| | | Editor's Note: When we got to work today, we found another e-mail from that bartending, skateboarding buddy of ours in California. We decided to pass it along again. A word of warning: always wear a helmet.
Chapter 29
... in which our hero outfoxes the NBA's wiliest coach
If there's one thing you probably never want to see in your life, it's Phil Jackson on in-line skates.
Which is like watching six hours of bad collision and wipeout videos in one
minute. Phil may be something special with his butt parked on a basketball
bench. But on wheels, he's one big rolling disaster.
He asked me to teach him. I'm not sure why, since I figured he's hated me
ever since that little thing I had with Jeanie Buss. But it turns out I
didn't have to worry about him killing me -- he respects me because she saw
something interesting in me. That's what makes Phil Jackson so mature. It's a
Zen thing.
That's why he could ask me to teach him how to skate. I can't teach him to
look good doing it, but I can impart tips on staying upright, which is phase
one.
And I can skate alongside him all the way down to Playa Vista carrying a
pitcher of Margaritas Especiales, which I tell people is just a regular
Margarita with a pinch of NBA sweat mopped off the court from under the
basket. The whole while, I'm thinking to myself, this is pretty amazing, here
I am, it's sunset, we're blading by the ocean, I'm coaching the world
champion coach.
I have to try staying not too close to Phil, though, because you can never
tell when he's going to start swinging those mile-long arms of his and maybe
knock the pitcher of Margaritas out of your hand or break your nose.
The playoff finals haven't even started. But by the way Phil stare into the
sunset with that level gaze after licking the Margarita off his lips when we
stop at the beach near his house, you know there isn't a doubt who's going to
win. The Lakers are going to win. Shaq is going to win. Kobe is going to win.
And Phil Jackson is going to win.
|  | | Phil Jackson before the blades. |
"This is it, Wheeler," Phil says, looking out to the sea, which is full of
sailboats leaning with the wind.
Yeah, it beats an elbow in the sternum, I have to admit.
"No," Phil says, and he gives me this little smile for misunderstanding him.
"I mean, four more games and it's over for me. I'm quitting. I'm finished."
He knows that's Ted Koppel-type news for a lot of people. Except for me.
Jeanie used to tell me he talked about quitting all the time after this year
was done.
"What else is there, Wheeler?" he says. "I've taken the great force of a big
man, O'Neal, who lacked a winning ingredient, and performed a Michelangelo
job on Kobe and fused them. There is nowhere beyond here for my path to go."
"How about politics, Coach?" I say. I tell him I think he'd make an excellent
Governor or Senator. I tell him maybe his old friend from the NBA, Bill
Bradley, will run for President again, and if he already is in the Senate, he
can join the ticket. If the country is ready for a Jew or a woman to be a
vice president, it is probably ready to be led by two ex-Knicks.
"I've been studying my I Ching about it," Phil says.
Still, I tell him, a lot of people won't be able to get used to not seeing
him on a basketball bench.
"I wonder if your Lakers could beat the Kareem-Magic Lakers?" I ask Phil. I
ask him, because this is the single most debated topic of discussion among
the patrons at Lore's, much more than whether or not Los Angeles has any
electricity and every heart pump, stop light, air conditioner and dialysis
machine in California comes to a halt.
"Ah, Wheeler -- Kareem would not be able to stop Shaq," he says. "Kobe would
penetrate around Magic, draw out Kareem and dish. Magic would post-up Kobe, I
admit. But we would win. With this year's Kobe, definitely."
Phil finishes his drink and sighs. I tell him that Magic Johnson was in
Lore's last week, getting drunk as a skunk and feeling pretty lousy about how
much Kobe is making people forget him.
"Kobe is bigger than that," he says. "I have made Kobe into the new Michael
Jordan."
I tell Phil that Charles Barkley also came through Lore's and swore that
Michael was definitely coming back to the Wizards next year (see Chapter 28).
And wouldn't it be interesting to see the old Jordan next season matched up
against Kobe's new Jordan.
"That will definitely get Michael's juices flowing," Phil says.
His lips are suddenly pressing together, as if he is just savoring the last
tastes of his drink. Or maybe he has begun thinking. He is looking out at the
purple and green ribbons of cloud that flow around the sinking sun.
"The first game back will be something," Phil mutters.
"MJ will do everything he can to shut Kobe down," I say. "That'll be the
biggest game of the year. I bet he does it."
"You think so?" Phil says.
I tell him that Vince McMahon couldn't write a better script than to have MJ
and Kobe dueling each other for Best in Show next year. "The league's going
to be on fire."
Suddenly, Phil looks away from the ocean. He hops back onto the path and
starts pumping those long arms back and forth. Like giant windshield wipers.
He's going all of one mile an hour, but he's moving as if he was going 60.
"Where to, Coach?" I say, trying not to get so close I can be accidentally
knocked out if he takes a spill.
"It's not quitting time yet," he says over his shoulder. "Not if Michael's
coming back."
I think I just out-coached The Coach.
Next week: In Chapter 30, in which our hero salvages Kobe's honeymoon.
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