Been Busy

It's hard to believe this much time has passed since the last post. I suppose it's been a bit busy, though ... after all, building a program from scratch isn't the easiest task in the world. There has been a whirlwind of activity the last few months: I've hooped with great NBA writers, conversed to Jay Bilas about the state of college basketball, heard Jerry West and Bill Russell talk about greatness, listened to Tom Izzo's passionate beliefs about rebounding, seen Kobe "do work" up close at Staples, and spoken with people all around the world about the vision for Caltech basketball ... the latter, of course, having everything to do with the other items. In fact, a colleague of mine, Dr. Justin Anderson, pointed out this article from Harvard Business Review, a useful reference about the importance of interactions and how individuals feed off each other in group situations. Not only can the notions be applied to forming a team, but also creating a culture of excellence and, on an even grander scale, constructing a philosophy for coaching or teaching. Our staff is always busy, attempting to maximize our resources, think creatively, communicate the new vision with as many people as possible, and establish a meaningful environment in every way imaginable. Take a look inside the program.

A Mindset Creates a Coach's Meal

There is a certain mindset that works in the bevy of coaches and psychologists -- makeshift or not -- who preach mental tactics to athletes and subscribe to the significant role of teacher within the ever encompassing position as sport leader. In a role that entails much more than where to sketch an X or etch an O, implore a halftime adjustment, or suggest a substitution, it is but a rudimentary and substantial stack of ingredients that produces the major meal.

The resulting entree is the win. Yet the contents that create it are surely not easy to find.

Chemistry, communication, and cognitive-behavioral cooking. Three of the C's in a course of physical science, social understanding, and psychological cuisine, all meticulously tossed into a bowl that (hopefully) becomes a sought after artifact.

In the 2009 NBA finals, handiwork is at its peak.

Eric Neel is on point when he writes about Laker master Phil Jackson:

I'm thinking this cat has stayed true to his school on this stuff, talking about energy, connectedness, intuition and not being a stranger to the moment as you've imagined it, from the jump, for two decades now. At what point do we stop thinking of him as the eccentric? Will 10 rings do the trick? At what point do we consider the possibility, in earnest, with nary a wink or a nod, that the guy might be on to something?

It takes something a bit extra to fulfill the feast, perhaps an all-too-important tweak in practice structure, a word-of-the-day suggestion, or even a smile and a "let's figure this one out together" tone that may separate the good from the great. A sea captain sees it all before the ship arrives. That which the eyes observe allow the brain to process. And vice versa.

Only the disgruntled and disillusioned fail to decipher the code of the visionary.

The so-called "stuff" that Neel refers to is a way of thinking, a philosophy of coaching, a manner in which players are dealt with as malleable beings, both blemished and brilliant. The yin and yang in Phil Jackson's coaching facility are constantly undergoing adaptations that, over time, manage to suggest the best is yet to come. He has transformed himself since the days as a Bulls assistant, from a wiry, sharp bladed elbow and mustache man, who once walked the Armory sidelines for the Patroons in Albany, into SoCals' shaman, a wise and old L.A. medicine man of sorts with but one empty championship ring digit -- and a knowledge of basketball and its complicated web of money and management that transcends those before him. He utilizes aspects of sociology and psychology to stress his values and to twist personalities into becoming one, like a rhythmic, sweet tasting candy cane that one was a mess of colors and flavors.

Be it a spliced film set to motivational music with scenes of Hollywood and hardwood, or an impromptu team trip for bonding purposes, or an exercise in visualization, he thinks the game. He sees the game. He feels the game.

He energizes it and it energizes him, though one could never interpret that by looking at him on the sidelines now, looking bemused, amused, or even apathetic at times. To Jackson, it's a game that reaches far beyond the painted lines of any basketball court and way outside the confines of any simple mind.

What remains fruitful is his unabashed way in which he will yell at a player, challenge a veteran, or simply state that his experienced star -- the one who most likely will not play for another coach and seems to coach more than the master himself -- shot it too many times and forced the issue.

It is often stated that players win games while coaches lose them. Players bury the buckets. They steal the show.

Coaches may lose games. Too often, though, they have already lost the players...and long before tip-off.

Jackson may drop another contest. But he will gain much more in the end. His players will thank him. He will embrace his megastar. His fingers will finally be full. And just maybe, as master chef, he will gain a few more believers.

What's the Point?

