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  DEDICATION

  For June and Barbara, without whose love and selflessness this book could never have been written

  In memory of Eddie Mast, a teammate and a soulmate

  EPIGRAPH

  The bull is the eternal principle of life, truth in action.

  —KAKUAN (12TH CENT.),

  In Nyogen Senzaki and Paul Reps,

  Zen Flesh, Zen Bones

  It is not the same to talk of bulls as to be in the bullring.

  —SPANISH PROVERB

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Sacred Hoops Revisited

  Foreword by Senator Bill Bradley

  Introduction

  One: The Second Coming

  Two: A Journey of a Thousand Miles Starts with One Breath

  Three: If You Meet the Buddha in the Lane, Feed Him the Ball

  Four: Experiments in the Cockroach Basketball League

  Five: Selflessness in Action

  Six: The Eye of Basketball

  Seven: Being Aware Is More Important than Being Smart

  Eight: Aggressiveness Without Anger

  Nine: The Invisible Leader

  Ten: Coaching Michelangelo

  Eleven: You Can’t Step in the Same River Twice

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Works

  Copyright

  SACRED HOOPS REVISITED

  This past December, back at the helm of the Lakers on a road trip to Orlando, Florida, I was sitting in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel waiting for our party to assemble to go out for dinner. A man walked through the lobby with a saxophone case in hand. I asked him if that sax was a tenor or a baritone. A baritone, he said, before heading to the bar.

  One minute later, he poked his head around the column I was sitting behind and asked if I wasn’t so and so. I said yes. He proceeded to tell me that he was a professor at the local college and played jazz in a group two times a week at the hotel. But the real reason he wanted to speak to me was that he wanted to thank me for writing Sacred Hoops. He professed that he wasn’t a sports fan, but had been using my book for his music classes to teach his students about teamwork and harmony. I felt very proud. The notion that there’s a way to motivate people through a variety of messages has resonated with people in all walks of life. It is a pleasure to have a chance to update you with this new edition, or to welcome you to your first experience reading this book.

  In the first edition of this book, I told readers about the CEO of the Chicago Bulls and the Chicago White Sox, who argued with me that people are motivated by two prime forces: greed and fear. I countered that they are motivated by their community and by love. I continued to use the principles espoused in the book through the years with the Bulls and the Lakers. As a result of our connectedness and mindfulness, we produced some wonderful results.

  The most remarkable story has to do with the Lakers’ most recent championship in 2003. During a very intense series in the Conference Finals against our in-state rival, the Sacramento Kings, we were down three games to two, but forced a seventh game by winning at home. Still, we faced a difficult challenge: Game 7 at their place, Arco Arena, the loudest arena in basketball. We had desperately wanted to secure homecourt advantage for this exact reason. We didn’t get it, and now had to pay the price.

  The game was on Sunday afternoon. A few hours earlier, the team met for brunch to go over game plans and video replays of the previous game. Usually the players straggle in before the appointed time and eat their pre-game meal, but are somewhat subdued due to the relatively early hour. On this morning, however, the players were anxious to begin our meditation. We went through it with a serenity that exuded a sense of peace, and we went on to play the game with tremendous focus. Ultimately, we prevailed in overtime because of that focus and mental strength. I was as proud as I’ve ever been of my players, convinced that what we were teaching extended far beyond basketball, by instilling the techniques and discipline that would enhance the rest of their lives.

  The subsequent year, we sustained some injuries, operations, and a changing of the guard that began a downward spiral t
hat led to the team’s breakup—and retirement. We had to revamp the team my final year, bringing in some older players. Unfortunately, for them and the franchise, they stepped into a family that was bickering, and didn’t know which side to join. This final year tested my philosophy like never before. We made it to the Finals, but lacked the kind of unity that had defined the Laker squads who won three straight titles.

  The season was marred by injuries and by Kobe Bryant’s trial proceedings, which seemed to keep us in the headlines. Kobe was a free agent and under great duress, yet managed to perform admirably. Personally, he and I struggled to get along. I wanted him to stop being the lone ranger and come into the group, as a leader, but he had his own problems to deal with. We stumbled to the All-Star break when the Lakers announced that my contract negotiations would be tabled until after the season. That gave me the freedom to talk to Kobe about strictly focusing on the current season.

