I recently caught up with Ryan Blair, who is a serial entrepreneur and author of the new book "Nothing to Lose, Everything to Gain."
Ryan established his first company, 24-7 Tech when he was only twenty-one years old. Since then, he has created and actively invested in multiple start-ups and has become a self-made multimillionaire. After he sold his company ViSalus Sciences to Blyth in early 2008, the global recession took the company to the brink of failure resulting in a complete write off of the stock and near bankruptcy. Ryan as CEO went "all in" betting his last million dollars on its potential and turned the company around from the edge of failure to more than $150,000,000 a year in revenue in only 16 months winning the coveted DSN Global Turn Around Award in 2010. In this interview, Ryan talks about how he re-branded himself after being in a gang, the issues with the education system, and more.
Q & A:
How did you shake your criminal record and re-brand yourself?
I remember when I was working my way up in the first company that employed me, I used to have nightmares that one day they'd find out about that I had been in a gang, call me into the office, and fire me. In the beginning I didn't talk much about what I'd been through. But eventually when I got to a point where I had established myself as a professional entrepreneur, I embraced my past, used it as part of my branding, and crossed over.
In this day and age people want authenticity. Now that the world is social, people know all about you. Assuming you decided to join humanity, that is. It turned out that as I started showing my true identity, so did the rest of the world. One of the reasons my company ViSalus is one of the fastest growing companies in the industry today is because we share our good, bad, and ugly. Like sharing a video of me playing a practical joke on one of my employees, for instance. As a result of embracing authenticity, I turned the company around from near bankruptcy to over $15 million a month today. Unlike our competitors, our distributors and customers know exactly who we are, and I'd say that corporate America has a lot of catching up to do.
What's your take on the educational system? Will a college degree help or hurt your chances at starting a successful business?
As a product of Los Angeles's public school system, in a state with the highest dropout rate in the nation (about 20 percent), I can tell you from personal experience that some of our brightest minds are being misidentified because of a one-size-fits-all learning environment. Because I had ADD and dyslexia I never got past the 9th grade.
I recall sitting with a career counselor in continuation high school, being told that I didn't have the intellect or aptitude to become a doctor or a lawyer. They suggested a trade school, construction, something where I'd be working with my hands.
The irony is that today I employ plenty of doctors and lawyers. Would you rather be a doctor or a lawyer, or a guy who writes a check to doctors and lawyers?
As an entrepreneur, having a college degree or getting classroom training won't hurt your chances for starting a successful business, but it's ultimately not necessary. In Malcolm Gladwell's book "Outliers," he makes a point that it takes approximately 10,000 hours to master a skill set at a professional level. That means experience, over traditional education.
What three business lessons did you learn from juvenile detention?
I learned a lot about business and life from my time spent incarcerated. I like to call these pieces of wisdom my Philosophies from the Jail Cell to the Boardroom. One of the biggest lessons I learned was that in Juvenile Hall, new guys always get tested. When I went in the first time, I was just a skinny little white kid and I had to learn fast. People will be bumping into you on the basketball court, or asking you for things, testing to see if you're tough.
And everyone knew that if a guy let someone take their milk during lunchtime, they weren't as tough as they looked. Soon you'd be taking their milk everyday, and so would everyone else. It's the same for business, if you give people the impression that you can be taken, you will be.
Also, adaptation is the key to survival. In jail the guy who rises to power isn't always the strongest or the smartest. As prisoners come and go, he's the one that adapts to the changing environment, while influencing the right people. You can use this in business, staying abreast of market trends, changing your game plan as technology shifts, and adapting our strategy around your company's strongest competitive advantages. Darwin was absolutely right — survival is a matter of how you respond to change.
The last lesson I got from jail is that you have to learn how to read people. You don't know who to trust. It's the same for business because a lot of people come into my office with a front. I have to figure out quickly who is the real deal and who isn't. Based on that fact, I developed an HR system that I use when interviewing potential new hires that I call the Connect Four Technique. Yep, you guessed it. I make my future employees — and I have hundreds of them — play me in Connect Four.
Can everyone be an entrepreneur? Can it be learned or do you have to be born with a special gene?
No. Not everyone can be an entrepreneur. There are two types of people in the world, domesticated and undomesticated. Some people are so domesticated through their social programming and belief system, so employee minded, that they could never be entrepreneurs. And they shouldn't even bother trying. The irony is that this is coming from a guy who teaches millions of people how to become entrepreneurs. I'm literally selling a book about becoming an entrepreneur, telling you that not everyone should read it.
To be an entrepreneur, you have to have fighting instincts. Are instincts genetic? I don't think so, but you 'inherit' them from your upbringing. Now, if you're smart you can reprogram your beliefs. But there are still some people that would rather watch other people be entrepreneurs, like the people in the Forbes "richest celebrity list" than take the time to reprogram themselves, and live their lives like rock stars, too.
Is there a need for business plans these days?
When you've really got the entrepreneurial bug, the last thing you want to do is sit down and write a business plan. It's the equivalent of writing a book about playing the guitar before actually knowing how to play the guitar. You don't know what your new business is going to be like. And just like a guitar, a business will have to be tweaked and tuned multiple times, and you'll need long practice sessions and repetition, before you can get even one successful song out of it.
In my book "Nothing to Lose, Everything to Gain," I actually included a chapter called "I Hate Business Plans" where I talk about this. Most business plans that get sent to me, I close within seconds of opening them up because they are full of fluff and hype. A business plan should be simple, something you could scribble on a scratch pad. No more than three pages of your business objectives, expected results, and the strategy to get there. But the best business plan is one built from a business that is already up and running and that matches the business's actual results.
The point is that you should be so obsessed with your business that you can't sleep at night because that's all you can think about. And that's your ultimate "business plan."
8.11.2011
6.16.2011
RAY ALLENS ROUTINE
The routine
The routine is paramount. People don't understand that. They see Ray Allen, his head meticulously shaved, his jersey tucked carefully into his shorts, his socks pulled up to precisely the same length, and they are drawn to his silky jumper. Can you blame them? It is so smooth, so fluid, so seemingly effortless.
Everyone wishes they could shoot like Ray. They tell him that all the time. They are envious, they say, of his God-given talent.
"An insult," says Allen. "God could care less whether I can shoot a jump shot."
As the Celtics kick off their campaign for an NBA championship tonight in the opening round of the playoffs against the Atlanta Hawks, Allen will leave nothing to chance. He will line up for the tip exactly as he has for his other 73 games. His pregame ritual does not waver: a nap from 11:30 a.m. until 1 p.m., a meal of chicken and white rice at 2:30, an arrival time at the gym at precisely 3:45 to stretch. Allen will shave his head, then walk out to the court at exactly 4:30. He will methodically take shots from both baselines, both elbows, and the top of the key.
Allen is second all-time in 3-pointers, 460 shy of Reggie Miller. He has a chance of surpassing Miller, provided he stays healthy, but if he does, it will not be by divine intervention. It will be the result of years of painstaking preparation.
It will also be the byproduct of learning to strike a delicate balance between routine and superstition.
"I had a borderline case of OCD [obsessive compulsive disorder]," Allen explains. "I was never diagnosed, but it was something I was aware of."
This is how Ray Allen's mind works. If there is a speck of paper on the floor in his house, he cannot walk by without picking it up. He has tried. He has purposely marched up the stairs without correcting the glaring imperfection, but he's unable to eliminate the image from his mind until he goes back down, throws the scrap in the wastebasket, and restores order in his home.
He requires the same symmetry in his basketball universe.
Communicate, compromise
There was considerable discussion before the season on how Pierce, Allen, and Kevin Garnett would share shots.
It didn't occur to anyone, except their coach, to consider how they would share their personal space.
The wildly divergent rituals of the three superstars was a surprise - and, initially, a problem.
"As a team," Allen concedes, "we're all inside a bubble. Each of us only has so much room to operate. You have to carve out your space and recognize that because of someone else's needs, you might have to compromise a bit."
There's the free-wheeling Pierce, who never does anything quite the same from game to game. There is Allen, who needs to complete a specific checklist of chores before tipoff. And then there is Garnett, a brooding pregame figure who requires an intense period of introspection to prepare himself.
It was inevitable that their approaches would collide. In early December, Garnett was at his locker, alone, silently visualizing his responsibilities for the game. Allen, who had long ago completed his pregame tasks, was joking with Kendrick Perkins and Rajon Rondo. The noise interrupted Garnett's concentration. He barked his objections; his veteran teammate barked back.
"They got into it with each other," reports Rondo. "Me and Perk were sitting there going, 'Whoa, what's this about?' "
Pierce observed the verbal skirmish with amusement.
"Stuff like that happens on teams all the time," Pierce insists. "Different personalities. But Ray's to blame. He's crazy. One night he gets on the plane and says, 'Paul, you're in the wrong seat.' I told him, 'Man, there's a hundred seats open. Leave me alone.' "
Ray's obsession with routine has struck a chord with Rondo, who confesses, "I probably have OCD myself." The point guard must wash his hands twice at the nine-minute mark of every game. When teammates and fans high-five him, he offers a closed fist to ward off germs.
Allen has become his role model, and Rondo has started showing up at the arena three hours before the game to mimic Ray's routine.
"I want to be consistent," explains Rondo, "and Ray is all about that."
Allen's mantra is that you must walk, talk, eat, and dress as though you are the best.
"Ray is very strong-minded," Garnett says. "When you have other guys who are as strong, obviously you are going to have debates. But I think the young guys can see we can challenge one another without being destructive.
"I'm not going to say it was easy, but it was simple. Communicating is the best thing we do. A lot of people talk to hear themselves talk. Here, guys talk with their soul."
But coach Doc Rivers needed his trio to listen with the same fervor. His three stars were used to going about things in their own way, with teammates who deferred to them. That was no longer possible, and Rivers knew who would suffer the most.
"Earlier in the year, Ray would come to me and say, 'This is the way I used to do it,' " Rivers says. "I'd tell him, 'That's in the past.' Ray is a military guy. It was hard for him.
"But I told him if we were going to win this thing, he had to change."
'Hollywood' to Seattle
When Ray Allen was 8, he had to drop in five lefty layups and five righty layups before he could leave the gym. Sometimes another team needed the floor and he'd run out of time before he could complete his ritual.
"I cried," Allen says. "It messed up my day."
He did not discuss his compulsion with his teammates, his coaches, his siblings, or even his mother.
"I was almost embarrassed by it," Allen says. "It was just always beating inside my brain when I was young and trying to make sense of who I was."
