Sports

New coach Jackson thrilled to finally have shot to preach the gospel of winning to NBA players

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(Action News)

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OAKLAND, Calif. — Five minutes before Mark Jackson was to conduct his initial rehearsal as a head coach at any level — excepting, ahem, a brief AAU fling — he sat in the Golden State Warriors’ locker room by himself and let his wired emotions guide him.

Jackson reached for his cell phone and called Lou Carnesecca. He told his groom for four varsity years at St. John’s he was about to go on the court for his first practice and thanked him “for the seeds you sowed in my life.”

Jackson said he forever would be indebted to Carnesecca “for how much I learned from you as a person and a player,” and wanted him to know “a piece of you is going out there on the floor with me.”

In classic Carnesecca style, the old coach offered Jackson some scholarly advice. “Don’t let your best player inbound the ball,” he said.

Jackson then called Rick Pitino, his coach as a Knicks rookie and presently Mark Jackson Jr.’s Louisville drill sergeant. Pitino instilled Jackson with so much confidence in that first NBA season, he had him believing he was as good as Magic Johnson. Jackson, the draft’s No. 18 pick, was so pumped he performed better than any NBA newcomer.

Pitino did not pick up. Jackson was glad.

“These calls were tough to make,” he said, clearly upset. It took a while to regain his composure. “The more God in me,” he said, “the more sensitive I become and the more I appreciate people in my life.”

Jackson left a “seeds you sowed” message for Pitino and called Jeff Van Gundy.

Van Gundy has long been an ardent advocate of Jackson’s intrinsic coaching ability, never concerned whatsoever about him lacking ceremonial experience. Their paths repeatedly have interlocked, twice with the Knicks, in Houston at the end of Jackson’s 17-year playing career, and as ABC/ESPN cohorts.

“Jeff helped me throughout every phase of the interviewing process,” Jackson said. “We’ve discussed countless coaching situations at breakfast, dinner, before games, after games, whenever. It was like iron sharpening iron.”

Van Gundy also did not pick up. A message paralleling Pitino’s was left for him as well.

With high noon 60 ticks away, Jackson called his wife, Desiree. She answered.

“I thanked her for being an incredible wife and mother,” Jackson said. “Thanked her for sacrificing her singing and acting careers. Thanked her for putting them on the back burner while her husband and father of our four children is away. I’ve got great kids. I can’t take credit for that. She’s there every day and I’m not. She is a great source of strength.”

Jackson asked Desiree to pray. At the close, he said, “with tears in my eyes, I grabbed my whistle and headed toward the floor.”

How come you didn’t call Pat Riley?

“I didn’t have his phone number,” Jackson said.

So, during halftime of an NBA Finals game last season, Jackson hunted down Padre Riles in the owners’ room and expressed gratitude for giving him a chance to win back his starting point guard job the year (1991-92) Riley joined the Knicks, and for his unsolicited support.

I have lost track of how many times over the last few years, as one NBA rejection notice after another piled up — Grizzlies, Knicks, Bulls, Suns, Hawks and Timberwolves — I heard Jackson prophetically proclaim, “You never know who can cost you a job or help you get one.”

Ordained minister or not, that perspective was a better reason than most for Jackson to submerge hurt feelings.

The Warriors are principally owned by Joe Lacob and Peter Guber. Lacob supervises the basketball side. Guber is the entertainment maharishi. This doesn’t mean they’re confined to their specialties. Viewpoints matter inside each margin, but neither had to sell the other on hiring Jackson.

Lacob, a renowned risk-taker responsible for 70-some start-up companies, has become pretty adept at recognizing unfeigned leaders. Yes, the three other top candidates had experience, but Jackson grabbed Lacob immediately with the way he spoke and acted and didn’t let go.

“If I pick well,” he said at Monday’s practice, “it makes me look good.”

What especially impressed Lacob about Jackson is how well he picked. Every great leader needs a great number two man and Jackson wanted accomplished assistant Mike Malone as his first lieutenant.

Two possible snags existed: Mike Brown had entrusted Malone with a lot of weight in Cleveland and wanted him alongside him in his new job with the Lakers. More important, Malone was a strong candidate for the Warriors’ vacancy and the last to be interviewed by Lacob.

Lacob, early into his conversation with Malone at a San Francisco restaurant, said, “Oh, my God, this guy is fantastic. I was all ready to go with Mark, but right then and there I decided I had to have them both. I didn’t care what it costs.”

Not only is Malone the league’s highest paid assistant, at $750,000, but also Lacob promised he wouldn’t hold him back from getting a head coaching job when the guaranteed opportunity presented itself.

“Mark made me like him even more for continuing to want Malone knowing how much I value him,” Lacob said. “Clearly, they’re not co-coaches. Mike works for Mark. Both have tremendous attitudes.”

Three things clinched Jackson’s appointment for Guber: Two phone calls, one from Riley, and a spur-of-the-moment roundup of 9- and 10-year-olds for a basketball tournament.

