The Golden Age of Basketball

Chapter 840 Team
I have said it repeatedly: no coach should stay in one position for more than three years.

If you exceed this time, you'll become outdated, and the team members won't listen to you as attentively.

Therefore, I had already decided that I would not renew my three-year contract with Portland after it expired, and instead resign as head coach.

Someone asked me what if I don't win the championship within three years? Or what if I win the championship and don't want to leave?
I don't think any of this will affect my decision. Whether I win the championship or not, I will leave.

Of course, this doesn't mean I don't love the Trail Blazers team or don't want to play and fight alongside them.

On the contrary, in the short time I spent with them, I realized what a great team they were; they were united and cared about winning.

The team has over a dozen players, and every single one of them cares about the team, keeps victory in mind, and always puts the team's interests first on the court. This is very rare in the NBA.

As you know, this is a selfish alliance, and it's getting more and more selfish. Selflessness is like an outdated quality. When people say you're "selfless," it's not like a compliment, but more like saying, "He's a fucking idiot, but I can't say it outright, so I'm just giving him the label of selflessness."

If one or two players on a team don't care about winning or are selfish, things can get really bad.

As a head coach, you need to assess the players' form, because they are constantly changing.

They're in a good mood today, so they're all getting along well, passing the ball around non-stop, and playing beautifully.

Tomorrow, something might trigger a bad mood, and I might end up becoming a lone wolf.

Does this make you think NBA players are like immature kids in elementary school?

That's right, that's how they are. Don't assume that just because they're tall and big and make a lot of money, they're mature and stable.

Many of these kids are not as well-behaved and sensible as elementary school students. They are mostly spoiled and have unpredictable moods due to their developmental issues.

When I was with the Celtics, the person I could never understand was Tini Archibald.

He's a great player, but he's a weirdo, and you never know what might happen with him.

When Tini is in a good mood, the team performs well from training to games, but when he's in a bad mood and becomes uncontrollable on the field, things go very badly.

Everyone has their own way of judging the condition and situation of these athletes, and I have always trusted my intuition.

When Danny Ainge was working in Phoenix, he hired a guy who supposedly could judge what kind of person you were and what kind of emotions and states you were in by observing your facial micro-expressions and connecting with your brainwaves.

These observations can then be used to determine your position and role within the team.

Danny was very interested in this and believed in it. In the summer of 1997, he took the opportunity to tell me about it and introduced me to the person, saying it would be helpful for my coaching.

I sat there listening, thinking, "This guy must be fucking insane."

Then I started mocking him, saying that his move was no better than Forrest Gump shouting "God bless you" before the fight.

Danny stared at me intently for a while, then said, "Larry, from my observation, you are a sensitive and nervous person with high personality traits. Many serial killers have the same characteristics as you."

I said, "That's right, Danny. I should kill you because of what you said."

When I first joined the Trail Blazers in 1996, there was a psychiatrist on the team, Dr. Bruce Ogilvy.

He has been working for the Portland Trail Blazers since 1980, almost 20 years now.

He has always been responsible for conducting psychological tests on players, judging from different dimensions whether a player has leadership qualities and how strong their desire and thirst for championships are.

It's said that he later proved that Dr. Jack Ramsey had a mental illness... Anyway, I don't believe in that stuff. I think if I had just a month, I could figure out what kind of players I had, so why bother with tests?

Do you think you can change him after the test? Or terminate the contract with him?
I'm not questioning the doctor's academic ability. His test report for Forrest Gump is still in the team's history museum. He was a genius who scored full marks in all 13 dimensions and was a natural leader.

However, I believe in intuition, in the emotional communication and daily interactions between people, rather than in scales and statistics.

I don't want to elaborate on Forrest Gump's excellence and greatness as a leader; there are already too many praises for him. He wasn't perfect, but he was strong enough, which gave him a divine quality.

I do not praise the gods in this book, but only depict people.

The Trail Blazers are a selfless team that helps each other, encouraging and supporting one another.

For example, Chris Mullin's arrival was nothing short of a miraculous rebirth.

He left Golden State, where everything had fallen apart, and here he wanted to succeed, as did his teammates.

At the start of the 1997-1998 season, he performed far better than the previous season, and for a long time he was the team's engine.

We all know he struggles with alcoholism. Throughout the season, Mullin only drank once, after a 41-game winning streak, because it was for Agan's treat.

Besides that, he didn't drink any alcohol. He restrained himself and dedicated himself entirely to the court.

We played together at the 1992 Olympics, when he was at his peak, a fantastic striker and passer.

In the 97-98 season, I saw glimpses of his peak form, which surprised me. I asked him how he did it.

He said, "That's exactly the question I was going to ask you. How did I do it?"

I wanted to tell him that this is the power that a team gives to an individual.

Along with Mullin, Blake also arrived in the trade, and he earned the respect of the team and fans with his defense and fighting spirit.

In the 1997 Western Conference Finals, we were outplayed by John Stockton in what was a career-best series, and our backcourt defense collapsed.

With Terry Porter no longer able to provide high-quality defense and aggressive fast-paced offense, Blaylock's arrival was crucial.

