Jack’s Blog

Phil Jackson had done it all.  He finally one-upped his nemesis, ol’ Red.  The whole chase for the most coaching championships thing (10) seemed to bother Auerbach more than it did P.J.  The argument was one of those barroom types, the kind that gets louder as more suds are consumed, the increased volume being necessary because there’s absolutely no factual way to prove which coach was better.

“Oh yeah?  Well, Red did it by winning 8 straight and going 9 for 10, while building the Celtics from nothing (hah!)” - where Phil always had, arguably, the two best players in the game (MJ & Scottie or Kobe & Shaq) until this year - when he had the best player (sorry, Bron-Bron, not yet) - and a lot of real good ones to go along with the Black Mamba.

“Sure, but Red had Russell for all those years and when Red quit, Russ won it as player-coach, begging the question, ‘wasn’t having Russell at center a zillion times more important than having Red sit there and light up?’  Also, how many teams were there in the entire NBA when Red was putting together his string - eight?  And the first place team got a bye, meaning the Celtics only had to win eight (8) games to win the NBA championship!”

You see, it’s a totally foolish argument which, I don’t think, has ever won over anyone participating in the discussion.  So, with that in mind, why would Phil Jackson return to coach the Lakers?  Another title isn’t going to change any of the “facts” used when casting a vote for the all-time best NBA coach.

Jackson has to be the highest paid Zen master in all of space, so it couldn’t be for the money.  I mean, he can afford private meditation lessons from the Dali Lama himself - even if he wants them on a holiday (when they charge for a mantra and a half).  And, as if scoring an eight figure salary (with all eight figures on the left side of the decimal point) from his boss isn’t enough, he’s shtupping the guy’s daughter too.  Talk about your sweet gig!

The real reason could be found in the moves being made in the free agent market.  First, there are still people who feel that, with a healthy KG, no one can beat the Men in Green.  With the moves made by Orlando (getting a slasher/scorer like Vince Carter to go along with Superman - the one who works full-time - and, if they can somehow keep him, Hedo Turkoglu), the Cavs adding Shaq to their roster to aid and assist LeBron James in winning a championship (getting to be Shaq’s MO) so Cleveland gets at least one of those durn things before LBJ bolts for the right coast; and, a few other teams making moves that give them hope (e.g. Denver: with the-point-guard-made-for-George-Karl, Ty Lawson - a lightning quick lead guard who matriculated at Blue Heaven), there are not only challenges for Phil and his band of merry wannabe re-peaters, but they may even take on the role of underdog - when it comes down to who’s the favorite to win it all next year.  That would be a twist - and a welcome one for a guy who doesn’t mind a little down & dirty (like the way he played when he was doing work for the Knicks in the ’60s - if his mind is clear enough to remember those days - not from any illegal substances, but from rooming with the cerebral Bill Bradley). 

It’s obvious the Lakers aren’t content.  One day, Trevor Ariza announces he’s looking around (although he did have a great playoff run, he fit in with the guys surrounding him so well that his job became a lot easier than . . . well, he’ll find out - or I will - soon enough), and, before the youngster can fill out a change-of-address card (or get his agent to do it for him), LA has his replacement and, in Ron Artest might just be an upgrade from the youthful legs and long arms, not to mention what became a pretty dependable jumper, of Ariza.

Don’t pity the LakeShow.  All Phil needed was a clean bill of health and he was going to coach.  Why?  Listen to (or read) the quote from Katherine Graham, owner of the Washington Post: 

“To love what you do and feel that it matters, how could anything be more fun?”

After reading of the exploits of South Carolina’s (for now) governor, Mark Sanford, at first I thought the subject was Fred Sanford - except for the fact that the star of Sanford & Son used to deal with much more believable scripts.  I guess we now understand why reality TV shows have replaced sitcoms.

It would take someone really gullible to ever fall for a storyline in which one of our country’s 50 governors would leave his post - and state - without letting anyone on his staff know of his whereabouts.  In fact, Sanford (the sleazy one, not the fictional con who owns a junk yard - with apologies to all the law-abiding, faithful men who comprise the latter group) did inform some workers who were on the state’s payroll, that he was on a hiking expedition in the Applachian Mountains - which, ironically, might wind up being a self-fulfilling prophecy if the people of South Carolina (including his wife and sons) tell him to “take a hike.”

Either his government-issued compass was defective or his moral one was, as he somehow, ended up in Argentina, inspecting, not the landscape of the North Carolina’s mountain range, but the mountains and valley of his South American concubine soul mate. It’s common knowledge when a man is caught in a tryst, his best defense is, “Deny, deny, deny.”  This strategy seems nothing short of brilliant when compared to Sanford’s explanation, which he gave (in one press conference): he met his soul mate, apologized for all the other times he “crossed the (faithful vs. infidelity) line, thinks he can reconcile with his wife and sons AND, get this, still perform the day-to-day duties of the position of governor of South Carolina!  Talk about a guy with both a strong work ethic and an incredible vision.  If none of the above fly, he can always turn to what’s become the standard line of work for someone in his dilemma: write a soul-cleansing, How Not To book. 

