Eleven Rings: The Soul of Success

by Phil Jackson

  For me, the incident cracked open an old wound that had never fully healed. Several years earlier, when my daughter Brooke was in college, she had been the victim of an assault while on a date with a campus athlete. I had never felt entirely clear about my response. Brooke expected me to get angry and make her feel protected. Instead I suppressed my rage—as I’d been conditioned to do since childhood. In truth, there wasn’t much I could have done; the case was in the hands of the police, and meddling on my part would probably have done more harm than good. Still, burying my fury and maintaining a calm exterior didn’t give Brooke any comfort; it left her feeling vulnerable. (In the end, after filing a report with the police, Brooke chose not to press charges.)

  The Kobe incident triggered all my unprocessed anger and tainted my perception of him. I discussed my inner emotional wrestling match with Jeanie and was surprised by her pragmatic take on the situation. In her view, this was a legal battle, and Kobe was one of our star employees. We needed to provide him with the best support possible to help him fight this battle and win.

  To me, the way forward wasn’t so clear-cut. Although I knew it was my professional responsibility to help Kobe through this ordeal, it was hard for me to shake my anger because of what had happened to Brooke.

  My struggle to come to terms with my anger reminds me of an old Zen story: One rainy evening two monks were walking back to their monastery when they saw a beautiful woman who was having difficulty navigating the puddles in the road. The elder monk offered to help and carried her over the puddles to the other side of the road.

  Later that evening the younger monk approached the elder monk and said, “Sir, as monks we’re not supposed to touch women.”

  “Yes, brother,” replied the elder monk.

  “So then, sir, why did you lift that woman by the roadside?”

  The elder monk smiled and said, “I left her on the side of the road, but you are still carrying her.”

  Like the younger monk, I had a fixed idea in my head and it distorted my view of Kobe throughout the 2003–04 season. No matter what I did to extinguish it, the anger kept smoldering in the background. Which, unfortunately, set the tone for much of the weirdness that followed.

  —

  Of course, Kobe’s alleged crime and my reaction to it weren’t the only factors at play that year. When I returned to L.A. in September, there was a perfect storm brewing with the team. Not only did we have to deal with Kobe’s legal issues, but he was also due to become a free agent at the end of the season. This, in turn, would force Dr. Buss to make some tough decisions about the future of the organization. The early signs indicated that Kobe wanted to move to another team where he could be the main man and not have to compete with Shaq for that honor. The team he seemed most interested in was our local rival, the Clippers. Early in the season he made an awkward attempt to discuss his future with Clippers coach Mike Dunleavy—a violation of NBA rules. To his credit, Mike didn’t let the conversation get very far.

  Meanwhile Shaq wasn’t feeling the love. He came to training camp asking for a two-year, $60 million extension on his contract, due to run out in 2006. That would be a high price to pay for a star who was already beginning to lose some of his edge. Dr. Buss, who had always been generous with Shaq, balked at the price tag. So Shaq acted out as only Shaq could. During an exhibition game against the Golden State Warriors in Hawaii, he slammed down a dunk and shouted to Dr. Buss, who was sitting courtside, “Now you going to pay me?”

  Another aspect of the gathering storm was my contract, also scheduled to expire that year. Dr. Buss and I met before the season started to discuss the general outline of a deal and agreed to hammer out details later. Part of me wanted to take some time off from basketball to clear my head and focus on other interests. To a large degree, my decision would depend on the outcome of negotiations with Kobe and Shaq. If the Lakers had to make a choice between the two stars, I favored keeping Shaq because it would be easier to build a championship team around him than around Kobe. As the season progressed, however, it became clear that Dr. Buss didn’t share my view.

  Before the start of training camp, I met with Kobe and tried to get a read on how he was doing. He’d lost weight and appeared tired and gaunt. He’d also developed a hard edge that I hadn’t seen before. I assured him that I would make it as easy as possible for him to get through the season. When I asked Kobe how he was feeling, he was not especially forthcoming; his way of handling stress was to retreat inside. Toward the end of our conversation, however, he told me, with a determined look, that he wasn’t going to put up with Shaq’s bullshit anymore.

