day one this was a team possessed.
  "There wasn"t anything that was going to hold us back," Fish adds. "No matter
  what we faced, no matter how many ups and downs, we knew we were tough
  enough-mentally and physically-to figure this out. And we did."
  During training camp, we talked about what we"d learned in the playoffs that
  could help us in the future. The players said that they"d discovered just how
  good we could be but realized that we hadn"t played with the kind of physical
  intensity we needed to win it all. When we were overrun by Boston, Pau got
  labeled as "soft," which we knew wasn"t true. Still, if we wanted to win a
  championship, we had to change that perception.
  I was impressed by the players" cool determination. The previous year they
  had taken a quantum leap forward in terms of mastering the system. Now,
  inspired by their mutual loss, they were deepening their commitment to one
  another so that they could become more integrated-and invincible-as a team.
  This is what I often refer to as dancing with the spirit. By "spirit" I don"t
  mean anything religious. I mean that deep feeling of camaraderie that arises
  when a group of players makes a commitment to stand up for one another to
  achieve something greater than themselves, no matter what the risks. This kind
  of commitment often involves covering for teammates" weaknesses or fouling
  when necessary or protecting another player from being harassed by the enemy.
  When a team is bonding like this, you can feel it in the way the players move
  their bodies and relate to one another on and off the court. They play the game
  with a joyful abandon, and even when they"re squabbling, they do so with
  dignity and respect.
  The 2008-09 Lakers were that kind of team, and their spirit grew stronger as
  the season progressed. This was not the most talented team I"d ever coached, nor
  the most physically dominant. But the players had a deep spiritual connection
  that allowed them, every now and then, to produce miracles on the court. What I
  especially liked about this version of the Lakers was that many of the players
  had grown up together and learned to play the game the right way. By this time,
  they also knew one another well enough to integrate their movements in ways
  that baffled their opponents.
  One player who reflected the spirit of the team was Luke Walton. The son of
  Hall of Famer Bill Walton, Luke had been immersed in basketball wisdom since
  early childhood. After attending the University of Arizona, he was drafted by the
  Lakers in 2003 but had difficulty finding a role for himself because he didn"t fit
  the standard profile of a small forward. He didn"t have a killer jumper, nor was
  he gifted at creating his own shots. But he loved moving the ball and playing the
  game the right way. He was also gifted at shifting the flow of the action from one
  side of the court to the other, a critical move in the triangle offense. Many
  coaches don"t place a high value on such skills, but I encouraged Luke to grow
  in that direction. Eventually, he blossomed into one of the best facilitators on the
  team.
  Like many of the younger players, Luke was emotional and would often shut
  down and avoid talking to anyone for a few days if he hadn"t played well or the
  team had lost because of a mistake he"d made. I tried to convey to him that the
  best way to get off the emotional roller coaster is to take the middle way and not
  get too high when you win or too low when your game fails you. Over time
  Luke matured and calmed down.
  Some players require a gentle touch, while others, such as Luke, need
  something more provocative to wake them up. Sometimes I would get under his
  skin on purpose to see how he would react. At other times I"d throw him into
  difficult situations in practice to find out if he could handle the pressure.
  "It was frustrating," recalls Luke, "because I didn"t always know what Phil
  was doing or why he was doing it. And he"s not going to explain it. He wanted
  you to figure it out on your own." After a couple of years Luke realized that he"d
  absorbed what we had been teaching him, and he started to play the game
  naturally in a more integrated way.
  Another player who evolved into a more integrated player during this period
  was Kobe. Ever since Fish had returned, he"d been developing a more inclusive
  style of leadership that came to fruition during the 2008-09 season.
  In the past Kobe had led mostly by example. He"d worked harder than
  anyone else, rarely missed a game, and expected his teammates to play at his
  level. But he hadn"t been the sort of leader who could communicate effectively
  and get everyone on the same page. If he talked to his teammates, it was usually,
  "Give me the damn ball. I don"t care if I"m being double-teamed."
  That approach usually backfired. As Luke describes it, "I"ve got Kobe on the
  floor yelling at me to give him the ball. And I"ve got Phil on the bench telling
  me to make the right pass no matter what. So instead of just seeing what"s
  happening on the court, I"m trying to take in Kobe yelling and Coach telling me
  not to pass to him. And it made my job a lot harder."
  But then Kobe started to shift. He embraced the team and his teammates,
  calling them up when we were on the road and inviting them out to dinner. It
  was as if the other players were now his partners, not his personal spear-carriers.
  Luke noticed the change. Suddenly, Kobe was reaching out to him in a much
  more positive way than before. If Luke was bummed about missing three
  straight shots, Kobe would say, "C"mon, man, don"t worry about that shit. I miss
  three straight shots every fucking game. Just keep shooting. The next one"s
  going to go in." Says Luke, "When your leader is telling you that, instead of
  giving you a death stare, it makes the next shot a lot easier to take."
  -
  The season started out on a 17-2 roll and didn"t taper off until early February,
  when I decided to slow things down after beating Boston and Cleveland. I
  wanted to do everything possible to keep the players from burning out before the
  playoffs. Still, our biggest losing streak was a mere two games, against the Spurs
  and the Magic. We finished the season with the best record in the Western
  Conference, 65-17, which gave us home-court advantage over everyone except
  the Cleveland Cavaliers, if we had to play them.
  To inspire the players, I started wearing my 2002 championship ring to
  playoff games. That ring had seen a lot of action. I"d worn it through two failed
  championship finals runs and three other playoff campaigns that went south. As I
  told Los Angeles Times reporter Mike Bresnahan, "I"ve got to get rid of that
  ring."
  My biggest reservation was the team"s lack of a sense of urgency. Everything
  had come so easily during the regular season, and we"d glided past the Utah Jazz
  in the first round, 4-1. I was concerned about how our team would handle an
  opponent that matched up well against us and played a more physical brand of
  basketball. That happened in the second round, against the Houston Rockets.
  The Rockets didn"t look all that imposing on paper. They were missing two
  of their best players-Tracy McGrady and Dikembe Mutombo-and we were
  confident we could contain their other major threat, center Yao Ming, with
  double coverage by Bynum and Gasol. But when Yao broke his foot in game 3
  and was sidelined for the rest of the series, Rockets coach Rick Adelman
  responded by putting in a small lineup led by six-six Chuck Hayes at center,
  forwards Ron Artest and Luis Scola, and guards Aaron Brooks and Shane
  Battier. The strategy worked. In game 4 our lackadaisical defense broke down
  and Houston tied the series, 2-2. Lamar called it "our worst game of the year."
  Even though the team"s spirit seemed to be flagging, we roared back in game
  5 at the Staples Center, beating the Rockets 118-78, the Lakers" biggest playoff
  victory since 1986. But then we lost our mojo again and fell apart in game 6.
  Kobe later dubbed the team bipolar, and he wasn"t far off. It was as if the Lakers
  had two conflicting personalities, and we never knew which one-Dr. Jekyll or
  Mr. Hyde-was going to show up on any given night.
  That changed-finally-in game 7 in L.A. We decided to start playing
  aggressive defense at the very beginning, and that raised our game to another
  level. All of a sudden, Pau was fighting back and making key blocks; Kobe was
  playing Jordanesque defense, cutting off passing lanes and grabbing steals; Fish
  and Farmar were teaming up to contain Brooks; and Andrew was an unshakable
  force in the lane, scoring 14 points with 6 rebounds and 2 blocks. In the end we
  held the Rockets to 37 percent shooting and outrebounded them 55-33 as we
  sailed to victory, 89-70.
  Kobe took the long view after the game. "Last year at this time everybody
  was pegging us as unbeatable and we got mopped up in the finals," he said. "I"d
  much rather be a team that"s there at the end of the finals, not now."
  We had a few more lessons to learn before we reached that point, but I was
  grateful that we had woken up from our split-personality trance. Or had we?
  Our opponent in the Western Conference finals-the Denver Nuggets-
  posed a different kind of threat. They were loaded with great shooters, including
  Carmelo Anthony, whom Kobe nicknamed "the Bear," and two players who had
  hurt us in the past: point guard Chauncey Billups and power forward Kenyon
  Martin.
  The Nuggets came after us hard in game 1, and we survived by the skin of
  our teeth with a heroic, last-minute push by Kobe, who scored 18 of his 40
  points in the fourth quarter. Then we let a 14-point lead dribble away in game 2
  and lost, 106-103. I was disappointed by Bynum"s lack of hustle and weak
  defense in that game, so I put Odom in the starting lineup in game 3 to give us a
  little more athleticism up front. That helped, but what impressed me more was
  the team"s resilience in the final minutes of the game. During a break late in the
  fourth quarter, Fish gathered the team together and delivered one of his most
  inspirational speeches. "This is a moment in time when you can define yourself,"
  he said. "This is a moment when you can step into that destiny."
  His words had an impact. With 1:09 left, Kobe, who finished with 41 points,
  hit a three-pointer over J.R. Smith to put us ahead, 96-95. Then, in the final
  thirty-six seconds, Trevor Ariza snatched Kenyon Martin"s inbound pass to seal
  the win.
  The series was far from over, however. The Nuggets steamrolled over us in
  game 4 and were pushing hard in the next game. The turning point came in the
  fourth quarter of game 5, when we instituted a scheme to use the Nuggets"
  aggressiveness against them. Rather than having Kobe and Pau avoid doubleteams,
  we had them lure defenders toward them, which created openings for
  Odom and Bynum inside. Then, as soon as the Nuggets tried to plug that hole,
  Kobe and Pau went on the attack. We won the game, 103-94, and polished off
  the series in Denver two days later.
  -
  We had hoped to meet the Celtics again in the championship finals, but Orlando
  beat them in a hard-fought seven-game series in the Eastern Conference
  semifinals, then knocked off the Cleveland Cavaliers to face off against us. The
  Magic had a twenty-three-year-old center and Defensive Player of the Year,
  Dwight Howard, and a strong group of three-point shooters, led by Rashard
  Lewis. I was surprised by Orlando"s success in beating the Celtics (without
  Garnett) and the Cavaliers (with LeBron James), but I still didn"t think the team
  was ready for prime time.
  Kobe didn"t either. He made it look too easy in game 1 at the Staples Center,
  knocking down 40 points, the most he"d ever scored in a finals game, while our
  defense held Howard to 12 points en route to a 100-75 win. The basketball gods
  were with us in game 2 when Courtney Lee missed on a potentially gamewinning
  alley-oop play in the closing seconds and gave us a second chance to
  nail down the win in overtime.
  When we moved to Orlando for game 3, the Magic came alive, shooting an
  NBA-finals-record 62.5 percent on the way to a 108-104 victory. That set the
  stage for Fish"s finest moment ever in the playoffs.
  Fish, who had a knack for making big game-winning shots, did not shoot
  well in game 4. In fact, as we took the floor, down 3 points with 4.6 seconds left
  in regulation, he had missed his previous 5 three-point attempts. But that didn"t
  prevent him from squaring up for another when his defender, Jameer Nelson,
  foolishly backed away to help guard Kobe instead of committing a two-point
  foul against Fish to take the game. That mistake allowed Fish to put up the three
  and sent the game into overtime. Then, with the score tied and 31.3 seconds
  remaining, Fish threw another dramatic three to put the Lakers ahead to stay, 94-
  91.
  Pure character. Pure Fish.
  If this were a movie, it would have ended there. But we still had one more
  big hurdle to get over.
  Before game 5 even started, the media was in the locker room asking the
  players to imagine what it was going to feel like to win a ring. And when I
  strolled into the trainers" room, I noticed Kobe and Lamar quizzing each other
  about championship-finals trivia. So I closed the doors and tried to set a different
  mood.
  Instead of giving my usual pregame talk, I pulled up a chair and said, "Let"s
  get our minds right." We sat in silence for five minutes and got our breath in
  sync. Then assistant coach Brian Shaw started to give his chalk talk on the Magic.
  But when he turned the board around, it was completely empty. "I didn"t write
  anything down," he said, "because you guys already know what you need to do
  to beat this team. Go out there and play with the idea of playing for and with
  each other and we"ll end these playoffs tonight."
  It was a great way to set the tone for a final game.
  Kobe led the attack from the start, scoring 30 points as we took the lead in
  the second quarter and never looked back. When the buzzer sounded, Kobe
  leaped into the air and celebrated with his teammates in center court. Then he
  came over to the sidelines and hugged me.
  I don"t remember exactly what we said to each other, but the look in his eyes
  touched me the most. This was our moment of triumph, a moment of total
  reconciliation that had been seven long years in coming. The look of pride and
  joy in Kobe"s eyes made all the pain we"d endured in our journey together worth
  it.
  For Kobe, this was a moment of redemption. He would no longer have to
  listen to all the sports pundits and fans telling him that he would never win
  another championship without Shaq. Chinese water torture is how he described
  their lack of faith in him.
  For me it was a moment of vindication. That night I surpassed Red
  Auerbach"s championship record, which was gratifying in its way. But more
  important to me was how we did it: together, as a fully integrated team.
  The most gratifying thing of all was watching Kobe transform from a selfish,
  demanding player into a leader that his teammates wanted to follow. To get
  there, Kobe had to learn to give in order to get back in return. Leadership is not
  about forcing your will on others. It"s about mastering the art of letting go.
  T
  21
  DELIVERANCE
  Fall down seven times. Stand up eight.
  CHINESE PROVERB
  his was the moment we"d all been waiting for. After nine months and
  104 games, the 2009-10 season came down to this: a rematch with the
  Boston Celtics in game 7 of the championship finals. As we arrived at
  the Staples Center that afternoon, there was no doubt that the players were
  plotting revenge for the debacle that had taken place two years earlier in the TD
  Garden.
  It was bad enough that the Celtics had humiliated us on the court in the final
  game of the 2008 finals. They"d done it in classic Boston style, dunking coach
  Doc Rivers with Gatorade before the clock ran out so that we had to sit on the
  bench in misery while workers mopped the floor and a stadium full of besotted
  hometown fans screamed invectives at us. Then, when we thought it was all
  over, we had to endure a postgame ride from hell through an unruly mob
  determined to upend our team bus. This was the nightmare that had stuck in our
  minds for two years.
  If it had been any other team, we might have been able to laugh it off. But
  this was the Celtics, the team that had haunted the Lakers ever since 1959 when
  Boston swept the then-Minneapolis Lakers in four games to win the NBA
  championship. The Celtics were so dominant in the 1960s that Jerry West
  stopped wearing anything green because it reminded him of the frustration the
  Lakers had endured during that decade.