If the people of the Palmetto State really think someone so morally bankrupt can effectively lead their state, they must believe government bailouts refer to matters of the heart as well as those of the pocketbook.  Governor Sanford (it still sounds like an oxymoron, with the “Governor” part standing for “oxy” and . . . ) initially stated he would release his financial records to show he hadn’t used taxpayer money to finance the trips, but, in the one and only moment of sound reasoning he’s shown since this entire sordid mess began, reneged on his promise.  Now, that sounds more like the kind of politician voters place in office.

Did he think by showing his financial statement that, although he was someone with the character of an underground rodent, at least he would never consider violating the trust his constituents assigned him by spending taxpayers’ money on an illicit affair?  What kind of guy would perform such a despicable act - on his voters’ dime(s)?  If that story were to get out, the effects it would have on, say, tourism, could really give the state some unwanted negative publicity.  “Oh, I don’t know if we can make our annual pilgrimage to Kiawah Island after what that naughty governor did, dear”  

Then, however, he realized he was in somewhat of a jam.  If he didn’t spend the state’s money, then it meant he would have laid out his family’s dough.  How to explain that to the little woman and the boys?  It just seems that anytime any of us get caught up in a web of lies and deception, Albert Camus’ line still rings true:

“Integrity has no need of rules.” �

Illegal drugs, especially steroids, are a popular topic of conversation today, but even when I was going into prospects’ homes as far back as the 1980’s, drugs were a major concern (especially with the mothers).  I knew that whenever I would ask if anyone in the room, which usually included (other than the prospect), the mom, dad, another relative, coach, friend (the “advisor” or summer league coach wasn’t the major factor at that time yet), had any questions, if “What’s your policy on drugs?” wasn’t the first query, it definitely would be the second one.

I wanted to give an answer that wouldn’t be the same old, although sincere, one that all the other coaches were giving - that, “although there hadn’t ever been an illegal drug appear on any part of our university since it was constructed” (unless, of course, there had been a recent newspaper article refuting that “fact”), “our coaching staff’s view of drugs was (_______) - fill in the blank (they were evil, the Devil itself, something that scares the wits out of me and if I was in you situation, I’d be as concerned as you are, …).”

Instead, one evening during a visit, the perfect response just came to me.   I can still remember that visit to this day.  When I asked if anyone wanted to know something about the University of Tennessee (my place of work at the time) that I hadn’t covered, sure enough, the question that followed was, “What’s the university’s policy on drugs?”  

My answer was simple, but with enough shock value, so all present would remember it - and me - and UT.  I looked at the recruit’s mom (who had asked the question) and said, “We don’t have one.”

The room went silent.  Eyes opened wider, mouths dropped lower.  “We don’t have a policy on drugs for the main reason that they’re illegal!  Heck, if we needed a policy banning drugs, wouldn’t we then have to have one regarding reckless driving, date rape and grand theft auto?  The reason we don’t have a policy outlawing the use of drugs on our team is because there’s already a policy about them.  They’re illegal.

“Think about it,” I continued, now that I had everyone’s undivided attention.  “Have you ever heard a player who got caught using or possessing illegal drugs, say, ‘Oh, you mean there was a team rule against drugs?  I am so sorry.  I never would have done any of what I did had I known that sort of behavior wasn’t allowed by the university.’  No, of course you wouldn’t have.”

The quote attributed to Alan Greenspan, the former Chairman of the Federal Reserve, fits perfectly here: 

“Rules cannot take the place of character.”

I’m not sure about you, but on the list of my shortcomings - and there are more than a few - procrastination has to be right at the top.  That is, when I get around to actually listing my shortcomings (which I’ve told myself I’m going to do for so long, I can’t remember when I decided to do it - or why).

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, my wife and I accompanied our younger son to UCLA’s basketball camp.  It was there I got to catch up with several of my former colleagues in the intercollegiate coaching world - many of whom are members of the Bruins’ current staff - as well as a few others who were there in the same capacity (father of a camper) as I was.

Naturally, there was a great deal of reminiscing done (and, as always is the case with coaches, lies told).  Sometime during one of the two days of camp, it struck me that, although college coaches (I have to speak for assistants since that was the capacity in which I served for 30 consecutive years) have so little time off, due to camp (at this time of the year), in and out of season coaching, scouting, staff meetings (whether about recruiting or putting together practice and game plans), calls and letters to recruits (I worked prior to the “text” era), speaking to booster clubs and civic groups, individual player meetings (to take care of academic, family or girlfriend[s] problems, homesickness - for newcomers, or the most important, difficult and time consuming meeting - lack of playing time), ticket requests, speaking at and attending clinics, video breakdown, the occasional media interview, scheduling, lining up summer jobs for players, organizing on-campus recruiting visits (maybe the most important task an assistant has), attending practices and games and whatever other crisis might arise (whew!), we still managed to get them done - and, somehow, even had some quality family time (married guys) or social life (single - and the occasional married guy - just don’t expect any names).

