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Shaka Smart Year Two
Interesting look at how Shaka Smart helped transform Marquette in year 2 without bringing in any major new players.
Mike Brey
I saw Mike Brey speaking to a group of coaches once at the Final Four, and one of them asked him about his team rules. Brey laughed and said "We have a sign in the locker room at Notre Dame. It says 'Take care of your schoolwork and the basketball, and we'll get along just fine.' That pretty much sums up our list of rules." He went on to talk about how he builds trusts with his guys and sets a standard of expectations, and they all understand what the means, so they don't really feel the need to have a lot of team rules.
Coach Brey's gift, to me, was not ever taking himself too seriously in a business where that isn't easy to avoid. He was the head basketball coach at Notre Dame, one of the most famous universities in the world. It would have been easy to build an impressive ego over the years, but he never did. He kept it simple, trusted his kids, treated them (and everyone else) with respect, and had a ton of success.
When Notre Dame was in the Big East I knew their staff pretty well, and I remember Rod Balanis telling me that when they traveled they were required to leave after classes during the week. They couldn't leave early and miss class the day before they played. We played them one time on a Saturday at Noon, and he told me they landed in Providence at around 11 PM the night before the game. And they were flying commercial, always taking the last flight of the day out of Chicago so the kids could get to all of their classes that day. In an era when most coaches want to be in town at least 24 hours before tip off and have no issue practicing at 10 AM on campus before leaving, Notre Dame required that they do it a little differently, and Mike Brey took it all in stride. He was the head coach at Notre Dame, and that was just part of the deal.
Mike Brey was proof to me that you can be successful in this business at a high level and still keep things in perspective, without a huge ego or taking yourself too seriously. He's always been one of the genuinely good people in the business.
Georgia Football's Four Values
Kirby Smart just won his second straight national championship at Georgia. Here are the 4 program values that sustain his culture.
Resilience
- Fight through when you feel the urge to succumb to pressure or hardship
- Practices are tougher than games/Extra weight sessions in-season
- Prepare for the tough times before they happen - anticipate adversity
Composure
- Check your emotions
- Focus on the next task
- Come together with your teammates
- Coaches hand out "composure cards on the sideline"
Toughness
- Practice is a battle. Very physical, they don't hold back. In pads 3 days a week.
- Confronts undesired behavior immediately
- Either you are in or out
Connection
- Team activities called "Skull Sessions"
- 15 minute meetings - discuss history lessons, business case studies, that relate to tough times during games
- Building bonds amongst players
The 4 values come down to:
- Overcoming adversity
- Living up to a program standard
- Staying disciplined in tough times
- Developing deep connections
Great strategies for any teams.
Credit: @TheDaily_Coach
Steve Kerr Moments
Steve Kerr continues to be as thoughtful and real as any coach in the game.
Coaching and Family
I've never been a big fan of teams that use the word "family," even though just about everyone does it. First of all, we aren't that close. I've had players ay "these are my brothers right here." Really? You just met 3 of them a month ago. You became brothers because you are good at basketball and you chose the same school?
I love this quote from Todd Monken, the offensive coordinator at Georgia. This is real, despite whether or not it says "Family" on the back of your shorts or your locker room wall.
"Our System Is Our Players"
Ed Cooley on his system at Providence and he how and his staff adjust to his players:
“You’ve got to adjust with your personnel. There are so many coaches who are just based on system. Our system is our players. We as coaches have to adjust to them."
Big Games
Every game counts the same in the standings, but some games are bigger than others. Whether it's a rivalry game, a game to decide the league title, or a do-or-die post-season game, you can feel the difference when preparing for a big game. Let's face it, UConn at Providence is different than when Depaul comes to town, and everyone knows it.
We had a lot of success in March at Rhode Island College and we played in a lot of big games in the regular season. We were won the league six times in nine years, and finished second twice and third once. We were always in contention for the league title, which meant a lot of big games.
The key for us with big games was when things started to feel different, not to do anything different. We had no problem talking about how big the game was - if you play college basketball at an elite program you want to play in big games. You have to recognize it. But the key is not to change what you do. Of course it feels different, and everyone knows what is at stake. That pressure is a good thing. If you acknowledge that pressure it will likely have less of an impact on your approach.
We were picked to win the league every year I coached at Rhode Island College. There was a stretch of six straight years where the winner of our first game against Eastern Connecticut, which for some reason was always played in December as one of the first league games, went on to win the league. Even though it was usually the first or second league game of the year, we always talked about it as a title fight. We knew that the winner of that game usually took control of the league, so we made it a point to recognize that.