  The most embarrassing defeat came in 1969 when an aging Celtics team, led
  by Bill Russell in his final year as player-coach, bounced back from a 3-2 deficit
  to snatch victory from the Lakers on their home court. The Lakers had been so
  confident going into game 7 that owner Jack Kent Cooke had thousands of
  purple and gold balloons hung from the ceiling of the Forum, ready to be
  released during the postgame celebration. Alas, that was not to be. With less than
  a minute to go, West knocked the ball away on defense, right into the hands of
  Don Nelson, who tossed up a shot from the free-throw line that hit the back of
  the rim, bounced high into the air and fell miraculously back into the hoop to put
  the Celtics ahead for good, 108-106.
  West, who played brilliantly throughout the series and was the first and only
  player from a losing team ever to be named finals MVP, was shellshocked. "I
  didn"t think it was fair that you could give so much and maybe play until there
  was nothing left in your body to give, and you couldn"t win," he told author
  Roland Lazenby years later. "I don"t think people really understand that trauma
  associated with losing. I don"t think people realize how miserable you can be,
  and me in particular. I was terrible. It got to the point with me that I wanted to
  quit basketball."
  West didn"t quit, though. Three years later he finally won a championship
  ring, not against the Celtics, but against my team, the Knicks. Still, the Celtics"
  curse hovered over the franchise like an undropped balloon until the mid-"80s,
  when the "Showtime" Lakers beat Boston two out of three times in the finals.
  The rivalry between the two teams was such an important part of Lakers lore that
  Magic Johnson once revealed that he cheered for Boston when the team wasn"t
  playing against L.A. because, as writer Michael Wilbon wrote, "only the Celtics
  know how it feels to sit atop the basketball world for the franchise"s entire
  existence."
  -
  History was not on our side going into game 7 in 2010. Over the decades the
  Lakers had faced the Celtics four times in finals series that came down to seven
  games and had lost every time. But on this go-round we were playing at home,
  and we"d beaten the Celtics decisively, 89-67, two days earlier in game 6. We
  also had a few more weapons in our arsenal than in 2008, notably center Andrew
  Bynum, who had been sidelined with a knee injury that year. And we"d acquired
  forward Ron Artest, one of the best defensive players in the league. My main
  worry was Boston"s Rasheed Wallace, who was filling in for injured center
  Kendrick Perkins. Wallace wasn"t as strong as Perkins on defense, but he was a
  formidable offensive threat who had done serious damage to us in the past. I
  wasn"t taking anything for granted.
  By Lakers" standards, 2009-10 had been a fairly uneventful season. The
  biggest setback took place before the season began when Trevor Ariza, who had
  played a big role in the 2009 championship run, left the team to become a free
  agent. Trevor was a quick, daring defender who often ignited our fast-breaking
  offense by making steals or forcing turnovers. He also was a clutch outside
  shooter from the corners and other points on the floor. But during the off-season,
  negotiations between Trevor"s agent and the Lakers stalled, and Mitch Kupchak
  started talking seriously with Artest, whose contract with the Rockets was
  ending. Before the deal was complete, however, Ron announced on Twitter that
  he was joining the Lakers. Baffled by this turn of events, Trevor signed with
  Houston as a free agent and was later traded to New Orleans.
  -
  What I liked about Artest was his size (six feet seven inches, 260 pounds), his
  strength, and his lockdown defensive play. Ron, who had recently been voted the
  "toughest" player in the NBA in a survey of general managers, was forceful and
  crafty enough to neutralize strong, mobile forwards such as Boston"s Paul
  Pierce. But Ron could be erratic on offense and wasn"t as speedy as Trevor,
  which meant we"d have to shift our quick, fast-breaking attack into a slower,
  half-court offense.
  I also had concerns about Ron"s unpredictability. He was best known for the
  wild brouhaha he took part in as a Pacer during a 2004 game against the Pistons
  at Auburn Hills. The fight broke out after Ron fouled Ben Wallace as he was
  driving to the basket, and Wallace retaliated by shoving him in the chest.
  Midway through the brawl, a Detroit fan threw a cup at Ron and he charged into
  the stands and started whaling away, which resulted in a seventy-three-game
  suspension, the longest in NBA history not related to drugs or gambling.
  (Wallace and other players were also penalized, but not as severely as Ron.)
  During our series against Houston in the 2008 playoffs, Ron, then playing for
  the Rockets, got ejected from game 2 after getting into a clash with Kobe over a
  rebound. He also missed two team buses en route to the Staples Center for game
  7, and caught a third bus-transporting Houston management-wearing only his
  sweats.
  Ron grew up in New York"s rough Queensbridge projects, and sports tattoos
  of a Q on his right leg and a B on his left to remind him of his roots. He
  remembers hearing gun shots while playing at the Twelfth Street courts. And he
  once witnessed a young man getting killed during a game at a local recreation
  center when a brawl broke out and one of the players tore off a leg of the
  scorer"s table and stabbed him with it. "I"m still ghetto," Ron once told the
  Houston Chronicle. "That"s not going to change. I"m never going to change my
  culture."
  Basketball was Ron"s salvation. When he was twelve, he was good enough to
  play AAU ball. He joined Lamar Odom and another future NBA star, Elton
  Brand, on the Brooklyn Queens Express, a team that went 67-1 one summer. All
  three players went on to success in high school and college, and were selected in
  the first round of the 1999 draft. The Bulls chose Brand and Ron, as the first and
  sixteenth picks overall, respectively, and the Clippers took Lamar as the fourth
  pick overall. Since 1999 Artest had played for four other teams-the Bulls,
  Pacers, the Kings, and the Rockets-but now he was going to be playing with
  his childhood buddy, Lamar. For Ron, it was like coming home.
  Despite his background and his proclivity for playing rough, Ron is a goodnatured
  soul off the court who does a lot of unpublicized charity work for
  children. Once, when he was in China, he met a young fan who couldn"t afford
  to pay for his textbooks, let alone a pair of Ron"s signature basketball shoes. So
  Ron took his $45,000 watch and auctioned it off to pay for the boy"s education.
  Ron has a flair for the outlandish. During his stint with the Kings, he offered
  -unsuccessfully-to forgo his entire salary in order to keep his friend, guard
  Bonzi Wells, from jumping to another team. And in 2011 he changed his name to
  Metta World Peace, as he said, "to inspire and bring youth together all around
  the world." The word "metta" means "loving kindness" in Pali, and refers to a
  key tenet of Buddhist teaching: cultivating universal love. Clearly, Ron has come
  a long way since his first days at the Lakers when he told San Diego Union-
  Tribune reporter Mark Ziegler, "I don"t know what Zen means, but I"m looking
  forward to being a Zen man. I hope it makes me float. I always wanted to float."
  My major concern about Ron was whether he could learn the triangle offense
  fast enough. Like Dennis Rodman, Ron had a hard time staying focused.
  Dennis"s solution was to work out in the gym day and night to burn off restless
  energy. But Ron had trouble sticking to a workout regimen, so he practiced jump
  shots instead. The only problem was that every day he would shoot with a
  different style. And that affected the way he performed in games. Sometimes he
  was blessed and everything dropped in. Other times there was no way of telling
  what was going to happen.
  During a practice session I suggested to Ron that he select one style of
  shooting and stick with it, but he took it the wrong way. "Why are you always
  picking on me?" he said.
  "I didn"t know I was picking on you," I replied. "I"m just trying to help you
  along."
  Neither of us was speaking in anger, but assistant coach Brian Shaw pulled
  me aside and said, "You"re walking a dangerous line there, Phil." I was stunned.
  I thought I was trying to be supportive. However, Brian worried that Ron might
  misinterpret my body language-moving in closer and talking in a low tone of
  voice-as a form of aggression.
  After that incident, I realized that the best way to communicate with Ron was
  to couch everything in a positive way-not just with the words I used, but with
  my gestures and facial expressions as well. Eventually, he figured out the system
  and, with the help of Kobe and others, began integrating himself into the team"s
  DNA.
  -
  Ron wasn"t the only question mark in 2009-10. Another concern was Kobe"s
  physical decline over the course of the season. In December he broke the index
  finger on his shooting hand during a game against the Timberwolves, but he
  decided to skip surgery and tough it out, a decision he later regretted. Not
  surprisingly, the injury had a negative impact on his shooting percentage; his
  numbers were down in several categories.
  In February he aggravated his sprained ankle and agreed to sit out three
  games to let it heal. Kobe was proud of his iron-man resilience and hated to miss
  games. In fact, he had taken part in all 208 games in the previous two seasons.
  But he needed to recover, and the break gave the team a chance to practice
  playing together without him. They won all three games against leading
  opponents.
  Just when Kobe started finding his rhythm again, his right knee, which had
  been bothering him for years, began to swell and forced him to miss two games
  in April. This injury would bother him throughout the playoffs and contributed
  to his mystifying shooting slump at the end of the season.
  The only upside to Kobe"s knee problem was its positive effect on our
  relationship. When his knee had started acting up the year before, I gave him the
  freedom to go light at practice-or even skip one here and there, if necessary, to
  help him maintain his leg strength. Kobe was touched by my concern for his
  well-being, and the bond between us grew stronger. We often bounced around
  ideas during practices and spent time scrutinizing game videos together on the
  team plane. Over time we developed the kind of intimate partnership that I"d
  enjoyed with Michael Jordan. But the connection was less formal with Kobe.
  With Michael, I"d often arrange meetings ahead to discuss strategy. Kobe and I
  talked all the time.
  Kobe likes to say that he learned 90 percent of what he knows about
  leadership from watching me in action. "It"s not just a basketball way of
  leadership," he says, "but a philosophy of how to live. Being present and
  enjoying each moment as it comes. Letting my children develop at their own
  pace and not trying to force them into doing something they"re not really
  comfortable with, but just nurturing and guiding them along. I learned that all
  from Phil." I"m grateful for the thought.
  -
  As we headed into the playoffs, Kobe would have a number of opportunities to
  test his leadership skills. Throughout the regular season the team had been beset
  by injuries, affecting several players in addition to Kobe. Pau Gasol and Andrew
  Bynum each missed seventeen games due to various problems, and Luke Walton
  was out for most of the season with severe back pain. But we had good team
  chemistry for most of the year, and that allowed us to hold on to first place in the
  Western Conference with a 57-25 record, despite a 4-7 slump at the end of the
  season.
  Our opponent in the first round was the Oklahoma City Thunder, a team that
  pushed us harder than we expected. To get inside their up-and-coming forward
  Kevin Durant"s head, I told reporters that I thought the refs were babying him by
  giving him a lot of easy calls, as if he were a superstar. (He shot the most free
  throws during the season, in large part because of a move he used to hook his
  shooting arm under those of defenders, which has since been disallowed by the
  NBA.) Durant got defensive about the remark, which was what I wanted, but the
  NBA fined me $35,000, which was not exactly my plan. As it turned out, Durant
  had an unimpressive series, but I think Ron"s defense on him had more to do
  with that than my gamesmanship.
  The Thunder"s strategy was to leave Ron wide open in the corners so that
  they could pull down the rebounds when he misfired and launch fast breaks. And
  Ron obliged, missing 20 of 23 three-point attempts in the first four games. The
  Thunder"s fast-paced attack-and our slow transitional defense-allowed
  Oklahoma City to win two games at home and tie the series, 2-2.
  Kobe had struggled during the first four games, but experienced a rebirth in
  game 5 after getting a significant amount of liquid drained from his aching knee.
  One of our best moves was having him cover the Thunder"s free-wheeling point
  guard, Russell Westbrook, who had been running wild against our other guards.
  Kobe not only held Westbrook to 15 points on 4 for 13 shooting, he also
  galvanized our offense by acting as a facilitator and moving the ball inside to
  Pau, who scored 25 points, and Bynum (21). The final score: Lakers 111,
  Thunder 87.
  In game 6, the puppet master was Artest, who held Durant to 21.7 percent
  from the field, one of the worst shooting percentages in playoff history. Still, the
  game was touch-and-go until the last second when Pau tipped in a Kobe miss to
  seal the victory, 95-94.
  The next two rounds were not as nerve-racking. A big plus was that Kobe,
  whose knee had become less bothersome, suddenly started averaging close to 30
  points a game. After finishing off the Jazz in four games, we faced the Phoenix
  Suns-the hottest team in the league since the All-Star break-in the Western
  Conference finals. They weren"t as big as the Lakers upfront, but they had a
  strong 1-2 combination in Steve Nash and Amar"e Stoudemire, plus a strong
  bench and an energetic swarming defense.
  The turning point was game 5 in L.A. The series was tied 2-2 and the score
  was close most of the way. Late in the game, with the Lakers ahead by 3, Ron
  grabbed an offensive rebound. But instead of letting the clock run down, he took
  an ill-conceived three-pointer and missed, allowing the Suns to fight back and tie
  the game with a three-pointer of their own. Fortunately, Ron redeemed himself
  with a few seconds left, picking off Kobe"s wayward jumper and putting it in the
  hoop for the win at the buzzer.
  Two days later we returned to Phoenix and closed out the series. Ron came
  alive again, going four for seven from three-point territory and scoring 25 points.
  It looked as if he were finally coming into his own-not a moment too soon.
  -
  As the championship finals got under way against Boston, I was worried about
  the Celtics" bruising defense. Their strategy was to plug the lane with big bodies,
  put pressure on our guards to give up the ball, and force Lamar and Ron to take
  jump shots. It was a sound plan-one that had worked against us in the past. But
  we were more resilient than we"d been in 2008 and we had a wider range of
  scoring options.
  We came out strong in game 1, powered by Pau, who was eager to show the
  world that he wasn"t the "soft" pushover that reporters had made him out to be in
  2008. But the Celtics answered back in game 2 with a stunning performance by
  shooting guard Ray Allen, who scored 32 points, including a finals record 8
  three-pointers. Fish took a lot of heat in the media for letting Allen run amok,
  but Kobe also had trouble containing point guard Rajon Rondo, who had a tripledouble.
  All of a sudden, the series was tied, 1-1, and we were headed for three
  games in Boston.
  Game 3 was payback time for Fish. First, he shut down Allen on defense,
  forcing him to go 0-13 from the field, one miss shy of a finals record. Then Fish
  commandeered the game in the fourth quarter, going on an 11-point surge to win
  back home-court advantage for the Lakers. He fought back tears as he entered
  the locker room after the game, overcome by what he"d just accomplished. Still,
  the Celtics didn"t let up. They took the next two games to go ahead 3-2 in the
  series and set up a classic showdown in L.A.
