ELEVEN RINGS Part 2

All I could do was laugh. Though mindfulness meditation has its roots in Buddhism, it's an easily accessible technique for quieting the restless mind and focusing attention on whatever is happening in the present moment. This is extremely useful for basketball players, who often have to make split-second decisions under enormous pressure. I also discovered that when I had the players sit in silence, breathing together in sync, it helped align them on a nonverbal level far more effectively than words. One breath equals one mind.

Another aspect of Buddhist teachings that has influenced me is the emphasis on openness and freedom. The Zen teacher Shunryu Suzuki likened the mind to a cow in a pasture. If you enclose the cow in a small yard, it will become nervous and frustrated and start eating the neighbor's gra.s.s. But if you give it a large pasture to roam around in, it will be more content and less likely to break loose. For me, this approach to mental discipline has been enormously refres.h.i.+ng, compared to the restricted way of thinking ingrained in me as a child.

I've also found that Suzuki's metaphor can be applied to managing a team. If you place too many restrictions on players, they'll spend an inordinate amount of time trying to buck the system. Like all of us, they need a certain degree of structure in their lives, but they also require enough lat.i.tude to express themselves creatively. Otherwise they'll start behaving like that penned-in cow.

7. THE KEY TO SUCCESS IS COMPa.s.sION

In his new adaptation of the Chinese sacred text Tao Te Ching, Stephen Mitch.e.l.l offers a provocative take on Lao-tzu's approach to leaders.h.i.+p:

I have just three things to teach:

simplicity, patience, compa.s.sion.

These three are the greatest treasures.

Simple in actions and thoughts,

you return to the source of being.

Patient with both friends and enemies,

you accord with the way things are.

Compa.s.sionate toward yourself,

you reconcile all beings in the world.

All of these "treasures" have been integral to my coaching, but compa.s.sion has been the most important. In the West we tend to think of compa.s.sion as a form of charity, but I share Lao-tzu's view that compa.s.sion for all beings-not least of all oneself-is the key to breaking down barriers among people.

Now, "compa.s.sion" is a word not often bandied about in locker rooms. But I've found that a few kind, thoughtful words can have a strong transformative effect on relations.h.i.+ps, even with the toughest men on the team.

Because I started as a player, I've always been able to empathize with young men facing the harsh realities of life in the NBA. Most players live in a state of constant anxiety, worrying about whether they're going to be hurt or humiliated, cut or traded, or, worst of all, make a foolish mistake that will haunt them for the rest of their lives. When I was with the Knicks, I was sidelined for more than a year with a debilitating back injury. That experience allowed me to talk with players I've coached from personal experience about how it feels when your body gives out and you have to ice every joint after a game, or even sit on the bench for an entire season.

Beyond that, I think it's essential for athletes to learn to open their hearts so that they can collaborate with one another in a meaningful way. When Michael returned to the Bulls in 1995 after a year and a half of playing minor-league baseball, he didn't know most of the players and he felt completely out of sync with the team. It wasn't until he got into a fight with Steve Kerr at practice that he realized he needed to get to know his teammates more intimately. He had to understand what made them tick, so that he could work with them more productively. That moment of awakening helped Michael become a compa.s.sionate leader and ultimately helped transform the team into one of the greatest of all time.

8. KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE SPIRIT, NOT ON THE SCOREBOARD

Management guru Stephen Covey tells this old j.a.panese tale about a samurai warrior and his three sons: The samurai wanted to teach his sons about the power of teamwork. So he gave each of them an arrow and asked them to break it. No problem. Each son did it easily. Then the samurai gave them a bundle of three arrows bound together and asked them to repeat the process. But none of them could. "That's your lesson," the samurai said. "If you three stick together, you will never be defeated."

This story reflects just how strong a team can be when each of its members surrenders his self-interest for the greater good. When a player isn't forcing a shot or trying to impose his personality on the team, his gifts as an athlete most fully manifest. Paradoxically, by playing within his natural abilities, he activates a higher potential for the team that transcends his own limitations and helps his teammates transcend theirs. When this happens, the whole begins to add up to more than the sum of its parts.

Example: We had a player on the Lakers who loved to chase down b.a.l.l.s on defense. If his mind was focused on scoring points at the other end of the floor instead of on making steals, he wouldn't be able to perform either task very well. But when he committed himself to playing defense, his teammates covered for him on the other end, because they knew intuitively what he was going to do. Then, all of a sudden, everybody was able to hit their rhythm, and good things began to happen.

Interestingly, the other players weren't consciously aware that they were antic.i.p.ating their teammate's behavior. It wasn't an out-of-body experience or anything like that. But somehow, mysteriously, they just sensed what was going to happen next and made their moves accordingly.