  We had a great finish, and won the Western Conference Finals. After we lost in the Finals to Detroit, the breakup became official. Kobe was made the scapegoat, even though he eventually signed a long-term contract with the Lakers. Shaquille O’Neal was traded to Miami, Gary Payton sent to the Celtics, and Karl Malone retired without a ring. Rick Fox retired, while Derek Fisher signed as a free agent with Golden State. Suddenly, Kobe was the only star left. During that season I had kept a journal, which became the basis of a book, The Last Season. It became, though unintentionally, a blueprint for those who wanted to blame Kobe for everything that went wrong with the team. During my time in the South Pacific, the season had imploded for the Lakers. Rudy had resigned, and Frank Hamlin had been serving as an interim coach.

  In my year off, I made sure to do everything but get involved with basketball. I went abroad for eight weeks in January and February, but my relationship with Jeannie Buss made certain that I was still in the loop. When I returned from the South Pacific, the table was set for my return to basketball. There were a number of offers, including one from my original team, the New York Knicks. Among the suitors were the Lakers, and the unique possibility of returning to this particular job was so unusual that I had to weigh it before even considering the other offers. There was a chance to bring new hope for this storied franchise. Of course, it wouldn’t happen overnight, but there would always be a chance to win games whenever Kobe Bryant was on the floor. It was an opportunity to bring reunion, redemption, and renewal. I went for it.

  Fast-forward to Sunday, January 22, 2006, when the Lakers faced off against the Toronto Raptors, a young team with great offensive talent. As usual before a game, I had to face questions from reporters about how these young Lakers were dealing with playing at .500 … and how I was dealing with it. I kept pressing the message that we were learning how to play as a team. We were shelled the first half by the Raptors, who made more than 50% of their three-point attempts, shooting 60% from the field. In all, they scored 62 points. We had no answers.

  Things didn’t improve much in the third quarter. We came out flat, as they extended their lead to 18. Then, suddenly, Kobe exploded, dropping one three-pointer after another against the zone. By the end of the quarter, we had almost caught up to them. In the fourth, Kobe continued his torrid pace. With less than three minutes remaining, Kobe was fouled. With our lead at 12, I turned to Hamblin, my assistant coach. Maybe I should take him out, I told him, because the game was in the bag. Yes, the game was in the bag, he said, but if he made these free throws, he would have 77, and if I took him out, there would be a riot. What? I knew he had been on a roll, but I guess I didn’t realize that this was more than a roll. This was history!

  I waited until he’d scored his 80th and 81st points before, finally, taking him out. I gave him a big hug as he left the court. The funny thing is that this was one of the few scoring tears Kobe had gone on where I wasn’t anxious about making sure he didn’t keep it a one-man show. As a coach, you always strive for success of the team over any individual. But, on this night, it was Kobe who was responsible for the team’s success. Without his heroic performance, we would have lost. His outburst came in the context of the game. I trusted him, and he trusted me. This was a moment in a relationship that has certainly endured its share of turmoil.

  Still, this was only one game, and there would be many more in the weeks and months ahead. The lesson: “Unceasing change turns the wheel of life, and so reality is shown in all its many forms. Peaceful dwelling as change itself liberates all suffering sentient beings and brings them great joy.” I’m working through this saying attributed to The Buddha. It’s the “peaceful dwelling” that often gets to me as I squirm under the changes, rather than embracing them. This work-in-progress is a terrific challenge for me as I get a chance to allow players to develop at their own rates, to accept defeat with victory, and to allow the peaceful dwelling to bring great joy.

  —PHIL JACKSON

  FEBRUARY, 2006

  FOREWORD

  For two years on the road with the New York Knicks, I roomed with Phil Jackson. It was in this setting that I came to understand the depth, compassion, competitiveness, and strength of this tall man from North Dakota.