  Tex Winter used to say that our successful championship runs were usually
  triggered by one game in which we completely dominated our opponents from
  beginning to end. Game 6 was such a game. We took command in the first
  quarter and beat the Celtics decisively, 89-67, to tie the series again.
  Boston"s spirit was hardly broken, though. They came out strong at the start
  of game 7 and had a six-point lead at the half. Midway through the third quarter,
  the Celtics pushed their edge up to 13, and I decided to step out of character and
  call two time-outs. This time I couldn"t sit back and wait for the players to come
  up with a solution; I needed to shift the energy immediately.
  The trouble was, Kobe wanted to win so badly that he"d abandoned the
  triangle and reverted to his old gunslinging ways. But he was pressing so hard
  that he was missing his shots. I told him to trust the offense. "You don"t have to
  do it all by yourself," I said. "Just allow the game to come to you."
  This was a classic example of when it"s more important to pay attention to
  the spirit than the scoreboard. Soon after, I overheard Fish formulating a plan
  with Kobe to have him get back inside the offense when Fish came off the bench
  and returned to the floor.
  As soon as Kobe made the switch, things started flowing smoothly again and
  we began slowly eating away at the Celtics" lead. The key moment was Fish"s
  three-pointer with 6:11 left in the game that tied the score, 64-64, and ignited a
  9-0 run that put us ahead by 6. The Celtics pulled within 3 on Rasheed Wallace"s
  three-pointer at the 1:23 mark, but Artest answered back immediately with
  another three-pointer, as we held on to win, 83-79.
  The beauty of this game was its raw intensity. It was like watching two
  veteran heavyweights who"d been battling each other with everything they had
  step back into the ring one last time and push themselves until the last bell
  sounded.
  When the game was over, emotions ran deep. Kobe, who called this win "by
  far the sweetest" of them all, leapt onto the scorer"s table and reveled in the
  cheers of the crowd, his arms outstretched and a blizzard of purple-and-gold
  confetti snowing down on him. Fish, who was usually Mr. Stoic, teared up again
  in the locker room as he embraced a wet-eyed Pau Gasol. Magic Johnson, who"d
  taken part in five championship celebrations, told the Los Angeles Times"s Mike
  Bresnahan that he"d never witnessed such an outpouring of emotion in a Lakers"
  locker room. "I think they finally understood the history of the rivalry and how
  hard it was to beat the Celtics," he said.
  For me, this was the most gratifying victory of my career. It had been a
  trying season marred by inconsistency and troublesome injuries, but in the end
  the players were a study in courage and teamwork. I was moved to see Pau
  overcome the "softie" stigma that had haunted him for two years and Fish fight
  back after being torched by Ray Allen. It was also endearing to watch Ron
  mature and play a key role in containing Pierce, then make all the right shots just
  when we needed them. "I didn"t think that winning that trophy was going to feel
  as good as it feels," he said later. "But now I feel like somebody."
  Beyond the thrill of capturing another ring, there was something deeply
  satisfying about putting the Celtics" curse behind us with a triumphant victory in
  our own house. Indeed, the fans played a big part in this win. Lakers fans are
  often mocked for their laid-back approach to the game, but on this day they were
  more engaged than I"d ever seen them.
  It was as if they, too, understood instinctively the symbolic importance of
  this moment-not just to the team but to the L.A. community as a whole. In the
  city of dreams, this was the only real reality show in town.
  M
  22
  THIS GAME"S IN THE
  REFRIGERATOR
  We are all failures-at least the best of us.
  J. M. BARRIE
  aybe I should have ended it there, with the crowd roaring and confetti
  raining down. But life is never quite so well scripted.
  I had reservations about coming back for the 2010-11 season.
  For one thing, I was having trouble with my right knee and I was eager to get on
  with replacement surgery. Second, although most of the core team would be
  returning, we were likely to lose some key players to free agency, notably guards
  Jordan Farmar and Sasha Vujacic, both of whom would be hard to replace.
  Third, I had a secret longing to escape the grueling NBA travel schedule and the
  pressure of constantly being in the public eye.
  During the Western Conference finals, I had lunch with Dr. Buss in Phoenix
  to discuss the upcoming season. He said that contract negotiations with the
  players" union weren"t going well and he expected the owners to institute a
  lockout when the 2010-11 season was over. That meant that the Lakers needed
  to take some measures right away to trim expenses. He also confided that other
  owners were giving him grief about my salary, claiming that the terms of my
  contract forced them to pay their own coaches more. Bottom line: If I decided to
  come back, it would be at a reduced salary.
  I told him I would give him an answer in July. Of course, I knew when I said
  it that it would be hard for me to say no to Kobe and Fish if we won the finals.
  And sure enough, not long after our victory over the Celtics, they both started
  pleading with me via text to stick around and "win a 3P again."
  So I negotiated a one-year deal with Dr. Buss and began working with Mitch
  Kupchak on assembling a new roster. I dubbed the campaign the "Last Stand,"
  which, alas, turned out to be a pretty accurate way to describe this snake-bitten
  season.
  We were faced with replacing nearly 40 percent of the last season"s roster. In
  addition to Jordan and Sasha-who would be traded to the Nets in mid-
  December-we were losing backup center Didier Ilunga-Mbenga as well as
  forwards Adam Morrison and Josh Powell. We replaced the outgoing players
  with a mixed group of veterans and young players, the most promising of whom
  were forward Matt Barnes and guard Steve Blake. But Barnes injured his knee
  and missed about a third of the season, and Blake caught the chicken pox at the
  end of the season, which diminshed his playing time in the playoffs. What"s
  more, Theo Ratliff, the thirty-seven-year-old center we brought in to back up
  Andrew Bynum was injured and didn"t get much playing time. Still, I wasn"t
  worried about our front line. The team"s lack of youth and energy was a bigger
  concern. Jordan, Sasha, and Josh were always challenging the veterans to rise to
  their level of energy. Losing them meant that our practices weren"t going to be as
  intense as before-not a good thing.
  Another problem, of course, was Kobe"s right knee. He"d had another round
  of arthroscopic surgery in the off-season and later said that his knee had lost so
  much cartilage that the doctors told him it was "almost bone on bone." Kobe
  continued to have trouble recuperating after games and hard practices. So we
  reduced the amount of time he spent practicing the day before games, with the
  hope that the additional rest would allow his knee to recover faster. That
  diminished the intensity of the practices, as well, but, more important, it isolated
  Kobe from the team, which created a leadership vacuum late in the season.
  Despite all these issues, the team got off to a healthy 13-2 start and looked
  pretty strong until the new LeBron James-led Miami Heat picked us apart, 96-
  80, in the Staples Center on Christmas Day. Then we went on a road trip just
  before the All-Star game that ended with three disturbing losses to Orlando,
  Charlotte, and Cleveland.
  During the game against the Cavaliers-the team with the worst record in the
  NBA at that point-Kobe got into foul trouble battling guard Anthony Parker,
  and Ron Artest tried to save the day but made a series of mistakes instead that
  put us down by 5 going into the half. Kobe and Fish were not pleased. They said
  that nobody could figure out what Ron was trying to do on the court, particularly
  on defense, which made it hard to stage a cohesive attack.
  I called a team meeting during the All-Star break and we talked about ways
  to get the team back on track. Chuck Person, a new assistant coach, suggested
  that we try a system of defense that he claimed would help us guard against our
  old bugaboo-screen-rolls-and, in the process, tighten up the way we worked
  together as a team. The system was counterintuitive and required players to
  unlearn many of the defensive moves they"d been using since high school. Some
  of the other assistant coaches thought it was risky to introduce such a radically
  different approach in the middle of the season, but I thought it was worth the
  gamble.
  The main downside was that Kobe wouldn"t have enough time to practice the
  new system with the team because of his bum knee. I thought that would be a
  minor obstacle. Kobe was a quick study and good at adapting to challenging
  situations. But as we began to roll out the system in games, he often got
  frustrated with his teammates and started giving them directions that
  contradicted what they"d been learning in practice. This disconnect would haunt
  us later.
  Nevertheless, the new system worked well at first and we went on a 17-1
  streak after the break. But in early April we lost five games in a row, including
  one to arguably the best screen-roll team in the league: the Denver Nuggets. And
  to hang on to second place in the conference, we had to win the last game of the
  season-against Sacramento in overtime. We"d gone into late-season slides
  before and still triumphed, but this time felt different. We shouldn"t have been
  struggling so hard at this point in the season.
  -
  It didn"t help that our opponent in the first round of the playoffs was the New
  Orleans Hornets, whose star point guard, Chris Paul, had little difficulty
  penetrating our new defensive system and creating havoc all over the floor. The
  Hornets also had former Laker Trevor Ariza, who was determined to show us
  that we"d made a mistake letting him go. He did a good job of it, giving Kobe
  trouble on defense and knocking down several key three-pointers. Before we
  knew it, the Hornets had stolen the first game in L.A., 109-100, and we had to
  fight hard to scratch out a lead in the series, 2-1.
  The Hornets weren"t our only obstacle. After practice on the Saturday before
  game 4, Mitch met individually with the members of my staff and informed
  them that their contracts, which ran out on July 1, weren"t going to be renewed
  for the next season. This included all the assistant coaches, trainers, massage
  therapists, weight and conditioning instructors, and the equipment manager-
  everyone except athletic trainer Gary Vitti, who had a two-year contract. Mitch"s
  intention was to give the staffers time to find new jobs, in light of the expected
  NBA lockout. But the timing of the announcement-in the middle of a tight
  first-round series-had a disruptive impact on the players as well as the staff.
  As if that weren"t enough, later that night rookie Derrick Caracter was
  arrested for allegedly grabbing and shoving a female cashier at an International
  House of Pancakes and was charged with battery, public drunkenness, and
  resisting arrest. He was released on bail on Sunday and no charges were filed,
  but he didn"t get to play in game 4, which the Hornets won to tie the series, 2-2.
  Earlier in the series, we were studying the game videos as a group and
  observed that Chris Paul was sliding through the defense and forcing one of our
  big men to switch off and cover him, which was exactly what he wanted.
  I turned the projector off and said, "Well, what do you think, guys? Our
  defense looks totally confused. We don"t know what we"re trying to do. And
  that"s playing right into his hands."
  Fish spoke up first. "I think there"s something wrong here. I know we"ve
  been through a lot, and some of our guys have been out. Maybe it"s our attitude
  or our lack of focus. But something"s not right."
  After hearing that, I took a seat facing the players and told them of a personal
  problem I"d been struggling with for the past two months-something that
  they"d obviously been picking up on a nonverbal, energetic level. In March I"d
  been diagnosed with prostate cancer. For weeks afterward I grappled with how
  best to proceed. Ultimately, I decided to wait until after the playoffs to have
  surgery; my doctor had assured me that we could control the growth of the
  cancer, at least temporarily, with drugs.
  "This has been a tough period for me," I explained. "And I don"t know if it
  has affected my ability to give 100 percent of what I normally give you guys.
  But I know there"ve been times when I"ve been more withdrawn than usual."
  I began to tear up while I was talking, and the players seemed genuinely
  moved. Still, looking back, I"m not sure this was the right decision. Although
  telling the truth is never a mistake, there can be serious repercussions. And
  timing matters. I wondered if my confession would help unify the team or just
  make the players feel sorry for me. They"d never seen me before in such a
  vulnerable state. I was supposed to be the "Zen guy," the man they could always
  count on to be cool under pressure. Now what were they supposed to think?
  -
  In retrospect, I should have anticipated what would come next. But I"d never had
  one of my teams fall apart in such a strange and spooky way before. After all,
  the team was finally returning to championship form as we polished off the
  Hornets in the next two games. In fact, I was so impressed by the team"s
  performance in game 6, I told reporters that I thought this squad had "the
  potential to be as good as any team I"ve coached with the Lakers."
  Needless to say, I spoke too soon.
  It wasn"t that our next opponent, Dallas, was such a huge threat. The
  Mavericks were a talented veteran team that had finished the year with the same
  record as ours (57-25). But we"d always dominated the Mavs in the past and had
  beaten them handily in March to win our regular season three-game series, 2-1,
  and home-court advantage against them in the playoffs.
  However, Dallas created some serious matchup problems for us. First, we
  didn"t have anyone who could keep pace with the Mavs" quick diminutive point
  guard, José Juan Barea, who, like Chris Paul, was surprisingly good at breaking
  down our new defense. We"d hoped that Steve Blake, who is quicker and more
  nimble than Fish, could be our defensive stopper in the backcourt, but he wasn"t
  back up to speed after his bout with chicken pox. Second, the Mavs were able to
  wear Kobe down with DeShawn Stevenson, a tough, muscular guard, and
  virtually neutralize Andrew Bynum with the bigman tag team of Tyson Chandler
  and Brendan Haywood. What"s more, with Barnes and Blake not 100 percent,
  our bench had a tough time keeping up with Dallas"s second unit, especially
  sixth man Jason Terry, who was devastating from the three-point line.
  One of the biggest disappointments was the performance of Pau, who"d
  played well against the Mavs in the past. But the refs allowed Dallas forward
  Dirk Nowitski to push Pau and prevent him from establishing a solid post-up
  position, which hurt us badly on offense. I urged Pau repeatedly to fight back,
  but he was grappling with a serious family issue and was distracted. True to
  form, the media made up stories to explain Pau"s less-than-stellar performance,
  including gossip that he"d broken up with his girlfriend and had had a falling out
  with Kobe, neither of which was true. Still, the rumors disturbed Pau and
  compromised his focus.
  Game 1 was a mystery to me. We established dominance early and built up
  what looked like a solid 16-point lead in the third quarter. Then, for no obvious
  reason, we stopped playing on both ends of the floor and the energy shifted to
  the Mavs. By the end of the fourth quarter, we still had a chance to win, but we
  uncharacteristically flubbed several opportunities to put the game away. With
  five seconds left and the Mavs up by 1, Kobe stumbled trying to get around
  Jason Kidd and bobbled a pass from Pau. Next, after Kidd was fouled and hit
  one of his free throws, Kobe missed an open three at the buzzer to give the Mavs
  the win, 96-94.