They nicknamed him "Hollywood" when he arrived at the University of Connecticut because he was always color-coordinated, always meticulously groomed. He looked like someone important.
"I got that from Michael Jordan," Allen says. "When I was a kid, every time he did an interview on television, he was wearing a suit. He looked professional. I told myself, 'That's the way to go.' "
Ray plotted his workouts as if he were one of the coaches. Calhoun would show the team game film and Allen would ask to see it again, not because he needed to, but because he knew his teammates hadn't paid proper attention.
"It's internal," says Calhoun, "but it's there 24 hours a day. Ray does things the right way, and expects others to do them, too. People are sloppy - in their preparation, in the way they present themselves.
"Not Ray. Never."
So Allen harangues Garnett about his sweater-and-tie combos, and the omnipresent Adidas logo on everything he wears. He chastises Eddie House for shooting halfcourt shots at intermission at the opposing team's basket.
He talks to Perkins and Glen Davis about their social life. Allen doesn't drink alcohol. He reminds the young big men, "You have all summer to go out. Do it then. Not now. Not with so much at stake."
"Ray says he always packs light," Perkins says, "because he leaves his nightclub clothes at home."
Allen is certain his philosophy works. When he played in Seattle, a veteran leader among a mass of young, floundering talent, he would complete his pregame pattern, then retreat to the locker room where he'd read, often for more than an hour, before anyone else showed up.
Rashard Lewis, a young forward who jumped to the NBA from high school, began quizzing Allen about his routine. Soon he started showing up early, too. Before long, Damien Wilkins, Chris Wilcox, and Luke Ridnour joined them. Ray was the pied piper of preparation.
"It got to the point," says former Seattle coach Nate McMillan, "where the first bus was more crowded than the second bus. And that never happens."
Allen started a ritual of a halfcourt huddle at the end of games. He didn't just talk to the Sonics about being professional, he showed them how to be professional.
"Ray had a really big influence on me," says Lewis, who now plays for the Orlando Magic. "He knew I had the potential to be a great player, but, as he told me, it's the little things that can hold you back.
"So much of who I am today is from Ray. He helped me become an All-Star."
Not everybody in Seattle bought into Allen's plan. One day, when he arrived at the arena, Allen's regular parking spot was occupied. The owner of the car was Antonio Daniels, who had recently latched on to the early-bird shooting.
"I walk in and say, 'Why are you parking in my spot?' " Allen says. "He is acting like he doesn't know what I am talking about.
"We are playing the Knicks that night. I think I had about 40 points, but I'm still mad. I'm at the free throw line and Daniels comes up to me and says, 'You need me to take that spot more often.' I hit the free throw, then turn to him and shout, 'You stay out of my spot!' "
McMillan was worried after so many losses that his young players might abandon the Allen plan. But even after a double-digit loss, there was Allen, his head shaved, his shirt tucked in, reading a book, prepared to fight again.
"He made my job easy," McMillan says. "No matter what happened the night before, I could always say, 'Ray's here. He's ready. How about you?' "
Buying into concessions
The Celtics have asked Ray Allen to reinvent himself this season. He plays fewer minutes, takes fewer shots, is no longer the focal point of the offense.
"You see him sacrifice," says Perkins, "and you think, 'If he can do it, then I can do it, too.' "
Those changes were palatable for Ray. But he got frustrated when Rivers changed the team shootaround from the morning of the game to three hours before the game. And when Davis's minutes dwindled, and the coaches asked him to put in workouts before and after games, that cut into Allen's alone time on the floor.
"The last time I talked to Ray, he was ticked at Big Baby for not playing better, because he was messing up his pregame," Calhoun says. "I said to Ray, 'You've been in this league 12 years. Don't you have this down by now?' "
Allen is pleased that Rondo has become his pregame partner. He noted that Pierce, who ribs him the most about his eccentricities, has showed up early himself from time to time. In the meantime, Allen has worked to respect KG's ritual from afar.
"I've watched Ray," Garnett says. "I've watched Paul, and we all have our own way of preparing. All of us are excessive in how we go about it. It makes sense to me. Everybody is a little over the top in what they do, because it means so much."
When the Celtics played in Orlando earlier this season, Allen was at the arena at his customary time. He was surprised to see a lone Magic player working down at the other end of the floor - until he realized it was Rashard Lewis.
The word in Seattle is that Ridnour, Wilkins, and Wilcox have continued their pregame routine. McMillan, now the coach of the Portland Trail Blazers, reports that he imparted Allen's pregame wisdom to young All-Star Brandon Roy, who is so pleased with the results that he doesn't even wait for the first bus anymore. He goes a half-hour earlier by cab with an assistant coach.
The Celtics have benefited most from Allen, who admits he's made more concessions this season than all the others combined.
"Our young guys are lucky to be around him. Too often these kids make it to the NBA and they settle. Ray won't let them."
Pierce says he plans to adopt some of Allen's eating habits and offseason workouts.
The bubble he calls the Boston Celtics can get cluttered. Very cluttered. But, according to Ray's careful calculations, there is still plenty of space inside for a championship trophy.
The routine is paramount. People don't understand that. They see Ray Allen, his head meticulously shaved, his jersey tucked carefully into his shorts, his socks pulled up to precisely the same length, and they are drawn to his silky jumper. Can you blame them? It is so smooth, so fluid, so seemingly effortless.
Everyone wishes they could shoot like Ray. They tell him that all the time. They are envious, they say, of his God-given talent.
"An insult," says Allen. "God could care less whether I can shoot a jump shot."
As the Celtics kick off their campaign for an NBA championship tonight in the opening round of the playoffs against the Atlanta Hawks, Allen will leave nothing to chance. He will line up for the tip exactly as he has for his other 73 games. His pregame ritual does not waver: a nap from 11:30 a.m. until 1 p.m., a meal of chicken and white rice at 2:30, an arrival time at the gym at precisely 3:45 to stretch. Allen will shave his head, then walk out to the court at exactly 4:30. He will methodically take shots from both baselines, both elbows, and the top of the key.
Allen is second all-time in 3-pointers, 460 shy of Reggie Miller. He has a chance of surpassing Miller, provided he stays healthy, but if he does, it will not be by divine intervention. It will be the result of years of painstaking preparation.
It will also be the byproduct of learning to strike a delicate balance between routine and superstition.
"I had a borderline case of OCD [obsessive compulsive disorder]," Allen explains. "I was never diagnosed, but it was something I was aware of."
This is how Ray Allen's mind works. If there is a speck of paper on the floor in his house, he cannot walk by without picking it up. He has tried. He has purposely marched up the stairs without correcting the glaring imperfection, but he's unable to eliminate the image from his mind until he goes back down, throws the scrap in the wastebasket, and restores order in his home.
He requires the same symmetry in his basketball universe.
Communicate, compromise
There was considerable discussion before the season on how Pierce, Allen, and Kevin Garnett would share shots.
It didn't occur to anyone, except their coach, to consider how they would share their personal space.
The wildly divergent rituals of the three superstars was a surprise - and, initially, a problem.
"As a team," Allen concedes, "we're all inside a bubble. Each of us only has so much room to operate. You have to carve out your space and recognize that because of someone else's needs, you might have to compromise a bit."
There's the free-wheeling Pierce, who never does anything quite the same from game to game. There is Allen, who needs to complete a specific checklist of chores before tipoff. And then there is Garnett, a brooding pregame figure who requires an intense period of introspection to prepare himself.
It was inevitable that their approaches would collide. In early December, Garnett was at his locker, alone, silently visualizing his responsibilities for the game. Allen, who had long ago completed his pregame tasks, was joking with Kendrick Perkins and Rajon Rondo. The noise interrupted Garnett's concentration. He barked his objections; his veteran teammate barked back.
"They got into it with each other," reports Rondo. "Me and Perk were sitting there going, 'Whoa, what's this about?' "
Pierce observed the verbal skirmish with amusement.
"Stuff like that happens on teams all the time," Pierce insists. "Different personalities. But Ray's to blame. He's crazy. One night he gets on the plane and says, 'Paul, you're in the wrong seat.' I told him, 'Man, there's a hundred seats open. Leave me alone.' "
Ray's obsession with routine has struck a chord with Rondo, who confesses, "I probably have OCD myself." The point guard must wash his hands twice at the nine-minute mark of every game. When teammates and fans high-five him, he offers a closed fist to ward off germs.
Allen has become his role model, and Rondo has started showing up at the arena three hours before the game to mimic Ray's routine.
"I want to be consistent," explains Rondo, "and Ray is all about that."
Allen's mantra is that you must walk, talk, eat, and dress as though you are the best.
"Ray is very strong-minded," Garnett says. "When you have other guys who are as strong, obviously you are going to have debates. But I think the young guys can see we can challenge one another without being destructive.
"I'm not going to say it was easy, but it was simple. Communicating is the best thing we do. A lot of people talk to hear themselves talk. Here, guys talk with their soul."
But coach Doc Rivers needed his trio to listen with the same fervor. His three stars were used to going about things in their own way, with teammates who deferred to them. That was no longer possible, and Rivers knew who would suffer the most.
"Earlier in the year, Ray would come to me and say, 'This is the way I used to do it,' " Rivers says. "I'd tell him, 'That's in the past.' Ray is a military guy. It was hard for him.
"But I told him if we were going to win this thing, he had to change."
'Hollywood' to Seattle
When Ray Allen was 8, he had to drop in five lefty layups and five righty layups before he could leave the gym. Sometimes another team needed the floor and he'd run out of time before he could complete his ritual.
"I cried," Allen says. "It messed up my day."
He did not discuss his compulsion with his teammates, his coaches, his siblings, or even his mother.
"I was almost embarrassed by it," Allen says. "It was just always beating inside my brain when I was young and trying to make sense of who I was."
They nicknamed him "Hollywood" when he arrived at the University of Connecticut because he was always color-coordinated, always meticulously groomed. He looked like someone important.
"I got that from Michael Jordan," Allen says. "When I was a kid, every time he did an interview on television, he was wearing a suit. He looked professional. I told myself, 'That's the way to go.' "
Ray plotted his workouts as if he were one of the coaches. Calhoun would show the team game film and Allen would ask to see it again, not because he needed to, but because he knew his teammates hadn't paid proper attention.
"It's internal," says Calhoun, "but it's there 24 hours a day. Ray does things the right way, and expects others to do them, too. People are sloppy - in their preparation, in the way they present themselves.
"Not Ray. Never."
So Allen harangues Garnett about his sweater-and-tie combos, and the omnipresent Adidas logo on everything he wears. He chastises Eddie House for shooting halfcourt shots at intermission at the opposing team's basket.