  He was serious. After Kobe’s shaky debut in a late exhibition game, Shaq suggested that Kobe needed to modify his game and rely more on his teammates until his leg got stronger. Kobe snapped back that Shaq should worry about his own position, not the guard spot. But Shaq wouldn’t let it go. “Just ask Karl and Gary why they came here,” he said. “One person. Not two. One. Period. So he’s right, I’m not telling him how to play his position. I’m telling him how to play team ball.” Shaq also said that if Kobe didn’t like him voicing his opinion, he could opt out next year because “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  A few days later Kobe hit back with a searing critique of Shaq’s leadership in an interview with Jim Gray on ESPN. If this was going to be Shaq’s team, Kobe said, he needed to set an example. That meant not coming to camp fat and out of shape and not blaming others for the team’s failures. “‘My team’ doesn’t mean only when we win,” Kobe said. “It means carrying the burden of defeat just as gracefully as you carry a championship trophy.” Kobe also said that if he decided to leave the Lakers at the end of the season, a major reason would be “Shaq’s childlike selfishness and jealousy.”

  Shaq was furious and told Mitch Kupchak that he was going to mess Kobe up the next time he saw him. So Mitch and I decided to separate Shaq and Kobe when they arrived at the training facility the following day to prevent one of them from doing something stupid. I took Shaq and Mitch took Kobe. Later when I spoke to Kobe, he revealed that what really angered him about Shaq was his decision to have toe surgery too close to the start of the previous season, which Kobe believed had put our chances of winning a fourth ring in jeopardy. I’d never heard Kobe mention that before.

  Fortunately, after the last round of heated exchanges, things quieted down for a while. It helped to have on the team veteran players like Karl and Gary who had little or no patience for this kind of juvenile one-upmanship. It also helped that we got off to a brilliant 19-5 start. Alas, our success was short lived. In December Karl injured his right knee in a home game against the Suns and was out for most of the season. We didn’t have a strong backup for Karl, and we went into a period of malaise until we rebounded late in the season.

  —

  My strategy of giving Kobe space didn’t seem to be working. The more liberty I gave him, the more belligerent he became. Much of his anger was directed at me. In the past Kobe had been passive-aggressive when he didn’t want to do something I asked of him. Now he was aggressive-aggressive. He made sarcastic cracks in practice and challenged my authority in front of the other players.

  I consulted a psychotherapist, who suggested that the best way to deal with someone like Kobe was to (1) dial back the criticism and give him a lot of positive feedback, (2) not do anything that might embarrass him in front of his peers, and (3) allow him to think that what I wanted him to do was his idea. I tried some of these tactics and they helped somewhat. But Kobe was in heavy-duty survival mode, and when the pressure became unbearable, his instinctive reaction was to lash out.

  I realized there wasn’t much I could do to change his behavior. But what I could do was change the way I reacted to his angry outbursts. This was an important lesson for me.

  Managing anger is every coach’s most difficult task. It requires a great deal of patience and finesse because the line between
the aggressive intensity needed to win games and destructive anger is often razor thin.

  In some Native American tribes, the elders used to identify the angriest braves in the village and teach them to transform their wild, uncontrolled energy into a source of creative power and strength. Those braves often became the most effective tribal leaders. That’s what I’ve tried to do with the young players on my teams.

  In Western culture we tend to view anger as a flaw that needs to be eliminated. That’s how I was raised. As devout Christians, my parents felt that anger was a sin and should be dispelled. But trying to eliminate anger never works. The more you try to suppress it, the more likely it is to erupt later in a more virulent form. A better approach is to become as intimate as possible with how anger works on your mind and body so that you can transform its underlying energy into something productive. As Buddhist scholar Robert Thurman writes, “Our goal surely is to conquer anger, but not to destroy the fire it has misappropriated. We will wield that fire with wisdom and turn it to creative ends.”