  The plot took a more ominous turn in game 2. We came out with fire in our
  eyes, but that feeling quickly dissipated. Not because the Mavs" performance
  was so spectacular-it wasn"t-but because they trumped us on aggressiveness
  and were able to capitalize on our slow-acting defensive game. The big surprise
  was Barea, who was virtually unstoppable, weaving his way effortlessly through
  defenders to pick up 12 points (which equaled the output of our entire bench)
  and 4 assists. Nowitski also had an easy time outmaneuvering Pau and scored 24
  points to lead the Mavs to a 93-81 victory. In the closing seconds of the game,
  Artest was so frustrated he clothes-lined Barea, who was trying to put pressure in
  the backcourt, and was suspended for the next game. Not one of Ron"s proudest
  moments.
  Losing Artest hurt but it wasn"t catastrophic. We replaced him in game 3
  with Lamar and made a concerted effort to move the ball inside to take
  advantage of our bigger front line. That worked for most of the game and helped
  us to build a 7-point lead with five minutes remaining. But then Dallas, which
  was loaded with good three-point shooters, started exploiting our weakness in
  guarding the perimeter, particularly when we were using a big lineup. Led by
  Nowitski, who scored 32 points and 4 of 5 threes, the Mavs waltzed to victory,
  98-92.
  After that loss, my son Charley called to tell me that he and his siblings,
  Chelsea, Brooke, and Ben, were planning to fly to Dallas to see the next game.
  "Are you guys crazy?" I asked.
  "No, we"re not missing your final game," he replied.
  "What do you mean my final game? We"re going to win on Sunday."
  Ever since I was a coach in the Continental Basketball Association, my kids
  had been in the stands for my big games. In those days we could drive to many
  of the games from our house in Woodstock, and June would turn the trips into
  family adventures. After I joined the Bulls, the kids, then in middle school and
  high school, would travel to away games during the finals, courtesy of the team.
  The ritual continued when I moved to L.A., by which time they were old enough
  to enjoy the parties connected to the series. By 2011, they"d been to so many
  finals-thirteen, to be exact-that they liked to say the NBA threw a big party
  for them every June.
  My favorite moment was when they showed up in Orlando for the 2009
  finals and presented me with a Lakers yellow basketball cap embroidered with
  the Roman numeral X to commemorate my tenth championship. Would there be
  an XII cap?
  The vultures were already circling. When I saw my friend, NBA
  photographer Andy Bernstein, arrive in Dallas, I greeted him half-jokingly as
  "dead man walking." Still, even though it may seem like magical thinking now, I
  really believed that we were going to win game 4 and take the series back to
  L.A. To be honest, I hadn"t given much thought to how I wanted my career to
  end or what I was going to do next. I was just trying to stay in the moment and
  get through the next game.
  That was the message I delivered to the players: Win the game, get the series
  back to our house, then put the pressure on the Mavs to win. Maybe I was
  missing something, but I didn"t have the sense that the players had given up or
  thought the series was already over. Nor did I think that they"d tired of playing
  together as a team.
  Of course, when you"re a coach, you don"t have the same kind of
  apprehension you do as a player. When you"re a player, you obsess about not
  screwing up and making a mistake that will blow the game. But when you"re the
  coach, you think, how can I get these guys keyed up and on their game? What
  kind of insight can I offer them so that they can play more spontaneously? And
  what kind of coaching change can I make to give them an edge?
  My concern in game 4 was trying to get Pau to push back against Nowitski
  and stake out a better position in the post. Our key to victory was a strong inside
  game, and that began with Pau. In game 3 I got so tired of watching him get
  shoved around that I thumped him on the chest as he walked off the floor just to
  get a rise out of him. The media had fun with that, but Pau understood what I
  was trying to do. Unfortunately, it wasn"t enough.
  I"m not sure any magic coaching fixes would have made much of a
  difference in game 4. The Mavericks had the touch from start to finish, shooting
  a remarkable 60.3 percent from the field and 62.5 percent from the three-point
  line, as they danced and laughed and partied their way to a 122-86 blowout.
  Much of the damage was done by the Mavs" backup players, particularly Terry,
  who hit a playoff-record-tying 9 three-pointers and scored 32 points; Predrag
  Stoyakovic, who went 6 for 6 on threes; and Barea, who scored 22 points while
  dashing around the court like Road Runner outwitting Wile E. Coyote.
  The first half was so lopsided, it was almost laughable. By half-time, we
  were down 63-39, but I refused to surrender. I told the players that all they
  needed to do was to get a few defensive stops, make some shots, and turn the
  game around. And they started to make that happen. Then, midway through the
  third quarter, Fish stole the ball and tossed a long pass to Ron, who was speeding
  up court all alone. This could have been a game-changing drive. But as Ron rose
  toward the basket, he looked as if he couldn"t decide what to do with the ball,
  and it slipped out of his hands and careened against the bottom of the rim. Soon
  after, Terry nailed a three-pointer and put an end to what turned out to be our
  final threat.
  The next part was painful to watch. During the fourth quarter, Lamar took a
  cheap shot at Nowitski and was ejected from the game. Moments later Bynum
  struck Barea with a dangerous right elbow that sent him crashing to the floor.
  Andrew was immediately thrown out of the game and later suspended for five
  games. As he walked off the court, he tore off his jersey and bared his chest to
  the fans-an embarrassing, bush league move.
  It was all over.
  The late Lakers" broadcaster, Chick Hearn, often used to proclaim when he
  thought a contest had been decided: "This game"s in the refrigerator, the door is
  closed, the lights are out, the eggs are cooling, the butter"s getting hard, and the
  jello"s jigglin!"
  Those words rang true now. Not just for the game, but this championship run
  and my tenure as head coach of the Lakers.
  Everything was in the refrigerator.
  -
  I"ve never been very good at dealing with loss. Like many competitors, one of
  the main driving forces in my life has been not just to win but to avoid losing.
  Yet for some reason this fiasco didn"t affect me as much as some of the other
  losses I"ve endured in my basketball life. In part, that was because this wasn"t
  the finals. It"s much easier coping with an early-round loss than a game in which
  you"re closing in on a ring. But even more than that, the way in which the Dallas
  finale unfolded was so over-the-top absurd, it was hard to take too seriously.
  I wasn"t pleased with how the players handled themselves at the end of the
  game. Still, as we gathered one last time in the locker room it didn"t feel right to
  deliver a lecture on NBA etiquette. "I think we played out of character tonight," I
  told them. "I don"t know why that happened at this particular time. The media
  will probably make a big deal out of this. But you shouldn"t look at this game as
  a measuring stick of your ability or your competitiveness. You"re better than
  this." Then I walked around the room and thanked each of the players
  individually for the great work we"d done together over the years.
  As a rule, players usually have an easier time dealing with loss than coaches.
  They can go in and take a shower, then come out and say, "I"m tired and hungry.
  Let"s go get something to eat." But coaches don"t have the same kind of release
  that comes from playing a grueling physical game. Our nervous systems tend to
  keep firing long after the arena has cleared.
  For me, the nerves usually kick into high gear in the middle of the night. I"ll
  sleep for a few hours, then-bang!-my brain is up and spinning. "Should I
  have done this, should I have done that? God, what a terrible call in the fourth
  quarter. Maybe I should have called a different play?" And so on. Sometimes I
  have to sit and meditate for a long time before the noise settles down and I can
  go back to sleep.
  Coaching takes you on an emotional roller coaster ride that"s hard to stop,
  even when you"ve diligently practiced letting go of your desire for things to be
  different than they actually are. There always seems to be just a bit more to let
  go of. Zen teacher Jakusho Kwong suggests becoming "an active participant in
  loss." We"re conditioned to seek only gain, to be happy, and to try to satisfy all
  our desires, he explains. But even though we may understand on some level that
  loss is a catalyst for growth, most people still believe it to be the opposite of gain
  and to be avoided at all costs. If I"ve learned anything in my years of practicing
  Zen and coaching basketball, it"s that what we resist persists. Sometimes the
  letting go happens quickly; other times it may take several sleepless nights. Or
  weeks.
  After talking with the players, I walked down the hall in the American
  Airlines Center to another room where my kids were waiting. They were
  distraught. A few had tears in their eyes; the rest were in a state of disbelief. "I
  can"t believe this happened," Chelsea said. "That was the most difficult game
  we"ve ever had to sit through. Why did it have to be this game?"
  That"s a question I"ve asked myself a few times since. There"s a tendency to
  search for someone to pin the blame on when an unexpected disaster occurs. The
  columnists had a field day accusing everyone from Kobe to Pau to Fish to Ron
  to Lamar, and, of course, me for the loss. Andrew told reporters that he thought
  the team had "trust issues," and there may be some truth to that. But I think there
  were a number of factors that stopped this Lakers" team from joining together
  into the integrated championship-winning force we"d been so many times
  before.
  Fatigue was a big factor. It takes a lot of grit-physically, psychologically,
  and spiritually-to win one championship. By the time you"re shooting for your
  third in a row, you"ve played so many games, it gets harder and harder to tap into
  the inner resources that make winning possible. What"s more, many of the key
  individuals on the team-including me-were distracted by personal issues that
  made it difficult for us to compete with the same invincible spirit we"d known
  before. As Lamar said simply after the game, "There was just something missing
  for us."
  Buddhist sages say that there"s only "a tenth of an inch of difference"
  between heaven and earth. And I think the same can be said about basketball.
  Winning a championship is a delicate balancing act, and there"s only so much
  you can accomplish by exerting your will. As a leader your job is to do
  everything in your power to create the perfect conditions for success by
  benching your ego and inspiring your team to play the game the right way. But at
  some point, you need to let go and turn yourself over to the basketball gods.
  The soul of success is surrendering to what is.
  Behold the child: My mom and me at my dedication at the Bethel Tabernacle Church in
  Anaconda, Montana, 1945.
  The family that prays together: I"m the one in the short pants with (clockwise from my right) Joe,
  Joan, Dad, Mom, and Charles.
  Big Coyote: In my senior year, Williston High won the North Dakota state title. Some friends still
  call me Wiley (short for the cartoon character Wile E. Coyote).
  Role models: At UND I was schooled by two future NBA coaches: head coach Bill Fitch (left) and
  assistant coach Jimmy Rodgers.
  Born to be wild: I could baffle batters with my curve in college, but sometimes, as Fitch liked to
  say, my fastball "couldn"t find home plate with a Geiger counter."
  Birth of a rivalry: Even as a player, I liked to dog Pat Riley.
  One for all: Celebrating with (from left) Jerry Lucas, Walt Frazier, Willis Reed, and Bill Bradley
  after beating the Celtics in game 7 of the 1973 Eastern Conference finals in Boston.
  Master class: Studying game film with (from left) Walt, Dick Barnett, Jerry, Dean Meminger,
  Willis, and Coach Red Holzman.
  Down home in midtown: Dropping by the Knicks office with my favorite ride in 1974.
  The Whopper: With sons Ben (left) and Charley (right) at Flathead Lake in Montana, after hauling
  in a Lake Mackinaw trout that was almost as big as they were.
  All my children: (from left) Ben, Brooke, Elizabeth, Charley, and Chelsea at Avalanche Lake in
  Glacier National Park.
  The family that plays together: A boys versus girls game with (from left) Charley, June,
  Chelsea, Brooke, and Ben at a schoolyard in Bannockburn, Illinois.
  The architect: Not everyone loved Jerry Krause, but he was a master at building teams that won
  rings.
  Here comes the future: A young Kobe Bryant (center) tries to break through Scottie Pippen (left)
  and Michael Jordan in 1998.
  Mr. T: In the early days I often had to remind the Bulls not to stray from the triangle offense.
  Elvis is in the building: Michael Jordan arrives on court with John Paxson (left) and Horace
  Grant with his trademark glasses in 1991.
  The way of the Worm: The fans were fascinated by Rodman"s hair, but I admired his impeccable
  timing on the boards.
  The Chicago brain trust: Jim Cleamons (left), Johnny Bach, and Tex Winter, who wrote the playby-
  play for each game in his own version of hieroglyphics, in 1990.
  To the victors goes the bling: Showing off the trophies in Chicago"s Grant Park after winning our
  sixth NBA title, with (from left) Toni Kukoc, Ron Harper, Dennis Rodman, Pippen, Jordan, Mayor
  Richard M. Daley, and Governor James Edgar.
  Bulls totems: I had this group of portraits done by Chicago artist Tim Anderson after
  we won our first three-peat. It includes everyone who played on all three teams during
  that run, plus yours truly. (From top) Jordan, Bill Cartwright, Pippen, Grant, Paxson,
  B. J. Armstrong, Scott Williams, Stacey King, and Will Perdue.
  These portraits, also done by Anderson, feature the players on all three teams of the second
  three-peat run. (From top) Jordan, Pippen, Rodman, Harper, Luc Longley, Kukoc, Steve Kerr, Bill
  Wennington, Jud Buechler, and Randy Brown.
  Three"s the dream: With Shaquille O"Neal and Kobe after winning the Lakers" third consecutive
  title in 2002 against the Nets in East Rutherford, New Jersey.
  The short goodbye: I invited (from left) Charley, Ben, Brooke, and Chelsea to this press
  conference after the 2004 finals because I thought it was going to be my last as the Lakers"
  coach. To my surprise, a year later I was back.
  Passing fancy: Kobe dishes off to a surprised Shaq during game 1 of the 2001 championship
  finals against the Philadelphia 76ers in L.A.
  Top chef: Preparing Christmas dinner with Brooke at my home in Playa del Rey, Calif.
  My fiancee: Jeanie Buss and me at Chelsea"s wedding in Montana in 2007.
  Group hug: The players surround Robert Horry (center) after he hit one of his "magic" threepointers
  to win game 4 of the Western Conference finals against the Sacramento Kings in LA.
  Pregame prep: Showing Pau Gasol and Adam Morrison a defensive assignment before game 4
  of the Western Conference finals at Denver"s Pepsi Center in 2009.
  The LA brain trust: In my custom-designed chair with (in front row, from left) Brian Shaw, Kurt
  Rambis, Frank Hamblen, and Gary Vitti. Back row: Rasheed Hazzard (left), Dr. Steve Lombardo,
  Chip Schaefer, and Cleamons.
  A "knowing" moment: Kobe and I embrace after winning the 2009 NBA title in Orlando.
  The X factor: After the 2009 win in Orlando, my kids gave me this hat to commemorate my
  record-breaking tenth NBA title.
  Sacred circle: Giving last-minute notes to the team before game 7 of the 2010 finals in LA. (From
  left) Andrew Bynum, Lamar Odom, Pau, Ron Artest, Derek Fisher, Shannon, Sasha, Jordan, and
  Josh Powell
  Hard line: Pau, Kobe, Fish, and Lamar get ready to stop another Celtics drive in game 7 of the
  finals.