He talks to Perkins and Glen Davis about their social life. Allen doesn't drink alcohol. He reminds the young big men, "You have all summer to go out. Do it then. Not now. Not with so much at stake."
"Ray says he always packs light," Perkins says, "because he leaves his nightclub clothes at home."
Allen is certain his philosophy works. When he played in Seattle, a veteran leader among a mass of young, floundering talent, he would complete his pregame pattern, then retreat to the locker room where he'd read, often for more than an hour, before anyone else showed up.
Rashard Lewis, a young forward who jumped to the NBA from high school, began quizzing Allen about his routine. Soon he started showing up early, too. Before long, Damien Wilkins, Chris Wilcox, and Luke Ridnour joined them. Ray was the pied piper of preparation.
"It got to the point," says former Seattle coach Nate McMillan, "where the first bus was more crowded than the second bus. And that never happens."
Allen started a ritual of a halfcourt huddle at the end of games. He didn't just talk to the Sonics about being professional, he showed them how to be professional.
"Ray had a really big influence on me," says Lewis, who now plays for the Orlando Magic. "He knew I had the potential to be a great player, but, as he told me, it's the little things that can hold you back.
"So much of who I am today is from Ray. He helped me become an All-Star."
Not everybody in Seattle bought into Allen's plan. One day, when he arrived at the arena, Allen's regular parking spot was occupied. The owner of the car was Antonio Daniels, who had recently latched on to the early-bird shooting.
"I walk in and say, 'Why are you parking in my spot?' " Allen says. "He is acting like he doesn't know what I am talking about.
"We are playing the Knicks that night. I think I had about 40 points, but I'm still mad. I'm at the free throw line and Daniels comes up to me and says, 'You need me to take that spot more often.' I hit the free throw, then turn to him and shout, 'You stay out of my spot!' "
McMillan was worried after so many losses that his young players might abandon the Allen plan. But even after a double-digit loss, there was Allen, his head shaved, his shirt tucked in, reading a book, prepared to fight again.
"He made my job easy," McMillan says. "No matter what happened the night before, I could always say, 'Ray's here. He's ready. How about you?' "
Buying into concessions
The Celtics have asked Ray Allen to reinvent himself this season. He plays fewer minutes, takes fewer shots, is no longer the focal point of the offense.
"You see him sacrifice," says Perkins, "and you think, 'If he can do it, then I can do it, too.' "
Those changes were palatable for Ray. But he got frustrated when Rivers changed the team shootaround from the morning of the game to three hours before the game. And when Davis's minutes dwindled, and the coaches asked him to put in workouts before and after games, that cut into Allen's alone time on the floor.
"The last time I talked to Ray, he was ticked at Big Baby for not playing better, because he was messing up his pregame," Calhoun says. "I said to Ray, 'You've been in this league 12 years. Don't you have this down by now?' "
Allen is pleased that Rondo has become his pregame partner. He noted that Pierce, who ribs him the most about his eccentricities, has showed up early himself from time to time. In the meantime, Allen has worked to respect KG's ritual from afar.
"I've watched Ray," Garnett says. "I've watched Paul, and we all have our own way of preparing. All of us are excessive in how we go about it. It makes sense to me. Everybody is a little over the top in what they do, because it means so much."
When the Celtics played in Orlando earlier this season, Allen was at the arena at his customary time. He was surprised to see a lone Magic player working down at the other end of the floor - until he realized it was Rashard Lewis.
The word in Seattle is that Ridnour, Wilkins, and Wilcox have continued their pregame routine. McMillan, now the coach of the Portland Trail Blazers, reports that he imparted Allen's pregame wisdom to young All-Star Brandon Roy, who is so pleased with the results that he doesn't even wait for the first bus anymore. He goes a half-hour earlier by cab with an assistant coach.
The Celtics have benefited most from Allen, who admits he's made more concessions this season than all the others combined.
"Our young guys are lucky to be around him. Too often these kids make it to the NBA and they settle. Ray won't let them."
Pierce says he plans to adopt some of Allen's eating habits and offseason workouts.
The bubble he calls the Boston Celtics can get cluttered. Very cluttered. But, according to Ray's careful calculations, there is still plenty of space inside for a championship trophy.
6.15.2011
TYSON CHANDLER
Chandler, the fiery defensive anchor and emotional leader in his first season with the Mavs, is a top priority for Dallas to resign. The 7-foot-1 center provided Dallas with an athletic, defensive-minded big man for the first time in Dirk Nowitzki's 13 seasons.
He will be a highly sought-after free agent and will command a hefty salary.
"Tyson Chandler changed our season on a lot of levels," Mavs coach Rick Carlisle said. "It wasn't just his play. It was his enthusiasm, his energy. He just brought a certain exuberance to our locker room and he was always a guy who was talking about accountability. He was talking about it, preaching it and it got other guys in the locker room on board with keeping each other accountable.
"Because, if you don't have a team that polices itself, you can't win an NBA championship."
Chandler averaged a near-double-double with 10.1 points and 9.4 rebounds, while earning NBA All-Defensive second team honors and finishing third in voting for the league's Defensive Player of the Year.
He will be a highly sought-after free agent and will command a hefty salary.
"Tyson Chandler changed our season on a lot of levels," Mavs coach Rick Carlisle said. "It wasn't just his play. It was his enthusiasm, his energy. He just brought a certain exuberance to our locker room and he was always a guy who was talking about accountability. He was talking about it, preaching it and it got other guys in the locker room on board with keeping each other accountable.
"Because, if you don't have a team that polices itself, you can't win an NBA championship."
Chandler averaged a near-double-double with 10.1 points and 9.4 rebounds, while earning NBA All-Defensive second team honors and finishing third in voting for the league's Defensive Player of the Year.
DIRK'S ENCORE
Dirk Nowitzki's borderline insane work ethic has always been driven by two dreams.
He lived one in 2008, when he led Germany to the Olympics, carrying his country's flag during opening ceremony. He accomplished the other days ago, when his Dallas Mavericks put the finishing touches on the franchise's first championship.
Now what for Nowitzki?
"You think he's going to work less?" teammate Peja Stojakovic asked, laughing at such a silly notion. "No way."
Teammates don't expect Dirk Nowitzki's passion to change just because he got his title.
That's the consensus opinion in the Mavericks' organization. Never mind that Nowitzki, with his Finals MVP trophy within arm's reach, openly wondered whether he would have worked as hard if he won a title earlier in his career.
Maybe that was the champagne talking. After all, this is a guy who abstains from alcohol all season. Heck, it was news that he celebrated the Western Conference semifinals sweep of the two-time defending champion Los Angeles Lakers by eating a couple of slices of pizza, cheating on his strict diet.
As far as Mavericks concerns go, Dirk's ability to maintain his maniacal motivation ranks somewhere below whether billionaire owner Mark Cuban can afford the giant $90,000 bottle of Aces of Spades champagne the German guzzled from while celebrating at a Miami Beach club in the wee hours of Monday morning.
"I don't think you're going to see any less of a competitive Dirk with the hunger to win a championship next year," said Mavs president of basketball operations Donnie Nelson, the man most responsible for bringing Nowitzki to Dallas 13 years ago. "That's not part of this guy's DNA."
Added coach Rick Carlisle: "Guys like Dirk Nowitzki, Jason Kidd, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan -- these guys are wired a certain way. And they're uncompromising with how they approach their preparation to play."
If anything, the Mavericks brass hopes Nowitzki relaxes a little. He turns 33 on Sunday, and while Dallas' decision-makers are confident Nowitzki has at least a few more prime seasons left in his ground-bound game, rest becomes more important as he ages.
Nowitzki has relaxed more than ever the past couple of summers, when he finally granted Cuban's requests to not compete in international tournaments. Instead, Nowitzki makes a daily drive from his boyhood home in Wurzburg, Germany to go through strenuous, unconventional morning workouts with longtime mentor Holger Geschwindner, then does a couple hours of cardio each afternoon.
Nowitzki's late-night shooting sessions during the season, often with Holger in attendance, are approaching legendary status. Teammates are surprised if they show up to the gym to work on their game during a non-game night and don't see Nowitzki.
Guys such as Stojakovic, who competed against Nowitzki for years, went from respecting Nowitzki's commitment to being in awe of it once they see his passion up close and personal on a consistent basis.
"His drive is just unique," said Brian Cardinal, who became one of Nowitzki's close buddies during their first season as teammates. "His motivation is like no other. To come in here and see him grind and put in the effort he does, it's inspiring. It's contagious."
Nobody expects that to change after a championship, no matter what Nowitzki says while soaking up the moment he's worked half of his life to achieve.
"Maybe a couple of nights next year I'm going to tell Holger to go somewhere else and leave me alone," Nowitzki said, quickly seeming to realize how unlikely that is to happen. "No, I don't know, we'll have to wait and see.
"I play this sport because I'm a competitor. That's what drove me to be the best I could be. I don't think it's going to be a huge motivation drop-off. I think I'll be OK once I get a little rest here."
He'll have to set new goals. The challenge of defending a championship should certainly fuel the 7-footer's competitive fire.
Maybe he'll start giving his legacy a little thought, something he claims he's never done before. Nowitzki, who ranks 23rd in NBA history with 22,792 points, acknowledged Tuesday that 30,000 would be a worthy target.
He'll find plenty of motivational fodder. Nowitzki knows nothing else.
Workers work. Winners win. For Nowitzki, the former leads to the latter, a trend that won't end just because he finally had one fully satisfying season.
He lived one in 2008, when he led Germany to the Olympics, carrying his country's flag during opening ceremony. He accomplished the other days ago, when his Dallas Mavericks put the finishing touches on the franchise's first championship.
Now what for Nowitzki?
"You think he's going to work less?" teammate Peja Stojakovic asked, laughing at such a silly notion. "No way."
Teammates don't expect Dirk Nowitzki's passion to change just because he got his title.
That's the consensus opinion in the Mavericks' organization. Never mind that Nowitzki, with his Finals MVP trophy within arm's reach, openly wondered whether he would have worked as hard if he won a title earlier in his career.
Maybe that was the champagne talking. After all, this is a guy who abstains from alcohol all season. Heck, it was news that he celebrated the Western Conference semifinals sweep of the two-time defending champion Los Angeles Lakers by eating a couple of slices of pizza, cheating on his strict diet.
As far as Mavericks concerns go, Dirk's ability to maintain his maniacal motivation ranks somewhere below whether billionaire owner Mark Cuban can afford the giant $90,000 bottle of Aces of Spades champagne the German guzzled from while celebrating at a Miami Beach club in the wee hours of Monday morning.
