http://www.nola.com/hornets/t-p/index.ssf?/base/sports-1/1084775159276960.xml WHO'S IN CHARGE? Monday, May 17, 2004 By William Kalec Staff writer In today's NBA, head coaches may hold a position of authority but if they can't keep their star players happy, quite often they pay the ultimate price. The miseducation of Chuck Daly didn't become evident until the eventual Hall of Fame coach was 48 years old -- by then well-versed in Xs and Os -- and working as a new assistant for Billy Cunningham's Philadelphia 76ers. Star player Julius Erving motioned with his hand for Daly to take a seat. Caught off-guard by Erving's informal approach but no more than three weeks acclimated to the NBA, Daly sat down and listened. "I'll never forget this, he said, 'Do you know where everybody likes to shoot the ball?' " Daly remarked, suggesting if he didn't, he better soon, or risk permanent residence in Dr. J's doghouse. Welcome to the NBA, where players don't necessarily run the show but hardly are understudies when franchise-altering choices are at hand. Naively thinking basketball was basketball, regardless of the level, Daly couldn't believe his ears. If one of his players at Penn, Daly's previous stop before jumping to the pros, uttered anything close to Erving's question, such outspokenness would be treated with a spot on the bench for the brash player. You'll shoot when and where Daly told you to. His word was final, all-powerful. But apparently, Daly had to assume, the NBA didn't work in a similar manner. As he grew to understand, a coach's supreme strategic mind is nearly useless without possessing equal or greater people skills -- an ability to corral and mesh different well-paid personalities, sometimes with conflicting agendas driven by inflated egos, into a cohesive unit. "That was a big learning curve for me," Daly said. "Maybe I was a little slow, but that was a big learning curve. "I said in a book many, many years ago that every player wants 48 minutes, wants to shoot the ball 48 times and make $48 million. The only thing that's changed is the money. So, you have to learn how to deal with that." In Daly's case, it took time -- a multiyear process of trial and error, pushing one button after another. But in today's NBA, that feeling-out process is no longer an option as impatience in management has resulted in a nauseating 24 coaches being thrown from the profession's tilt-a-whirl since the Hornets moved from Charlotte, N.C., to New Orleans in 2002. Perhaps most unsettling is the lack of correlation between wins and longevity as several organizations have rewarded success with a "see ya later." "The landscape of basketball administration -- GM, head coaches -- has changed so much, and the economics of the game have changed so much," Milwaukee Bucks coach Terry Porter said. "It's obviously easier to get rid of the coach as opposed to trying to get rid of two or three guys tha*! Winning isn't enough Byron Scott led the New Jersey Nets to their first NBA Finals appearance in 2002 and then turned the trick again last season only to be fired in January, a month after Jason Kidd berated the entire coaching staff in the aftermath of a 47-point loss to the Memphis Grizzlies. Tim Floyd, Paul Silas' replacement, led the Hornets to a higher seed than the previous season only to get the ax. And Denver coach Jeff Bzdelik is walking around on thin ice in cement shoes among media reports that the Nuggets' brass is considering a change at the top. Under Bzdelik's watch, the dormant franchise returned to the postseason nine years after its last playoff showing but did so only after a public falling out between the coach and star rookie Carmelo Anthony, who refused to re-enter the game during a blowout regular-season loss. As Daly's anecdote suggests, the blurred authoritative line between those on the sideline and those on the court hardly is a new occurrence, but he said management's decision-making process in the midst of team turmoil has to be affected by the overwhelming discrepancy in salary between marquee players and seemingly disposable coaches. "In the history of basketball, there have always been players on every team who feel they are not being used properly," said Pepperdine coach Paul Westphal, who was fired as coach of the Seattle Supersonics in 2000, a week after he and guard Gary Payton had a verbal spat. "The trend in the past is that the player will be told, 'Hey, make it work.' Now they might be able to find someone to listen to the complaint. Whether it's through agents or media or the owners, they have an audience to air their grievances. "If a player can get rid of the coach, then there are a few of them that will do that," Westphal said later. "Back when I played, if you had been with an organization for some time, there would be a respectful relationship with management. Your thoughts would be considered, but we certainly did not have veto power." The tittering stability of the job (no current coach in the Eastern Conference has directed their team for more than an entire season) leaves those in the profession forced to adapt to the fragile nature of player-coach relations. Porter, 41, believes his NBA resumeꀭ- 17 years in the league as a player -- enables him to connect with his players, affording them the comfort of knowing the perceived person in charge is aware of the fatigue and frustrations associated with an 82-game schedule. "It's tough to be a stubborn guy," Porter said. "For a my-way-or-the-highway coach you have to be a Phil Jackson, a guy that's been around. To be a brand-new guy and do that, it may work, but in the long run the players are going to turn off to that style. They might feel how they play the pick and roll, or a post player is better than what you're telling them to do. You have to listen to that." Walking a fine line While that approach seems foolproof, inevitably there always are instances where coach and player differ, leaving the person holding the clipboard the dilemma of standing his ground even though it could erode the relationship and have paycheck-related implications. Or if he folds to the demands of the superstar player he risks the rest of the team questioning the coach's credibility and influence. "If a guy throws three or four bad passes, sub him out, tell the truth, 'Those were bad passes,' " said John MacLeod, a 700-win head coach and current assistant with the Nuggets. "Tell him it's not permanent, and it's not personal. It's an upfront approach. No B.S. That's what coaches do, and you have to hope the player respects that. You have to establish a philosophy and make the players accept it." Perfect. Ideal. Except for one thing: Like Daly said, it takes time. More than the one-year mail slot of opportunity allotted. Again, this is nothing new. Daly's first head coaching job in Cleveland lasted 93 days -- an otherwise forgettable number he somehow still recites from memory. Recognizing the futileness of the situation that ended with Daly coaching the Cavaliers to a 9-32 record, he never bothered to rent or buy a house, opting to stay at a motel throughout his tenure. The Pistons picked up the unemployed coach, signing Daly to a two-year contract with a one-year option. He survived two mediocre seasons, largely in part to his healthy relationship with mover-and-shaker Isiah Thomas, allowing Daly to mold a team and maintain a sense of stability, which ultimately led to consecutive NBA titles. Looking back, Daly credits the front office's patience for the eventual success -- a lost art in a league he said is too enamored with instant gratification. "There is a philosophy that coaches are expendable," Westphal said. "But in my opinion the best franchises have been able to select a coach and stick with him. The franchises flailing around are the ones making a lot of changes, and there appear to be a lot of flailers today. "I don't think that every time players become unhappy someone has to go." . . . . . . . William Kalec can be reached at [email protected] or (504) 826-3405. --

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