Now I’m teaching math in high school and since noon on June 12, have had nothing but free time!  Yet, I don’t get near the amount of tasks or projects done.  In numerous other posts, I have spoken of how much I enjoy listening to audio books while I drive.  The CD that I have in my car at this moment is Stephen Covey’s First Things First (the third of his seven habits of highly effective people).  Its message explains my dilemma - my “ability” to procrastinate.  

Therein lies the problem.  It’s sad that someone my age can’t “get ‘er done” by myself. Yet, I admit that I would be a zillion times more efficient if I had someone (other than just myself) to whom I was responsible (e.g. a “boss” - like I do when I’m teaching).  Why is that?  Because that boss could say to me what the legendary Wizard of Westwood, John Wooden (and how apropos was that - sitting in Pauley Pavillion, staring at the floor which has his name on it) used to say to his players:     

“We kid ourselves: ‘I’ll buckle down tomorrow and work twice as hard.’  No, if you can work twice as hard tomorrow it means you’re holding something back today.  I want 100% today.  And tomorrow.”

Just got back in town from a day-and-a-half basketball camp on UCLA’s campus that Alex was invited to attend. 

The camp was advertised as a great learning experience for the participants: be taught by the entire Bruin coaching staff, see their returning players demonstrate and, for some, compete against their incoming freshmen.  Stay one night in a dormitory room, eat on campus and play in historic Pauley Pavillion.

The camp ran as promised - and then some.  On the second day, there was a slot for a guest speaker.  Many of the events had been shifted or, even cancelled (e.g. Sunday nights games - but there wasn’t a peep to be heard from anyone, as the kids were absolutely beat), and the wise move of not playing the evening games was made, improving the quality of play yesterday.

Back to the guest speaker.  It was downplayed - to the point of, not only no gigantic mystery as to the identity - but, not even mentioning it - leaving open, to those who looked at the schedule and saw a number of changes, the possibility of abandoning the “guest speaker” slot and substituting games.

No way - not in Westwood.  For those of you who might be guessing the Wizard as the speaker, it’s fairly common knowledge that health issues preclude Coach Wooden from doing something of this nature.  Maybe one of the many sensational former UCLA players (and there’s a plethora of candidates)?  The speaker was none of those.

Instead, an older, but incredibly distiguished looking man - in street clothes - came out to speak to the group of mainly 14-17 year olds, each of whom sat on the Pauley Pavillion floor in utter amazement, hanging on every word - but hearing very few.  None had ever seen him play, but each knew exactly who he was - maybe not by name, but by the nickname he’d been given some years back: The Logo.

Jerry West, in a crisp white shirt (obviously straight from the cleaners), dark slacks, dress shoes and sunglasses (which he had to give to someone to hold a few minutes into the talk because it was difficult to speak with a basketball in one hand and sunglasses in the other) was an imposing sight - even if his attire was rather incongruent to the occasion.

No matter.  I have to admit I moved down to the floor level to better hear what he was saying, in his soft-spoken tone, more of a nonchalant, “here’s what I know about the game and how I approached it” than a “you’d better pay attention, because if you don’t follow what I’m saying, you’ll never make it” message.  When he finished a couple of the younger guys at the camp simply stared at each other and simultaneously said, “Sweet!“  

The following quote about two types of men pretty much summed up what he had to say - and after hearing him, the listener wasn’t quite sure which category he belonged to - maybe both:

“Some men succeed because they are destined to, but most men because they are determined to.”

Bill O’Reilly, on his way out of the country, took the time last night to speak out (on his own show) on a subject that is becoming all too familiar in our country: a political leader with the morals of a sewer rat.

O’Reilly, host of the #1 cable news show for the last 8 years (I’m not sure that O’Reilly doesn’t think the 8 ought to be on its side), was incensed that those from the left are, in his words, “celebrating” the downfall of South Carolina governor (for the time being), Mark Sanford.  This, from a person who, if he disagrees with you, calls you a “pinhead” on national television.  O’Reilly mentioned something to the fact that when former governor John Edwards fell off the fidelity wagon, conservatives may have criticized him, but none of them celebrated his indiscretion.  I was curious as to why BOR didn’t bring up that Monica girl and the guy who was president at that time and replay video footage of the comments made by him and his other fair and balanced colleagues.  Possibly he had put it behind him.

In what I initially thought was a moment of comic relief, he brought on one of the nation’s most kind-hearted human beings, a veritable saint, with a warmth toward his fellow man that few, if any other, member of this, or any other society, possesses.  Naturally, I’m speaking of Karl Rove.  In acknowledging Rove, O’Reilly said, “You’ve been (referred to) as a hatchet man by people who don’t like you.”  Now, how could someone not like an honest, above-board gentleman who, in an effort to help his man win an election, broke into the office of the competitor so he (Rove) could steal letterhead and then print up flyers, inviting people, i.e. voters to a (fictitious) party offering free drugs and prostitutes? A note of clarity: the actual word “prostitute” may not have been used - I mean, what kind of guy would do something so despicable - but there was no way anyone could not have understood the gist of the mesage.  Guess what?  His man won!  Good campaigning. 