  In fact, two recent studies published in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology demonstrate a link between anger and creativity. In one study, researchers discovered that feelings of anger initially improved the participants’ ability to brainstorm creatively. In another study, the same researchers found that subjects who were prompted to feel angry generated more creative ideas than those who experienced sadness or a nonemotional state. The conclusion: Anger is an energizing emotion that enhances the sustained attention needed to solve problems and leads to more flexible “big picture” thinking.

  No question, anger focuses the mind. It’s an advance-warning system alerting us to threats to our well-being. When viewed this way, anger can be a powerful force for bringing about positive change. But it takes practice—and no small amount of courage—to be present with such uncomfortable feelings and yet not be swept away by them.

  My practice when anger arises is to sit with it in meditation. I simply observe it come and go, come and go. Slowly, incrementally, over time I’ve learned that if I can stay with the anger, which often manifests itself as anxiety, and resist my conditioned response to suppress it, the intensity of the feeling dissipates and I’m able to hear the wisdom it has to impart.

  Sitting with your anger doesn’t mean being passive. It means becoming more conscious and intimate with your inner experience so that you can act more mindfully and compassionately than is possible in the heat of the moment.

  This is hardly easy, but acting mindfully is key to building strong, trusting relationships, especially when you’re in a leadership role. Says Buddhist meditation teacher Sylvia Boorstein, “An unexpressed anger creates a breach in relationships that no amount of smiling can cross. It’s a secret. A lie. The compassionate response is one that keeps connections alive. It requires telling the truth. And telling the truth can be difficult, especially when the mind is stirred up by anger.”

  —

  From the moment of Kobe’s arrest, I had a lot of practice working with my anger that year, and Kobe was my main teacher. In late January he showed up at the training facility with a bandaged hand and announced that he’d have to miss that night’s game. It seems he’d accidentally put his hand through a glass window while moving boxes in his garage and required ten stitches in his index finger. I asked him to do some running during practice and he agreed but never did it. Afterward I asked him why he’d lied to me, and he said he was being sarcastic.

  I wasn’t laughing. What kind of adolescent game was this guy playing? Whatever it was, I didn’t want any part of it.

  After practice I went upstairs and told Mitch Kupchak we needed to talk about trading Kobe before the mid-February deadline. “I can’t coach Kobe,” I said. “He won’t listen to anyone. I can’t get through to him.” It was a futile appeal. Kobe was Dr. Buss’s wunderkind, and he was unlikely to trade him, even if it meant jeopardizing our shot at another ring.

  A few days later Dr. Buss, who worried that his young star might jump to another team, visited Kobe in Newport Beach and tried to persuade him to remain with the Lakers. Obviously, I wasn’t party to the meeting, but shortly thereafter, while we were riding on the team bus, Kobe told Derek Fisher, “Your man’s not coming back next year.” The “man” he was talking about was me.

  I felt completely blindsided. Clearly, Dr. Buss had shared information with Kobe about the team—and my future—before consulting me. It was a harsh blow, and Kobe seemed to be reveling in it. Deep down, this turn of events made me question whether I could trust Kobe or Dr. Buss.

  Later that day I called Mitch and told him I thought that he and Dr. Buss were making a big mistake. If they had to choose between Shaq and Kobe, I advised going with Shaq because Kobe was impossible to coach. And, I added, “You can take that to the owner.”

  A few days later my agent called to tell me that the Lakers were suspending contract negotiations with me. When the Lakers announced the news on February 11, reporters asked Kobe if my departure would affect his free-agency plans and he replied coldly, “I don’t care.” Shaq was stunned. He couldn’t fathom how after all we’d been through, Kobe could throw me under the bus. I asked Shaq to refrain from stirring things up. The last thing the team needed was another verbal shooting match between the two players.

  Jeanie was convinced that the Lakers were deliberately trying to undermine me, and she was probably right. Still, I found the announcement strangely liberating. Now I could focus on the task at hand—winning one more championship—without having to worry about the future. The die had been cast.