“Pat Riley and I are friends. I know he wouldn’t scam me,” Guber said during a phone interview earlier this week. “He called and told me Mark would be terrific, a worthwhile choice, that he’s a natural coach.”

The other call was from Don Cronson, who negotiated Jackson’s first two contracts. He and Guber were Syracuse classmates when John Mackey and Billy Hunter played football and Dave Bing and Jim Boeheim played basketball.

“It tells you a lot about Mark’s character that his ex-agent would reach out to let me know how much he thinks of him,” Guber underscored.

The other clincher happened in 2004, when Kenny Smith asked Jackson to put together a squad for an AAU Christmas Shootout he sponsored at the Spectrum Club in Valencia, Calif. Mark Jr. went to school and recruited nine friends, including boxer Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini’s son. Jackson had two days and an hour practice at night on a rain-soaked outdoor court surrounded by homeless people sleeping on the lawn.

Communication, not skills, was stressed. Talking to each other (“I got him low, if he goes around, switch.”) was key.

Shortly before the first game, Club officials notified Jackson’s rag-tag team his players couldn’t wear mismatched shorts and T-shirts. Hurriedly, tank tops — numbers put on the back with athletic tape — were purchased from the Club shop.

Then the fun began. Team play was a must, above all passing. The kids were so psyched to be playing for Jackson they heeded his advice with gusto. There were many times when they brought the ball up court with only passes, never dribbling, then shot and scored. And the Westside Blazers decisively defeated four elite California club teams.

On the early-June charter from Dallas to Oakland for Jackson’s introductory press conference, Guber handed his new coach an envelope and pronounced: “They say you never coached! They say you’re not qualified! They say you can’t win a championship!”

Inside the envelope was a team picture of the Blazers with everyone holding trophies. One of the kids was Luke, the son of David Zelon, the executive vice president of Mandalay Entertainment Group — Guber’s company.

“I knew about it when we were talking about the job, but I never told Mark until we were on the plane that day,” Guber said. “Three things command my attention, resources, resourcefulness and generosity. Mark had experience and intelligence to give to kids who didn’t have the capacity. He was not too proud to do it and proud of it.”

Jackson believes God had a good reason each time he was unsuccessful in his quest for a head coaching job. Look no further than his current first-class conditions, the sphere of control he has over his jurisdiction, the acceptance he gets from higher ups who allow the preacher to preach on their time and on his own, and the eagerness of ownership to provide anything it takes to turn around a team that since 1994 has advanced to the playoffs once, in 2007.

“Statistically, you have to work really hard to achieve that,” wryly noted Lacob, a Warriors season ticket holder for 20 years before his group bought out Chris Cohan for $450 million.

Admittedly, Jackson was disappointed by the repeated rebukes. But it’s not as if decision makers got to stand at attention and have medals pinned on their chests. Four of the six men who beat him out for other jobs were dumped within two seasons. Mike D’Antoni and Larry Drew are the exceptions, and it’s not as if they’re exactly entrenched with the Knicks and Hawks.

And then there are those extinct executives with the Sixers and Warriors — Ed Stefanski and Chris Mullin — who hired since-expired Eddie Jordan and Don Nelson without so much as a single coaching conversation with Jackson.

Jackson has shrugged off all of the above negativity.

“It just wasn’t meant to be,” he said. “Believe me, had I never coached a minute in my life, I would’ve been fine. The bible says, ‘From those who walk upright, I will not withhold any good things.’ ”

So far, the toughest part of coaching, said Jackson — an ordained minister since 1997, and co-pastor with Desiree of the Van Nuys (Calif.) True Love Worship Center International — was being unable to preach at last Sunday’s morning service.

At 11 a.m. on the dot, as practice was about to begin, Jackson stood in front of the players, and became so emotional, he had to turn away for a few seconds. Evoking the memory even made his voice crack.

“I told the players I think that much of them that I’m here and not there,” he related. “Any other Sunday, I’d be in front of my congregation. I believe in His calling and His purpose. I don’t think it’ll ever be easy. It’s just a sacrifice that has to be made. God needs me to impact as many people as I can.”

Often Jackson’s multicultural, non-denominational church is blessed by a praying luminary. Two Sundays ago, Stevie Wonder unobtrusively found space in the back. As the service was about to end, a companion escorted Wonder to the front. He asked permission to sing. For the next 5-7 minutes, the multitude tried to keep its fervor down to a riotous roar, as “Falling In Love with Jesus” reverberated for blocks.

Late last Sunday afternoon, Jackson caught a flight to Los Angeles to be with his family and to attend night service. Early the next morning, he returned to Oakland.