O’Reilly went on with his introduction of this bastion of integrity (Rove) with what might be in the running for understatement of the year, “Politics is a rough business - you do what you’ve got to do to get your guy in.”  I can’t remember much after hearing that.  I was even less interested in hearing what Karl (with a K, like Marx) had to say. 

Then, Bernard Goldberg came on and admitted that he “used to be on that side.”  By that side, I think he meant both “left” and “wrong.”  He sounded extremely sure of his views, probably like he did when he was on “that side.”  Could Bernie have another change of heart some time in the near future and head back over?  He’ll say no way, just as he would have if he were asked oh so many years ago, but if the right numbers were proposed for a book deal, . . . well, everyone has his price.

One man who was on the receiving end of Goldberg’s wrath was Paul Begala, Democratic strategist (see one of my earliest blogs, 4/22/07 for a sensational perspective - mine - on political strategists) and member of the fivehead club - as in most people have a forehead, but Paul goes us all one better.  There was a film clip of Begala ranting over the apparent brain freeze of Sanford.  Yet, he, too, never mentioned Monica what’s-her-name.  Do all these guys suffer from selective memory?

John Savage, a name mentioned often on this website, was a brilliant man.  I learned more from him during the seven years I was honored to know him, than I did from 99% of others I’ve met (using a conservative estimate) throughout the years.  John used to speak to hundreds of insurance salespeople (his actual vocation) or to similar numbers when he was hired as an inspirational speaker.  His style was basic, down-to-earth (what all of us could only wish was) common sense.  

Occasionally, during a presentation, John would say, “You guys out there who are running around on your wives - you’re all frauds!”  This caught everyone’s attention mainly because it was so unlike John’s personality.  Then, once he had everyone’s attention (statements like that tend to earn the audience’s total focus), he’d wryly say, “And if you disagree with me, I’d be happy to debate it with you on local TV - in your hometown.”

This always brought a laugh, with some (usually those wiping their faces and necks) a tad more nervous than others, but it managed to get his point across.  John, who died in February of 1993, used to say a good motto was, “One wife, no girlfriends.”  Like I said, common sense. 

Lost in all of this sniping is the fact that a governor, for an extended period of time, was derelict in his duty, having left his office (not to mention his mind) and told no one where he was.  Hey, buddy, you’re in charge, and have the final say of, what happens in your state.  There are only 50 of your type in this nation and it’s a job that carries with it an extremely high degree of responsibility.  (And to think there were times people would say women couldn’t govern because of their inability to think straight when they were menstruating).  Come to think of it, wasn’t Sanford gone for about 4-5 days?

The knee jerk reaction of nearly all of these talk show hosts (because their livelihood is driven, not by what’s right or wrong, but by ratings), is to circle the wagons if the mistake is made “by one of ours” or attack, attack, attack if the blunder is made by someone on the other side.  How about discussing the right thing to do and what effect the mistake could have on the country?

Doesn’t this sound familiar?  Today, the “right” is absolutely tearing apart the current administration and how every decision that’s being made and every act that’s taken is heading the country into complete ruin.  But, where things so great before this administration took over - what - six months ago?  The country was going to hell in a hand basket when the “right” party was in power (according to the left).  Now that the worm’s turned, it’s the Republicans’ opportunity to complain.

The lesson to be learned is this: it’s far better to be the party out of power - because then, you can criticize and be as loud as you want.  The other side has to justify what they’re doing.  Many Americans will be on your side - those without jobs, houses and portfolios that are worth half of what they were.

This country has completely lost its sense of what it means to be a member of a team.  The motto has changed from, “There’s no I in team,” to “Yeah, but there’s a me in it.”  If only solving our unity problem was as easy as explaining the Sanford, Edwards, Spitzer, Clinton, (add in your favorite).  Those actions are easily explained by one of the best and brightest -Robin Williams - who observed:

“God gave man two heads, but only enough blood to operate one at a time.”  Â

While I was watching the NBA draft yesterday, for some reason, I was reminded of the one in 1983.  I was an assistant coach at the University of Tennessee and our best player that year was Dale Ellis.  Entering his senior year at UT, Dale was a consensus All-American, based on his stellar play the previous years, with the most impressive statistic being that he made an unheard of 66% (UT record) of his shots as a junior.

The three point line had yet to be incorporated into the collegiate game.  Our head coach, Don DeVoe (recently inducted into the UT Hall-of-Fame), had the philosophy of pounding the ball inside.  We employed a two in (post players), three out (perimeter players) offense and Dale was one of our posts.  When we didn’t have a fast break opportunity, we ran set plays, the majority of which were to get a high percentage shot (the shot clock hadn’t been introduced at the college level either), usually for one of our posts.

The basketball coach during my college days was Richie Buckelew.  By 1983, he’d become a scout for the Atlanta Hawks.  Following one of our SEC games, he saw me said that I was going to be shocked when he told me what position Dale would play in “the league.”

I didn’t want to look like I had no knowledge of the pro game, so I said to him, “I know - small forward,” ready for him to praise me for my evaluation skills.

“No,” he said. “2 guard.”