What we established at RIC over time, however, that really made a difference in big games was how we practiced every day. We made sure our compete level was elite every day. We didn't have walk-throughs or go half speed. If our guys needed a break we gave them a day off, or we just went with a shorter practice. But we made it a point to talk about the way we prepared every day. No matter what time of year or who our next opponent was, we were preparing to win big games. We were preparing to win games on the road against great teams. We were preparing to win tough games when two starters were out or we got into foul trouble.
We emphasized the way we prepared every day. We talked about big games, adversity, handling everything that goes into winning in tough environments. Our approach to big games was long-term. When we got to a week where we had a really big game, and everyone could feel the pressure and the hype, we just had to be ourselves. We prepared the way we always did, without doing anything different because of the big game. We didn't want have to change to win big games, we just had to be ourselves.
Confrontation and Solitude
Leadership is not always comfortable. In fact, it rarely is for the majority of the group. Leadership is not great chemistry and everyone enjoying each other's company. When things are going well and everyone is happy, impactful leadership generally isn't necessary. Great leadership involves confronting bad behavior, and often leaves those in charge out on their own. Leadership can be very lonely. Great leaders have to be comfortable being alone.
One of my first lessons in leadership as a head coach came in my first year at Rhode Island College. It was maybe a week or two after I had taken the job, and I was still getting to know my players. I would often see them in the recreation center where my office was in the afternoon as they were gathering to play pick-up, and I'd get a chance to talk with them before they played.
On this particular day I had been recruiting the day before, so I hadn't seen them before or after their pick-up games. Our only senior (who would turn out to be my first captain) Kevin Payette came by the office before heading into the gym, and I asked him how the pick-up games yesterday had been. He said "They were crap, coach, to be honest. It was sloppy, guys weren't competing hard, there was a lot of arguing going on. They weren't very good." I replied, only half-serious, "So what are we going to do about that?" Figuring I'd get a quizzical look, I was kind of surprised with what I heard. "We got up this morning at 7 AM and ran as a team, Coach. We took care of it."
I was pretty surprised. I remember thinking "wow, we might have something here." What type of team, especially one that came back to school in September without a coach when their coach took another job in August, gets together to run at 7 AM because their pick-up games were sloppy? That was one of my first lessons in ownership. KP and the rest of the team had taken ownership of the program in the fall when there was a coaching transition. They set their own standards for their team, and when they didn't live up to them their were consequences. Everyone who was a part of the team or who was planning on trying out showed up to run at 7 AM that morning.
The maturity and level of ownership were really impressive. But what really struck me when I had that conversation with KP was the risk he had to take to confront the bad behavior. First of all, confrontation isn't easy for most. Many of just just try and avoid it at all costs. But confrontation is essential to good leadership. If you want to implement change you have to confront bad behavior. And when you do, especially if you don't have a lot of support, leadership can be very lonely. Do you think the 20+ guys who were playing that day felt some sloppy pick-up games were worth getting up at 7 AM for? I'm sure it wasn't a popular decision in that gym, but it was the right one, and it was important. We have standards here, and if we don't live up to them there are consequences.
The right leadership choices don't always feel good. Leadership takes guts. You have to be willing to go against what's popular to do what is right. In fact, many of the most important leadership decisions I have made didn't feel very good. But I knew what I was doing was important, and I was convinced it was right.
Leadership will often lead you to confrontation, and it will be very lonely at times. You have to have the conviction in your beliefs and the mental capacity to handle the way it feels. When it comes to strong leadership, confrontation and solitude often come with the territory. Embrace it.
Expected Standards
"You learn the real standards from each other."
If you want to learn about the culture of a team, don't ask their seniors. Watch the freshmen. What they do is the true culture.
Bill Walsh - 7 "Dont's" After Defeat
- Don't Whine
- Don't Ask 'Why Me?'
- Don't Expect Sympathy
- Don't Keep Accepting Condolences
- Don't Blame Injuries or Officials
- Don't Ignore The Media
- Don't Blame The Team
Landry Fields
Some really good stuff from Landry Fields on the mental side of player development.
Run At The Screen
Don't tell your players to run "off" a screen or to use a screen. Tell them to run at a screen.
When your teammate is trying to screen to get you open, you should run right at your teammate. Don't veer wide around the screen and give your defender a chance to ride you out. There is usually going to be some contact when you are coming off a screen, and on offense you want to force the issue. If you run around a screen or go wide, you give your opponent a lane to beat the screen.