  Tears of joy: Derek Fisher breaks down in the locker room after his inspiring performance in
  game 3 of the 2010 championship finals in Boston.
  Happy ending: The fans shower Kobe with love after the 2010 win in the Staples Center.
  "It"s over!" Walking to the locker room with Charley (left), Brooke, and Chelsea after the longest
  half I"ve ever had to sit through finally ended, in game 4 of the 2011 Western Conference semifinals
  in Dallas.
  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  The work on this book began during the winter of 2011-12 in the living room of
  Phil"s house in Playa del Rey, California, a sleepy beach town. The room, a long
  floor-through overlooking the Pacific, is filled with mementoes: an Edward
  Curtis photo of a Kutenai brave gathering rushes in a canoe on Flathead Lake, a
  totemlike painting of the Bulls" second three-peat team, a giant replica of the
  Lakers" 2010 championship ring. Outside the full-length windows, Olympic
  hopefuls could be seen practicing volleyball on the beach, while a parade of
  Angelenos in brightly colored exercise wear streamed by on inline skates,
  bicycles, razor scooters, and other earth friendly vehicles.
  Every now and then, Phil would stop expounding on the wonders of the
  triangle offense for a moment and gaze dreamily at the ocean. "Look," he"d say,
  pointing to a fishing boat heading out to sea or a small pod of dolphins frolicking
  in the waves near shore. We"d sit in silence and watch for a while until Phil
  decided it was time to get back to unraveling the mysteries of the Blind Pig or
  some other arcane aspect of the Jacksonian game.
  Tucked away in the rear of the room is a small meditation space enclosed by
  Japanese-style paper screens, where Phil sits zazen most mornings. On one wall
  hangs a beautiful calligraphic drawing of enso, the Zen symbol of oneness, with
  these lines from Tozan Ryokai, a ninth-century Buddhist monk:
  Do not try to see the objective world.
  You which is given an object to see is quite different from you yourself.
  I am going my own way and I meet myself which includes everything I meet.
  I am not something I can see (as an object).
  When you understand self which includes everything,
  You have your true way.
  This is the essence of what we"ve been trying to convey in this book: that the
  path of transformation is to see yourself as something beyond the narrow
  confines of your small ego-something that "includes everything."
  Basketball isn"t a one-person game, even though the media lords sometimes
  portray it that way. Nor is it a five-person game, for that matter. It"s an intricate
  dance that includes everything happening at any given moment-the tap of the
  ball against the rim, the murmur of the crowd, the glint of anger in your
  opponent"s eyes, the chatter of your own monkey mind.
  The same is true with writing. Creating a book of this kind goes far beyond
  the solitary work of two guys banging away at their laptops. Fortunately we"ve
  been blessed throughout this project with an extraordinary team of men and
  women who have contributed their insights, creative energy, and hard work to
  make this book come to life.
  First, we would like to thank our agent, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh at William
  Morris Entertainment for helping give birth to this book and nurturing it along
  the way. Big thanks also to agent extraordinaire Todd Musburger for his
  perseverance, integrity, and gift for putting all the pieces together.
  We owe a great debt to our publisher and editor, Scott Moyers, for holding
  the vision of Eleven Rings from the start and making that vision real. Kudos, as
  well, to Scott"s assistant, Mally Anderson, and the rest of the editorial team at
  The Penguin Press for their Jordan-like grace under pressure.
  We"d especially like to thank the players, coaches, journalists, and others
  who took the time to share with us their personal reflections about Phil and the
  events chronicled in these pages. In particular, we"re grateful to Senator Bill
  Bradley and Mike Riordan for their insights re the Knicks; Michael Jordan,
  Scottie Pippen, John Paxson, Steve Kerr, and Johnny Bach re the Bulls; and
  Kobe Bryant, Derek Fisher, Rick Fox, Pau Gasol, Luke Walton, Frank Hamblen,
  Brian Shaw, and Kurt Rambis re the Lakers. Thanks also to Bill Fitch, Chip
  Schaefer, Wally Blase, George Mumford, Brooke Jackson, and Joe Jackson for
  their invaluable contributions.
  We"re especially indebted to writers Sam Smith and Mark Heisler for their
  guidance and in-depth knowledge of the NBA. Chicago Sun-Times columnist
  Rick Telander was also a great help, as were reporters Mike Bresnahan of the
  Los Angeles Times and Kevin Ding of the Orange County Register.
  A tip of the hat to Lakers PR wizard John Black and his team for parting the
  waters as only he knows how. We"re also much obliged to Tim Hallam and his
  crew at the Bulls.
  Special thanks to Phil"s collaborators on previous books, authors Charley
  Rosen (Maverick and More Than a Game) and Michael Arkush (The Last
  Season), and photographers George Kalinsky (Take It All!) and Andrew D.
  Bernstein (Journey to the Ring). We"ve also benefited from the perspectives of
  other authors in these works: Bill Bradley"s Life on the Run, Phil Berger"s
  Miracle on 33rd Street, Dennis D"Agostino"s Garden Glory, Red Holzman and
  Harvey Frommer"s Red on Red, Roland Lazenby"s Mindgames and The Show,
  David Halberstam"s Playing for Keeps, Sam Smith"s The Jordan Rules, Rick
  Telander"s In the Year of the Bull, Elizabeth Kaye"s Ain"t No Tomorrow, and
  Mark Heisler"s Madmen"s Ball.
  In addition, we"d like to thank several journalists who"ve covered Phil and
  his teams throughout his career for their insights, especially Frank Deford, Jack
  McCallum, and Phil Taylor (Sports Illustrated); Tim Kawakami, Tim Brown,
  Bill Plaschke, T. J. Simers, and Broderick Turner (Los Angeles Times); Melissa
  Isaacson, Terry Armour, Skip Myslenski, Bernie Lincicome, and Bob Verdi
  (Chicago Tribune); Lacy J. Banks, John Jackson, and Jay Mariotti (Chicago Sun-
  Times); Tim Sullivan and Mark Ziegler (San Diego Union-Tribune); Howard
  Beck and Mike Wise (New York Times); Mike Lupica (New York Newsday); J. A.
  Adande, Ramona Shelburne, and Marc Stein (ESPN); and Michael Wilbon
  (Washington Post).
  Researchers Sue O"Brian and Lyn Garrity did an exceptional job of making
  sure we got our facts straight. Deep bows to Kathleen Clark for creating the
  wonderful picture gallery, and to Brian Musburger and Liz Calamari for their
  tireless effort promoting the book. Thanks also to Chelsea Jackson, Clay
  McLachlan, John M. Delehanty, Jessica Catlow, Rebekah Berger, Amanda
  Romeo, Gary Mailman, Amy Carollo, Caitlin Moore, Kathleen Nishimoto,
  Gayle Waller, and Chrissie Zartman, for assistance beyond the call of duty.
  Most of all, we are humbled by the love and support of the book"s biggest
  champions, Barbara Graham and Jeanie Buss.
  From the beginning Barbara has poured her heart and soul into this project
  and lifted the book with her masterful editing and creative vision.
  And if it weren"t for Jeanie, this book might never have been born. She is the
  reason Phil came back to the Lakers for his second run. We have Jeanie to thank,
  along with the late Dr. Jerry Buss, for giving Phil the chance to win his last two
  rings.
  Phil Jackson and Hugh Delehanty
  February 2013
  INDEX
  The page numbers in this index refer to the printed version of this book. To find
  the corresponding locations in the text of this digital version, please use the
  "search" function on your e-reader. Note that not all terms may be searchable.
  Abdul-Jabbar, Kareem, 54, 90, 108, 214, 292
  Adelman, Rick, 305
  Afghanistan, 4
  Aguirre, Mark, 107
  Ainge, Danny, 118, 130
  Ain"t No Tomorrow (Kaye), 242
  Albany Patroons, 64-65
  Albert, Marv, 30
  Albert, Steve, 39, 62
  Allen, Ray, 298, 319, 321
  American Indian Movement, 80
  Anderson, Dave, 128
  Anderson, Nick, 146, 147, 164
  anger management, 268-70
  Anthony, Carmelo, 306
  Anthony, Greg, 223
  Ariza, Trevor, 293, 297, 306, 312, 325
  Armstrong, B.J., 93, 121
  during 1994-95 season, 144
  in 1991-92 season, 116
  in 1992-93 season, 129
  in 1994-95 season, 147
  in 1997-98 season, 193
  in 1995 expansion draft, 150, 151
  on Bulls" 1991-92 winning record, 115
  interest in meditation, 99
  as part of All-Star 1993-94 team, 139
  Pistons and, 106
  Arnold, Matthew, 213
  Artest, Ron
  in 2008-09 season, 305
  in 2009-10 season, 312, 317, 318-19, 320, 321
  in 2010-11 season, 324, 329, 331, 334
  background of, 313-14
  desire to be part of Lakers, 300
  unpredictability of, 313, 315
  Atlanta Hawks, 33
  Auerbach, Red, 55-56, 261, 309
  "automatics," 103-4
  Bach, Johnny, 79, 129
  on 1994 play-offs game, 142
  as Bulls" assistant coach, 66, 87, 112, 143
  as Charlotte Hornets" assistant coach, 143
  coaching style of, 64, 65-66
  on Collins, 62-63
  on Grant, 104
  Bad as I Wanna Be (Rodman), 170
  Barea, Jose Juan, 327-28, 329, 331
  Barkley, Charles, 104, 129
  Barnes, Matt, 323
  Barnett, Dick, 26, 29, 34, 35, 58
  Barrie, J. M., 322
  Barry, Sam, 14, 68
  basketball and music, 66-67
  basketball players. See players
  Battier, Shane, 305
  Baylor, Elgin, 38
  Bellamy, Walt, 29, 33-34
  bench players, vital role of, 37-38
  Bernstein, Andy, 330
  Bertka, Bill, 209
  Bes, Travis, 226
  Bibby, Mike, 258, 259
  Billups, Chauncey, 275, 306
  Bird, Larry
  Johnson"s rivalry with, 5, 64
  McHale and, 239
  as Pacers" coach, 193, 194, 226, 228
  personality of, 83
  Black Elk, 85
  Blake, Steve, 323, 328
  Blase, Wally, 174-76
  Blind Pig, 103-4
  Block, John, 26
  Blount, Corie, 144, 145
  Bonaparte, Napoléon, 102
  Boorstein, Sylvia, 270
  Boston Celtics, 131
  in 1972-73 season, 55-56
  in 1973-74 season, 57-58
  in 2007-08 season, 5-6, 299-300, 310
  in 2008-09 season, 9
  in 2009-10 season, 310, 312, 319-21
  Lakers" rivalry with, 310-12
  Bowman, Nate, 36
  Bradley, Bill, 100
  Cazzie"s competition with, 34, 35, 36
  at Knick"s training camp, 29
  Pine Ridge Indian Reservation basketball clinics and, 80
  political career of, 127, 203
  retirement from Knicks, 59
  role in Knicks, 26, 34, 35, 55, 58
  Brand, Elton, 314
  Bresnahan, Mike, 304, 321
  Brooklyn Queens Express, 314
  Brooks, Aaron, 305
  Brown, Brené, 292
  Brown, Hubie, 59-60
  Brown, Kwame, 282, 287, 288, 296, 297
  Brown, Larry, 145, 275
  Brown, Randy, 160
  Brown, Tim, 245, 273
  Bruckheimer, Jerry, 176
  Bryan, Emmett, 30
  Bryant, Joe "Jellybean," 215
  Bryant, Kobe
  in 1999-2000 season, 5, 208, 214-19, 223, 224, 226, 227, 228, 229
  in 2000-01 season, 232-37, 239-44, 246-48
  in 2001-02 season, 250, 254-55, 257-61
  in 2003-04 season, 268, 270-71, 272, 273-76, 277
  in 2004-05 season, 278, 279-80
  in 2005-06 season, 282, 283-84, 286, 287
  in 2006-07 season, 288
  in 2007-08 season, 292-93, 295, 297-98, 299, 300
  in 2008-09 season, 303-4, 305, 306-9
  in 2009-10 season, 315-16, 317, 318, 319, 320-21
  in 2010-11 season, 323-25, 328, 334
  background of, 215-16, 236
  competitive drive of, 216, 233-34
  criticism of Buss, 289-90
  D"Antoni"s criticism of, 288
  differences between Jordan and, 283-86
  feud between Shaq and, 233, 235, 236, 237, 239-40, 266-67
  Fisher"s bond with, 7
  as a free agent, 265-67
  injuries of, 214, 227, 242, 243, 323-25
  Jackson"s relationship with, 171, 243, 268, 277, 279, 291, 316-17
  leadership role in Lakers, 214, 218-19, 303, 304