During our season, we had broken the players into groups to work with before practice actually got under way.  Dale had been in my group all year and I had told any scout who asked about his range that Dale could easily go out to 18′ and, in fact, that’s where most of our pre-practice shooting spots were.  Never did I think that our center, and for all intents and purposes, that’s the position Dale played for us, could make the transition to second guard in the NBA - and be able to shoot three’s from five feet further out!

Dale’s ballhandling and passing skills were adequate and, while he was an outstanding post defender, mainly because he was so much quicker than nearly all of the big guys he guarded and he had excellent anticipation, there was no way I ever thought he could guard an NBA 2 guard. 

Dale had another great season (capped off by playing to his fourth straight NCAA tournament) and when draft day came, he was being lauded as a Top 10 pick.  The NBA draft was nowhere near the spectacle it is now, but, even though there wasn’t the hype, none of us were disappointed when he was selected ninth by the Dallas Mavericks.

When Dale returned in the summer to finish his degree (a promise he made - and kept - to his mother, i.e. that he’d get his degree), he came by my office.  His mood was nothing short of doom and gloom.  He said how disappointed he was that he’d play great in practices, but when game time came around, he seldom got in.  What made it more frustrating was that, on the occasions he did manage to get quality time, he played very well, e.g. there was a game in which he came off the bench to score 18 - but, that performance was followed by the five most dreaded letters a players can see by his name in a box score: DNP-CD, standing for “Did Not Play - Coach’s Decision.” 

Incidentally, for a couple more intriguing and insightful Dale Ellis stories, purchase a copy of my book, Life’s A Joke for only $10 (I’ll pay the S&H).  Send a check to: Life’s A Joke 365 Sandpiper Ct. Fresno, CA 93730.  

Dale once told me he trusted (that was the word he used) me because I would always give it to him straight.  After hearing his stories about not playing (even though I could see it was really bothering him), I said, “Gee, Dale, it sounds like you’re miserable and you’re really getting screwed.  Why don’t you quit and just get another job that pays you a quarter of a million dollars?” (which was what the ninth pick got back then and isn’t nearly what today’s guys are making, but still is a heckuva lot more than I’m pulling down - 26 years later!

The corners of his mouth turned up, just a little, into one of those “OK, you got me” smiles, and he said, fully understanding my point, “Nah, I think I’ll stick with this line of work.”

I then told him that I had talked to his agent because I, in fact, had been following him through the agate (small print in the sports section, e.g. box scores) and had seen exactly what he’d been complaining about.  His agent told me that one thing he could be thankful for was that, while their coach, Dick Motta, indeed, did not like playing rookies, the Mavs’ organization was not known as one of those that was vindictive, and if they could make a move to better themselves - and a disgruntled player who, for whatever reasons did not fit into their plans - they would move him.

Sure enough, after Dale’s second year with the Mavs, he was traded to Seattle for former UNC star, Al Wood.  Dale flourished in that system, making the NBA All-Star team, before ultimately spending 17 years in the NBA and, when he retired, left as the all-time leader for made three-pointers.  He’s since dropped to third behind Reggie Miller and Ray Allen. 

The morale of the story is, unless you are Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, Larry Bird, Shaquille O’Neal, Magic Johnson, or a can’t miss player (and although he’s far and away the best player available in this draft, I’m not sure I’d even consider Blake Griffin a can’t miss player), the key to your success is . . . are you and what you bring to the franchise a good match for the team that selects you?  If so, you’re fortunate and will most likely enjoy a long and profitable career.  If not - and remember, the higher a player gets picked, usually, the worse a team he goes to, so slipping several spots might just land you on a pretty good team - one which can use the skill set you have and not need you to do more than you are physically - and mentally - equipped to take on.  

There was a story in Sports Illustrated (4/28/08 edition) on Peyton Manning and how, during his initial meeting with the Colts’ coach Jim Mora and its GM, Bill Polian, he said to them, “I’d really like to come here if you want me.”  The true football fan will recall that the year Manning was to be drafted, there was a great debate (as ridiculous as it seems now) as to which player deserved to be the overall number one pick in the draft (with everyone knowing the other would go number two), Manning or Ryan Leaf from Washington State?  Obviously, Peyton felt strongly about his ability, since he continued - and I can’t say I remember anyone else possessing the stones to say anything even close:

“But if you don’t, I promise you I’ll come back and kick your ass for the next 15 years.”

Returned from SoCal after making sure older son, Andy, was well on the road to recovery after an emergency appendectomy.  Our friends, the Dolinoys (Paul & Betty) proved to be the most gracious hosts - in a time of great need).  Paul was with Andy through his ordeal in the hospital, made sure he had thorough instructions for him to follow post-op and even picked up his medications (without which, Andy wouldn’t have had nearly as easy a recovery).

All Betty did was make all his meals and, in an effort way above and beyond the call of duty, washed his dirty clothes, then dried and folded them.  To understand how major a task this was, let’s just say if a person could have gotten ill from the amount of dirty clothes he had, Andy Boy would have been in critical condition.  While she was at it, she cooked for his dad as well.  I didn’t have the nerve to ask her to wash, dry and fold any of my clothes.