Well, at this point in the 2009 NBA playoff race, the point position seems to be point production -- otherwise known as scoring at an unprecedented consistency. Through Friday, a dozen players listed as point guards in the league (via espn.com) were averaging 14.7 points or more, with Tony Parker leading the way at a 28.6 clip. It makes no difference that Parker and the next three at the top (Andre Miller, Deron Williams, and Derrick Rose) are now out of the postseason -- the point is, and has been, making more noise in the playoff scoring column than ever before.

The next point guards on the list are Chauncey Billups and Rajon Rondo. Billups is the mature and effective leader of the erratically entertaining Denver Nuggets, and the player behind coach George Karl's understanding that this particular homegrown point means more to his team than anyone. Rondo, of course, is arguably the most critical point in the league now, as he pushes his defending champion Boston Celtics with energy, versatility, will and weekly triple-double digits.

Rondo is averaging 18.3 while Billups is a shade higher at 19.6.

So what? Well, the last point guard to average an exact 19.6 points throughout the playoffs was Jason Kidd. That was in 2002. And he led ALL point guards in scoring that year. Guess how many other points averaged more than 14.7 ppg in Kidd's calling?

Two. The previously mentioned Parker with 15.5, and Darrell Armstrong with 15.3.

Since 2002, at least five point guards have scored at least 14.3 ppg each year in the playoffs, with an average of just under seven players hitting that rate each postseason. Stephon Marbury led the way in 2003 and 2004, with more than a 21 point mean in each of those years, while Steve Nash took over the top spot in 2005 with just under 24 points per contest. Nash was ahead of seven other points during that period, all who scored more than 16 a night. Marbury's mark of 22 ppg in 2003 began a 20+ point production streak by the PG leader. Gilbert Arenas scored a ludicrous 34 a game in 2006 -- albeit in just a few games -- almost double the leading PG in 2001 (Damon Stoudamire)!

2008 saw eight point guards in the high scoring column again, leading to this year's revolutionary 12. The others in the current span are Mo Williams, Aaron Brooks, Rodney Stuckey, Mike Bibby, and Jason Terry. (Remember, these are players categorized as point guards -- they do not necessarily bring the ball up more often than some notable teammates, i.e. Williams on LeBron's Cavs or Terry on Kidd's and J.J. Barea's Mavs).

As I write, Aaron Brooks just dropped in points 28, 29, and 30 on the Lakers in his Houston Rockets' mothers' day romp.

So, with the three aforementioned point guards listed from 2002 and just three others the year prior above the 14.3 mark (Stoudamire, Sam Cassell, and Kidd), the point guard role has morphed into more than that of basic ball distributor, and it's happened at four times the rate. The game today is being led by plentiful point producers, or by lead guards, as some may now refer to them.

And why not? May as well put five out on the floor that can score; seeing how the game is now guard dominated with pace, penetration opportunities, and 3-point emphasis, it's no surprise. Further, the popularity and exposure of basketball at a young age, with year-round playing, AAU, and potentially ridiculous profits, has helped more prospects with guard-like physiques develop. Competition at the guard slot has produced a greater number of smaller and younger players that can flat out score and do everything else required of the extenstion-of-the-coach role.

Depending on who one talks to and what the situation is, Kobe, LeBron, and Dwyane Wade could be considered point guards in their specific offensive systems. The lesson from the pros: keep the ball in the hands of the scorer. If he is able to dribble the ball up the court under pressure, set-up, survey for open teammates, drive to the hole, pull up, and operate out of the pick-and-roll, it all makes sense.

As explained to me by one NBA executive, "Teams are terrified of turnovers, so do everything possible to limit passing."

Point pondered.

Study Time Creates Kobe Time

Sport psychologists are often called upon to help athletes improve levels of confidence. Specifically, consultants tend to work with a player's self-efficacy, or one's situational self-confidence. Self-efficacy refers to how an athlete feels about himself in certain circumstances, not necessarily his overall feeling in sport. For instance, a basketball player may be extremely confident driving to the hole, yet have lower efficacy on the perimeter (think Derrick Rose).

While trying to make a player more efficacious in situations, psych pros may employ various techniques, namely mastery experiences, performance accomplishments, verbal persuasion, emotional feedback, and, for the purpose of this post, vicarious experiences. Watching Kobe Bryant on Saturday, I couldn't help but think about his development, especially about his growth as a player while modeling (or vicariously improving) via Michael Jordan. Kobe has mentioned that he spent countless hours studying MJ. As a young player, he viewed Jordan's games, analyzed his moves, watched the way he interviewed, and more.

