Phil Jackson Era isn’t over until his biggest stink bomb is gone
It’s easier to not hold a grudge, of course. It’s probably the right thing to do, the noble thing to do, the pathway toward good karma and better health. Grudges are ugly. Grudges diminish us. Grudges can turn the lining of your stomach into acid-washed torture.
But in this case there’s really very little choice. The Knicks have moved on from the Phil Jackson Experience and seem to be better off for it. We’ve yet to really see the firm of Mills & Perry in action (excluding the Carmelo Anthony deal, which they executed with a gun to their heads like the poor dog on that famous old cover of “National Lampoon”) but so far, despite the team’s inconsistency, it’s hard to muster an anger the equivalent of watching Jackson’s Knicks.
Until you think of Jackson, that is.
Specifically, when you think of Joakim Noah, the $72 million gift-that-keeps-on-giving, the bust-who-keeps-on-busting, the lovely parting gift Jackson left behind amid the ashes and the rubble.
In so many ways, the Knicks won’t really be able to totally break free from the Jackson Era until Noah is somewhere else.
And good luck figuring out where that’s going to be. And, more important, when.
Noah’s is that rare calamitous acquisition of which it’s hard to tell if his negative impact has best been felt on the floor, where he has been so obviously done from the moment he arrived it’s amazing he didn’t show up with a fork in his back, or off, when he ended last season (and began this one) suspended for testing positive for an illicit over-the-counter substance and then decided to clear his throat and air out Jeff Hornacek.
That a fair share of Knicks fans would like to have the same kind of one-sided conversation with Hornacek is beside the point. Noah isn’t just the ugliest mark on a Jackson dossier crowded with them, it’s actually hard to come up with one that’s comparable anywhere else.
Kei Igawa? That was a horrific signing, sure, but for one thing it wasn’t as if he came with an armada of red flags the way Noah did, and for another it was a Yankees signing — they play in a sport in which, if you make a gross miscalculation, it doesn’t potentially ruin you for five years if you’re willing and able to write the checks. Eddie Lee Whitson was a mess and a miss, but he barely registered a blip in his time here.
Jason Bay? Bobby Bonilla? Yes, the Mets have a few blotches in their history, but as awful as Bay was and as disappointing as Bonilla was (twice!) they at least got one guy (Bay) who was a solid citizen and another (Bonilla, the first time) whose numbers here weren’t as bad upon reflection as memory insists they were. Oh, and neither one of them thought it would be a good idea as a first New York impression to disrespect West Point cadets, as Noah did (in case you forgot that he was a disaster before even playing a minute here).
The Knicks have had plenty of bad actors and worse head cases pollute their roster through the years, and the Nets have had more of both, but it’s hard to remember Steph Marbury ever inciting Noah-esque levels of contempt no matter which side of the Hudson he was pouting on.
No, Noah stands alone. There was no clamoring for Noah to come home when Jackson signed him, and anyone who’d seen even a small sampling of Noah’s recent work knew he would barely have been worth the risk as a training camp invitee, let alone carrying a $72 million price tag. This isn’t even remotely a second guess; this was a near-unanimous first guess by everyone.
Except for Phil Jackson.
So, yes: the anger lingers. And, no: the grudge has not faded. Not until Noah is exiled, somewhere and somehow … and maybe not for a year or two after that. What an epic fail that keeps on epically failing.
Vac’s Whacks
We are allowed to stop grading the Knicks on a curve now, right? And I’ll be the first on line to mea culpa and admit I was way too smitten by the first two months.
Every now and then you look at Seton Hall and for five minutes here and 10 there you see a team that could make something memorable happen come March. Hall-Villanova is about as good an undercard as the Super Bowl could ever ask for.
I wasn’t one of the acolytes of “This is Us” that felt an overwhelming rush to find out what we’re apparently going to find out in the post-Supe episode, but I’ll be dialed in nevertheless, you bet.
Me, I’d sign Kirk Cousins. But I also have a full supply of those mea culpas, so check back this time next year.
Whack Back At Vac
Scott Wolinetz: I was kind of hoping for a hug between Parcells and Belichick at the end of that “Two Bills” 30-for-30. Even a handshake, or something.
Vac: For all their talk the whole time about how there were no lingering hard feelings they both looked like they’d just swallowed a plate of picnic ants the whole time.
Sal Urciuoli: I always remembered watching the Knicks and Rangers in their road blues on Channel 9. When we first got cable and I saw my teams in their home whites, I thought it was the greatest thing. Thanks for bringing up a great memory.
Vac: Thanks to the many of you who wrote about the home-white uniform column. Good to know I wasn’t alone on that nostalgic cloud.
@expos_exposed: Can you try to figure out what two-thirds of those people are thinking by not voting for Larry Walker?
@MikeVacc: Everyone has their pet Hall of Fame cases; still, I have no idea how anyone who watched Larry Walker play baseball doesn’t view him as a Hall of Famer.
Lloyd Darlow: One more title doesn’t make the Patriots any greater. But the Eagles … hell no (and I grew up a Jets fan). I need to continue to see that big fat ZERO next to Super Bowl titles in their résumé. Die, Eagles, die!
Vac: I’m not sure if there are a lot of New Yorkers rooting for the Pats, but the venom against the Eagles is tangible. Bank on that.