  —

  After the All-Star break, I met with Kobe to clear the air. Obviously, my laissez-faire approach with him had backfired and was having a negative effect on the team. Kobe had interpreted my efforts to give him a wide berth as indifference. So I decided to take another tack and work much more actively with him. My intention was to help him focus his attention on basketball so that the game would become a refuge for him in the way that it had been for Michael Jordan when he was being hounded by the media over his gambling problems.

  But the team was in a perilously fragile state. I asked Kobe to stop making divisive comments that confused the young players and threatened to divide the team even further. Now that the issue of my contract had been settled, I added, we were free to focus on this year alone and not worry about anything else. “You and I can work this out, right?” I asked him. He nodded. I knew this wasn’t the end of the friction between us. But it was a good beginning.

  The question of Kobe’s free agency was a dark cloud hanging over the team. Nobody knew which way he was going to turn. To complicate matters, he was away from the team a great deal, in both body and spirit. And when he was present, he seemed detached and often fell back on his old habit of trying to win games on his own. We hadn’t exactly gelled into “Dream Team IV” as some sportswriters had predicted early in the season.

  Kobe wasn’t our only problem. Gary Payton was having adjustment issues of his own. Gary was used to having the ball in his hands most of the time, but now he had to share it with several other ball-hungry players. And he was struggling to find his rhythm. As the point guard for the Sonics, he was used to attacking off the dribble and posting up smaller guards. Now he had to work within the triangle offense, which he felt stifled his ability to express himself creatively. Not only that, he’d lost a step or two on defense, which caused columnist Mark Heisler to joke that his nickname should be changed from “the Glove” to “the Pot Holder.”

  Still, soon after Karl Malone returned to the lineup in March, the team started to win again and went on an 11-0 streak. During that period I began to give Fish more playing time late in games because he had a better feel for the system than Payton. I also made Kobe the team’s floor general and put him in charge of directing the action.

  But the rift between Kobe and rest of the team was growing. Dur
ing the final week of the season, Kobe, who had never been shy about shooting, took just one shot in the first half of a game against Sacramento, allowing the Kings to take a 19-point lead and win handily. The media concluded that Kobe had intentionally tanked the game to improve his negotiating position with Dr. Buss. Kobe said he was just doing what the coaches had asked him to do—share the ball—but nobody bought it. One player, speaking anonymously, told the Los Angeles Times’s Tim Brown, “I don’t know how we can forgive him.”

  This led to an ugly scene at practice the next day. Kobe burst into the training facility in a rage and polled every player, one by one, trying to find out who was responsible for the quote. It was a wrenchingly painful episode.

  At the start of the season, one writer had called the Lakers “the greatest array of talent ever assembled on one team.” Now we were slumping into the playoffs in second place in the Western Conference and feeling as if we were coming apart at the seams. The injuries were mounting. Malone had sprained his right ankle, Devean George had strained his calf, Fish had pulled a muscle in his groin, and Fox was hampered by a dislocated right thumb.

  But the injuries weren’t the worst of it. Given all the distractions, my greatest concern was that the team had yet to find its identity. As Fish said, “This year just seems like nothing ever really got settled. Every time it seemed like we were kind of settling in and getting to know each other and playing good, something would happen that would take us back a couple steps. I think that was the biggest difference with this season. There was never really a point where we got comfortable as a team.”

  —

  It wasn’t until we fell behind 2–0 in the Western Conference semifinals against the San Antonio Spurs that we started to wake up. In game 3, at the Staples Center, we reverted to our standard winning formula—playing ironclad defense and feeding Shaq in the post—and overwhelmed the Spurs, 105–81. The next game featured a stunning performance by Kobe, who flew back from his arraignment in Colorado to score 42 points with 6 rebounds and 5 assists, leading the Lakers to a come-from-behind victory and a 2–2 tie in the series. Afterward an overjoyed Shaq dubbed Kobe “the best player ever”—including Michael Jordan. This wasn’t the first time Kobe had lifted the team after flying back from one of his court appearances in Colorado. But it was the most inspiring. Basketball, he said, was “kind of like a psychologist. It takes your mind away from so many things. So many things.”