A successful trip, ending at 4:30 am, the time I got back (and the reason for no blogs).

In case you’ve been at an intervention meeting or just returned from the mountains, where there was no TV reception or don’t care one iota about NBA basketball (in which case, I doubt you’d be spending time on this website), the Phoenix Suns traded Shaquille O’Neal to the Cleveland Cavaliers.  Since none of the Cavs going to Phoenix was named LeBron, the Cavs have now become the overwhelming favorites to win next year’s NBA championship.

No, I haven’t forgotten about the Boston Celtics (in the East) now that KG is back, healthy and (a little more than) anxious to reclaim what he went to Boston for - and got - only to watch while his team couldn’t do what, deep down, everyone, including and especially, Garnett knew they couldn’t do - win it all without him.  Nor have I forgotten about the current champs (from the West), the Los Angeles Lakers, who will be returning the core (Kobe) of the team that breezed to the crown this past season.

Isn’t adding Shaq (even though he’s older and less mobile than he was last year) to a team with LeBron like adding a younger, but still not particularly mobile Shaq, to a Miami Heat team with Dwayne Wade (who, while a superstar, wasn’t/isn’t quite in LBJ’s class)?  Or is it like adding older vets like Karl Malone and Gary Payton to a Lakers team with Shaq and Kobe?

I have to admit that when I first heard that Malone and Payton went to LA, my first thought was, “Isn’t it going to be awfully difficult for opponents to score?  Kobe, even back then, was a lockdown defender, Payton was known as ‘The Glove’ for his defense ability to cover people (like a …), Malone was a defensive force at power forward and Shaq was back there in case, what, the fifth starter got beat?”  Yet, it didn’t play out that way at all.  Although it wasn’t as bad as when the New York Metropolitans where introduced as the newest National League franchise and immediately signed Casey Stengel to manage a bevy of future Hall-of-Famers (but guys who made it to the Hall because of everything they did prior to joining the Mets), it didn’t work out (even) close to what everyone in Tinseltown (especially Mitch Kupchak and Jerry Buss) had thought.

So, does that mean to put the champagne on ice but don’t yet pop the corks?  For lack of a better word - yup.  The Cavs (who, allegedly aren’t done dealing) are trying to accomplish the dual tasks of winning a title for Clevelanders AND persuading LeBron to remain close to his hometown (maybe not forever, but at least for the remainder of his NBA career).  On first blush, it looks as though the Cavs will be difficult to guard (duh, they were that last year as long as James was in the game and had the ball).  With Bron-Bron improving his outside jump shot and his remarkable passing ability also getting better as each season goes by, they now have in Shaq (albeit on a limited basis - meaning 60-70% of the games and a number of practices - that number approaching zero as his career winds down) a guy with great hands and someone who can clean up misses (and knows what to do with them once he gets those mitts on the ball) and whose presence will be hard to leave in order to help on penetration.  Throw Shaq the ball and he still commands a double-team and the Big Whatever-He-Decides-To-Be is a very adept passer.

So what’s not to like?  First, the percentage of NBA teams running pick & roll as their main offense has come down - from 110% (if a player can give it, why can’t that same percentage of teams run it?) to 90% (as the penetrate & pitch game has become popular - mainly for teams who don’t have the personnel to run pick & roll).  If the Cavs thought Zydrunas Ilgauskas had a tough time covering pick & roll, wait until Mike Brown tells Shaq how he’d like for him to move away from the basket and get closer to the man setting the screen.  Wonder who will win that discussion?

Also, how will the move affect the intangibles?  Mike Brown has a record most people would covet.  Why, then, are so many coaches (and television commentators) polishing up their resumes, assuming the rumors of a coaching change have any substance?  When Charles Barkley says (in the tactless way only Charles can), “I hate Cleveland’s offense!  They don’t run, then they do nothing in the half court until the shot clock’s down, then they give the ball to LeBron and say, ‘Go ‘head LeBron, win it for us, big fella.’ “  That might not have been verbatim, but it was something to that effect.  And then, after he scored, what was it, 32 straight point to end the game - or was it score or assist on every one of the last 32 points, and Charles’ partner, Kenny Smith says, “Yeah, he did it, but no NBA player can do that for three straight games (the performance LeBron would have had to repeat in order to win the series).  The body won’t hold up.”

The Round Mound and The Jet weren’t doing Mike Brown any favors by stripping him naked in front of many a million people, they were simply doing their jobs.  And, what’s worse for Coach Brown is that they turned out to be right!  When owners hear that - and there are so few who really understand what it means to play in a high pressure event, like an NBA Playoff game (and, please, don’t tell me about the pressure of signing a multi-million, billion, gazillion dollar deal), playing five-man hoops in front of 20,000 people - who didn’t pay that much for tickets, parking, concessions and souvenirs, to see their team lose or anyone on their team play poorly - and millions more watching, including their family, close friends, their kids’ close friends and nearly every person they’ll see anytime they’re out in public - plus having their salaries published so that anybody can, say, figure how much a player made per/point, minute, rebound, foul, whatever (including those who do it for a living, e.g. media), they think the best way to appease fans is to fire the guy at the top (not exactly at the real top - although, often, that’s where the blame lies).  So, the Cavs will open their season full of hope - and a death watch for their coach.