In Atlanta, he had to shoulder a lot of offensive responsibility, but in Portland, he could focus on defense and put on his best defensive performance ever.

His contributions are often overlooked. As a point guard, he is the most reliable player on the court, and he rarely makes mistakes, which is the most important thing for the Trail Blazers.

Blaylock is always there for the team in crucial moments, consistently hitting key three-pointers or making crucial defensive plays to contribute to the victory.

He understands my thoughts and immediately conveys the coach's intentions to the team, which is a fundamental skill for a point guard, and he is very trustworthy in this respect.

In the 1997-1998 season, a great regular season, Blaylock's performance became increasingly outstanding in the middle and later stages of the season, especially after the All-Star Game.

As the team's offensive pace quickens, our offense gallops across the court like a wild horse, and point guard Blaylock is an indispensable engine.

Although he was not often the organizer or initiator of attacks, he was a good finisher and an important strike force.

Of course, the one who truly brought about a qualitative change to our team was Arvydas Sabonis, who returned to Portland. He is my favorite player in Portland, without a doubt.

He was amazing in many ways—so tall, yet so agile; such huge hands, yet such delicate wrists.

Moreover, he has an extremely high tolerance for injuries, which is the same as me, and I understand and admire him very much.

His legs and knees were riddled with problems, and he was in pain all season. He didn't have to go back to the NBA, but there's no doubt he was bewitched by the siren.

I admire him a lot; he played many games despite being injured.

Even the smallest things, like stepping on a towel, can cause his feet to hurt.

The situation is worse than it appears to outsiders; he has suffered too many injuries in the past, and the situation in Europe has eased somewhat.

But he is getting older after all. In Europe, he doesn't have to play a single game; he just doesn't expend as much energy as he would otherwise.

I only gave him 4 minutes of playing time in the All-Star game. I asked him if he minded, and he said a little, 4 minutes was too much.

Sabonis is so important to us, or rather, so important to Forrest Gump. It is because of him that Forrest Gump can freely play the role he likes.

He is Forrest Gump's shadow warrior, an important shadow under the sun.

However, injuries have been bothering him, so I asked him if he would like to meet my friend Dan Derek.

Dan helped me with my back pain, and Sabonis is willing to try anything.

Before the playoffs, he took some time to fly to Boston and spend a few days with Dan, who immediately began treating his ankle and knee.

He used joint mobilization, a deep massage that is usually painful, to break down scar tissue and restore the vitality of joints, muscles, and ligaments.

After several treatments, I could see that Sabonis's condition was improving. I knew that without Sabonis, the Trail Blazers would lose a part of their soul; with him, everything would be different. It's said that Sabonis had a very fiery temper in his youth, and his massive frame was like a truck capable of knocking over any NBA giant.

But since his son was born, he has become much gentler. He is hardworking, plays even with injuries, and is no longer as fierce. This is the role our team needs.

At this point, we have to mention Isaiah Riddell, a complete scoundrel, a guy who used to be late, but who was almost never late again in the 97-98 season.

Believe me, any championship-caliber team needs this role. Even if a team is unstoppable in the regular season, there will always be moments in the playoffs when they need to be overly aggressive.

Just like in the 1984 NBA Finals, when the Celtics were playing against the Lakers, Kevin McHale knocked Rambis to the ground as he went for a layup, like a clothesline that had tipped over a boy on a bicycle.

Whenever people talk about the intensity of the playoffs, the TV stations play this clip. I've always believed Kevin didn't do it on purpose, but when he did, he turned the tide of the entire series.

The Lakers got scared; they didn't dare to engage in physical contact, and they lost the series.

Our team has the best fighter in league history. He took down the Detroiters, which I think is the greatest thing Forrest Gump did in his career, comparable to Mike Corleone taking down the four major families and clearing the sky.

But we can no longer let the team's core players take on such a job. Doing so in the current league carries a high risk; they could be ejected or suspended.

Therefore, as a coach, you need to find someone who will occasionally knock down your opponent if they try to make a layup.

Players don't like being knocked down; if you make a few of them fall to the ground, it will have a huge psychological impact.

I used to be the kind of person who was frequently hit by cars, which is why I've had so many surgeries.

Of all the people who hit me, the one I hated the most was Bill Laimbeer; he was a despicable guy.

He loves to make gestures after the whistle blows. For example, if he commits a pushing foul and the referee blows the whistle, he'll knee you from behind. When you turn around, you'll see his innocent eyes and outstretched hands.

So when Forrest Gump beat him up, I wasn't too happy.

We all made no secret of our loathing for Lambiel.

I remember one time, I had just boarded the team bus and the reporters were discussing the newly announced All-Star roster.

I asked one of them, "Was Lambiel selected?"

He said, "No, I wasn't selected this year."

I said, “Great, now I don’t have to worry about him getting in the car and saying ‘Good morning, Larry,’ and then I have to say ‘Fuck you, Bill.’”

In the 97-98 season, Riddell was the Blazers' doorman, taking on the role of the frontcourt defender and always rushing out to resolve disputes on the court.

