Road Less Traveled

How Phil Jackson became the NBA’s most successful coach in history.

And so forth. Clearly, the arcane language of the triangle offense can be difficult to comprehend. Jackson describes the system more simply in another paragraph:

“The basic idea is to orchestrate the flow of movement in order to lure the defense off-balance and thereby create undefended spaces on the court. The system gets its name from one of its most common patterns of movement: the sideline triangle.”

The offense took time. Invariably, the Bulls would become bewildered or frustrated, and Jackson would have to slow down. Luckily the Zen Master (as he had come to be known) was nothing if not patient. Over time the triangle began to click, and even Michael Jordan, the virtuoso performer, bought in to the offense when he realized it would help him win a championship (six, as it turned out).

As the Bulls improved Jackson continued to tinker. The triangle worked, but it was constantly evolving, modernizing, reacting to the defenses that had been designed to stop it. The system required composure; if a player over-thought the triangle, if he tried to do too much, the offense would be broken. To encourage mindfulness on the court, Jackson taught his players the art of meditation. They learned to calm their thoughts, tune out their doubts and fears. They visualized success – making the right pass, hitting the jumper, snagging the rebound. Some of the players enjoyed the process; others, like Jordan, never really got the point.

Jackson had other methods, too. He remembered the Lakota lessons, the words of the tribal elders. They had struck a chord.

“It struck me that the Lakota way could serve as a paradigm for the Bulls because there were so many parallels between the warrior’s journey and life in the NBA,” he writes. “A basketball team is like a band of warriors, a secret society with rites of initiation, a strict code of honor, and a sacred quest – the drive for the championship trophy.”

He told stories of the Lakota. He decorated the team room with Native American totems and talismans. The Bulls formed a warrior identity, with Jackson, ever wise and almost shaman-like, preaching love and loyalty and sacrifice.

Using Zen, meditation, Native American precepts and the triangle offense, Jackson turned Chicago in to a champion. And when he took over the Lakers, he incorporated this same unique methodology.

—

Players, colleagues and journalists have often struggled to understand Jackson. He can be difficult to fathom; he’s idiosyncratic, coy with the media, and he has a habit of closing practices (something he learned from Red Holzman). A story about Jackson is never simple – there are just too many layers, too many forks in his road.

He does strange things. How many coaches give their players personally-selected books to read? How many refuse to call timeout, even when things aren’t going as planned? How many can just sit there, stone-faced, remarkably self-possessed, as the game comes unhinged?

There are very few like him in this world.

He’s been described as a nonconformist – a hippie-rebel who’s often clashed with more conservative authority, who is, without a doubt, the iconoclast of his profession. And yet he wins, time and time again. He has reached the pinnacle of the sport. He has transcended his sport.

And now comes the inevitable talk of legacy, and what it all means. What is Jackson’s place in the pantheon of coaching legends? Best ever? No one can argue with his 11 championship. But there are those who would delegitimize his accomplishments, saying he was lucky to have coached the greatest player of all time, Michael Jordan, and arguably the best player in the world at this moment, Kobe Bryant. Some would say, unfairly or not, that any coach could’ve won multiple championships with Jordan or Kobe leading the way (not to mention Shaq).

These are certainly valid points. But as anyone who’s played or coached basketball will understand, the team with the best player is not always the best team on the court. Jackson’s real legacy, then, is not entirely quantifiable. Yes, he’ll be remembered for his countless victories and myriad titles, but also for the manner in which he coaches.

He is the master scientist – an expert in the alchemy of basketball.

—

And so Phil Jackson has come to Flathead Lake. He has returned to Montana, once again, as a reigning champion.

It was recently announced that Jackson will coach the Lakers next year. He will try for an unprecedented fourth three-peat. Not surprisingly, he will be paid handsomely for his efforts. One week after bringing home the title, he had made up his mind to come back.

You drive north toward Kalispell and Glacier, leaving Flathead Lake behind. The mountains are still with you, glowing a hazy purple in the east, but now the rain is falling, cascading down you windshield like a tropical waterfall.

You think about Jackson, his life and legacy. You think about Montana. And you realize, now, that there are many trails to greatness, and you never know where the long road will lead you.

The sun is out again, shining brightly on the rain-soaked pavement. Out here, even a man like Phil Jackson can find some small measure of peace.