Jack’s Blog

Frequent readers of this blog know I have a morphine pump implanted in my abdomen due to the overwhelming, excrutiating pain of numerous surgeries, deterioration of discs, lack of flexibility and neglect to take care of my body (mainly not following a consistent stretching regimen and not strengthening the core muscles).

When morphine was the only drug in the pump, I had to go to the Stanford Pain Management Clinic for refills every six months.  Since another drug has been added to the mix, that return trip has been cut to once every 44 days.  I don’t like to miss school for a variety of reasons: it takes more time writing the instructions for the substitute than it does for me to just teach the class, I don’t like using up the sick leave (with the state of the economy, you never know when you’ll need some and if you’re out and have to take leave without pay, ugh) and I’ve always felt if you’re paid to do a job, you should do it.

This is why I scheduled my visit for this past Monday, since we were off from school.  Stanford was building a new pain clinic - and all that goes with it - and as with everything Stanford does, it’s completely state-of-the-art.  Just my luck, Monday was designated as “moving day,” so my appointment was cancelled and rescheduled for Wednesday at 10:30 in the morning.

When the nurse who administered the refill called to tell me, I made one request - actually more like a demand.  I’d had other appointments for pump refills in the morning, only to get there and find out the pharmacy didn’t deliver until the afternoon, extending my stay - and day - quite a bit longer.  The new facility is a little farther away, which adds 15 minutes to the three hour (if there’s no traffic) drive from Fresno.  I mentioned this to the nurse and told her I had to be back in Fresno no later than 4:30 pm.  Every Wednesday I co-host The Jerry Tarkanian Show on Fox Sports radio in Fresno, an extremely popular show (which is why it airs at “drive time”) and, since it’s live radio,  when 5:00 pm comes, it’s show time, whether I’m there or not.

She said she understood.  The following day, I had a voice mail message from this same nurse, saying the appointment had to be changed to 11:30 am.  I returned the call after school but she’d gone for the day so I related, quite clearly, to the receptionist my urgency of getting out of there to be able to get home in plenty of time.  The procedure is not a long one - they simply take out what medicine’s left in the pump and weigh it, to make sure the pump is dispensing the drugs properly and then fill it up for another 44 day cycle.  Sure enough, after checking with the nurse, the receptionist called me back and said all systems were go, that the nurse guaranteed the “meds” would be there when needed.

I got there early (about 11:10 am) because I always want to make sure I’m not holding them up since their schedule is of the utmost importance.  They deal with people with chronic, severe pain and, as you can imagine, nobody in that condition wants to be held up - you feel bad enough with everything else you have to endure.  When I checked in, the receptionist remarked, “Oh, I remember talking to you.  You’re the one who has to get back home to do a live radio show.”

I told her how impressed I was with her memory, but I was equally happy that I got my message across loud and clear.  When the nurse called me to go into the room, it was actually a little before 11:30 so I felt the day had success written all over it.  In reality, what was written all over the day must have been graffiti because as the nurse and I entered the room, another woman came in behind us.  She was introduced as the manager of the clinic.  I felt queasy, not because I know enough people already and don’t need to make any new acquaintances, but at her mention of words and phrases like “unfortunately,” “things beyond our control” and “tried the best we could.”  She concluded this beating around the bush part with “The pharmacist thought she had enough medicine, but when she got in today, she realized she needed more and had to order it.  It won’t be here until” (of course) “1:00 pm.  However, we have a wonderful, brand new cafeteria and I have a voucher for you so you can have lunch as our guest.”

I was doing everything in my power to maintain my composure and said, “This is exactly what I needed to avoid.  That’s why I was so explicit with my instructions.”  Dreading having to drive home with nothing to show for it but 350 miles on my odometer, I asked, if I had to come back, when could I, meaning when did my pump go dry?  The answer I got was tomorrow.  Nice.

“Well, she really did try - and there’s never a guarantee about these things.”