"I don't think you're going to see any less of a competitive Dirk with the hunger to win a championship next year," said Mavs president of basketball operations Donnie Nelson, the man most responsible for bringing Nowitzki to Dallas 13 years ago. "That's not part of this guy's DNA."
Added coach Rick Carlisle: "Guys like Dirk Nowitzki, Jason Kidd, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan -- these guys are wired a certain way. And they're uncompromising with how they approach their preparation to play."
If anything, the Mavericks brass hopes Nowitzki relaxes a little. He turns 33 on Sunday, and while Dallas' decision-makers are confident Nowitzki has at least a few more prime seasons left in his ground-bound game, rest becomes more important as he ages.
Nowitzki has relaxed more than ever the past couple of summers, when he finally granted Cuban's requests to not compete in international tournaments. Instead, Nowitzki makes a daily drive from his boyhood home in Wurzburg, Germany to go through strenuous, unconventional morning workouts with longtime mentor Holger Geschwindner, then does a couple hours of cardio each afternoon.
Nowitzki's late-night shooting sessions during the season, often with Holger in attendance, are approaching legendary status. Teammates are surprised if they show up to the gym to work on their game during a non-game night and don't see Nowitzki.
Guys such as Stojakovic, who competed against Nowitzki for years, went from respecting Nowitzki's commitment to being in awe of it once they see his passion up close and personal on a consistent basis.
"His drive is just unique," said Brian Cardinal, who became one of Nowitzki's close buddies during their first season as teammates. "His motivation is like no other. To come in here and see him grind and put in the effort he does, it's inspiring. It's contagious."
Nobody expects that to change after a championship, no matter what Nowitzki says while soaking up the moment he's worked half of his life to achieve.
"Maybe a couple of nights next year I'm going to tell Holger to go somewhere else and leave me alone," Nowitzki said, quickly seeming to realize how unlikely that is to happen. "No, I don't know, we'll have to wait and see.
"I play this sport because I'm a competitor. That's what drove me to be the best I could be. I don't think it's going to be a huge motivation drop-off. I think I'll be OK once I get a little rest here."
He'll have to set new goals. The challenge of defending a championship should certainly fuel the 7-footer's competitive fire.
Maybe he'll start giving his legacy a little thought, something he claims he's never done before. Nowitzki, who ranks 23rd in NBA history with 22,792 points, acknowledged Tuesday that 30,000 would be a worthy target.
He'll find plenty of motivational fodder. Nowitzki knows nothing else.
Workers work. Winners win. For Nowitzki, the former leads to the latter, a trend that won't end just because he finally had one fully satisfying season.
6.10.2011
DIRK AND HOLGER
Article Written: Aug. 27, 2006
Dirk: Born June 19, 1978
SAITAMA (FIBA World Championship) - One of the most important figures at the FIBA World Championship is not on the court.
Instead, Holger Geschwindner sits in the stands and watches his famous pupil Dirk Nowitzki wreak havoc on opponents as Germany takes aim at another medal in this prestigious tournament.
Nowitzki had 23 points to fire the Germans to a narrow victory over Nigeria on Sunday and into the quarter finals in Saitama.
He spoke to Cindy Garcia-Bennett about Nowitzki and Germany.
FIBA: How difficult is it for Nowitzki to deal with all the expectation surrounding him and Germany?
Geschwindner: "He feels pressure. He is the key figure in Germany right now, since he is playing in the NBA and everyone is watching him. It's a big load but he is handling it really well so far."
FIBA: Do you think Nowitzki is at the high point of his career?
Geschwindner: "I guess everyone can see that he is playing his role, I hope that he can improve his tools. He needs more physical exercise. But I think in two years time he will be on top of his game. He improves year after year and we have a pretty good plan to keep him focused. He is 28 yrs old right now and has two more years to reach the peak of his abilities."
FIBA: You have known Nowitzki for a long time. How has he changed?
Geschwindner: "I first met Dirk when he was a schoolboy, he was 16 years old. "He really hasn't changed much in terms of character. He is very down to earth, he has only one car and a little house. He is not playing to be a big shot. He knows he has great talent but other guys have talents in other fields. He doesn't feel superior, for Dirk everybody is the same, equal."
Dirk: Born June 19, 1978
SAITAMA (FIBA World Championship) - One of the most important figures at the FIBA World Championship is not on the court.
Instead, Holger Geschwindner sits in the stands and watches his famous pupil Dirk Nowitzki wreak havoc on opponents as Germany takes aim at another medal in this prestigious tournament.
Nowitzki had 23 points to fire the Germans to a narrow victory over Nigeria on Sunday and into the quarter finals in Saitama.
He spoke to Cindy Garcia-Bennett about Nowitzki and Germany.
FIBA: How difficult is it for Nowitzki to deal with all the expectation surrounding him and Germany?
Geschwindner: "He feels pressure. He is the key figure in Germany right now, since he is playing in the NBA and everyone is watching him. It's a big load but he is handling it really well so far."
FIBA: Do you think Nowitzki is at the high point of his career?
Geschwindner: "I guess everyone can see that he is playing his role, I hope that he can improve his tools. He needs more physical exercise. But I think in two years time he will be on top of his game. He improves year after year and we have a pretty good plan to keep him focused. He is 28 yrs old right now and has two more years to reach the peak of his abilities."
FIBA: You have known Nowitzki for a long time. How has he changed?
Geschwindner: "I first met Dirk when he was a schoolboy, he was 16 years old. "He really hasn't changed much in terms of character. He is very down to earth, he has only one car and a little house. He is not playing to be a big shot. He knows he has great talent but other guys have talents in other fields. He doesn't feel superior, for Dirk everybody is the same, equal."
4.21.2011
RAY ALLEN: THE NBA ALL-TIME 3PT SHOOTER
There are a handful of excellent shooters in the NBA. And then there’s Ray Allen. Excellent shooters can make shots even when lanky defenders with slinky arms obstruct their view of the basket. Ray Allen will make shots regardless of the condition. Excellent shooters are Matt Bonner, Anthony Morrow, Kyle Korver, and their role-playing brethren. Ray Allen is a future Hall of Famer.
Ray Allen’s jump shot is sweeter than high fructose corn syrup, and just as deadly. The question is, Why? Why is his shot greater than all other shots? And, what’s the secret behind his success?
“That’s an excellent question,” says Karl Hobbs, George Washington University’s current head coach and the man Ray Allen credits for helping him polish his stroke while at UConn.
While Allen certainly doesn’t disagree with the man who had him study Hersey Hawkins game tape throughout his time at Connecticut, he thinks his career shooting percentage of 45 (40 from behind the three-point line) has more to do with his legs. “The lower body is the most important,” says the 10-time All-Star. “The upper body is kind of like non-existent if your lower body is doing what it’s supposed to do. If you’ve got great legs on your shot, it’s always going to have a shot to go in.”
While there may be a slight difference of opinion when it comes to dissecting the physical reasons behind his shooting prowess, the leg on which Ray Allen’s greatness stands is simple: It’s his work ethic.
Everyone knows about Ray Allen’s extremely regimented game day routine. They know about his nap in the early afternoon; they know about his post-nap meal of chicken and rice; they know about his early arrival to the gym; they know about his exhaustive shooting routine. What everyone may not know about is Allen’s equally outrageous practice habits.
According to Boston coach Doc Rivers, even on the day after a game where he played 40-plus minutes, Allen will hit the Celtics’ facility, hours prior to the start of practice. After carefully changing into his ball gear—if Allen had a hair on his head, it would never be out of place; his nature is that meticulous—he begins his workout by running on the treadmill for 60 minutes. He then makes his way down to the court, where he matriculates from location to location, taking 300 or more shots. Then his teammates arrive and practice begins.
“It’s just his warm-up, and for most people that’s their practice,” says Rivers. “That is why he is who he is.”
Who is Ray Allen exactly? He’s 15 seasons of 20 points, 4 rebounds, 3 assists and 2 threes a game. He is, according to many NBA players past and present, one of the greatest shooters to ever lay hands on a Spalding. He is, according to the stats, the greatest three-point shooter of all time. He is the perfect citizen, the epitome of cool and the very definition of consistent greatness.
Yet, at 35 years of age, he still practices like the scrawny freshman at UConn he was half a lifetime ago. And that is the not-so-secret ingredient behind his jumper’s serenity and his career’s longevity.
“I don’t take credit or praise for being able to shoot the basketball, because I do it so much,” says Allen. “Pat me on the back. Tell me I’m great. But get in the gym with me and you’ll be like, ‘I’ve watched him work out, so I really expect that to go in.’”
Coach Hobbs, observer of almost two decades of Ray Allen hoops, says that you can never tell what kind of game Allen is having based on his ever-neutral facial expression.
Consider February 10, 2011 the exception.
Backpedaling down the court after draining his 2561 three of his NBA career over Derek Fisher, Allen pumped his fists—seemingly still trying to keep his emotions in check. He followed that by clapping emphatically. With the crowd noise rising to an NBA Finals-esque crescendo, Allen gave the masses a thumbs-up. Then, he exhaled and Allen went over to Reggie Miller, who was on the sidelines calling the game for TNT, and gave him a handshake and a heartfelt hug.
Moments later, after re-adjusting his headset, Miller would note on national TV: “I’m so happy for him, because this is one of the best guys. He is so humble. He’s so giving. He’s a great family man.”
What Reggie Miller was trying to say, and what Ray Allen’s hug attests to, is that Allen is nothing if not gracious. Coach Hobbs knows this from his days working him out on the practice floor at UConn, where a young Allen would always make sure to say, “Thanks, Coach,” before heading to the locker room.
Not satiated with the title he won in 2008, after re-upping for two more years with the Celtics this past summer, Allen spent copious amounts of time in the gym, preparing for another run at the championship.
“A lot of guys in the NBA talk about wanting to win, but they don’t want to win on the team’s terms—they want to win on their own terms,” says Allen. “People talk about it, but they don’t really know what it means to really go about winning. It’s just talk. I’ve been fortunate to meet up with some players and an organization that really wants to win.”
The work paid off. The 35-year-old had one of his finest season since coming over to Boston in ’07. He’s averaging 16.5 points, shot career-bests of 49 percent from the field and 44 percent from downtown. More importantly, the Celtics finished third in the Eastern Conference.
“He’s gotten better with age,” says Hobbs, who watches the Celtics on TV frequently. “That’s a tribute to how he keeps his body and mind in great condition.”
There are excellent shooters. And then there’s Ray Allen.