Your mentality when you come off a screen should be to run right at your teammate who is setting the screen for you. The mindset should be to force your defender to foul you. He has to get pretty physical with you to keep you from running him into the screen, and it's likely going to be a foul. If it isn't called, you should be able to rub him into the screen and get open. Keep your hands up in the air so you don't get involved in hand fighting and get called for a push.
When your teammate is screening for you, run right at the screen. Don't widen out and give the defense any kind of angle to beat the screen. You want to be physical when you are coming off a screen. Don't allow your defender to dictate where you go. Run right at the screen, and you'll either get fouled or get open.
Saban - Discipline
"What are you willing to accept from yourself... and what are you willing to accept from your teammates?"
The Last Lesson
What am I doing every day in my life to make sure, when it’s my time, that the guy in my mail room is going to show up for me?
That was the last lesson my father ever taught me.
Fifteen years ago - so hard to believe it’s been that long - on the Monday after Thanksgiving in 2008, I was getting ready to head down to practice at Rhode Island College when my cell phone rang. At RIC my office was in the Recreation Center, across campus from the Murray Center where we practiced and played, so we had to actually get into our cars and drive down to the Murray Center for practice. As I walked out of the Rec Center towards my car, I looked at my phone. It was my Dad calling.
It was odd that my Dad would call at that time, because he knew we practiced late in the afternoon. I had a lot going on getting ready for practice, so I let the call go. I’d give him a call back after practice. I got in my car and started driving down the Rec Center, and my phone rang again. It was my Dad calling again. I figured maybe he just had to ask me a question about something so I picked it up.
It’s hard to describe the feeling you get when your caller ID says “Dad” yet the voice you hear when you say hello is one you don’t recognize. My insides felt hollow. I was sitting at a stop sign waiting to make a right turn when I heard “Detective with the Tampa Police department.” My father had recently bought his retirement home in Tampa. “I’m very sorry to inform you…”
My father had been found by his cleaning lady, dead of a heart attack. He was 63 years old. Just like that, my father was dead. I was too stunned to know how to feel.
I drove down to the Murray Center, parked in the parking lot, and called my brother. I got his wife, who said he was not feeling well and was sleeping. I told her he had to wake him up. When he came to the phone I just said “I just got a call from the Tampa Police department. Dad’s dead.” They had picked up my Dad’s cell phone and looked at his text messages. I had texted him the day before to let him know Providence College was in Anaheim in a tournament, and their game was on TV if he wanted to watch it. He never got the text. The Tampa Police did.
I went inside the Murray Center, totally stunned, and told my AD. I went into the gym and gathered my players who were warming up before practice, and told them. It seemed weird that I told my team before I told anyone else in my family, but I had to let them know I wasn’t going to be at practice. I called my girlfriend – now my wife – and can still hear the shock in her voice.
I went home and called my brother again, and we started calling family and close friends. The feeling is hard to describe, it’s like being in a daze. I was shocked, stunned, empty, yet there was a lot of work to do. We had to let people know, to start thinking about arrangements. Throughout all of it, as bad as I felt, I had this one overriding feeling: Lucky. It’s still hard to explain how I felt that way in that moment. I had a great relationship with my father, and I just felt lucky to have had the relationship I did with him for 36 years. I still feel that way to this day. As stunned as I was, I just kept thinking about how lucky I was, and I guess that helped me get through that day somehow.
My father was very successful. He grew up in Parkchester in the Bronx and had to work hard to get to college. He attended Iona College just North of the City, joining the Marine Reserves to help pay for school, and started a career in business upon graduation. He took a job out of school with KPMG, one of the big accounting firms in New York City, and ended up spending 38 years with the company. By the time he retired he was a senior partner with a big office on Park Avenue. He was very actively involved at Iona College, his alma mater, as the President of their Goal Club, as well as their Alumni Association. He joined a golf club in Westchester and served a stint as the President there. He served on a number of different Board of Directors for different organizations.
My father’s wake was a few days later on Castle Hill Avenue in the Bronx, the neighborhood where he grew up. He was still a working class kid from the Bronx, but he had worked his way into being very well off and connecting with some very successful people. It was overwhelming to see so many people show up to pay their respects. Whenever your in the situation where someone close to you has a death in the family and you feel like your not sure what to do, just show up. That’s what you do. You show up. It really helped my brother and I to see so many people who cared about and had been impacted by our father.
The wake was a who’s who of powerful people. College President’s, executive VPs, high-powered attorneys, wall street millionaires. It made my brother and I feel very good to see so many of my Dad’s friends and associates. The line was long and it took a couple of hours to see everyone.