So, in answer to the question posed at the top of the blog, we’ll all have to stay tuned.  As for Mike Brown, he would be wise to heed the words of legendary football football coach, Bear Bryant:

“In a crisis, don’t hide behind anything or anybody.  They’re going to find you anyway.”           Â

Most books on parenting tell moms and dads to treat each child equally - or as equally as is reasonable.  I’m aware of this theory and, once again, within reason, I subscribe to it. 

A recent order for our rapidly growing baby gift business (www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com) was for a set of twin girls: ISABELLA & EMMA.  If the general consensus for parents is to treat siblings the same, you can imagine how much more that theory extends to twins!  I emailed the person who ordered the gifts (the grandfather, it turned out) and mentioned to him that our sensationally talented artist (although that description sounds biased, you would be immediately in complete agreement if you saw his work), told me that for names of six letters or longer, he is going to put them on 12″ x 18″ illustration board so as not to crowd the letters and symbols.

A very nice gesture (at no extra cost), but now one grandchild would be getting a bigger present than the other, a probable cause for disharmony in the household.  Since it’s not a good idea to tell a customer (or a boss) bad news without having a potential solution for it, I advised grandpa that it would probably be a good idea to frame the gifts, but do so using either a 12 x 18 frame (and mat EMMA) or use a, for example, 16 x 20 frame and mat both of them.  A nice, considerate touch that few of today’s companies would feel an obligation to do.  And grandad was quite appreciative, I might add.

After using my vast knowledge (aka, common sense) to help divert that potential disaster, I was thrust into a decision-making proposal for something that hit closer to home.  As I posted in my last blog, our younger son, Alex, and I were leaving Saturday morning to go to the Sacramento area to play and watch, (thank the Lord, respectively).  On Sunday, I was awakened at around 7:30 am with a phone call from my wife who told me that our older son, Andy, thought he had food poisoning and had his best friend and fraternity brother, Stratton Constantinides (I guess we’re fortunate we don’t have to do a baby gift for him), drive him to the hospital.  After a CT scan was taken, it was determined Andy was suffering from appendicitis and needed emergency surgery, i.e. that day.

Readers of this blog will remember my good college friends, Paul & Betty Dolinoy, who, after living in Atlanta for a good number of years, decided to return to one of their former residences in Huntington Beach, CA.  Lucky for us they did. 

My call to them disrupted a quiet Sunday afternoon, turning it into a hectic Sunday afternoon.  Paul immediately went to the hospital to have an “experienced presence” in the room - someone who would make Andy feel more at ease, since, with all that was happening - and it doing so rather quickly, Andy was reassured that a parental substitute was there to facilitate, what with him feeling pain, and getting groggy from the meds the nurse had provided.  Paul stayed at the hospital until Andy drifted off and, then went to catch a movie to pass the time, but close enough to get back to the hospital when they wheeled Andy in for the procedure.  All this time, Betty served as Jane’s lifeline, calling my wife with periodic updates and giving her another “mother” to talk to and get advice from since Betty (and Paul) have two grown girls, who had similar experiences at the same age. 

Meanwhile, I left the semi-final game at halftime (Alex told me he was going to “do work” in honor of his older bro)  and when the first half ended, Alex had 15 points and a bunch of assists, proving good on his word.  I made the three hour drive home, to get some clean clothes but mainly for my precription medications.  Then, I drove the 4 1/2 hours to Huntington Beach and got to Paul & Betty’s house only to see Andy lounging in Paul’s Ritz-Carlton robe.

I’ve done favors for the Dolinoys, although I can’t remember anything remotely close to the first class treatment - with no time to plan - they provided Andy.  I guess Zig Ziglar’s signature line is exactly as he (continually) says it: 

“You can get whatever you want out of life if you just help enough other people get what they want.” �

We’re headed up to Rocklin (near Sacramento) for a basketball tournament, so no blog tomorrow night, although I already have one in mind for Sunday night you definitely won’t want to miss.

California rules (that a coach can work with his team year round) and summer basketball has turned high school hoops into a 12 month ordeal.  Many coaches (not only basketball) actually force their athletes into making a decision when they get to the high school level: it’s my sport only or don’t bother showing up.

If the athlete’s good enough, i.e. if he (and his parents) are in the position of power, they can call the coach’s bluff.  More times than not, I’ve seen the coach back down, making the (wise) decision that part of a great player is better than none of him (truthfully, the reality of this situation is that this type of behavior is not at all limited to the male side of the equation).  Especially when a coach of a female powerhouse, who’s looked up to by the community (including the district administration, who are way more interested in championships than they’ll ever admit), is the one giving the ultimatums.

It might be as veiled a statement as, “Well, if you really want to play in our program, you need to make a total commitment” (which, left unsaid - or not - means playing that sport all the time).

I have to admit that what was most attractive to me about coaching on the high school level was the fact that a coach could work year round with the guys.  After working in college basketball, in which the NCAA continually cut back the time coaches were allowed to work with their squads (be it individual instruction or team practice), getting together whenever I desired sounded like nirvana.