Ray Allen’s jump shot is sweeter than high fructose corn syrup, and just as deadly. The question is, Why? Why is his shot greater than all other shots? And, what’s the secret behind his success?
“That’s an excellent question,” says Karl Hobbs, George Washington University’s current head coach and the man Ray Allen credits for helping him polish his stroke while at UConn.
While Allen certainly doesn’t disagree with the man who had him study Hersey Hawkins game tape throughout his time at Connecticut, he thinks his career shooting percentage of 45 (40 from behind the three-point line) has more to do with his legs. “The lower body is the most important,” says the 10-time All-Star. “The upper body is kind of like non-existent if your lower body is doing what it’s supposed to do. If you’ve got great legs on your shot, it’s always going to have a shot to go in.”
While there may be a slight difference of opinion when it comes to dissecting the physical reasons behind his shooting prowess, the leg on which Ray Allen’s greatness stands is simple: It’s his work ethic.
Everyone knows about Ray Allen’s extremely regimented game day routine. They know about his nap in the early afternoon; they know about his post-nap meal of chicken and rice; they know about his early arrival to the gym; they know about his exhaustive shooting routine. What everyone may not know about is Allen’s equally outrageous practice habits.
According to Boston coach Doc Rivers, even on the day after a game where he played 40-plus minutes, Allen will hit the Celtics’ facility, hours prior to the start of practice. After carefully changing into his ball gear—if Allen had a hair on his head, it would never be out of place; his nature is that meticulous—he begins his workout by running on the treadmill for 60 minutes. He then makes his way down to the court, where he matriculates from location to location, taking 300 or more shots. Then his teammates arrive and practice begins.
“It’s just his warm-up, and for most people that’s their practice,” says Rivers. “That is why he is who he is.”
Who is Ray Allen exactly? He’s 15 seasons of 20 points, 4 rebounds, 3 assists and 2 threes a game. He is, according to many NBA players past and present, one of the greatest shooters to ever lay hands on a Spalding. He is, according to the stats, the greatest three-point shooter of all time. He is the perfect citizen, the epitome of cool and the very definition of consistent greatness.
Yet, at 35 years of age, he still practices like the scrawny freshman at UConn he was half a lifetime ago. And that is the not-so-secret ingredient behind his jumper’s serenity and his career’s longevity.
“I don’t take credit or praise for being able to shoot the basketball, because I do it so much,” says Allen. “Pat me on the back. Tell me I’m great. But get in the gym with me and you’ll be like, ‘I’ve watched him work out, so I really expect that to go in.’”
Coach Hobbs, observer of almost two decades of Ray Allen hoops, says that you can never tell what kind of game Allen is having based on his ever-neutral facial expression.
Consider February 10, 2011 the exception.
Backpedaling down the court after draining his 2561 three of his NBA career over Derek Fisher, Allen pumped his fists—seemingly still trying to keep his emotions in check. He followed that by clapping emphatically. With the crowd noise rising to an NBA Finals-esque crescendo, Allen gave the masses a thumbs-up. Then, he exhaled and Allen went over to Reggie Miller, who was on the sidelines calling the game for TNT, and gave him a handshake and a heartfelt hug.
Moments later, after re-adjusting his headset, Miller would note on national TV: “I’m so happy for him, because this is one of the best guys. He is so humble. He’s so giving. He’s a great family man.”
What Reggie Miller was trying to say, and what Ray Allen’s hug attests to, is that Allen is nothing if not gracious. Coach Hobbs knows this from his days working him out on the practice floor at UConn, where a young Allen would always make sure to say, “Thanks, Coach,” before heading to the locker room.
Not satiated with the title he won in 2008, after re-upping for two more years with the Celtics this past summer, Allen spent copious amounts of time in the gym, preparing for another run at the championship.
“A lot of guys in the NBA talk about wanting to win, but they don’t want to win on the team’s terms—they want to win on their own terms,” says Allen. “People talk about it, but they don’t really know what it means to really go about winning. It’s just talk. I’ve been fortunate to meet up with some players and an organization that really wants to win.”
The work paid off. The 35-year-old had one of his finest season since coming over to Boston in ’07. He’s averaging 16.5 points, shot career-bests of 49 percent from the field and 44 percent from downtown. More importantly, the Celtics finished third in the Eastern Conference.
“He’s gotten better with age,” says Hobbs, who watches the Celtics on TV frequently. “That’s a tribute to how he keeps his body and mind in great condition.”
There are excellent shooters. And then there’s Ray Allen.
4.12.2011
EVALUATING QB's
Every pass play is a pure demonstration of human feeling. Scientists have in recent years discovered that emotions, which are often dismissed as primitive and unreliable, can in fact reflect a vast amount of information processing. In many instances, our feelings are capable of responding to things we're not even aware of, noticing details we don't register on a conscious level.
This exercise captures why it's so important for quarterbacks to rely on their feelings and not their analytical intelligence. "QBs are tested on every single pass play," Hasselbeck says. "To be good at the position, you've got to know the answer before you even understand the question. You've got to be able to glance at a defense and recognize what's going on. And you've got to be able to do that when the left tackle gets beat and you're running away from a big lineman. That ability might not depend on real IQ, but it sure takes a lot of football IQ."
How QBs develop a more effective emotional brain is the question teams should be asking. The simple answer: work. Expertise requires lots of effort and repetition. K. Anders Ericsson, a psychologist at Florida State, studies expertise. Ericsson acknowledges the role of genetic gifts (physical and mental skills are not distributed equally at birth), but he believes that the overwhelming majority of expertise is earned. "There is virtually no evidence that expertise is due to genetic or innate factors," Ericsson says. "Rather, it strongly suggests that expertise requires huge amounts of effort and practice." This is because it takes time to train our feelings, to embed those useful patterns into the brain. Before a quarterback can find the open man, parsing the defense in a glance, he must spend years studying cornerbacks and crossing routes. It looks easy only because he's worked so hard.
"I think the willingness to put in the hours is the most important thing for succeeding in the NFL," says Gil Brandt, former Cowboys vice president of player personnel and current draft analyst for NFL.com. "When you look at the best QBs -- guys like Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Aaron Rodgers and Drew Brees -- what you see is that they work harder than anyone else. Their work ethic is what makes them great."
In recent years, Ericsson has become known for his calculation that true expertise in various fields, from QBs to cello players, requires about 10,000 hours of what he calls "deliberate practice." And deliberate practice is not fun.
It's not casual scrimmages or a game of catch in the backyard. Instead, it's a disciplined attempt to improve specific skills. For a quarterback, this might involve spending the weekend throwing hundreds of footballs through an old car tire while moving to the left or working for months on a few steps of footwork. Consider Peyton and Eli Manning. It would be easy to conclude that the brothers have some yet-to-be-discovered quarterback gene, a snippet of DNA that makes them suited for the pocket. In reality, according to Ericsson's model of expertise, the Mannings have excelled in the pros because they began throwing the football as toddlers, racking up hours of deliberate practice at an age when most kids haven't even touched a pigskin. It also didn't hurt that their father, Archie Manning, was a former NFL passer who provided them with invaluable instruction. Peyton and Eli weren't born with the ability to read defenses and throw a perfect spiral. Those "instincts" come only from a lifetime of training.
So, if talent comes from intuition, and reliable intuition comes from practice, then the trait that teams should really be measuring is how recruits practice. And the question they should be asking is, Why are some quarterbacks so much better at getting better? This notion of practice led Ericsson to collaborate with Angela Duckworth, a psychologist at the University of Pennsylvania. Duckworth is best known for her work on grit, a character trait that allows people to persist in the face of difficulty. A few years ago, she was commissioned by the Army to measure the grittiness of cadets at West Point. Although the academy is highly selective, about 5 percent of cadets drop out after the first summer of training, known as Beast Barracks. The Army has long searched for the variables that predict which cadets will graduate, but it wasn't until Duckworth tested them using a short questionnaire -- consisting of statements such as "Setbacks don't discourage me" or "I am diligent" -- that the Army found a measurement that actually worked. Duckworth has since repeated the survey with subsequent West Point classes, and the results are always the same: The cadets who graduate are the ones with grit.
In a new paper, Duckworth and Ericsson demonstrate that grit doesn't only keep people from dropping out, but it's also what allows them to become experts, to put in the hours of deliberate practice. The researchers tracked 190 participants at the Scripps National Spelling Bee. The first thing they discovered is that deliberate practice works. Student spellers who spent more time studying alone and memorizing words with the help of note cards performed much better than kids who were quizzed by friends or engaged in leisure reading. Duckworth and Ericsson also found that levels of grit determined how much the spellers were willing to practice. Grittier kids were able to engage in the most useful kinds of self-improvement, which is why they performed at a higher level. Woody Allen famously declared, "Eighty percent of success is showing up." And grit is what allows you to show up, again and again and again.
"I'd bet that there isn't a single highly successful person who hasn't depended on grit," says Duckworth. "Nobody is talented enough to not have to work hard, and that's what grit allows you to do. It lets you take advantage of your potential." For successful quarterbacks, grit is what allows them to watch hours of game tape on Monday mornings. It lets them remain in the weight room after everyone else has gone home. It's why they can practice the right way, not just the easy way. "In order to become a professional athlete, you need a certain kind of obsessiveness," Duckworth says. "You've got to devote your life to the development of this very narrow expertise. It shouldn't be surprising that this takes lots of grit."
The problem for the NFL is that instead of measuring grit, teams still subscribe to an antiquated model of talent and expertise in which innate gifts are presumed to matter the most. The scouting combine requires players entering the draft to perform a number of short physical and mental tasks (40-yard dash, Wonderlic, three-cone drill, bench-press reps, vertical jump) referred to by psychologists as "maximal measurements," since they measure people who are highly motivated to perform for short bursts of time. But to understand why those maximal tests at the combine don't predict performance in the pros, we must return to the nature of expertise. As Ericsson and Duckworth demonstrate, the most important kind of talent, emotional IQ, depends on measurements of sustained performance, on being able to engage in endless amounts of deliberate practice.
"Maybe they say he's too short or too slow or has a weak arm," Brandt says, "but the reality is that if a quarterback has the right work ethic, then he can probably make up for those problems." He points again to Brees, who wasn't drafted until the second round, and Brady, who was ignored until the sixth. "That's because teams have been looking at all the wrong things," Brandt says. "Just because you can measure it doesn't mean it matters."
Measuring grit does matter, but it's not easy. Grit can't be evaluated in a single afternoon; by definition, it's a metric of personality that involves performance over long periods of time. People don't reveal grit at the combine; they show it when no one else is around. "What coaches need is a way to test how players will perform over the entire season," Duckworth says. "Do they have what it takes to make themselves better? Will they benefit from criticism and feedback? If I were a coach, those are the questions I would care about."