“Some people might say, ‘How can you coach? You’re not there all the time,’ ” Jackson said. “Does it really matter? I could’ve gone to eat at an Oakland restaurant or gone to a local church. Someone recently texted me and wanted to know how I could be a coach and a pastor. My reply was I can be 100-percent coach, pastor, father, husband, brother and friend. I have 300 people who I’ve impacted the last 2 ¹/₂ years. They genuinely love me. And they didn’t even know me before that.”

It’s now the Warriors turn. They’re quickly getting to know the TV personality who takes great pride in being “the funniest guy in the room” and an “expert on every sport.” Jackson is genuinely convinced he could be a national announcer or professional coach in any sport.

“It’s special to be around someone with such strong conviction and commitment to their faith,” the Warriors’ David Lee said. “Mark’s positive vibe is remarkable. He’s consistently able to get a point across without uselessly using anger. He does not go overboard. He does not curse. And I seriously feel bad when I do. Out of respect, I am trying to stop.”

Concurrently, Lee is attempting to remedy his dirty lowdown defensive ways. His single-effort reputation precedes him on the fast break. At the outset of camp, some within the organization solemnly swore Lee’s $66M, 5-year obligation should be amnestied. Those same people are now singing his double-effort praises. He has become the defensive unit’s lead vocalist, constantly calling out screens and encouragement.

“Last year we had a million excuses,” Lee said. “This year Mark branded us a ‘no-excuse team.’ ”

Ninety percent of practices have been dedicated toward establishing a seriated identity; trespassers in the paint are being prosecuted.

“Mark doesn’t want to hear any excuses,” Lee said. “Just get it done.”

On the first day of camp, Monta Ellis made an outstanding defensive play. Jackson abruptly stopped the scrimmage

“Monta Ellis!” he boomed. “People say you can’t play defense, but I just saw you make the right play. Now we know you can play defense. I know you love to be challenged. I know you got the pride to keep it up.”

Most coaches don’t like to play rookies. Jackson was sure right away Klay Thompson, this year’s No. 11 pick out of Washington State, is going to get a run. When Mychal Thompson’s second oldest son flicks his wrist you’re shocked if it doesn’t go in.

“Before [Thompson] was allowed to practice with the team I went to watch him shoot one night. That sealed the deal,” Jackson said. “I asked if he thinks he can play with these guys. He looked at me like, ‘Are you serious!’ I think he wanted to tell me off. I told him, ‘I’m glad you did that. I wanted to sure I was right.’ ”

Three seasons ago, Andris Biedrins averaged 11.9 points and 11.2 rebounds for the Warriors. You don’t stumble into those numbers. They’ve got to be earned. Since then, injuries and a comprehensive confidence collapse, floodlighted by a traumatizing 14-of-56 result from the free-throw line over a 2-year span, reduced his contribution and self-esteem to rubble. But the seven-year veteran from Latvia is still 7-feet tall and a mere 25 years old.

Jackson told Biedrins: “We’re throwing the past out the window. I’m not even going to hold it against you that you were the lone player who didn’t return my phone call. We’re throwing that out the window, too. I’m only going to ask you to do the things you can do. I want you to rebound, block shots and finish at the rim. Do those things and I don’t care if you miss some free throws.”

Most teams conclude practice with a series of sprints. Then the coach picks a player to shoot two free throws. If he misses, the team runs back-and-forth twice. Make them, and call it a day.

On Tuesday, Ellis missed and the Warriors ran. Then Lou Amundson misfired and the team again ran. Biedrins was told to step to the line. The pressure was on.

“He probably thought I was trying to embarrass him,” Jackson said. “But I wanted to show I believed in him.”

Biedrins sank them both. A madcap celebration ensued, high-fives and midair chest-bumping everywhere. Teammates jumped all over him.

“Something good was born,” assistant coach Pete Myers said.

That brings us to today’s go-away questions: How good can the Warriors be?

Months ago, thinking a consequential free-agent center could be swayed to convert, Jackson stamped Golden State a playoff team. Instead of Tyson Chandler or DeAndre Jordan, however, the dragnet hauled in Kwame Brown, conclusively overpaid at $7 million per season. But, at least the one thing he does best — forcibly defending the post — the Warriors crave most.

To be kind, the Warriors’ middlemen are mediocre on a good night. Backup point guard Ish Smith might be here today, gone later today. And they need a starting small forward better than Dorell Wright. An offer of Andre Iguodala for Monta Ellis was rebuffed. And who wants to sacrifice Ellis for Rudy Gay’s $68-million, 4-year contract monstrosity?

Can pride and effort compensate for shortcomings, I asked Jackson?

“I’m living proof,” he said. “I was the slowest point guard in NBA history. To this day, I can’t bench [press] more than 135 pounds or do 10 textbook pushups. God knows, I’m not athletic. I never ate well and never stretched.

“What is somebody gonna say, ‘If you had done all those things you would’ve played 17 years in the NBA and finished third on the all-time assist list behind John Stockton and Jason Kidd ?’

“I worked my tail off and believed — and overcame ‘lack’ ”

peter.vecsey@nypost.com