There remains a faction of Knicks fans, a sizable one, that still believes the biggest contribution Phil Jackson could possibly make to the Knicks is to walk into a phone booth – assuming you can find a phone booth in Manhattan these days – and emerge wearing the cape and cowl of his alter-ego: Super Coach!
This is not only a fanciful vision, it’s wrong.
If the past few years in New York City have taught us anything, it is that the person calling the shots behind the curtain is the most important employee a sports franchise has among those who wear jackets and ties to work, rather than Nikes and Pumas and Under Armour. That applies to every team, every sport. It most especially applies to the Knicks, and to Phil Jackson, now. Especially now.
This can happen in a number of ways. Rod Thorn turned the Nets from calamity to contender by making one phone call 15 years ago, the one that sent Stephon Marbury to Phoenix and brought Jason Kidd to Jersey. Before he became by public acclamation the dullest tool in the GM shed, Jerry Reese once went a perfect 6-for-6 on his first draft day, and all that did was lead directly to a Super Bowl nine months later.
Sandy Alderson? He took his time. He took his shots. He had a plan, and he stuck to that plan, and in its fifth year it yielded a trip to the World Series for the Mets, has them in play to make a run to go back. Mike Maccagnan didn’t even make the playoffs his first year on the job with the Jets, but his maneuvers brought something even more valuable: confidence that the right man is in charge.
This is why the Knicks are even more reliant on Jackson now than they’ve ever been, more now than they were on the day two years ago when he was hired amid great fanfare to rescue and restore this muddied jewel, this franchise that still matters so much to New York City despite a virtually unimpeded run of 16 seasons of misery.
It is why the Knicks – and Knicks fans – have to swallow the occasional bouts of Twitter dysentery that spill from Jackson’s fingertips, why they have to believe he will overcome whatever homesickness he may have for Los Angeles and for his fiancee, why they have to believe he is all-in for the balance of his contract in spirit, regardless of what the language in the document may or may not say.
Because he is their best shot. He is their only shot. Whomever he hires to coach the team – triangle advocate or not, big name or small, a branch of his coaching tree or someone else’s – is secondary, even if by some physical miracle that list could include Coach Phil Jackson.
Because Phil Jackson, President, is the far bigger key.
This is familiar terrain for the Knicks, and to Knicks fans whose personal history extends back a decade or three. It may be easy to choose despair right now because things have gone so sideways in recent weeks, every day bringing a fresh body blow: a dismissed coach, a hobbled star, the new franchise foundation slamming into the rookie wall. And losses piling up like firewood.
Not even rose-colored glasses help much, not when there are so many teams clogging the pathway between here and competitiveness, let alone here and contention. But they’ve been here before. And nobody knows that better than Phil Jackson himself.
The easy narrative of how the Knicks dragged themselves up from lousy to legendary always revolves around Dec. 19, 1968, when they swapped Walt Bellamy and Howard Komives for Dave DeBusschere. What’s forgotten is how lukewarm that trade was received in the moment. Bellamy was a Hall of Fame player. Flailing teams don’t just give away Hall of Famers.
But the Knicks already had a cornerstone named Willis Reed. They had a half-dozen teams they had to leap-frog, and they weren’t getting there as they were. A move had to be made. It was the right one. You can read all about it in the 800 books that followed.
Twenty years later, the same thing happened: an All-Star center named Bill Cartwright was shipped away, but a bedrock force named Charles Oakley was brought in. Those Knicks never did kiss the sun. But there was already a cornerstone named Patrick Ewing in place. They had 10 or 12 teams they had to leap-frog. And, damn, did they ever get close.
Kristaps Porzingis is already here. Phil Jackson made that pick, and all that may have done is alter the course of the Knicks’ destiny forever. Jackson coaching him would satisfy the fantasies of some. But Jackson finding a way to build around him – that’s not only real, it’s the only way the Knicks will ever fix themselves. It isn’t always easy putting all of your faith in Jackson’s occasionally odd basket.
You have no choice. The Knicks have no choice. Now, more than ever, he has to be what Alderson is, what Lou Lamoriello always was, what Maccagnan may yet be: the most valuable employee of all, without coming anywhere close to the court.