“No, there was a guarantee; that’s why I’m here.  I mean, what if the drugs aren’t ready by 1:00?”

“Let’s not go there,” she immediately replied with a smile, I think to insure me this scenario couldn’t possibly occur.

“I didn’t want to go here!”  I said, releasing my frustrations on this poor lady (another reason I was upset was that I wasn’t going to be able to see my doctor that day - I mean, if I’m making the trip, which isn’t exactly around the corner, why not schedule it for a day the doctor is going to be in the clinic).  This manager’s main job was, apparently, to deliver bad news, mostly related to incompetence, none of which dealt with her.  I still felt no empathy.

The nurse said they’d give me a room, led me into one and remarked that the bed was a posturpedic!  Wow, lucky me.  I was asked if I wanted to go to the cafeteria and I said, no, I’d just as soon lay my body down, knowing that when this procedure ended, I would be setting major speed records on my return trip.

At 1:00 pm in came my new best friend, the nurse, who’d done this procedure on me a couple times prior.  But, this time, she couldn’t quite get the needed inserted properly.  Off she went, to find one of the doctors.  Luckily, she quickly found one (or they gave a white coat to somebody who knew how to get the job done) and it wasn’t 5 minutes later, I was out of there, getting gas and heading home - at a speed below Jason Richardson’s 90 mph in a 35 zone, but not well below it.

Everything was smooth sailing - until we came to a complete halt on the Pacheco Pass.  All of a sudden, I was in a two lane parking lot.  Although I couldn’t see it, apparently, an 18-wheeler changed from the fast lane to the slow and didn’t see the van in the slow lane, causing damage, but no injuries.  The vehicles were across both lanes and, whether for insurance purposes or something else, they weren’t being moved.  Finally, the police moved all the trucks to the right shoulder and allowed the cars to (barely) pass in the left lane.

I had originally called the station to alert them of my circumstances, left a message and now called back to override the first message, saying I thought I’d make it after all.  I got to the show at 4:57 and thought, “What a day!”  Then, when we started with a fantastic live interview with undefeated Fresno City College men’s basketball coach, Ed Madec, it looked like the storm clouds were parting.

However, the guy at the switchboard started having problems of his own (we didn’t get an intro - all of a sudden, the guys from the station who where at Fresno Distributing - where we originate the show from - pointed at me and said to start the show; later on, the same guy missed the cue for the taped interview Jerry had with Washington’s coach, Lorenzo Romar).  They told me he was trying to get things straightened out.

The show (mercifully) ended and I rushed home to wolf down some dinner before heading off to watch our younger son, Alex, play against the first place team in the conference.  Our guys had been playing better and there was a ray of hope we had a chance to pull a major upset.  We got behind early by two - touchdowns - before we even scored.  In reality, it was 17-0 before we scratched and eventually lost, 90-66.  On the way out of their gym, I heard one of our parents say, “Well, the boys tried.”

After a day of all this trying, I was reminded of the quote by my late and great friend and mentor, John Savage, who, in situations such as these, was always fond of saying:

“Trying is failing - with honor.  Get it done!” Â

After watching the argument between the Arizona Cardinals’ wideout Anquan Boldin and their “O” coordinator, Todd Haley - while the game was going on - I was amazed.  Neither man made much out of it later, Boldin saying he just wanted to play a greater role in the offense (because he sincerely felt that strategy would be in the team’s best interest if they wanted to win), while Haley saying he has no problem with guys speaking their mind, but he’s going to express his opinion right back. 

Haley mentioned that “I coach hard,” a statement I’ve heard other coaches use, e.g. coaches on the hot seat after suffering a defeat, who proclaim, “Sure we lost, but as a coaching staff we’re just going to get out there at practice and coach ‘em hard this week and see if we can’t get this thing turned around.”  What in the world is coaching hard?  Does it mean you’re going to yell more, dole out more punishments (running, push ups, other activities players don’t enjoy), get in people’s faces, not smile? 