  marriage of, 254
  parents" estrangement with, 254
  as a selfish player, 8-9, 216-17, 218, 233, 235, 241
  sexual assault accusation against, 263-65, 277
  stress and, 266
  triangle offense system and, 69
  Bryant, Vanessa, 254, 264
  Bucher, Ric, 237
  Bucks, 58
  Buddha, 54, 219, 262
  Buddhism
  concept of self, 211
  mindfulness meditation and, 17-18
  Noble Eightfold Path and, 219-21
  Suzuki on, 168
  teachings on compassion, 53-54
  view of "enemy"s gift," 185
  See also Zen Buddhism
  Buechler, Jud
  in 1995-96 season, 160
  in 1996-97 season, 172, 178, 181
  in 1997-98 season, 188, 195
  Bulls. See Chicago Bulls
  Burrell, Scott, 157
  Buss, Jeanie, 207-8, 264, 271, 278, 279, 280
  Buss, Jerry, 204-5
  on 1999-00 championship win, 229
  2003-04 season and, 265
  contract negotiations with Jackson, 276-77, 280, 322-23
  Kobe and, 270-71, 273, 276-77, 289-90, 291
  obsession with the Celtics, 299
  Shaq and, 266, 276-77
  Buss, Jim, 280-81, 291
  Butcher, Jim, 1
  Butler, Caron, 278
  Bynum, Andrew
  in 2005-06 season, 280-81
  in 2006-07 season, 288
  in 2007-08 season, 292-93, 296
  in 2008-09 season, 305, 306
  in 2009-10 season, 312, 317, 318
  in 2010-11 season, 323, 328, 331-32, 334
  injuries of, 296, 312, 317
  Byrne, David, 66
  Caffey, Jason, 160, 193
  Campbell, Joseph, 41
  Caracter, Derrick, 326
  Carlesimo, P. J., 227
  Carlisle, Rick, 226
  Carter, Vince, 232-33
  Cartwright, Bill
  in 1990-91 season, 107
  in 1992-93 season, 122, 128
  in 1993-94 season, 139, 141
  on Bulls" desire to win, 129
  Jordan"s concerns about, 74-75, 82
  move to Seattle SuperSonics, 143
  position on Bulls, 74-75, 76, 79, 84, 121
  Cavaliers, 59, 76, 304, 307
  Celtics. See Boston Celtics
  Chamberlain, Wilt, 38, 39, 235, 283
  Chandler, Tyson, 328
  Charlotte Hornets, 143, 146, 193
  Chelios, Chris, 176
  Chicago Bulls
  in 1989-90 season, 88-89, 212
  in 1990-91 season, 90-91, 96-100, 103-9
  in 1991-92 season, 110-11, 114-15, 116, 117, 118-19
  in 1992-93 season, 120-23, 125-27, 128-31
  in 1993-94 season, 134-35, 136-42, 143-44
  in 1994-95 season, 143-47, 150, 164
  in 1995-96 season, 5, 149-50, 153, 155, 158-60, 162-67
  in 1996-97 season, 169-70, 171-73, 177-82
  in 1997-98 season, 188-99
  bond between players, 84-85, 89-91, 93-100, 102-3, 114, 158, 159
  Collins and, 62-63, 71-72, 75-78
  Jackson as assistant coach of, 62, 63, 71-74, 76-77, 80-81, 83-84
  Jackson as head coach of, 73, 77-78, 81-83, 92-93
  mindfulness meditation and, 17, 99-100, 136-37, 156
  Pistons rivalry with, 63-64, 79, 88-89, 90, 106, 212
  triangle offense system and, 14-15, 68-69, 81-83, 158
  Chicago Sun-Times, 243
  Chicago Tribune, 107, 111, 193
  Chodron, Pema, 54, 200-201
  Christianity, 3-4, 12, 15, 16, 44-46, 47, 48, 54, 94-95, 269
  Christie, Doug, 258
  Cleamons, Jim, 87, 209, 218, 324
  Cleveland Cavaliers, 59, 76, 304, 307
  CNNMoney.com, 22-23
  coaching profession
  anger management and, 268-69
  control freaks and, 86
  as emotional roller coaster ride, 333
  players" consciousness and, 86-87
  Collins, Doug, 62-63, 64, 65, 71-72, 75-78
  Collins, Jason, 260
  Colter, Steve, 75
  Coltrane, John, 67
  compassion, 18-20, 53-54
  "compassionate stick," 21
  Cook, Brian, 281
  Cooke, Jack Kent, 311
  coping with loss, 332-33
  Corelli"s Mandolin, 242
  Corzine, Dave, 63
  Covey, Stephen, 20
  Cowens, Dave, 54, 55, 57
  Crazy Horse, 81, 86
  creativity and anger, 269
  Crittenton, Javaris, 296, 297
  Croshere, Austin, 226
  Dahl, Roald, 90
  Dallas Mavericks, 209, 327-32
  Daly, Chuck, 64, 186
  D"Antoni, Mike, 288-89
  Davis, Dale, 226
  Davis, Hubie, 142
  Davis, Miles, 67
  DeBusschere, Dave
  in 1969-70 season, 38
  in 1973-74 season, 57
  on achieving team goals, 184
  Knicks" trade for, 34, 296
  position on Knicks, 26, 34, 55
  retirement of, 58
  Denver Nuggets, 166-67, 298, 306-7, 325
  depersonalized criticism, 70-71
  Detroit Pistons, 26, 34
  in 1987-88 season, 74
  in 1988-89 season, 77
  in 1989-90 season, 88-89, 90
  in 1990-91 season, 104, 107
  in 2003-04 season, 275-76
  Bulls" rivalry with, 63-64, 79, 88-89, 90, 106, 212
  Divac, Vlade, 108, 221, 245, 257-258, 259
  Double Team, 170
  Drexler, Clyde, 118, 120
  Dudley, Jared, 138
  Dumars, Joe, 106
  Duncan, Tim, 203, 246, 256, 274
  Dunleavy, Mike, 266
  Durant, Kevin, 317, 318
  Durant, Will, 278
  Edwards, James, 160, 169
  ego, 5, 12-13, 110
  Ehlo, Craig, 76
  Eisley, Howard, 196
  Electra, Carmen, 176
  Elliott, Bob, 59
  Erving, Julius, 63, 136, 155-56
  ESPN the Magazine, 236, 238
  Esquinas, Richard, 128-29
  Ewing, Patrick, 75, 115, 140, 141
  Farmar, Jordan, 288, 293, 295, 322, 323
  Farther Reaches of Human Nature, The (Maslow), 123
  Fetveit, Ron, 49
  Finkel, Hank, 26
  Fischer-Wright, Halee, 7-8, 81
  Fisher, Anne, 22-23
  Fisher, Derek, 14
  daughter of, 294
  in 1999-2000 season, 5, 208, 217
  in 2000-01 season, 242-43, 245, 246, 247, 248
  in 2001-02 season, 260
  in 2003-04 season, 273-74, 275, 294
  in 2007-08 season, 292, 293-96, 297, 301
  in 2008-09 season, 6, 7, 303, 305, 306, 307
  in 2009-10 season, 319, 320, 321
  in 2010-11 season, 324, 326, 328, 331, 334
  as free agent, 6, 278, 294
  Kobe"s bond with, 7, 271
  on Lakers, 276
  as selfless player, 8, 294
  "fist chest," 228
  Fitch, Bill
  coaching style of, 12, 27, 123
  recruitment of Jackson, 27, 47-48
  triangle system and, 25
  Fitzsimmons, Cotton, 277
  flex system, 68
  Foster, Greg, 232
  Fox, Rick
  in 1999-2000 season, 5, 208-9, 210, 217, 224-25, 228
  in 2000-01 season, 232, 233-34, 245, 247, 248
  in 2001-02 season, 249, 251, 260
  in 2002-03 season, 262
  in 2003-04 season, 276
  background of, 249
  on Bird-McHale feud, 239
  on Jackson"s approach to coaching, 213-14
  on Kobe, 219, 233-34
  retirement of, 278
  on Shaq-Kobe feud, 236, 239
  on winning NBA championship, 231
  Frazier, Walt, 34, 59
  in 1969-70 season, 39
  in 1974-75 season, 58
  full-court defense and, 30
  leadership role in Knicks, 26
  Monroe and, 55
  Funderburke, Lawrence, 259
  Gandhi, 248
  Garcia, Jerry, 44
  Garnett, Kevin, 6, 171, 290, 299, 300
  Gasol, Mark, 296
  Gasol, Pau, 296
  in 2007-08 season, 299, 300
  in 2008-09 season, 305, 306-7
  in 2009-10 season, 317, 318, 319, 321
  in 2010-11 season, 328, 329, 330-31, 334
  as "soft," 301, 321
  as team player, 8, 297
  George, Devean, 253, 254, 273
  George III, 45
  Gianelli, John, 57
  Gilliam, Armen, 104, 105, 106
  Golden State Warriors, 7, 65, 191, 266
  Goldsmith, Joel S., 49
  Grant, Brian, 225, 278
  Grant, Horace
  in 1990-91 season, 104, 105-6
  in 1991-92 season, 116, 119
  in 1992-93 season, 129, 130, 131
  in 1993-94 season, 139
  in 1994-95 season, 146, 147
  in 1995-96 season, 164
  in 2000-01 season, 232, 242
  development as first-rate defender, 79, 80
  Jordan and, 82, 110-11
  move from Bulls to Orlando, 143, 144
  move from Lakers to Magic, 250
  Pippen and, 104
  as rookie with Bulls, 63, 76
  Gray, Jim, 267
  Green, A. C., 208, 221, 228, 232
  group experience, building, 4-5
  Grover, Tim, 96, 132, 158
  Hagen, Steve, 51
  Halberstam, David, 118
  Haley, Jack, 169, 172
  Hamblen, Frank, 209, 279
  Hanh, Thich Nhat, 53, 137
  Hannum, Alex, 14
  Hansen, Bobby, 118, 119
  Hanta Yo (Hill), 80
  Hardaway, Anfernee, 146, 147
  Hardaway, Penny, 164, 239
  Hardaway, Tim, 177, 178
  Harper, Ron, 144, 209
  in 1995-96 season, 150-51, 158, 160, 163, 165, 166
  in 1996-97 season, 170, 178
  in 1997-98 season, 189, 194, 196, 197, 199
  in 1999-00 season, 214, 217, 218, 223, 224-26, 228
  in 2000-01 season, 232, 242, 243
  retirement of, 250
  Harris, Del, 209, 236
  Harter, Dick, 115, 226
  Havlicek, John, 55, 57
  Hawkins, Hersey, 166
  Hayes, Chuck, 305
  Haywood, Brendan, 328
  Haywood, Spencer, 58
  Hearn, Chick, 332
  Heat. See Miami Heat
  Heider, John, 121
  Heisler, Mark, 83, 207, 273
  Hendrix, Jimi, 66
  Hesse, Hermann, 241
  heyoka, 172
  hierarchy of needs theory, 123
  Hill, Ruth Beebe, 80
  Hollins, Hue, 142, 195
  Holzman, Red, 36-37, 261
  coaching style of, 13, 27, 29-33, 37-38, 56, 57-58, 72
  media and, 32, 33, 39
  recruitment of Jackson, 25, 28
  retirement of, 59
  transformation of Knicks, 54-55
  Hornacek, Jeff, 179, 181
  Hornets. See Charlotte Hornets; New Orleans Hornets
  Hornsby, Bruce, 206
  Horry, Robert, 203
  in 1999-2000 season, 5, 208, 215, 221, 223
  in 2000-01 season, 239, 248
  in 2001-02 season, 258, 260
  in 2003-04 season, 274
  on Lakers-Jazz 1998 game, 209
  transfer to Spurs, 262
  Hosket, Bill, 36
  Houston Rockets
  in 2007-08 season, 292
  in 2008-09 season, 9, 305
  fight between Lakers and, 116
  Tex Winter and, 14
  Howard, Dwight, 307
  Hudson, Lou, 33
  humanistic psychology, 91-92, 123-24
  Iba, Hank, 65, 71
  Ilunga-Mbenga, Didier, 323
  Imhoff, Darrall, 26
  Indiana Pacers, 193-95, 226-28, 275
  Infinite Way, 49
  Irish, Ned, 29
  Iverson, Allen, 247, 248, 252
  Jackson, Ben, 50, 73, 202, 205, 329
  Jackson, Brooke, 50, 206, 229, 264, 265, 329
  Jackson, Charles (Phil"s brother), 48
  Jackson, Charles (Phil"s father), 11, 44-46, 61, 94-95, 114
  Jackson, Charley, 50, 202, 329
  Jackson, Chelsea, 50, 205, 206, 329, 333
  Jackson, Elizabeth (Phil"s daughter), 42
  Jackson, Elisabeth (Phil"s mother), 1-2, 11, 44-46, 48, 50, 94
  Jackson, Joan, 45, 46, 76, 95
  Jackson, Joe, 41-42, 46, 48, 50-51, 102
  Jackson, June, 50, 191, 200, 203, 205
  Jackson, Mark, 194, 226, 228
  Jackson, Phil
  in 1973-74 season, 57-58
  as Albany Patroons" head coach, 64-65
  Auerbach on, 261
  back injury of, 19, 36, 40
  as Bulls" assistant coach, 62, 63, 71-74, 76-77, 80-81, 83-84
  as Bulls" head coach, 73, 77-78, 81-83, 92-93
  championship rings and, 2, 40, 57, 109
  childhood of, 15-16, 43-44, 46, 114
  college nicknames of, 27, 30
  Collins and, 76
  competitiveness of, 23
  emergency angioplasty required by, 262
  end of career as player, 60-61
  fine for criticism of refs, 194
  as first team All-American, 27-28
  Fox on coaching style of, 213-14
  in graduate school in psychology, 91, 124
  during high school, 46-47
  hip replacement surgery of, 287-88
  Holzman and, 25, 28, 36-37
  Jeanie Buss and, 207-8
  Jordan"s relationship with, 97, 122, 133, 316
  journey of self-discovery, 41-44, 48-51, 52-54
  as Knicks" player, 28, 29-31, 55, 105, 115
  Kobe"s relationship with, 171, 243, 268, 277, 279, 291, 316-17
  Krause"s relationship with, 112-13, 114, 184-86, 187
  as Lakers" head coach, 202, 203-4, 322
  The Last Season, 277
  as "luckiest coach in world," 102
  marriages of, 41, 42, 50
  media and, 115-17
  motivation of, 2
  motorcycle trip in 1972, 41-42
  move to California, 206
  move to Woodstock, 200, 203
  negotiations with Buss, 271, 280, 322-23
  Nets and, 59, 60, 61
  prostate cancer diagnosis, 326-27
  in Puerto Rico, 62, 222
  recovery from back injury, 36-37, 40, 41-42
  relationship with children, 229
  Riley"s rivalry with, 177-78
  Sacred Hoops, 204
  style of showing appreciation, 94
  Take It All!, 36
  at University of North Dakota, 48
  See also Chicago Bulls; L.A. Lakers; New York Knicks
  Jackson, Samuel L., 164
  James, LeBron, 324
  James, William, 49
  Jazz. See Utah Jazz
  jazz music, 66-67
  Jobs, Steve, 149
  Johnson, Kevin, 129, 130
  Johnson, Magic, 98, 150, 204, 214
  in 1990-91 season, 108, 109
  Bird"s rivalry with, 5, 64
  on Celtics, 311-12
  on Lakers" 2009-10 championship, 321
  leadership of, 108
  magnetic personality of, 83
  as part of Dream Team, 120
  Jones, Ricki Lee, 11
  Jordan, James, 129, 132
  Jordan, Michael, 5, 88, 233
  in 1988-89 season, 79-80, 218
  in 1990-91 season, 96-97, 98-99, 104, 107, 108, 109
