One of these years, Phil Jackson probably will return to the NBA and guide another team to another title. Then, maybe he will let his beard down and throw rocks at the Bulls franchise he left the other day on his motorcycle, holding his crash helmet high.
But until then, Jackson’s departure shall rank among the most dignified in the sloppy and sorry sports history of Chicago, where coaches and managers routinely depart amid a backdrop of hiss and vinegar.
Mike Ditka, a legend, sobbed and quoted Shakespeare upon his dismissal by the Bears. Billy Reay got a pink slip under his door on Christmas Eve from the Blackhawks, whose shameful act was widely ridiculed, though Reay held his tongue.
Perhaps the most acrimonious exit involved Herman Franks, who quit the Cubs a week before the 1979 season ended, but not before blasting many of his players as selfish whiners.
In particular, Franks vilified Bill Buckner, who was ready. Buckner returned the volley, labeling Franks “a big fat slob” who was better at grazing than managing. Instead of reporting to work every morning to prepare for that day’s game, Franks came to the ballpark early “to feed his face with our doughnuts,” according to Buckner.
Jackson has tossed a few barbs at Bulls Chairman Jerry Reinsdorf and General Manager Jerry Krause in the past, but generally, the Zen master took the high road. Reinsdorf’s offer that Jackson stay on occurred at the celebration party, after the coach had cleaned out his office.
But if Jackson thought the gesture insincere, or an attempt to exercise spin control, he went along with it. Jackson’s farewell statement mentioned that he had indeed been asked to remain and that his sabbatical was self-induced.
Similarly, Jackson’s agent, Todd Musburger, has refrained from inflammatory remarks. Musburger disputes the notion that Reinsdorf is a world-class businessman, citing that the chairman could have signed Michael Jordan for $18 million a couple of years ago. But Jordan became so annoyed at the ongoing soap opera that he demanded aggravation pay and wound up nailing Reinsdorf for $30 million.
Otherwise, though, Jackson’s evacuation was rather classy, and why not? He won as many championships here as George Halas, whose first and last Bears conquests were separated by 42 years. Reinsdorf correctly identified Jackson as one of the best coaches ever, pick a sport.
Especially in Chicago. The White Sox, for instance, have won only two World Series, and one of those really shouldn’t count, because it was against the Cubs. The Cubs, also having a tough century, have also won only two Series.
Jackson was secure enough in his ability to suppress his ego, whether it was Scottie Pippen and that 1.8-second playoff pout or Dennis Rodman goofing off on company time. A lesser man than Jackson would have felt compelled to exert his authority, but he chose the unconventional way. He knew who was in charge.
Jackson also knew who his boss was, and anybody who imagined that Reinsdorf would turn to mush and side with Jackson over Krause doesn’t get it. Krause is Reinsdorf’s guy; coaches are disposable. By confirming that tenet, Reinsdorf also served to remind all that Jordan is not running the team.
Jordan tells friends now that he’s leaning toward retirement. He has changed his mind before, but if it happens, Reinsdorf/Krause can embark on their mission–to win a championship without the greatest player ever.
Jackson’s response to that always was, “They’ll get their chance; what’s their hurry? Why push Michael out the door?” Slap shots like that never endeared Jackson to his superiors, but at least he dealt from strength.
A lot of coaches and managers in Chicago had opinions, but too few wound up with rings. I don’t know what Buckner had against doughnuts, but at least we were spared the gruesome sight of Herman Franks bolting town on a Harley. He was too angry and too heavy and would have been unsafe at any speed.