This exercise captures why it's so important for quarterbacks to rely on their feelings and not their analytical intelligence. "QBs are tested on every single pass play," Hasselbeck says. "To be good at the position, you've got to know the answer before you even understand the question. You've got to be able to glance at a defense and recognize what's going on. And you've got to be able to do that when the left tackle gets beat and you're running away from a big lineman. That ability might not depend on real IQ, but it sure takes a lot of football IQ."
How QBs develop a more effective emotional brain is the question teams should be asking. The simple answer: work. Expertise requires lots of effort and repetition. K. Anders Ericsson, a psychologist at Florida State, studies expertise. Ericsson acknowledges the role of genetic gifts (physical and mental skills are not distributed equally at birth), but he believes that the overwhelming majority of expertise is earned. "There is virtually no evidence that expertise is due to genetic or innate factors," Ericsson says. "Rather, it strongly suggests that expertise requires huge amounts of effort and practice." This is because it takes time to train our feelings, to embed those useful patterns into the brain. Before a quarterback can find the open man, parsing the defense in a glance, he must spend years studying cornerbacks and crossing routes. It looks easy only because he's worked so hard.
"I think the willingness to put in the hours is the most important thing for succeeding in the NFL," says Gil Brandt, former Cowboys vice president of player personnel and current draft analyst for NFL.com. "When you look at the best QBs -- guys like Peyton Manning, Tom Brady, Aaron Rodgers and Drew Brees -- what you see is that they work harder than anyone else. Their work ethic is what makes them great."
In recent years, Ericsson has become known for his calculation that true expertise in various fields, from QBs to cello players, requires about 10,000 hours of what he calls "deliberate practice." And deliberate practice is not fun.
It's not casual scrimmages or a game of catch in the backyard. Instead, it's a disciplined attempt to improve specific skills. For a quarterback, this might involve spending the weekend throwing hundreds of footballs through an old car tire while moving to the left or working for months on a few steps of footwork. Consider Peyton and Eli Manning. It would be easy to conclude that the brothers have some yet-to-be-discovered quarterback gene, a snippet of DNA that makes them suited for the pocket. In reality, according to Ericsson's model of expertise, the Mannings have excelled in the pros because they began throwing the football as toddlers, racking up hours of deliberate practice at an age when most kids haven't even touched a pigskin. It also didn't hurt that their father, Archie Manning, was a former NFL passer who provided them with invaluable instruction. Peyton and Eli weren't born with the ability to read defenses and throw a perfect spiral. Those "instincts" come only from a lifetime of training.
So, if talent comes from intuition, and reliable intuition comes from practice, then the trait that teams should really be measuring is how recruits practice. And the question they should be asking is, Why are some quarterbacks so much better at getting better? This notion of practice led Ericsson to collaborate with Angela Duckworth, a psychologist at the University of Pennsylvania. Duckworth is best known for her work on grit, a character trait that allows people to persist in the face of difficulty. A few years ago, she was commissioned by the Army to measure the grittiness of cadets at West Point. Although the academy is highly selective, about 5 percent of cadets drop out after the first summer of training, known as Beast Barracks. The Army has long searched for the variables that predict which cadets will graduate, but it wasn't until Duckworth tested them using a short questionnaire -- consisting of statements such as "Setbacks don't discourage me" or "I am diligent" -- that the Army found a measurement that actually worked. Duckworth has since repeated the survey with subsequent West Point classes, and the results are always the same: The cadets who graduate are the ones with grit.
In a new paper, Duckworth and Ericsson demonstrate that grit doesn't only keep people from dropping out, but it's also what allows them to become experts, to put in the hours of deliberate practice. The researchers tracked 190 participants at the Scripps National Spelling Bee. The first thing they discovered is that deliberate practice works. Student spellers who spent more time studying alone and memorizing words with the help of note cards performed much better than kids who were quizzed by friends or engaged in leisure reading. Duckworth and Ericsson also found that levels of grit determined how much the spellers were willing to practice. Grittier kids were able to engage in the most useful kinds of self-improvement, which is why they performed at a higher level. Woody Allen famously declared, "Eighty percent of success is showing up." And grit is what allows you to show up, again and again and again.
"I'd bet that there isn't a single highly successful person who hasn't depended on grit," says Duckworth. "Nobody is talented enough to not have to work hard, and that's what grit allows you to do. It lets you take advantage of your potential." For successful quarterbacks, grit is what allows them to watch hours of game tape on Monday mornings. It lets them remain in the weight room after everyone else has gone home. It's why they can practice the right way, not just the easy way. "In order to become a professional athlete, you need a certain kind of obsessiveness," Duckworth says. "You've got to devote your life to the development of this very narrow expertise. It shouldn't be surprising that this takes lots of grit."
The problem for the NFL is that instead of measuring grit, teams still subscribe to an antiquated model of talent and expertise in which innate gifts are presumed to matter the most. The scouting combine requires players entering the draft to perform a number of short physical and mental tasks (40-yard dash, Wonderlic, three-cone drill, bench-press reps, vertical jump) referred to by psychologists as "maximal measurements," since they measure people who are highly motivated to perform for short bursts of time. But to understand why those maximal tests at the combine don't predict performance in the pros, we must return to the nature of expertise. As Ericsson and Duckworth demonstrate, the most important kind of talent, emotional IQ, depends on measurements of sustained performance, on being able to engage in endless amounts of deliberate practice.
"Maybe they say he's too short or too slow or has a weak arm," Brandt says, "but the reality is that if a quarterback has the right work ethic, then he can probably make up for those problems." He points again to Brees, who wasn't drafted until the second round, and Brady, who was ignored until the sixth. "That's because teams have been looking at all the wrong things," Brandt says. "Just because you can measure it doesn't mean it matters."
Measuring grit does matter, but it's not easy. Grit can't be evaluated in a single afternoon; by definition, it's a metric of personality that involves performance over long periods of time. People don't reveal grit at the combine; they show it when no one else is around. "What coaches need is a way to test how players will perform over the entire season," Duckworth says. "Do they have what it takes to make themselves better? Will they benefit from criticism and feedback? If I were a coach, those are the questions I would care about."
4.04.2011
MATT HOWARD & BUTLER KEEP WINNING
Butler is not to be trusted in this Final Four. It pretends to be a guppy but has a piranha's appetite. Underdog? Please. Butler is the favorite now, and a lot of us know it. Whatever you do, don't pet it.
Its cover is blown after last year's Final Four. We all know how it works. Butler wants you to think it's something it's not. Take its heart, senior forward Matt Howard, who looks more like a geeky band-camp RA than a possible NBA first rounder. If Ichabod Crane played hoops, he'd look like this. He's 93 percent elbow and the rest Adam's apple. He's got so many juts, you could hang tinsel off him.
He's the Academic All-American of the Year in Division I. He's so nerdy, you look at him and think, "What's the worst he's going to do to us? Reprogram our iPhones to Chinese?"
Look at those socks. They lost their elastic years ago. And those sad shoes! If those shoes were your couch, it'd be in the alley now.
"He has six pairs of brand-new shoes in his locker," teammate Shelvin Mack says. "But he won't wear them! He just keeps wearing those ratty old ones."
And what's that on his head? Arugula?
"That's just the hair I woke up with," he says, trying to run his fingers through it and getting stopped by grease. "Whatever it looks like in the morning, that's what I go with for the day." He gets it cut once a year, for free, by a teammate, whether it needs it or not. He rides a rusted-out bike to Butler's 6 a.m. practices, even in the dead of winter, even through ice storms, even though the handlebars suddenly bent under him the other day catapulting him onto the ice.
"I fixed it," says Howard, who stands 6-foot-8 and 230, most of it bone. "Just poured some WD-40 in there and bent them back. It's a little risky to ride, I guess, but I can't see buying a new one."
Kid, you'd never fit in the SEC.
Not that it matters. Howard has more drive than some GM plants. He's driven Butler to back-to-back Final Fours, a feat never before accomplished by an Indiana school. Not Indiana. Not Purdue. Not Notre Dame.
The Bulldogs wouldn't be anywhere near Houston without Howard. He's the designated floor diver, the insatiable rebounder, the guy who sets the kind of picks that would stop an Amtrak train. He once set a pick on Duke's Kyle Singler that sent Singler bouncing backward 180 degrees and onto his nose.
When the Bulldogs needed a tip-in at the buzzer in their opening NCAA tournament game this year against Old Dominion, Howard gave it to them.
When the Bulldogs needed one free throw to win their third-round game against No. 1 seed Pittsburgh, Howard gave it to them.
When the Bulldogs needed a monster in the Sweet 16 against Wisconsin, Howard gave them 20 and 12.
And when the Bulldogs needed somebody in the Elite 8 to launch himself headlong into a pile to tie up the ball and win the game against Florida, Howard and his boneyard body gave it to them.
"Matt Howard will be an NBA player," says Butler's bespectacled coach, Brad Stevens. "His team would be winning wherever he went. That's who he is. He makes teams better. He's a winner. Whenever I have to answer questions about what's his real height, how long is he, [I just say], 'He wins. He just wins.'"
Well, not always. Butler looked as confused as Howard's hair for a while this season. It lost three straight games in the anemic Horizon League. Houston looked farther than the moon then. The third loss was 62-60 to Youngstown State on Feb. 3.
"That's why I'd say this trip [to another Final Four] just feels a little better than the last time," Howard says. "Because when you think about where we came from, how far down we were, standing in that Youngstown gym, man, I can't tell you how bad I felt."
Howard is used to getting beat up. He's one of 10 kids of a Connersville, Ind., mail carrier. He's got four older brothers with the same kind of pickax elbows. He knows how it works: You bleed, you find a towel, you play some more. He rededicated himself and the Bulldogs got through it. Since those three losses, they've won 13 straight. Now they're 80 minutes from a national championship.
Through it all, Howard kept on being what Mack calls "the weirdest person I've ever met in my entire life."
"Like, remember that UConn-Syracuse game [in 2009] that went six overtimes?" teammate Ron Nored asks. "Well, after the third one, he texts me: 'Do you think Buffalo Wild Wings had anything to do with this?'"
You ask Howard what's up and he'll say, "The ceiling." Tell him your name and he'll reverse the letters the rest of your life. Shelvin Mack is permanently Melvin Shack. Together, they'd like to go to Dan Siego someday. Perhaps they'll see girls wearing "skini mirts."