Most coaches get tied up in knots worrying about tactics, but I preferred to focus my attention on whether the players were moving together in a spirited way. Michael Jordan used to say that what he liked about my coaching style was how patient I remained during the final minutes of a game, much like his college coach, Dean Smith.

This wasn't an act. My confidence grew out of knowing that when the spirit was right and the players were attuned to one another, the game was likely to unfold in our favor.

9. SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO PULL OUT THE BIG STICK

In the strictest form of Zen, monitors roam the meditation hall, striking sleeping or listless meditators with a flat wooden stick, called a keisaku, to get them to pay attention. This is not intended as punishment. In fact, the keisaku is sometimes referred to as a "compa.s.sionate stick." The purpose of the blow is to reinvigorate the meditator and make him or her more awake in the moment.

I haven't wielded a keisaku stick in practice, though there were times when I wished I'd had one handy. Still, I've pulled out some other tricks to wake players up and raise their level of consciousness. Once I had the Bulls practice in silence; on another occasion I made them scrimmage with the lights out. I like to shake things up and keep the players guessing. Not because I want to make their lives miserable but because I want to prepare them for the inevitable chaos that occurs the minute they step onto a basketball court.

One of my favorite ploys was to divide the players into two lopsided teams for a scrimmage, then not call any fouls on the weaker of the two. I liked to see how the players on the stronger team would respond when all the calls were going against them and their opponents were running up 30-point leads. This scheme used to drive Michael nuts because he couldn't stand losing, even though he knew the game was rigged.

One of the players I came down especially hard on was Lakers forward Luke Walton. I sometimes played mind games with him so that he would know what it felt like to be stressed out under pressure. Once I put him through a particularly frustrating series of exercises, and I could tell by his reaction that I'd pushed him too far. Afterward I sat down with him and said, "I know you're thinking about becoming a coach someday. I think that's a good idea, but coaching isn't all fun and games. Sometimes no matter how nice a guy you are, you're going to have to be an a.s.shole. You can't be a coach if you need to be liked."

10. WHEN IN DOUBT, DO NOTHING

Basketball is an action sport, and most people involved in it are high-energy individuals who love to do something-anything-to solve problems. However, there are occasions when the best solution is to do absolutely nothing.

This is especially true when the media is involved. Reporters often made fun of me for not directly confronting my players when they acted immaturely or said something dumb in the press. The Los Angeles Times's T. J. Simers wrote a funny column once about my propensity for inactivity and concluded wryly that "no one does nothing better than Phil." I get the joke. But I've always been wary of a.s.serting my ego frivolously just to give reporters something to write about.

On a deeper level, I believe that focusing on something other than the business at hand can be the most effective way to solve complex problems. When the mind is allowed to relax, inspiration often follows. Research is beginning to prove the point. In a commentary on CNNMoney.com, Fortune senior writer Anne Fisher reported that scientists have begun to realize "that people may do their best thinking when they are not concentrating on work at all." She cites studies published in the journal Science by Dutch psychologists who concluded, "The unconscious mind is a terrific solver of complex problems when the conscious mind is busy elsewhere or, perhaps better yet, not overtaxed at all."

That's why I subscribe to the philosophy of the late Satchel Paige, who said, "Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits."

11. FORGET THE RING

I hate losing. I always have. When I was a kid, I was so compet.i.tive I frequently burst into tears and broke the board into pieces if one of my older brothers, Charles or Joe, trounced me in a game. They loved teasing me when I threw a sore loser's tantrum, which made me even more determined to win the next time. I'd practice and practice until I figured out a way to beat them and wipe the smug smiles off their faces.

Even as an adult, I've been known to act out on occasion. Once, after a particularly embarra.s.sing loss to Orlando in the playoffs, I shaved off most of my hair and stomped around the room for nearly an hour until the anger subsided.

And yet as a coach, I know that being fixated on winning (or more likely, not losing) is counterproductive, especially when it causes you to lose control of your emotions. What's more, obsessing about winning is a loser's game: The most we can hope for is to create the best possible conditions for success, then let go of the outcome. The ride is a lot more fun that way. Bill Russell, the Boston Celtics great who won more champions.h.i.+p rings as a player than anyone else (eleven), revealed in his memoir, Second Wind, that he sometimes secretly rooted for the opposing team during big games because if they were doing well, it meant he would have a more heightened experience.

Lao-tzu saw it another way. He believed that being too compet.i.tive could throw you out of whack spiritually:

The best athlete

wants his opponent at his best.

The best general

enters the mind of his enemy ...

All of them embody

the virtue of non-compet.i.tion.

Not that they don't love to compete,