One reason was I had prepared myself for thirty years to be a Division I head coach (independent of the level of D-I) and had organized everything from the pregame warm up routine and man-to-man offense, complemented by a multiple defense system to home and school recruiting visits and organizing a booster club (notice I mentioned “independent of the level” of D-I).  Because this was going to be a little more sophisticated a system than the typical high school program,  I needed that on-court time. 

Never, though, did I plan on threatening a boy to play only basketball.  One major reason is that I thought it would be highly hypocritical - since I played three sports (football, basketball and baseball) during my four year scholastic career.  Truth be told, basketball was my worst sport (of those three).  In fact, while coaching at Buchanan (Clovis, CA) High School, nearly all of us were on the same page when it came to sharing our athletes, mainly for the same reason I felt, i.e. they played more than one sport during their high school days.

That leads me to our younger son, Alex.  He plays basketball exclusively.  In elementary school, he was, I was told by one of his teachers, the only kid in the school who participated in every sport that was offered throughout his 4th, 5th and 6th grade years.  In 4th, it was cross country and wrestling (football and basketball weren’t allowed until 5th), in 5th he was the defensive MVP of the football team (ILB), captain of the basketball team and played volleyball.  He was over the weight limit for football in 6th (you needed to be 121 - including pads - and Alex checked into 6th grade at 143, so he barely missed the cut . . . so he became the team’s manager).  He once again played basketball, but with his buddies from the grade ahead of him (most of the kids in our neighborhood were now in the 7th grade) in junior high school, he decided he was going to forego volleyball and pick up baseball again (he’d played Little League but, although he started at third base - as one of only two 8-year old starters, he said the only thing he liked about America’s pasttime was that you were allowed to eat sunflower seeds during the game).  After baseball concluded, he came home and told me he was going out for the track team.  I thought it was a good idea, that all the running would keep him in shape.  When I asked him what he was going to do, he told me, “High jump.”  Of course, he had never high jumped, but once the coach showed him the technique, he wound up taking second in one of the final meets of the year.  Once in junior high, and back with his buddies again, after basketball season, he took up tennis (his best friend was an outstanding tennis player and for two weeks a year, he’d attend his friend’s dad’s tennis camp.  That was the extent of his tennis.  Still, he ended up as #2 singles and went undefeated throughout the season.  He hasn’t played tennis since.

Those of you who are still reading this rambling discourse (after reading a paper I turned in one time, my high school English teacher asked me if I was from Babylon) might be wondering if there’s a point.  If there is, it’s this.

Although Alex plays basketball only, to be quite honest, part of me would love to see him play football (along with baseball, my two best sports).  My wife doesn’t put up too much of a fight in instances like this.  But, in the case of football, she’s seen me and the problems I’ve had (the first question doctors asked me, prior to the first of my eight back surgeries - two weeks after we got married was, “Were you ever in a car accident?”  The next question was if I ever played football).  And it’s not only me.  Jane’s dad was quite the football player himself (as well as a state championship scholastic coach in Nashville, TN - where they take their FB seriously) and during his later years, the arthritis he developed (his doctor told him it was due to old football injuries) made it painful to watch him attempt to get up from our couch.

The capper came with Son #1.  Andy is the ultimate team guy.  In 2nd grade he told me a new kid had just moved in and they became fast friends.  That kid was Zak Hill, the youngest of three sons of Fresno State’s new football coach, Pat Hill.  Naturally, it was decided early on that, when they got the 5th grade, they’d be two of the stalwarts on the Valley Oak elementary school football team.  Jane was worried and shared her concerns with our family doctor - who just happened to be the Bulldogs’ team doctor.  He told Jane to let Andy play until 9th grade when they did away with weight limits.  Jane thinks the world of our doc, so she agreed - until the day that Andy separated his shoulder in a blocking drill and had to have surgery of his own - at 13 years of age.  End of football in the Fertig household.

In addition, Alex is that rare athlete who just might be better served to concentrate on one sport.  He has a future in basketball.  Not that he’s going to be doing it for a living, but, with natural maturation of his body (he was measured and weighed at the Nike event in St. Louis at 6′2″ and 188) and mind, he ought to be able to parlay that skill into a free college education.  And with parents in their (very, very) early 60’s, that’s quite a comforting thought. 

I have tried to strike a balance between the coach who sees a gift a young boy has and encourages him to go for it and a father who’s interfering with his son’s life and pushes too hard.  It’s a fine line, but so far, Alex has shown a genuine enthusiasm for basketball.  With my obsession that people realize their potential, there is much more I’d do to get Alex to be better, but not if I feel it’s going to have a negative impact on his “being a kid.”  It’s not easy, but when SI prints a story like the one they did a few issues ago on Todd Marinovich, backing off gets easier and easier. 

I continue to use a quote by one of my favorite authors (and judging by how well - and how many of - his books sell, hundreds of others’ favorite author too), John C. Maxwell:

“If you want your life to be a fantastic story, realize you’re the author.”Â