Some of the most successful coaches in history would never be thought of as guys who “coached hard,” yet they were big-time winners.  Guys like John Wooden, Dean Smith, Tom Landry and Tony Dungy come to mind.  Wasn’t there ever a game that got under their skin, a game they lost they knew they should have won, where after the game, the thought of coaching hard entered their mind as a means of restoring winning ways? 

To be honest, I’ve studied coaches for a long time; at first it was to see if there were any hints I could pick up to make me better so when I got my opportunity, I’d be ready for whatever situation came along.  Although that experience never came, I continue to observe coaches to this day, probably out of sheer force of habit, and have not, to this day, seen what coaching hard means.  On a local level, if I were forced to describe someone who coaches hard, I would have to say Fresno City College’s Ed Madec, the men’s basketball coach there, would be a prime example, especially if it means “imposing your will on your team,” because he does that as well as anybody I’ve ever seen.  Quite possibly it’s because he doesn’t have high caliber talent, but still manages to squeeze every drop out of the guys he has.  However, I tend to think if he coached the Celtics, he’d coach the same way - although maybe not for long.  Does that mean coaching hard only works on some levels?  Or do different guys just happen to have different styles?

As far as the players yelling at the coach, some coaches handled it quite differently than others.  Al McGuire, the legendary head coach (and color commentator), actually encouraged players to yell at him.  This was undoubtedly due to his upbringing as a tough Irish New Yorker who felt if you had a problem with him, let’s settle it - by rolling up the ol’ sleeves and getting it on.  The story, people who knew Al swear it’s not apocryphal, about the time Al challenged one of his players to a fight under the bleachers and the two of them duked it out.  After it ended, Al had no hard feelings, respected the kid and was ready to get on with whatever was next up on the practice plan (except Al never had a practice plan, just coached by gut feel).  That day, his gut told him the best way to get his message across was to fight his own player.  How can anyone argue with that logic?

Bob Knight was asked by his cohorts at ESPN about the Boldin-Haley incident and he more or less blew it off.  He said the media was making entirely too much out of it and it ought to be a non-issue.  The winningest men’s Divsion I coach of all-time continued, “I didn’t mind if a kid yelled at me - as long as he was right.”  My guess would be that, throughout Knight’s coaching career there were a number of players who, at the time, he felt were right.  And that number would be zero. 

To others in the business, “coaching hard” might mean working hard, e.g. staying a little later to break down one more game video to see if there’s anything you missed - on the first six games you charted.  Or maybe it meant “paying closer attention to details.”  I’ve heard coaches say, “We’ve gotten away from it,” meaning they slacked off on what had made them successful in the past.

One method of coaching (whether it’s hard or soft I don’t know) which is used by some very successful coaches (and I imagine by some not so successful ones), is something players absolutely hate, and that’s speaking to the individual players on the team through the media.  Two championship winning coaches have been accused of that on numerous occasions, but make up for it in other areas, because I simply don’t believe it’s a proper way to communicate.  Those two coaches are Pat Riley and Phil Jackson. 

Players have long complained about Riles saying, “We’re a team and what goes on here stays here.”  Then, players read the papers or are confronted by journalists who say, “Pat said this, do you think he was referring to you?” (which he obviously was to anyone who had seen the previous game).  Players disliked it when Jackson would use similar psychological tactics, mainly because Phil was the master motivator and he had so many other inspirational tools he could have used.  Then, again, many of the players who complained used the exact same tactic.

Hard or soft?  Which works?  In coaching, one thing every coach learns in due time (some not before it’s too late and they’re no longer employed), is be yourself.  As far as the arguing, consider the fact (and it takes a hell of a man - and coach to admit this) you might be wrong.  In that case, take a page out of Dr. David Burns’ book:

“Never give up your right to be wrong, because then you will lose the ability to learn new things and move forward with your life.” Â