Or he can knock down his opponent when necessary, preventing them from making an easy layup. Some of his offensive plays are also exciting; I love his two-handed dunks.

Of course, I admire Kobe Bryant's talent on the bench even more. He is truly versatile and has great potential, except for his temper and somewhat immature personality.

He is my ideal shooting guard, a genius who can reach Jordan's level.

I gave him a lot of time to hone his skills. From playing more than 20 minutes at the beginning of the season to becoming a semi-starter by the end of the season.

Sometimes, I prefer to put him in position two or three rather than Riddle or Mullin.

This kid has a big heart; it would be great if he could control his desire to perform.

But that wouldn't be Kobe Bryant, and he wouldn't be loved by so many fans.

Our bench is very talented and has great potential, which is different from other teams.

Jermaine O'Neal and Ben Wallace will both become star players in the future.

This is the secret to the Trail Blazers' enduring success: they always rise from the ashes.

The prerequisite is sufficient sunlight.

In the locker room, I often discuss with the players our careers and why we play.

I don't like to give players pep talks or lectures; that might work temporarily, but it will eventually be exposed.

But sometimes when we win too many games and get a little carried away, I still remind everyone: "Look around you. You have beautiful wives or girlfriends. You have luxury cars, live in mansions, and can travel the country in luxury planes. Think about these things, because in a few years or a decade or so you will retire and won't have this lifestyle anymore. Cherish all of this, cherish every game and every victory."

The veterans would nod, Kobe would say "I don't have a girlfriend," and Forrest Gump would say "Twenty years!"

Players always think they'll play for the rest of their lives, just like children and teenagers think their carefree days will last forever.

I know clearly what I possess, because I have lost things, and I have already walked halfway through my life.

Today's professional athletes seem to have forgotten how lucky they are. I know they have forgotten. They're used to staying in luxury hotels and traveling on business jets or limousines.

I've spent most of my career flying commercial airlines. Veterans like Forrest Gump and Porter understand this even better; they did the same in the 80s.

We had to get up early, rush to the airport, and sit in economy class with everyone else. Those seats were so small that they made my back hurt.

Back then, when we played away games, we usually stayed in budget hotels like Holiday Inn. Now? The Trail Blazers always stay in the most luxurious hotels, some of which belong to the team owner, Tom Hardy.

For a while, specifically after the All-Star Game, I felt that the players were a bit weak and lacked focus in the second half of the season. The 41-game winning streak made everyone think that the regular season was pretty much over.

At the time, I really wanted everyone to switch to regular commercial flights. This would prevent the players from showing up two minutes before takeoff, and sitting in economy class would make the players feel that they are not that important, just going on a business trip by plane, which would be good for the team.

Unfortunately, our boss provides a private jet, and there are many risks associated with taking commercial flights, so this wish cannot be fulfilled.

This resulted in us finishing the 97-98 regular season with a record of 77 wins and 5 losses, having lost five games in the second half of the season.

This record is beyond description; it's simply perfect. Yet, I still feel there are shortcomings. Perhaps I'm being too harsh.

Therefore, during the final week of the competition, I hope everyone can bring their children to the locker room to create a more relaxed and loving atmosphere.

When I was a player, the Celtics locker room was often filled with players' kids, including my son.

I love watching them frolic in the locker room; it's one of the best moments of their lives, part of their growth.

Forrest Gump's son was always the wildest one; he was the leader of the kids, leading everyone in running around and playing wildly, making a mess of the locker room, but everyone was happy.

After last year's playoffs ended, specifically after losing to the Utah Jazz, I suggested that we have a farewell dinner together.

I can't believe the Trail Blazers never had a farewell dinner before. Maybe they won too many championships, or maybe the tragedy of 1993 made it too painful.

In short, I insist that everyone have a farewell dinner at the end of each season, because it may be the last time you see someone in your life, and you may never see them again.

As the season ends, some people will retire, some will be traded, or they will sign with other companies.

I know it's hard for the players to accept, especially having a meal together after losing a game. Back in Boston, I didn't want to go to dinner every time we lost a series.

But whenever I think back on it, I feel that it was an important farewell. I'm glad I went, because you never know what will happen when the season ends.

In the summer of 1997, PJ Brown and Van Exel were traded, and Dudley went to New York.

Leagues are fleeting, and your career often ends before you even realize it's over.

Take Kevin McHale as an example—I worked with him for 12 years, and suddenly he disappeared from my life.

When you're playing basketball, it seems like there are thousands of things more important than basketball.

But when your career ends, you're left with nothing to do. You go from driving to the training ground, rushing to the airport, getting treatment, playing games... to having nothing to do.

At that point, you'd be willing to do anything to have dinner with your teammates.

At the end of the 97-98 regular season, I suggested that we have a farewell dinner after the playoffs.

But this time, we'll have a happy farewell dinner in June, with the Larry O'Brien Trophy by our side.

There's nothing better than being part of a team. Especially when you're winning.

—Excerpt from *Bird Watching*, published in 1999, co-authored by Larry Bird and Jackie Macmullan.

(End of this chapter)