  Finely shaped by his parents’ religious experience, the vast openness of the upper plains, and a game he loved, Phil reached the ultimate, the NBA World Championship, five times—twice as a player and three times as a coach. His experience as a player, surrounded by the hype and attention afforded to athletes in New York City, prepared him for coaching the Bulls at a time when Chicago became the basketball capital of the world.

  People often ask me if I ever thought Phil Jackson would make a good coach. No question about it. The ingredients were there even in his playing days. He was always analytical in his assessment of players and the game. He was committed to learning, to teaching, and to acting on his insights. He understood that winning meant giving up something small for yourself so that the team could gain. Finally, he was astute enough to understand that in order to win, you needed a strategy both on the court and off.

  Here’s another comment I have heard: “Anybody can coach a team led by Michael Jordan to the World Championship.” This comment signifies both an unfamiliarity with Phil Jackson and with the game of basketball. Of course, it is true that Michael Jordan can do things on the court that no one else has ever approached. The Bulls, though, are a team, and not just one player. They won their three championships, without either a dominant center or an all-star point guard, because all of the players worked together toward the same goal, sacrificing themselves for the betterment of the team.

  Getting players to this level, though, was not easy. Phil’s most difficult obstacle to overcome was the relationship between Michael Jordan and the rest of his teammates. When Phil first took over the Bulls in 1989, many of his players had a tendency to stand around and admire Michael Jordan and his creativity, which limited their impact as a team. Phil changed that. He knew that a player is only one point on a five-pointed star. Oscar Robertson once told me that the really great player takes the worst player on his team and makes him good. Phil convinced Michael that that was the route to his true greatness and the only path to reaching the championship—the prize that surpasses individual stardom.

  As I watched the Chicago championship teams I could not help but be reminded of the Knicks of the early 1970s. Indeed, the similarities are striking—strong ball movement, tough defense, always finding the open man, and always seizing on opposing teams’ offensive or defensive weaknesses. In the transformation of the Bulls from championship contenders to champions, Phil emphasized foremost tough defense and passing skills. It was teamwork in its purest form, and it was vintage Knick basketball from the championship year.

  In Sacred Hoops, Spiritual Lessons of a Hardwood Warrior, Phil opens up his chest of secrets and shares them with his readers. As you read of Phil’s experiences in professional basketball, from New York City to Albany, Puerto Rico, and finally Chicago, I know you will find this book as entertaining and educa
tional as I did. Phil has learned his lessons well, from Red Holzman with the Knicks, Bill Fitch at the University of North Dakota, and from the memorable Zen Master. I’m sure when you finish reading this book, you’ll see that Phil Jackson does not fit any stereotypes. He’s a thinker, a compassionate man, a passionate man, and most important, a leader from whom there is much to learn.

  —SENATOR BILL BRADLEY

  INTRODUCTION

  This is a book about a vision and a dream. When I was named head coach of the Chicago Bulls in 1989, my dream was not just to win championships, but to do it in a way that wove together my two greatest passions: basketball and spiritual exploration.

  On the surface this may sound like a crazy idea, but intuitively I sensed that there was a link between spirit and sport. Besides, winning at any cost didn’t interest me. From my years as a member of the championship New York Knicks, I’d already learned that winning is ephemeral. Yes, victory is sweet, but it doesn’t necessarily make life any easier the next season or even the next day. After the cheering crowds disperse and the last bottle of champagne is drained, you have to return to the battlefield and start all over again.

  In basketball—as in life—true joy comes from being fully present in each and every moment, not just when things are going your way. Of course, it’s no accident that things are more likely to go your way when you stop worrying about whether you’re going to win or lose and focus your full attention on what’s happening right this moment. The day I took over the Bulls, I vowed to create an environment based on the principles of selflessness and compassion I’d learned as a Christian in my parents’ home; sitting on a cushion practicing Zen; and studying the teachings of the Lakota Sioux. I knew that the only way to win consistently was to give everybody—from the stars to the number 12 player on the bench—a vital role on the team, and inspire them to be acutely aware of what was happening, even when the spotlight was on somebody else. More than anything, I wanted to build a team that would blend individual talent with a heightened group consciousness. A team that could win big without becoming small in the process.