Who cares? On the court, he gets it right. He's the thing you love most in a college basketball player -- a guy who just wants to win and doesn't care who gets the credit. A guy who hits class by day and glass by night. A scabbed-knee grinder who finishes every game with his tank on E.
That's Hatt Moward in a shut nell.
Its cover is blown after last year's Final Four. We all know how it works. Butler wants you to think it's something it's not. Take its heart, senior forward Matt Howard, who looks more like a geeky band-camp RA than a possible NBA first rounder. If Ichabod Crane played hoops, he'd look like this. He's 93 percent elbow and the rest Adam's apple. He's got so many juts, you could hang tinsel off him.
He's the Academic All-American of the Year in Division I. He's so nerdy, you look at him and think, "What's the worst he's going to do to us? Reprogram our iPhones to Chinese?"
Look at those socks. They lost their elastic years ago. And those sad shoes! If those shoes were your couch, it'd be in the alley now.
"He has six pairs of brand-new shoes in his locker," teammate Shelvin Mack says. "But he won't wear them! He just keeps wearing those ratty old ones."
And what's that on his head? Arugula?
"That's just the hair I woke up with," he says, trying to run his fingers through it and getting stopped by grease. "Whatever it looks like in the morning, that's what I go with for the day." He gets it cut once a year, for free, by a teammate, whether it needs it or not. He rides a rusted-out bike to Butler's 6 a.m. practices, even in the dead of winter, even through ice storms, even though the handlebars suddenly bent under him the other day catapulting him onto the ice.
"I fixed it," says Howard, who stands 6-foot-8 and 230, most of it bone. "Just poured some WD-40 in there and bent them back. It's a little risky to ride, I guess, but I can't see buying a new one."
Kid, you'd never fit in the SEC.
Not that it matters. Howard has more drive than some GM plants. He's driven Butler to back-to-back Final Fours, a feat never before accomplished by an Indiana school. Not Indiana. Not Purdue. Not Notre Dame.
The Bulldogs wouldn't be anywhere near Houston without Howard. He's the designated floor diver, the insatiable rebounder, the guy who sets the kind of picks that would stop an Amtrak train. He once set a pick on Duke's Kyle Singler that sent Singler bouncing backward 180 degrees and onto his nose.
When the Bulldogs needed a tip-in at the buzzer in their opening NCAA tournament game this year against Old Dominion, Howard gave it to them.
When the Bulldogs needed one free throw to win their third-round game against No. 1 seed Pittsburgh, Howard gave it to them.
When the Bulldogs needed a monster in the Sweet 16 against Wisconsin, Howard gave them 20 and 12.
And when the Bulldogs needed somebody in the Elite 8 to launch himself headlong into a pile to tie up the ball and win the game against Florida, Howard and his boneyard body gave it to them.
"Matt Howard will be an NBA player," says Butler's bespectacled coach, Brad Stevens. "His team would be winning wherever he went. That's who he is. He makes teams better. He's a winner. Whenever I have to answer questions about what's his real height, how long is he, [I just say], 'He wins. He just wins.'"
Well, not always. Butler looked as confused as Howard's hair for a while this season. It lost three straight games in the anemic Horizon League. Houston looked farther than the moon then. The third loss was 62-60 to Youngstown State on Feb. 3.
"That's why I'd say this trip [to another Final Four] just feels a little better than the last time," Howard says. "Because when you think about where we came from, how far down we were, standing in that Youngstown gym, man, I can't tell you how bad I felt."
Howard is used to getting beat up. He's one of 10 kids of a Connersville, Ind., mail carrier. He's got four older brothers with the same kind of pickax elbows. He knows how it works: You bleed, you find a towel, you play some more. He rededicated himself and the Bulldogs got through it. Since those three losses, they've won 13 straight. Now they're 80 minutes from a national championship.
Through it all, Howard kept on being what Mack calls "the weirdest person I've ever met in my entire life."
"Like, remember that UConn-Syracuse game [in 2009] that went six overtimes?" teammate Ron Nored asks. "Well, after the third one, he texts me: 'Do you think Buffalo Wild Wings had anything to do with this?'"
You ask Howard what's up and he'll say, "The ceiling." Tell him your name and he'll reverse the letters the rest of your life. Shelvin Mack is permanently Melvin Shack. Together, they'd like to go to Dan Siego someday. Perhaps they'll see girls wearing "skini mirts."
Who cares? On the court, he gets it right. He's the thing you love most in a college basketball player -- a guy who just wants to win and doesn't care who gets the credit. A guy who hits class by day and glass by night. A scabbed-knee grinder who finishes every game with his tank on E.
That's Hatt Moward in a shut nell.
4.03.2011
BRANDON KNIGHT - MATURE BEYOND HIS YEARS
Down 11 points with three minutes left in a regional final game, Brandon Knight stood among his high school teammates. Their heads were hanging. Their dream of a run to the Florida state championship was evaporating and they looked like they had pretty much given up.
Instead of screaming or reaching for some bombastic fire and brimstone, Knight looked directly at his coach, David Beckerman.
"He said to me, but loud enough for everyone to hear, 'What time is practice tomorrow?'" Beckerman recalled.
After the huddle broke, Knight drained three 3-pointers, picked up a charge and a steal, dished out three assists and finished with 52 points. Pine Crest not only went to the state championship game; the tony school known for its academic muscle also won the thing.
Brandon Knight saved Kentucky's bacon with the last-second shot that beat Princeton.
That is how Knight does business.
He sticks hard to Theodore Roosevelt's motto of speak softly and carry a big stick. Knight isn't going to overwhelm anyone with effusive or entertaining postgame interviews. He has Josh Harrellson to do that.
He isn't going to hop on press tables and point to the crowd after a big win. DeAndre Liggins can handle that chore.
Nor is he going to stare down an opposing bench and signal his made 3-pointer. Let Terrence Jones do that.
No, what Knight is going to do is simply beat you in every imaginable way.
In the four NCAA tournament games he's played, in his first college season, Knight has delivered the direct dagger with two buzzer-beaters -- stunning Princeton on a drive to the hoop and Ohio State with a pull-up jumper -- and the indirect blow of 30 points against West Virginia and a masterful 22 against North Carolina.
Knight comes to Houston overshadowed by the impossible story of VCU versus Butler and the star power of Kemba Walker, but could easily exit this city as the most important player on the floor.
"He's the anchor of that team and he does it very well," said North Carolina point guard Kendall Marshall. "I think he's shown throughout his career what kind of player he is."
Being the starting point guard at Kentucky isn't for the faint of heart. It is an all-eyes-on-you position that requires equal parts confidence and equal parts soundproofing -- the belief that you are good enough to handle the job and the noise blockers to keep out the criticism that invariably comes when you fail to do so.
Knight is the star now, the kid who has delivered on the promise of his high school hype -- he was a consensus top-five player in his class -- but for a while, he was the collegiate kid who missed. When Kentucky was finding itself, suffering the growing pains of a team in transition, it was Knight who had the ball three times in critical games in critical situations.
Three times he failed. Against Alabama, it was a late turnover, and against both Florida and Arkansas, his would-be winning 3-pointers fell short.
That coach John Calipari still put the ball in his hand in the two most critical moments of the season -- tied with two seconds left against Princeton and tied with Ohio State with five seconds left -- tells you all you need to know about Knight.
"Why I put the ball in his hands, is because he is not afraid to miss it," John Calipari said. "If you really want to be that guy, you have no fear if you miss. If I miss, I miss, but I am not afraid to miss this shot. Life will not end."
Calipari knows a thing or two about brazen point guards. Knight is just the latest hoops prodigy to handle the ball for the coach, following in the gilded footsteps of Derrick Rose, Tyreke Evans and John Wall. But it is Knight whom the coach calls "the most conscientious, hardworking player I've ever been around."
That's some heady praise, but praise echoed by Beckerman, a man who knows a thing or two about exceptional.
In 1971, Beckerman founded the Starter apparel company and is a former trustee on the Naismith Hall of Fame board.
"He's very rare," Beckerman said of Knight. "A very rare kid."
Pine Crest isn't a basketball factory. If anything it's a nerd factory. The Class of 2010 alone produced 18 national merit scholar finalists.
Before Knight arrived on campus, basketball was nothing more than a convenient extracurricular. The team had never sniffed a state title.
Knight not only toted the academic load with aplomb -- he carried an AP-loaded, weighted GPA of 4.3 out of high school and, while listed as a freshman, is technically a sophomore at Kentucky -- but he basically birthed a basketball program.
In his five years at Pine Crest (he started on the varsity as an eighth grader), the school won two state titles and competed for two more.
Yet as much time as he'd log in the gym, Knight never became basketball-centric. He possesses an inquisitiveness that isn't typically found among teenagers, let alone those whose free time is consumed by sport.
"He wants to know about the world around him and know about the world that's going to affect him," Beckerman said. "Listen to what I just said: He wants to know about the world that's going to affect him. If he asks questions about the financial world, it's because at some point it's going to matter to him."
A would-be architect or engineer if he had his druthers, Knight brings the same sort of brainpower to basketball. Like most high school point guards, he was used to being more of a scorer than a distributor, averaging 32 points in his high school career.
At Kentucky he's had to do both.
Oh, and he's had to play defense, which comes about as naturally to college rookies as ice skating comes to Arizonans.
He wasn't great at either to begin with, and Calipari isn't one to let that sort of thing go unnoticed. Hard on all his players, the coach said he was probably hardest on Knight, demanding that he worry more about running the team than finding his points.
His can be a downright wilting criticism, especially when partnered with what was by Kentucky standards a so-so season around mid-February.
Yet Knight was smart enough to understand what was going on and mature enough to handle it.
"There's always tough times," he said. "Every player has tough times and points when you've had enough, but you have to be able to push through it. You have to have tough skin and let some things go. You have to take some of that as motivation and just ignore the rest, and you have to know the difference, when to listen and when to move on."
So Knight simply did what he has always done: He worked. It is no coincidence that as Knight has figured out his role, Kentucky has figured out its game.
During the 10-game winning streak that has so far taken the Wildcats to an SEC tournament title and the Final Four, Knight is averaging 16.1 points as well as 4.5 assists, figuring out finally how to score and dish with equal success.
And a kid that Calipari said "never spoke" in high school has become a vocal, if not theatrical, leader for the Wildcats.
He may not say much, but when he does, he means it.
Instead of screaming or reaching for some bombastic fire and brimstone, Knight looked directly at his coach, David Beckerman.
"He said to me, but loud enough for everyone to hear, 'What time is practice tomorrow?'" Beckerman recalled.