Towards the end of the night a man walked in who looked a little out of place. He was wearing a baseball cap and a pair of khakis with a golf shirt and a rumpled jacket. He had a work ID badge hanging around his neck, looking very blue collar in a white collar crowd. I noticed him as soon as he walked in, and I didn’t recognize him. He didn’t talk to anyone, he just waited on line and made his way up to our family to pay respects. He shook my hand and simply said “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your father was a great friend to me.” I said thank you, but didn’t ask him who he was. After he got through the line, he went and sat in the back in a chair by himself. I noticed he said a few words to a few of the people from my Dad’s office. Then he got up slowly, put his cap back on, and started to walk out.
I wanted to talk to him before he left, but I hesitated because I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I didn’t want him to think that I was stopping him because I didn’t know who he was. I watched him walk out the door of the funeral home and head back down Castle Hill Avenue – past a number of car service Town Cars ready to take some of the attendees back into Manhattan. He put his cap on and walked back towards the 6 train.
This man was on my mind all night. Before everyone left, I asked one of my father’s work associates if they knew who he was. I thought I had seen him talking briefly with some of the people from my Dad’s office. It turns out he did work in my Dad’s office – in the mailroom. He delivered the mail to my Dad’s floor of his Park Avenue office building. He would sort the mail for my Dad exactly how he wanted it. He would bring my Dad his coffee with the mail in the morning, make sure he had an umbrella when it was raining, call down to make sure my Dad’s car was ready in the garage when he needed it.
My Dad had asked him what his name was, befriended him, and developed a relationship with him. He asked him about his family. He found out he had two young kids in catholic grammar school. He’d buy them Christmas gifts so they had nice toys under the tree. At different times when things were a struggle, my Dad had helped out by paying the tuition for his kids so they could stay in the school in their neighborhood. He helped out the family whenever they needed something over the years, and he, his secretary and the family were the only ones who knew about it. I had never met the man or his family.
When I learned about this, I couldn’t hold back the tears. This man had gotten on the 6 train in Midtown Manhattan and taken a one hour subway ride to Castle Hill, then walked the six blocks to pay his respects, to say “I’m sorry for your loss” to two sons he had never met. He didn’t know us, and hardly knew anyone at the wake. He certainly looked a little bit out of place. But he knew my father, and considered him a friend.
I still think about him all of the time. I can still see him putting his hat back on and slowly walking up Castle Hill Avenue to the Subway station. He spent at least two hours on the subway and waited at least 30 minutes in line just to pay his respects. I didn’t even know who he was, nor did my brother. We would have had no idea if he didn’t show up. But he made the trip anyway.
I am very lucky to have had the relationship I did with my father, to spend the time with him that I did. I’m also very proud of the way my Dad lived his life. He made a lot of money and traveled in circles of very successful people. But he was always the same person, the kid who had worked his way out of the Bronx. He had no sense of entitlement about him. I learned so much from him, simply from the way he lived his life and how he acted towards others, even those he didn’t know. He treated everyone with dignity and respect and went out of his way to help people who needed help.
That night, that moment, that man who showed up to pay his respects for my father made me think about how I live my own life. Do I treat everyone with the same respect? Am I courteous and genuine to everyone I meet, regardless of their circumstances and what they can do for me? Do I give people the benefit of the doubt if they are struggling with something, not knowing what might be going on in their life? Do I show the right amount of gratitude in my daily routine?
How do I treat the people in my “mail room?” We all have people in the mail room in our life. How do we interact with those people? Do we treat them with respect and go out of our way to make sure they are comfortable? Do we think about what we can do to help them? Or others who might not come from the same background that we do?
What am I doing every day in my life to make sure, when it’s my time, that the guy in my mail room is going to show up for me?
That was the last lesson my father ever taught me.
Great Passers Think Score First
To be a great passer, you have to think like a scorer. The best passers think score first, and it's something you really have to instill in your players.
It seems counterintuitive, but it actually makes a lot of sense. Players who drive to pass are usually pretty easy to read. Players who drive to score draw the help and open up passing lanes to their teammates.
Great passers are obviously unselfish, and thinking score first does not mean you have to be selfish. It actually helps you be unselfish. Thinking score first puts a lot more pressure on the defense and creates more opportunities.
The best passers I've ever coached are scoring threats. You can be a scoring threat and also be unselfish. If the defense can play you as a passer you are going to have a hard time finding open teammates. They are going to close those lanes down and dare you to score. You see a lot of turnovers on penetration and on the fast break when a player knows they are going to pass the ball, and they aren't a threat to score.
Great passers have to think score. Convince your players to think score first when they get into the paint, and they'll become better passers.