  in 1991-92 season, 116, 117, 118-19
  in 1992-93 season, 122, 129, 130, 131
  in 1994-95 season, 147
  in 1995-96 season, 5, 149, 154-57, 159, 160, 163-64, 166-67
  in 1996-97 season, 170-72, 173, 178-79, 180-81, 182-83
  in 1997-98 season, 186, 187-88, 190, 191, 192-96, 197-99
  on Bulls" second championship run, 157-58
  on Cartwright, 84
  coachability of, 72-73
  Collins and, 72, 76
  departure from Bulls in 1999, 200
  differences between Kobe and, 283-86
  father of, 129, 132, 166
  Fox on competitive drive of, 234
  gambling and, 128-29, 176
  importance of scoring title to, 82, 97, 98
  on Jackson"s patience, 21
  Jackson"s relationship with, 97, 122, 133, 316
  Kerr and, 19, 155, 157
  on Kobe, 284
  Kobe"s obsession with, 216
  Krause and, 89, 113, 187
  leadership role in Bulls, 154, 156-57, 286
  minor-league baseball and, 132-34, 136, 156, 157
  as part of Dream Team, 120
  perfectionism of, 83, 96
  Pistons and, 64, 106
  reaction to Cartwright as a teammate, 74-75
  return to Bulls, 19-20, 145-46
  Rodman and, 151, 153
  salary of, 169, 186
  teammates as envious of, 110-11
  on team"s collective "think power," 13
  triangle offense system and, 81-83
  Jordan Rules, The (Smith), 111, 114, 143
  Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 269
  Junger, Sebastian, 4
  Kabat-Zinn, Jon, 136, 137
  Kalinsky, George, 36
  Kaye, Elizabeth, 242
  Kazantzakis, Nikos, 48
  keisaku, 21
  Keitel, Harvey, 164
  Kemp, Shawn, 143, 165
  Kerr, Steve, 135
  in 1993-94 season, 139, 141
  in 1995-96 season, 160, 173
  in 1996-97 season, 182-83
  in 1997-98 season, 188, 192, 194-95, 196-99
  on Bulls" team practices, 127
  Jordan and, 19, 74, 122, 155, 157
  on Pippen, 74, 122
  Khan, Pir Vilayat Inayat, 50
  Kidd, Jason, 260, 328
  Kierkegaard, Søren, 168
  Kim, W. Chan, 100, 161
  King, Bernard, 60
  King, John, 7-8, 81
  King, Martin Luther, Jr., 211
  King, Rodney, 127
  King, Stacey, 95
  Kings. See Sacramento Kings
  Kipling, Rudyard, 91
  Knicks. See New York Knicks
  Knight, Bobby, 17
  Knute Rockne theory of mental training, 99
  Komives, Howard, 29, 34
  Koncak, Jon, 164
  Krause, Jerry, 2-3, 28, 62, 63
  Bach"s relationship with, 112, 143
  Collins and, 75, 76, 77
  decision to rebuild Bulls after 1997-98 season, 200
  Jackson"s relationship with, 112-13, 114, 184-86, 187
  loss of Bulls" executive position in 1976, 111-12
  Myers and, 135
  Pippen and, 113, 143-44, 187, 188-89
  reaction to Smith"s book, 111, 112, 114
  relationship with Bulls" players, 113, 120, 143-44, 183, 187, 188, 237
  Rodman and, 151, 152, 153
  tirade after Bulls loss to Pistons, 89
  trade for Cartwright, 74
  Winter and, 68, 209
  Kukoc, Toni
  in 1993-94 season, 140
  in 1995-96 season, 160
  in 1996-97 season, 177, 178, 181, 182
  in 1997-98 season, 190, 193, 195, 197, 198
  Bulls" recruitment of, 113, 135
  unpredictability of, 139-40
  Kupchak, Mitch
  Fisher and, 294
  Gasol and, 296
  informing Jackson of Kobe"s arrest, 263
  negotiations with Artest, 312
  negotiations with Kobe, 291
  on renewal of Jackson"s contract, 276-77, 325-26
  Shaq and, 235, 267
  on trading Kobe, 270
  Kupferberg, Tuli, 184
  Kwong, Jakusho, 333
  L.A. Clippers, 265-66
  L.A. Lakers
  in 1969-70 season, 25-26, 38-40, 311
  in 1990-91 season, 108-9
  in 1997-98 season, 190
  in 1998-99 season, 203-4, 209
  in 1999-2000 season, 5, 207-12, 214-15, 217-29
  in 2000-01 season, 232, 233, 236-37, 238-40, 241-44, 245-48
  in 2001-02 season, 205, 251, 252, 254, 255-61
  in 2002-03 season, 262
  in 2003-04 season, 262-63, 265-66, 267-68, 272-76
  in 2004-05 season, 278, 279-80
  in 2005-06 season, 280-84, 286
  in 2006-07 season, 288-89
  in 2007-08 season, 5-6, 292-93, 294-300, 310
  in 2008-09 season, 3, 5, 6-7, 304, 309
  in 2009-10 season, 310, 312, 315-16, 317-21
  in 2010-11 season, 323-25, 326, 327-32, 334
  celebrity culture and, 17, 212
  Celtics" rivalry with, 310-12
  feud between Kobe and Shaq, 236, 237, 239-40, 266-67
  fight between Rockets and, 116
  Jackson as head coach of, 202, 203-4, 209, 322
  mindfulness meditation and, 17, 210-11
  shift in attitude of, 5, 8-9, 204, 211-12
  triangle offense system and, 14-15, 207, 208, 209-10, 215, 217
  Lacy, Steve, 67
  Laimbeer, Bill, 64, 88, 107
  Laine, Vanessa. See Bryant, Vanessa
  Lakota culture, 80, 85-86, 212
  Lama Foundation, 50
  Lao-tzu, 18-19, 24, 25, 121, 238
  LaRusso, Rudy, 26
  Last Season, The (Jackson), 277, 279
  Last Temptation of Christ, The (Kazantzakis), 48
  Lazenby, Roland, 130, 311
  leadership styles, 11-24
  of Bach, 64, 65-66
  benching the ego, 12-13
  compassion, 18-20
  focus on journey rather than the goal, 23-24
  focus on surrendering self-interest for greater good, 20-21
  of Holzman, 26-27, 29-33, 37-38
  leading from the inside out, 11-12
  letting players discover their own destinies, 13-14
  of Loughery, 59-60
  mindfulness meditation, 17-18
  "Parables of Leadership," 100, 161-62
  triangle offense system and, 14-15
  turning the mundane into the sacred, 15-17
  waking up player and raising level of consciousness, 21-22
  when in doubt, do nothing, 22-23
  of Winter, 64, 68, 70-71
  Zen Buddhism and, 52-54
  Lee, Courtney, 307
  Lenard, Voshon, 1778
  Levingston, Cliff, 93-94
  Lewis, Rashard, 307
  Ligmanowski, Johnny, 155
  Lincicome, Bernie, 193
  Linden, George W., 80
  Lindsay, John, 28
  Liu Bang, 161-62
  Logan, Dave, 7-8, 81
  Lombardi, Vince, 16
  Longley, Luc
  in 1995-96 season, 160, 165
  in 1996-97 season, 170, 171, 173, 177, 179
  in 1997-98 season, 188, 190, 196, 197
  Los Angeles Times, 83, 207, 227, 245, 273, 288, 289, 304, 321
  Loughery, Kevin, 59-60
  Lucas, Jerry, 54, 55, 57, 58, 184, 216
  MacDonald, George, 249
  Madonna, 152, 153
  Mahorn, Rick, 64, 104, 106, 107
  Malone, Karl
  in 1996-97 season, 179, 180, 181
  in 1997-98 season, 196, 198, 199
  in 2003-04 season, 262-63, 273, 275, 276
  retirement of, 278
  Manley, Dwight, 152
  Markham, Edwin, 87
  Márquez, Gabriel García, 120
  Martin, Kenyon, 260, 306
  Maslow, Abraham, 123, 125
  Mason, Anthony, 115
  Mauborgne, Renée A., 100, 161
  May, Donnie, 36
  McGinnis, George, 116
  McAdoo, Bob, 58
  McCallum, Jack, 288
  McDaniel, Xavier, 115, 117
  McGrady, Tracy, 305
  McGuire, Al, 123
  McGuire, Dick ("Mumbles"), 29, 77, 94
  McHale, Kevin, 239
  McKie, Aaron, 283, 288, 296
  McPhee, John, 100
  meditation
  anger and, 269
  in basketball practices, 16-17
  compassion and, 54
  Infinite Way and, 49
  mindfulness. See mindfulness meditation
  Suzuki"s instructions on, 51-52
  zazen, 51
  Meminger, Dean "the Dream," 55, 56, 57, 58
  Mercury, Freddie, 66
  Metta World Peace. See Artest, Ron
  Miami Heat
  in 1993-94 season, 134-35
  in 1996-97 season, 171, 177-78
  in 2010-11 season, 324
  trade for Shaq, 276-77
  Mike Her Many Horses, 80
  Miller, Reggie
  in 1997-98 season, 193, 194, 195
  in 1999-00 season, 226, 228
  in 2001-02 season, 255
  Milwaukee Bucks, 58
  mind and complex problems, 22-23
  mindfulness meditation, 17-18
  Bulls" use of, 99-100, 136-37, 156
  Lakers" use of, 17, 210-11
  Ming, Yao, 9, 305
  Minneapolis Lakers, 131
  Minnesota Muskies, 28
  Minnesota Timberwolves, 171, 275
  Mitchell, Stephen, 18-19, 238
  Monk, Thelonious, 67
  Monk in the World, A (Teasdale), 125
  Monroe, Earl "the Pearl," 54, 55, 57, 58
  Morrison, Adam, 323
  Mourning, Alonzo, 177, 178
  Mullin, Chris, 194
  Mumford, George, 136-38, 155-57, 210
  Muresan, Gheorghe, 143
  Musashi, Miyamoto, 79
  Musburger, Todd, 186, 202
  music, 66-67
  Muskies, 28
  Mutombo, Dikembe, 305
  Myers, Pete, 135, 140
  Mystic Warrior, The, 80-81
  Namath, Joe, 176
  Nash, Steve, 287, 288, 293, 318
  Native American culture
  anger management and, 268
  heyoka in, 172
  Lakota culture, 80, 85-86, 212
  Sioux culture, 80-81
  unifying power of the circle in, 3
  NBA
  growth into a multibillion-dollar industry, 5, 64
  Jackson"s first impression of, 25
  upheaval in teams in summer of 1996, 169
  NBA championship rings, 2-3
  NBA championships
  in 1969-70 season, 38-40
  in 1972-73 season, 55-56
  in 1973-74 season, 57-58
  in 1990-91 season, 106-109
  in 1991-92 season, 115-19
  in 1992-93 season, 129-31
  in 1995-96 season, 164-67
  in 1996-97 season, 196-99
  in 1997-98 season, 196-99
  in 1999-2000 season, 226-29
  in 2000-01 season, 247-48
  in 2001-02 season, 260-61
  in 2007-08 season, 5-6, 299-300, 310
  in 2008-09 season, 307-9
  in 2009-10 season, 310, 312, 319-21
  love as being essential to winning, 4
  Nelson, Don, 311
  Nelson, Jameer, 307
  New Jersey Nets
  in 1997-98 season, 193
  in 1999-2000 season, 214-15
  in 2001-02 season, 260-61
  Jackson and, 59, 203
  New Orleans Hornets, 325, 326, 327
  New York Knicks, 29
  in 1968-70 season, 33-36
  in 1969-70 season, 31, 38
  in 1971-72 season, 54-55
  in 1972-73 season, 55-56, 165
  in 1973-74 season, 57-58
  in 1990-91 season, 104
  in 1991-92 season, 115, 116, 117
  in 1992-93 season, 129
  in 1993-94 season, 142
  in 1994-95 season, 146
  drafting of Jackson, 28
  fights with other teams, 25-26, 33
  under Holzman"s leadership, 25, 29-33, 37-38
  interest in Jackson as coach for, 203
  Jackson as informal assistant coach of, 36-37
  trade for Oakley, 74
  transformation in team chemistry/bond, 57-59
  Nichiren, 211
  Nietzsche, Friedrich, 103
  Noble Eightfold Path, 219-21
  nonaction, 238
  Nowitski, Dirk, 328, 329, 331
  Nuggets, 166-67, 298, 306-7, 325
  Oakley, Charles, 63, 64, 74, 115
  Oblomov, 251
  Odom, Lamar
  in 2004-05 season, 278
  in 2005-06 season, 282, 286, 287
  in 2006-07 season, 288
  in 2007-08 season, 297, 299
  in 2008-09 season, 305, 306, 308
  in 2009-10 season, 319
  in 2010-11 season, 329, 334
  in 1999 draft, 314
  D"Antoni"s criticism of, 288-89
  Oklahoma City Thunder, 317-18
  Olajuwon, Hakeem, 152
  On Becoming a Person (Rogers), 92
  O"Neal, Shaquille, 17, 154, 271
  in 1994-95 season, 146, 147, 164
  in 1995-96 season, 164
  in 1998-99 season, 203-4
  in 1999-2000 season, 5, 207-8, 214, 217, 218, 221-26, 227, 228, 229
  in 2000-01 season, 232, 235, 245, 246, 247, 248, 252
  in 2001-02 season, 250, 252, 253, 256, 258-60
  in 2002-03 season, 262
  in 2003-04 season, 266, 274, 275
  background of, 236, 252
  compassion and, 241-42
  feud between Kobe and, 233, 235, 236, 237, 239-40, 266-67
  lashing out at teammates, 253, 254
  leadership role in Lakers, 214, 218
  move to the Miami Heat, 276-77, 278
  respect for authority, 252-53
  Rodman"s ability to guard, 154
  self-doubt of, 6
  visit to Jackson in Montana, 205-6
  Orlando Magic
  in 1994-95 season, 146-47, 150
  in 1995-96 season, 164
  in 2001-02 season, 250
  in 2008-09 season, 304, 307-8
  outside-in strategy of leadership, 11
  "Outwitted" (Markham), 87
  Pacers, 193-95, 226-28, 275
  Paige, Satchel, 23
  Palubinskas, Ed, 235
  "Parables of Leadership" (Kim and Mauborgne), 100, 161-62
  Parish, Robert, 169
  Parker, Anthony, 324
  Parker, Charlie, 62
  Parker, Smush, 281, 283, 287, 288
  Patroons, 64-65
  Paul, Chris, 293, 325, 326, 327
  Paxson, John, 100, 119, 127, 161
  in 1989-90 season, 88-89
  in 1990-91 season, 107, 108, 109
  in 1992-93 season, 121, 122, 129, 130-31
  on Cartwright, 84
  injuries and, 88-89, 121, 122, 139
  on Jordan, 83
  on Pippen, 139
  position with Bulls, 63, 93
  retirement of, 143
  Payton, Gary
  in 1995-96 season, 165, 166
  in 2003-04 season, 262, 263, 268, 272-73, 275, 294
  as free agent, 278
  Pentecostal movement, 45
  Perdue, Will, 144, 153
  Perkins, Kendrick, 299, 312
  Perkins, Sam, 108, 226
  Person, Chuck, 324
  Peterson, Bob, 27, 47