After the huddle broke, Knight drained three 3-pointers, picked up a charge and a steal, dished out three assists and finished with 52 points. Pine Crest not only went to the state championship game; the tony school known for its academic muscle also won the thing.
Brandon Knight saved Kentucky's bacon with the last-second shot that beat Princeton.
That is how Knight does business.
He sticks hard to Theodore Roosevelt's motto of speak softly and carry a big stick. Knight isn't going to overwhelm anyone with effusive or entertaining postgame interviews. He has Josh Harrellson to do that.
He isn't going to hop on press tables and point to the crowd after a big win. DeAndre Liggins can handle that chore.
Nor is he going to stare down an opposing bench and signal his made 3-pointer. Let Terrence Jones do that.
No, what Knight is going to do is simply beat you in every imaginable way.
In the four NCAA tournament games he's played, in his first college season, Knight has delivered the direct dagger with two buzzer-beaters -- stunning Princeton on a drive to the hoop and Ohio State with a pull-up jumper -- and the indirect blow of 30 points against West Virginia and a masterful 22 against North Carolina.
Knight comes to Houston overshadowed by the impossible story of VCU versus Butler and the star power of Kemba Walker, but could easily exit this city as the most important player on the floor.
"He's the anchor of that team and he does it very well," said North Carolina point guard Kendall Marshall. "I think he's shown throughout his career what kind of player he is."
Being the starting point guard at Kentucky isn't for the faint of heart. It is an all-eyes-on-you position that requires equal parts confidence and equal parts soundproofing -- the belief that you are good enough to handle the job and the noise blockers to keep out the criticism that invariably comes when you fail to do so.
Knight is the star now, the kid who has delivered on the promise of his high school hype -- he was a consensus top-five player in his class -- but for a while, he was the collegiate kid who missed. When Kentucky was finding itself, suffering the growing pains of a team in transition, it was Knight who had the ball three times in critical games in critical situations.
Three times he failed. Against Alabama, it was a late turnover, and against both Florida and Arkansas, his would-be winning 3-pointers fell short.
That coach John Calipari still put the ball in his hand in the two most critical moments of the season -- tied with two seconds left against Princeton and tied with Ohio State with five seconds left -- tells you all you need to know about Knight.
"Why I put the ball in his hands, is because he is not afraid to miss it," John Calipari said. "If you really want to be that guy, you have no fear if you miss. If I miss, I miss, but I am not afraid to miss this shot. Life will not end."
Calipari knows a thing or two about brazen point guards. Knight is just the latest hoops prodigy to handle the ball for the coach, following in the gilded footsteps of Derrick Rose, Tyreke Evans and John Wall. But it is Knight whom the coach calls "the most conscientious, hardworking player I've ever been around."
That's some heady praise, but praise echoed by Beckerman, a man who knows a thing or two about exceptional.
In 1971, Beckerman founded the Starter apparel company and is a former trustee on the Naismith Hall of Fame board.
"He's very rare," Beckerman said of Knight. "A very rare kid."
Pine Crest isn't a basketball factory. If anything it's a nerd factory. The Class of 2010 alone produced 18 national merit scholar finalists.
Before Knight arrived on campus, basketball was nothing more than a convenient extracurricular. The team had never sniffed a state title.
Knight not only toted the academic load with aplomb -- he carried an AP-loaded, weighted GPA of 4.3 out of high school and, while listed as a freshman, is technically a sophomore at Kentucky -- but he basically birthed a basketball program.
In his five years at Pine Crest (he started on the varsity as an eighth grader), the school won two state titles and competed for two more.
Yet as much time as he'd log in the gym, Knight never became basketball-centric. He possesses an inquisitiveness that isn't typically found among teenagers, let alone those whose free time is consumed by sport.
"He wants to know about the world around him and know about the world that's going to affect him," Beckerman said. "Listen to what I just said: He wants to know about the world that's going to affect him. If he asks questions about the financial world, it's because at some point it's going to matter to him."
A would-be architect or engineer if he had his druthers, Knight brings the same sort of brainpower to basketball. Like most high school point guards, he was used to being more of a scorer than a distributor, averaging 32 points in his high school career.
At Kentucky he's had to do both.
Oh, and he's had to play defense, which comes about as naturally to college rookies as ice skating comes to Arizonans.
He wasn't great at either to begin with, and Calipari isn't one to let that sort of thing go unnoticed. Hard on all his players, the coach said he was probably hardest on Knight, demanding that he worry more about running the team than finding his points.
His can be a downright wilting criticism, especially when partnered with what was by Kentucky standards a so-so season around mid-February.
Yet Knight was smart enough to understand what was going on and mature enough to handle it.
"There's always tough times," he said. "Every player has tough times and points when you've had enough, but you have to be able to push through it. You have to have tough skin and let some things go. You have to take some of that as motivation and just ignore the rest, and you have to know the difference, when to listen and when to move on."
So Knight simply did what he has always done: He worked. It is no coincidence that as Knight has figured out his role, Kentucky has figured out its game.
During the 10-game winning streak that has so far taken the Wildcats to an SEC tournament title and the Final Four, Knight is averaging 16.1 points as well as 4.5 assists, figuring out finally how to score and dish with equal success.
And a kid that Calipari said "never spoke" in high school has become a vocal, if not theatrical, leader for the Wildcats.
He may not say much, but when he does, he means it.
BUTLER IS BACK IN THE TOURNAMENT
Butler's back.
The scrappy school from Indianapolis that came within two points of a national title last season and weathered a rocky ride this season will return to the NCAA tournament owning another big winning streak.
Matt Howard scored 18 points and Shelvin Mack added 14 to lead the Bulldogs to a 59-44 victory over Wisconsin-Milwaukee on Tuesday night for its third Horizon League tournament title in the past four years. Butler has won nine straight games overall.
"It doesn't get old. It's not easy to win this game, it really isn't," said Howard, the tournament MVP. "We knew it was going to be rocking in here. The key is to jump on them, and we had to jump on them. We talked about that."
Fast Facts
Butler (23-9) will get a chance to be the talk of the nation again and duplicate its wild run last year to the NCAA championship game that ended with a loss to Duke.
In the process, the Bulldogs avenged losing to Milwaukee (19-13) for the third time this season.
"I thought we made some tough shots, I think we did some tough things," Butler coach Brad Stevens said. "It doesn't hurt when somebody beats you twice. You're pretty on edge and also, you've got to change, you've got to do something different. And we did."
The Panthers got 10 points apiece from Tone Boyle, Tony Meier and Anthony Hill, but couldn't overcome a terrible shooting night, finishing 30 percent from the field. Milwaukee made its move when Ryan Allen's layup cut it to 42-39, but Butler answered with a 16-1 run and held the Panthers without a field goal for more than 7½ minutes.
"We didn't shoot the ball well, and we had some good looks," Milwaukee coach Rob Jeter said. "You're not going to win many games shooting the percentages that we shot. It's unfortunate it happened in this game."
"You can't be satisfied with where you are, just because you won a championship. There's more out there if you do the right things," Howard said. "We know what it takes, you can't relax now, I think that's key."
"It's been a trademark of our program I think to withstand the storm and just be resilient," Stevens said. "Last year in the tournament, that fairy tale would've never been written if we didn't have that trait."
Butler opened up a big lead using a 14-0 first-half run after a stifling defensive effort and outworked Milwaukee, never more apparent than when the Bulldogs got two offensive rebounds on one possession before Smith's layup put Butler ahead 33-20 at the half.
The Panthers, wearing bright, bumblebee-striped yellow shoes, were looking for their fourth NCAA tournament appearance and had handed the Bulldogs their worst loss in nearly six years in early January, a glimpse of promise in an up-and-down beginning to conference play.
The Bulldogs will once again be representing the Horizon League despite having as many black and blue moments as their uniforms this season.
Injuries on top of the departures of conference player of the year Gordon Hayward, Avery Jukes and Willie Veasley appeared to bring Butler down after a 14-9 start. Three players have missed time with concussions and Mack failed to finish several games early in the year with cramps.
The scrappy school from Indianapolis that came within two points of a national title last season and weathered a rocky ride this season will return to the NCAA tournament owning another big winning streak.
Matt Howard scored 18 points and Shelvin Mack added 14 to lead the Bulldogs to a 59-44 victory over Wisconsin-Milwaukee on Tuesday night for its third Horizon League tournament title in the past four years. Butler has won nine straight games overall.
"It doesn't get old. It's not easy to win this game, it really isn't," said Howard, the tournament MVP. "We knew it was going to be rocking in here. The key is to jump on them, and we had to jump on them. We talked about that."
Fast Facts
Butler (23-9) will get a chance to be the talk of the nation again and duplicate its wild run last year to the NCAA championship game that ended with a loss to Duke.
In the process, the Bulldogs avenged losing to Milwaukee (19-13) for the third time this season.
"I thought we made some tough shots, I think we did some tough things," Butler coach Brad Stevens said. "It doesn't hurt when somebody beats you twice. You're pretty on edge and also, you've got to change, you've got to do something different. And we did."
The Panthers got 10 points apiece from Tone Boyle, Tony Meier and Anthony Hill, but couldn't overcome a terrible shooting night, finishing 30 percent from the field. Milwaukee made its move when Ryan Allen's layup cut it to 42-39, but Butler answered with a 16-1 run and held the Panthers without a field goal for more than 7½ minutes.
"We didn't shoot the ball well, and we had some good looks," Milwaukee coach Rob Jeter said. "You're not going to win many games shooting the percentages that we shot. It's unfortunate it happened in this game."
"You can't be satisfied with where you are, just because you won a championship. There's more out there if you do the right things," Howard said. "We know what it takes, you can't relax now, I think that's key."
"It's been a trademark of our program I think to withstand the storm and just be resilient," Stevens said. "Last year in the tournament, that fairy tale would've never been written if we didn't have that trait."
Butler opened up a big lead using a 14-0 first-half run after a stifling defensive effort and outworked Milwaukee, never more apparent than when the Bulldogs got two offensive rebounds on one possession before Smith's layup put Butler ahead 33-20 at the half.
The Panthers, wearing bright, bumblebee-striped yellow shoes, were looking for their fourth NCAA tournament appearance and had handed the Bulldogs their worst loss in nearly six years in early January, a glimpse of promise in an up-and-down beginning to conference play.
The Bulldogs will once again be representing the Horizon League despite having as many black and blue moments as their uniforms this season.
Injuries on top of the departures of conference player of the year Gordon Hayward, Avery Jukes and Willie Veasley appeared to bring Butler down after a 14-9 start. Three players have missed time with concussions and Mack failed to finish several games early in the year with cramps.
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