DOCTOR DOLITTLE
Legendary coach was miscast as an overmatched executive
THE DAY Phil Jackson was hired to run the Knicks, as folks jumped over each other trying to ring hosannas for the deal — and, full admission, I was at the front of that line — I got a call from someone who’d worked in the NBA a long time. He understood why James Dolan had hired Jackson, even agreed it was a move the Knicks’ owner probably had to make. “But let me ask you a question,” he said. “Let’s say you happen to know the greatest dentist in the world. This guy has shown for years that he can perform magic in orthodontia. People come from all over the world to see this guy, and he fixes their teeth every time. “Now answer me this: If you were in cardiac arrest, would you want this guy to fix your heart, too? They’re both called ‘doctor.’ But they’re two entirely different jobs.” I only used that analogy about 75,000 times the past three-plus years, as it slowly, and then rapidly, became apparent Jackson was taking a curious — and then ruinous — approach building the Knicks. And believe me, it wasn’t always easy to do, thanks to the presence of what Michael Kay so astutely calls “Phil Truthers.” This was the faction of Knicks fan — really, of Phil fan — who opted to believe the words of Jackson should be printed in red ink, the way old versions of the bible used to highlight the quotes of Jesus. Who believed the interpretations of selectively-chosen mouthpieces like Jackson’s old Woodstock running mate, Charley Rosen, should be viewed as the work of a secular Talmudic scholar. Usually, those retorts went something like this: “He’s won 11 rings! How many have you won?” The answer to that question: if we’re keeping score as president and general manager of a pro basketball team, and not the coach of one, then Jackson has just as many as I have, just as many as you have, just as many as that rabid core of Knicks Nation that faithfully turned its lonely eyes to Jackson on St. Patrick’s Day 2014 and welcomed him home, eager to believe just allowing Jackson’s aura in the building was the same as having him on the bench.
From the start, it was clear that wasn’t the same thing, that what the Knicks really needed was an expert cardiac surgeon, that in hiring Jackson they were hiring the best orthodontist in the world instead, and asking him to perform a quintuple bypass. The shingle out front might have said “Basketball Boss,” same as before. But they are two entirely different jobs. Now, a few days before free agency, Dolan pulls the plug on the final two years of this Phil-ibuster and not a moment too soon. Not that the Knicks are in any kind of position to tempt any free agent of note anyway, but that’s one more reminder of the abject failure of Jackson’s time here: not only didn’t he sign any first-rate free agents, he could almost never even get a meeting with any of them.
He did do a splendid job outbidding himself for Joakim Noah. So there’s that.
The Truthers will point their slings and arrows at Kristaps Porzingis now, accuse the 21-year-old of helping to kick a 71-year-old legend to the curb, and it bears repeating one more time that Porzingis should have honored his exit interview. Still, what that act of defiance did was shine a light on the Knicks’ inner workings and infrastructure, exposing chaos that had only been hinted at.
And revealed a basic, untenable truth: Phil Jackson always believed, from the moment he got the keys to the corporate washroom, that there was room for but one star in this solar system: him. He would insist on his beloved triangle, at the cost of all reason and ration. He would pick fights with his best players, and for kicks with the best players on other clubs.
Maybe Carmelo Anthony’s time here won’t be remembered by fans as idyllically as Walt Frazier’s, or even John Starks’. But he does have a 54-win season and a playoff victory on his résumé. His record with the Knicks was 141-117 before Jackson, 80-166 with him. Draw your own conclusions from those numbers.
Now, of course, Dolan has an opportunity. He continues to insist he has divorced himself from the day-to-day basketball operation, that what he wants is to find someone in whom he can entrust the basketball prong of his sporting empire the way he once entrusted Glen Sather, and now Jeff Gorton, with the hockey half.
This is beyond imperative. The last time the Knicks truly hit a huge score in hiring a basketball chief was more than 26 years ago, March 1991, when they plucked Dave Checketts out of the league office. Checketts was smart enough to hire Pat Riley, tough enough to withstand a decade of fullblown New York City hype and hysteria at a time when the Knicks were the town’s No. 1 sporting obsession.
Dolan’s arrival, emergence and distinct difference in leadership style meant that partnership was doomed from the start. It is no coincidence the Knicks’ descent to darkness more or less coincides with Checkett’s departure on May 14, 2001. Since then, the closest thing to corporate competence was Donnie Walsh’s brief three-year stint. That, too, ended amid a haze of speculation that Dolan’s meddling drove Walsh batty, specifically his insistence on acquiring Anthony in 2011, at all costs.
Dolan insists — has insisted — he’s learned his lesson. If he does target someone like Raptors president Masai Ujiri, or a basketball-first lifer in Ujiri’s image, it will go a long way toward solidifying confidence in that pledge. He may never have an opportunity quite like this again because another epic Jacksonian-level fail may leave the basketball operation in irretrievable tatters.
Which is pretty close to where Jackson has left it, despite his mouthpiece’s bizarre claim Wednesday that the New York media had it out for Jackson since 1999 when Checketts tried to hire him to replace our mascot, Jeff Van Gundy.
Rosen used to be a writer with chops (“Scandals of ’51” is essential reading) but he’s now the kind of pathetic yes-man Jackson hoped to surround himself with here, starting with his boss, Dolan.
On Wednesday, Dolan planted himself firmly in the dissenting camp and struck a blow for common sense by amputating the most damaging aspect of his operation. Now he needs a surgeon to transplant hope where despair has festered for 17 years. He’d best not hire a dentist for the job.