  Philadelphia 76ers
  in 1990-91 season, 104, 105, 106
  in 2000-01 season, 247-48
  1970s team, 215
  Phoenix Suns
  in 1992-93 season, 129-30
  in 1999-00 season, 222-23
  in 2000-01 season, 235, 243-44
  in 2003-04 season, 268
  in 2005-06 season, 286-87
  in 2006-07 season, 288-89
  in 2007-08 season, 292
  in 2009-10 season, 318
  Pierce, Paul, 299
  Pierce, Ricky, 143
  Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, 80
  Pinholster, Garland, 66
  pinwheel offense, 66
  Pippen, Scottie, 98, 100, 150, 233
  in 1989-90 season, 88-89
  in 1991-92 season, 116, 117, 119
  in 1992-93 season, 120-21, 130, 131
  in 1993-94 season, 140, 141, 142
  in 1994-95 season, 144
  in 1995-96 season, 5, 158, 159, 160, 163, 166, 167
  in 1996-97 season, 170, 171, 173, 178, 180-82, 183
  in 1997-98 season, 186-87, 188-89, 190, 191, 193-98, 199
  in 1999-2000 season, 209, 214, 223, 224
  after father"s death, 88
  background of, 97-98
  on Bull"s first year under Jackson, 88
  on Bulls" use of automatics, 103-4
  development as first-rate defender, 79, 80
  Grant and, 104
  injuries and, 122, 139, 163, 186-88, 189, 190, 191
  Jordan and, 157, 182
  on keeping practices private, 114
  Krause"s relationship with, 113, 143-44, 187, 188-89
  leadership role in Bulls, 73-74, 122, 139
  as part of Dream Teams in Olympics, 120, 170
  Rodman and, 151, 153
  as rookie with Bulls, 63
  salary with Bulls, 186
  Seattle Supersonics and, 143-44
  share-the-ball mentality of, 98, 99, 139
  Pistons, Detroit. See Detroit Pistons
  Pitino, Rick, 77
  Plaschke, Bill, 227, 260
  players
  bond between, as critical to success, 3-5, 84
  boredom and, 125
  discovery of their own destinies, 13-14
  importance of structure for, 122-23
  raising level of consciousness of, 21-22
  recruitment of, out of high school, 281
  salary of, 5
  self-interest and, 20-21
  sensitivity to criticism, 70-71
  vulnerability of, 95
  See also specific players
  Pollard, Scot, 245, 259
  Popovich, Gregg, 298
  Portland Trail Blazers
  in 1991-92 season, 118-19
  in 1999-00 season, 209, 214, 223-25
  in 2000-01 season, 245
  Powell, Josh, 323
  Prince, Tayshaun, 275
  psychology, humanistic, 91-92, 123-24
  Pulp Fiction, 164
  Radmanovic, Vladimir, 292, 293
  Rambis, Kurt, 292
  Ramsay, Jack, 165
  Raptors, 283
  Ratliff, Theo, 323
  Reed, Willis
  in 1969-70 season, 38, 39
  basketball clinics at Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, 80
  call to Jackson after 2007-08 championship loss, 300-301
  departure from Knicks, 58
  fights with other players, 26, 29, 33
  injuries of, 57, 184
  leadership role in Knicks, 26, 34
  replacement of Holzman, 59
  Reinsdorf, Jerry, 77, 78, 112
  on 1991-92 winning record, 115
  decision to rebuild Bulls after 1997-98 season, 200
  on handling of flare-ups, 237
  Jordan and, 132, 182
  negotiations regarding Jackson"s contract, 185, 186, 187, 200
  salary negations and, 169
  Rice, Glen, 203
  in 1999-00 season, 208, 224, 226, 227, 228
  in 1999-2000 season, 5
  departure from Lakers, 232
  Richmond, Lewis, 168
  Richmond, Mitch, 250, 256
  Rider, J. R., 232
  Riley, Pat
  as Knicks coach, 115, 116-17
  as Miami Heat coach, 177, 179
  rivalry with Jackson, 177-78
  on Starks, 129
  rings, NBA championship, 2-3
  Riordan, Mike, 36, 54
  Robinson, David, 152, 203, 246
  Rockets. See Houston Rockets
  Rodman, Dennis, 53, 207
  in 1990-91 season, 107
  in 1995-96 season, 149, 151, 152-53, 159-63, 164, 165, 166
  in 1996-97 season, 169-70, 171-76, 177, 180
  in 1997-98 season, 186, 188, 190-91, 193, 195, 197
  appeal of, 176-77
  Bad as I Wanna Be, 170
  Haley and, 169
  high anxiety of, 154
  injuries and, 162-63, 174, 177
  on Jackson, 172
  Jordan on, 157
  meeting with Krause and Jackson, 152-53
  as Pistons player, 64, 79
  problems with focusing, 315
  selfish style of play, 151, 152
  Rodman World Tour, The, 170
  Rogers, Carl, 91-92
  Rondo, Rajon, 319
  Rose, Jalen, 194, 226, 228
  Rose, Malik, 253
  Rupp, Adolph, 63
  Russell, Bill, 30
  in 1969 championship finals, 311
  retirement of, 38, 55
  Second Wind, 23
  Russell, Byron, 179, 181, 198, 199
  Russell, Cazzie, 29, 34, 35-36, 54
  Sabonis, Arvydas, 222-23
  Sacramento Kings
  in 1999-00 season, 221-22
  in 2000-01 season, 245-46
  in 2001-02 season, 257-60
  in 2003-04 season, 273
  in 2010-11 season, 325
  Sacred Hoops (Jackson and Delehanty), 204
  Salley, John
  in 1995-96 season, 160
  in 1999-2000 season, 209, 215
  as Pistons player, 64
  retirement of, 232
  as Shaq"s messenger, 253
  San Antonio Spurs, 153
  in 2007-08 overview of, 298
  in 1998-99 season, 203-4
  in 1999-2000 season, 217-18
  in 2000-01 season, 245, 246, 247
  in 2001-02 season, 256, 257
  in 2002-03 season, 262
  in 2003-04 season, 274-75
  in 2008-09 season, 304
  Rodman"s adjustment with, 151, 152
  San Francisco Warriors, 54
  Schaefer, Chip, 159
  on Bulls" 1997-98 season, 192
  on differences between Kobe and Jordan, 284
  on Lakers" reaction to triangle system, 209-10
  on late-game energy, 16
  on Rodman, 175
  Schrempf, Detlef, 223
  Science, 23
  Scola, Luis, 305
  Scott, Byron, 108
  Scott, Dennis, 146, 164
  Seattle SuperSonics, 143-44, 164-65
  Second Jungle Book, The (Kipling), 91
  Second Wind (Russell), 23
  Seikaly, Rony, 134-35
  self-actualization, 123-24
  self-interest, 20-21
  Sellers, Brad, 63
  Sharman, Bill, 14
  Shaw, Brian, 308
  1995-96 season, 164
  in 1999-2000 season, 214, 217, 225, 228
  in 2000-01 season, 242, 248
  in 2001-02 season, 255, 256
  on Artest, 315
  as Lakers" truth teller, 253-54
  on Shaq-Kobe feud, 239
  Shaq"s attack on, 254
  "Shaw-Shaq redemption," 228
  Siddhartha (Hesse), 241
  Simers, T. J., 22
  Simpkins, Dickey, 144, 160, 193
  Sioux culture, 80-81
  Skinner, Al, 136
  Sloan, Jerry, 196
  Smith, Dean, 17, 21, 73
  Smith, J. R., 306
  Smith, Sam, 82, 193
  call for Pippen as 1997-98 MVP, 196
  The Jordan Rules, 111, 112, 143
  Smith, Stephen A., 290
  Smith, Steve, 223, 225
  Smits, Rik, 194, 226, 228
  "social bull"s-eye," 95, 122
  soldiers, brotherhood formed by, 4
  Space Jam, 155
  Sparrow, Rory, 75
  "spiritual addiction," 249
  spirituality as a personal journey, 49
  Sprewell, Latrell, 227
  Spurs. See San Antonio Spurs
  Stack, Jim, 152
  Stallworth, Dave, 35-36, 38, 54
  Starks, John, 129, 142
  Start Where You Are (Chodron), 54
  Stengel, Casey, 93
  Stern, David, 171
  Stevenson, DeShawn, 328
  Stockton, John
  in 1996-97 season, 179, 181
  in 1997-98 season, 196-97, 198, 199
  as part of Dream Team, 120
  Stojakovic, Predrag, 222, 258
  Stoudamire, Damon, 223, 225
  Stoudemire, Amar"e, 318
  Stoyakovic, Predrag, 331
  Sufism, 50, 51
  Suns. See Phoenix Suns
  surrendering self-interest for greater good, 20-21
  Suzuki, Shunryu
  on Buddhism, 168
  on giving up control, 52-83
  on meditation, 51-52, 99-100
  metaphor for the mind, 18
  Zen Mind, Beginner"s Mind, 51
  Take It All! (Jackson), 36
  Talking Heads, 66
  Tao of Leadership, The (Heider), 121
  Tao Te Ching (Lao-tzu), 18-19, 238
  Taylor, Fred, 87
  Teasdale, Wayne, 125
  Telander, Rick, 243
  Terry, Jason, 328, 331
  Theokas, Charlie, 60
  "think power," 13
  Thomas, Isiah
  in 1990-91 season, 107
  Pistons and, 63-64, 75, 106
  wrist injury of, 104
  Threatt, Sedale, 75
  Thurman, Robert, 269
  Tolle, Eckhart, 244
  Tomjanovich, Rudy, 116, 278
  Tonight Show, The, 175
  Toronto Raptors, 283
  Trail Blazers. See Portland Trail Blazers
  transparency between coach and players, 92-93
  Travolta, John, 164
  triangle offense system, 14-15, 68-71
  backup players and, 93
  Bulls" use of, 14-15, 68-69, 81-83, 158
  challenge of, 71
  as exposing each player"s mind-set, 232
  Fitch and, 25
  Jordan and, 81-83
  Lakers" use of, 14-15, 207, 208, 209-10, 215, 217
  misconceptions about, 69-70
  Rodman"s reaction to, 152
  Tribal Leadership (Logan, King, and Fischer-Wright), 7-8, 81
  triple-post offense. See triangle offense system
  Turkoglu, Hedo, 258
  unconscious mind, 23
  University of North Dakota, 25, 48
  Utah Jazz, 7, 60
  in 1996-97 season, 179-81
  in 1997-98 season, 191, 196-98
  in 2007-08 season, 298
  in 2008-09 season, 304
  in 2009-10 season, 318
  Van Arsdale, Dick, 29, 34
  Van Damme, Jean-Claude, 170
  Varieties of Religious Experience, The (James), 49
  Vedder, Eddie, 176
  Vincent, Sam, 75
  Vitti, Gary, 325
  Vujacic, Sasha
  in 2005-06 season, 281, 283
  in 2007-08 season, 293
  in 2010-11 season, 322, 323
  D"Antoni"s criticism of, 288
  Waits, Tom, 110
  Walker, Samaki, 250, 255
  Wallace, Ben, 275, 313
  Wallace, Chris, 163
  Wallace, Rasheed, 223, 275, 312, 320
  Walton, Bill, 302
  Walton, Luke
  in 2005-06 season, 281
  in 2006-07 season, 288
  in 2007-08 season, 293
  in 2008-09 season, 9, 302
  in 2009-10 season, 317
  evolution as a player, 302-3
  on Fisher, 295
  Jackson"s mind games with, 22
  on Kobe, 303, 304
  War (Junger), 4
  Warren, John, 36
  Washington, Kermit, 116
  Webber, Chris, 221, 222, 257, 258
  Weiss, Jeff, 1
  Wells, Bonzi, 223, 314
  Wennington, Bill, 135, 139, 160
  West, Jerry, 38, 204, 216, 235, 311
  Westbrook, Russell, 318
  Whelan, Danny, 32
  Wherever You Go, There You Are (Kabat-Zinn), 137
  White, Jo Jo, 55, 56
  White Sox, 145
  Whitelaw, Ginny, 244
  Whitman, Walt, 163
  Wilbon, Michael, 312
  Williams, Brian, 177, 178, 181, 193
  Williams, Scott, 139, 143, 144
  winning, fixating on, 23-24
  Winter, Tex, 149
  background of, 68
  as Bulls" assistant coach, 68, 70, 76, 82-83, 87
  coaching style of, 64, 68, 70-71, 86, 220
  Collins and, 75
  on Fox"s tirade, 224
  on Jackson as "luckiest coach in world," 102
  on Jordan, 118
  as Lakers" assistant coach, 209, 235, 240
  on Lakers" successful championship runs, 319
  on Luc"s remark about critics, 190
  triangle offense system and, 14, 25, 68, 82-83, 93, 131
  Wooden, John, 110
  Worthy, James, 108
  Yellowbank, James, 125
  zazen, 51
  Zen Buddhism, 14, 51, 52-54
  See also Buddhism
  Zen Leader, The (Whitelaw), 244
  Zen Mind, Beginner"s Mind (Suzuki), 51
  Ziegler, Mark, 314
  zikers, 51
  CREDITS
  IMAGE INSERT:
  1: Walter Iooss Jr./Sports Illustrated/Getty Images.
  2: From the lens of George Kalinsky.
  3: New York Daily News/Getty Images.
  4: Dan Farrell/NY Daily News/Getty Images.
  5: Peter Read Miller/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images.
  6: Rocky Widner/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 1991 NBAE.
  7: Vince Bucci/AFP/Getty Images.
  8: John Swart/Associated Press.
  9: John W. McDonough/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images.
  10: Nathaniel S. Butler/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 1997 NBAE.
  11: Nathaniel S. Butler/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 1990 NBAE.
  12: Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 1998 NBAE.
  13 and 14: Paintings by Tim Anderson.
  15: Jeff Haynes/AFP/Getty Images.
  16: Chris Ivey/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2004 NBAE.
  17: Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2001 NBAE.
  18: Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2009 NBAE.
  19: Robert Sullivan/AFP/Getty Images.
  20: Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2009 NBAE.
  21: Joe Murphy/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2009 NBAE.
  22: Jesse D. Garrabrant/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2009 NBAE.
  23: Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2009 NBAE.
  24: Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images Copyright 2010 NB
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