Bob Knight resigns in the middle of the college season -- a major sin, according to his own biblical basketball teachings -- and is immediately portrayed as saint or sinner, basketball savant or self-absorbed overachiever, or by more reflective observers, as some combination thereof.The man is controversial. The man is a conundrum.Yet as his career and his behavior are dissected, the question that intrigues me most is the one that will forever remain unanswered: Why so angry all these years? Knight guided the Indiana Hoosiers to three NCAA championships (1976, 1981, 1987), coached the United States team to an Olympic gold medal (1984), won more regular-season games than any Division I coach, and by force of personality and prior deeds alone, generated at least a modicum of national interest these last six-plus years at Texas Tech. He won it all. He had it all. His preparation and attention to detail, coupled with his unwavering commitment to a motion offense and man-to-man defense, enabled him to repeatedly mold modestly talented rosters into highly productive collective units.He coached one Isiah Thomas. He coached Larry Bird for a few weeks. More often he achieved with the occasional Randy Wittmans and Mike Woodsons, and future coaches (Steve Alford, Keith Smart), physicians (Jerry Sloan's son, Brian) and numerous other productive members of society, the vast majority of whom left campus with degrees.Yet if Knight's pursuit of perfection and his often unreasonable demands contributed to his success, it undoubtedly also led to his chronic angst -- and certainly at Indiana -- his ultimate demise.Pat Riley years ago explained his coaching philosophy thusly: There is winning and there is misery. With Knight, there was misery and there was misery. Every game was an international conflict. Instead of embracing basketball as a ballet of rhythmic, acrobatic movements performed by the world's finest athletes, he was the overbearing supervisor on the overnight shift on the assembly line, his players mere widgets in his joyless power plays and freak shows.This is not to suggest that having an edge or presenting a formidable persona isn't beneficial in his chosen profession, but rather, that reasonable rules of behavior should apply to the head coach. In fact, few of the game's elite -- Riley, Jerry Sloan, Larry Brown, Mike Krzyzewski, Gregg Popovich -- would ever be characterized as warm and fuzzy types. But there are limits. They aren't tyrants."I think Bob Knight was a bully to a lot of little people, the office workers, the lesser players," said Sacramento Kings player personnel director Jerry Reynolds, an Indiana native and the coach at Vincennes Junior College during Knight's early years in Bloomington. "I have nothing but respect for him as a coach, although if I could send my kid to Dean Smith or Bob Knight, he's going to Dean Smith. (Knight) gives his players coaching, teaching, and discipline, but they should be treated better."The rap on Knight is that he raps more than a few knuckles. He will be remembered as much for his volatility as his remarkable winning percentage and graduation rates, and the fact that he ran a clean program in an increasingly sleazy profession. There is the chair-throwing incident, the assault on a police officer in Puerto Rico, the collaring of player Neil Reed during a 1997 practice. There were numerous other incidents, according to several Indiana players, some of whom still profess their loyalty to this day.One of the most revealing, if essentially harmless Knight stories pertains to his recruitment of Bird, the French Lick legend who accepted a scholarship to Indiana but withdrew after a few weeks."Larry was from a small town of 1,900," related Reynolds, a French Lick native who later convinced Bird to enroll at Indiana State. "He was a little scared, and coach Knight wasn't very understanding. But the thing that really got Larry was when he had to go to some banquet, and he didn't own a sport coat. He never had any money. So he went and told coach Knight, and my understanding is that he was told 'not my problem.' That was probably his excuse to leave."Interestingly, added Reynolds, "We all know that Larry would have been a perfect player for him (Knight)."Knight -- who can be insightful, engaging and candid -- years later told me that mishandling the Bird situation was his biggest regret. Seated in his old office in Bloomington, typically disheveled in oversize sweat shirt and pants, he said he failed to appreciate both Bird's talents and lack of sophistication. He concurred with Reynolds; he thought Bird would have been a brilliant Hoosier.Instead, Bird joined all the others who have admired Knight's basketball acumen from afar, forever grateful for the distance.(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.scrippsnews.com.)
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