Kobe's performance this weekend only substantiated his study habits. After a dismal performance a couple of days before when he shot line drives, looked flat and fatigued, and didn't muster the showtime energy we are guilty of expecting nightly, Bryant came out fully fueled and focused (I guess the readers are correct in this site's latest poll). Elevating with a smooth stroke, eluding double-teams, and escaping Utah with a key win, Kobe seemed to become his powerful predecessor.

Many have commented on Kobe's striking way of looking like Mike on the court, in the air, even in the press room. But this day, he was him -- from the look in his eyes to the MJ patented fade-away to the intense smirk as it he was thinking, "You can't guard me." What really got me was the arm extension to complete a teammates' slap of a "five" as he strutted to the free throw line. The fluid movement that Michael made cool was eerily transplanted into Kobe's frame. My gosh, is that the old G-O-D in basketball shoes that Larry Bird reflected on after 1986's 63-point explosion, only reincarnated on the west coast?

It was as if Kobe prepared for the game by watching the famous Spike Lee "Double Nickel" staging at MSG or, better yet, threw in a DVD of one of Jordan's breathtaking takedowns of the Jazz in the late 90's. Was Bryant's mind ticking with images of a Mike-licking as he dribbled and sliced and soared and rebounded? Did he recall the long days of dutiful workouts and dreams of greatness as he zoned in on his uncontestable attack? It surely appeared that way, like he was re-creating moves from his mentor's days more than a decade ago. And with each point and masterful display of fundamentals -- yes, fundys combined with his athleticism are what allowed him to look so darn good, as in the ability to create space off a screen or refusal, to ball swing through in his triple-threat, to change direction with perfect footwork off the bounce -- he gained more efficacy, which, in turn, translated to global confidence and Lakerworld domination.

I wonder how Phil Jackson interprets it all...

A Case of the Game Face

Derrick Rose's display today was mesmerizing. His play helped brush his Bulls past the hometown Celtics in a game that featured great point guard possessions on each end. Not to be outdone by his champion seasoned opponent, Rajon Rondo, Derrick, quite literally, rose to the occasion in the first NBA playoff game of his career. And it was no doubt a notable one.

Perhaps more impressive than his 36 point, 11 assist effort and perfection from the free throw line was his demeanor. The announcers continued to comment on how calm he looked. It's no surprise. Those that have followed Derrick's impressive rookie campaign and his brief, and highly heralded college year at Memphis, know what he brings to the court -- dazzling quickness, extreme explosiveness, and a sometimes deceiving, high octane game.

In psychological terms, Rose's self-regulation capacity could be termed efficient and effective. The lay fan may infer his ability to stay in control from his "game face", the outwardly expression one notices on an athlete, especially in basketball where close-ups are as normal as a Bulls' pick and roll. No studies come to mind that substantiate what a more effective game face is, intriguing as it may be. Is it best remain mostly dead pan during the action? Do more elite athletes show limited emotion? Except for his one second of flailing frustration when he picked up his sixth foul, it was if Rose had been through the game a million times. Maybe he had in his mind? In fact, during one timeout when the players go and chill in their seats as the coaches convene on court to discuss adjustments, the rookie PG looked so tranquil that he could take a power nap.

In Rose's case, his calmness shows in interviews as well. Nancy Lieberman was only able to get a quick peek of his smile during her post-game interrogation, posing the question to Derrick whether he knew the legendary company he was in when it came to his stat-stuffing performance at the Garden. An honest "no" with some pearly whites, and it was right back to his all business-like appearance.

His outrageously excitable adversary, Kevin Garnett, unfortunately couldn't compete due to his nagging knee problem. In fact, KG's game face even for this game, one in which he wasn't able to come full force, was so intense that he wasn't able to parade on the bench in the second half. He felt he was a distraction to his teammates, as Lieberman reported in the third quarter. Though his peers wanted him by their side, he wasn't able to calm himself to a level where he could cheer and coach and support from the sideline. Huh... Maybe Bill Simmons' claim was accurate last year, inferring that the KG intensity was not an advantage, as it is something that cannot get any higher for fear of eruption -- nor lower itself to a controllable degree.

Imagine Derrick Rose playing with Kevin Garnett's emotional volume, writhing in facially wrinkled pain and blurting out swears to everyone, or nobody depending on one's interpretation, on every great play? From game face to event explosion.

What is best for performance? Whichever works, especially if it fits with the position, role, and personalities of the team. Both are entertaining. Both are effective. Though Rose's game face doesn't change, his gears sure do. KG rolls at one speed, over the typical limit in most cases. The only thing that could catch him this year was an actual part of himself. Darn. It would be tantalizing to see these two leaders, two game faces, go at it for an entire series.