You understand the appeal of a Big Guy. Big Guys come ready-made with their reputations and their models of past success, with their bold-faced names and their platinum resumes.
It doesn’t much matter that Phil Jackson became a Big Guy by coaching great teams and not necessarily by assembling them; he is a Big Guy, maybe the Biggest Guy, who helped Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant both achieve their championship manifest destinies, whose 11 rings speak loudly in any room, and will resound no matter what job title he carries.
And you have to figure Jackson noticed how the only other titan of his generation, Pat Riley, has added to his own pile of jewelry by twice (so far) winning as an executive. Maybe that doesn’t trump the inherent dysfunction at MSG that would hit Jackson in the face like humidity on a Mississippi morning, but it will be part if the appeal. Especially in New York, his playing alma mater.
Riley, of course, is the ultimate Big Guy model. Without Riley, we would be speaking of an entirely different drought at the Garden, one that would extend back to the heart of Watergate and not simply Y2K. Riley never did quite ascend to the mountaintop, but he edged the Knicks a step shy of the Summit. He also successfully re-recruited Patrick Ewing to stay here (not unlike the conversation Jackson would likely have with Carmelo Anthony), and he did the next-best thing to the Canyon of Heroes: He made sure the Knicks mattered again.
It’s what the Mets asked Frank Cashen to do once upon a time, after Cashen had helped build a powerhouse in Baltimore, and in his fourth year the Mets started winning again and in his sixth year they won a championship; a generation later, they went after Sandy Alderson, who had built a similar juggernaut in Oakland to establish his own Big Guy bonafides; this is Year Four for Alderson.
The Giants? After 15 years of lousy football, they were all but ordered by Pete Rozelle to find and hire a Big Guy to resurrect themselves, and in walked George Young, who filled the part both physically and metaphysically. The Jets? They also went the literal and practical route after bottoming out at 1-15 in 1996, hiring Bill Parcells to buy the groceries.
Big Guys work in the big city. But smart guys do too. The Devils hired a brilliant man named Lou Lamoriello from Providence in 1987 but couldn’t possibly have known they had identified one of the great executives in sports history; it just worked out that way. Gene Michael’s rep was a failed manager and loyal organizational guy until he quietly put the pieces in place for a remarkable Yankees Renaissance; now he’s viewed as a baseball horse whisperer. Rod Thorn was known as a smart league official who was smart enough to draft Michael Jordan when he fell in his lap in 1984; when he ran the Nets, he built near-championship-level teams.
The Knicks should woo Jackson. Of course they should. He is the biggest of the Big Guys. But failing that? There’s a Lamoriello out there somewhere, or a Thorn. You just have to be smart enough, or lucky enough, to find them.
Vac’s Whacks
All I know is, in Tampa, there were a lot of people who were pretty down in the mouth about letting Martin St. Louis go, so that has to tell you something, right? And good for us, getting to keep Marty Brodeur around for at least another month or two.
Let’s just keep John Travolta far, far away from Noah Syndergaard’s name, OK?
Two baseball books that will absorb you immediately. One is newly released — “Where Nobody Knows Your Name,” in which John Feinstein’s storytelling has never been sharper or more satisfying. And one is coming this week, “Pete Rose: an American Dilemma,” by Kostya Kennedy, a fascinating study of one of America’s most enduringly fascinating athletes. Masterful work, both of them.
Is Syracuse’s collapse on Melo, too?
Whack Back at Vac
Kevin Reilly: When it comes to the replay rule, I’m afraid baseball is changing a game I love to one I’ll merely watch once in a while. What would Earl Weaver do, turn his cap backwards so he wouldn’t hit the screen?
Vac: Those aren’t raindrops falling from the heavens. They’re Muggsy McGraw’s teardrops.
Chris Freeman: The Mets’ projected Opening Day payroll ranks them 24th, similar to the Padres, Rays, Twins, Pirates, etc. Given the cost of living here, it makes the Mets fan’s experience at the ballpark the least valuable in baseball.
Vac: Maybe that’ll get you 40 percent off at Shake Shack, Pat LaFrieda’s, or Mama’s of Corona?
@NickDeBabylon: Dr. Jobe discovered, invented, developed, and perfected the procedure named after Tommy John. It should be called “Frank Jobe Surgery.”
@MikeVacc: I’m pretty sure even Tommy John himself would be fine with that. And with the good doctor getting a plaque in Cooperstown someday soon.