Coaching Equals: Gregg Popovich No Longer Looks Up At Jerry Sloan

My favorite Gregg Popovich story—told repeatedly to me by a friend—unfolded at San Antonio-based Trinity University several years ago.

The Spurs coach wanted to watch Trinity square off against Pomona-Pitzer, the small liberal arts college where he served as head coach for seven years.

Just after tipoff, Bob Hill—the nomadic head coach whose children played basketball at Trinity—entered the William H. Bell Athletic Center and scowled when he saw the man who had fired him sitting in a prime viewership spot.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Hill asked. "How the f**k am I supposed to sit in the same gym with him ?"

He has never forgiven Popovich for giving him the axe in 1996. All these years later, the resentment he harbors is understandable.

"How the hell do I get canned after two of the greatest seasons in franchise history?" Hill said to my friend, a Houston sportswriter who shall remain anonymous. "I didn't have David Robinson or Sean Elliott (Vinny Del Negro and others were injured, too)."

The dismissal of the Spurs coach who won 122 games in his first two seasons angered the team's fans and relegated a town temporarily boosted by Hill's celebrity back into a confidence-challenged state of misery.

Most saw Popovich, then the basketball operations vice president, as a bush-league coach making a bird-brained, fatal mistake.

Naturally, Hill wonders what might have been. He could be the one with four championships and Tim Duncan at his side.

He could have watched Manu Ginobili and Tony Parker evolve from raw Argentina and France imports to future Hall of Famers.

Maybe not.

Popovich decided he should take the team's reigns and finished his first year as interim coach with a 17-47 mark. The franchise then landed the first pick in a draft with a no-brainer first selection.

Anyone who dares praise Popovich in his presence is reminded of this—that it's all Duncan's fault—ad nauseum.

Then, with another 20-win struggle and a rough start in the shortened lockout season, Pop almost met the same fate as Hill.

Owner Red McCombs had previously fired him, along with R.C. Buford and the other assistants under Larry Brown before the 1992 campaign.

This time, Majority Owner Peter Holt seemed ready to do the honors.

Still miffed about Hill's release, fans wanted Popovich to hit the road.

How he could fire a popular San Antonio figure after a 3-15 start when injuries sabotaged any chance at a winning record remained a mystery.

Now?

No one questions the defense-first methods that have delivered four NBA titles to the country's 31st largest radio market and 38th largest media market.

He entered his 13th season at the helm last week with the kind of job security that would make anyone at Goldman Sachs envious.

Tonight, his well-oiled, perennial-contending Spurs hit the road for a tough test against a physical squad with the longest-tenured coach in the sport.

Jerry Sloan was enshrined in the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in September alongside John Stockton, his point guard of 19 seasons, Michael Jordan, David Robinson, and C. Vivian Stringer.

His Pomona career a distant memory, Popovich will soon also be nominated for Springfield induction.

Convincing him to accept the honor might be tougher than getting a raccoon to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

Much like Sloan, he detests showers of congratulations and often comes across as surly, sarcastic, and anguished beyond repair.

A recent example of his humility: Popovich did not complain when Robinson left him out of his induction speech.

The Admiral thanked former Spurs owners, Duncan and other teammates but forgot to recognize the man who was there from his first practice to his final game, a second championship clincher.

Sideline reporters dread interviews with him, and rookie writers quickly learn that cuteness is as illegal as murder and extortion.

With the Spurs down 20 to the Cleveland Cavaliers at home in February, ESPN runners at the AT&T Center informed Nancy Lieberman she would not have to conduct the usual pre-fourth quarter Q&A.

They knew he would not be a happy camper, watching his Duncan and Manu Ginobili-less squad get whacked by LeBron James.

When the camera panned over to Lieberman late in the third period, her face sported a relieved, "thank God" look.

Popovich's typical answer when asked how he helped build a dynasty: "We didn't screw it up," a reference to the luck that landed Duncan in San Antonio.

His visits to Salt Lake City have become increasingly meaningful over the years.

If Brown acted as his mentor and inspiration—Popovich was the best man at his wedding—Sloan was an idol.

When the Brown understudy first assumed head coaching duties, he sought to create the kind of no-nonsense environment Sloan had installed in Utah.

The Jazz played a gritty, brutish brand of basketball that bordered on dangerous and dirty. The team slapped, clawed and shoved its way to victories, using defense and precision execution to deliver knockout punches.

After losses, the players blamed themselves, not the officials or circumstances.

The former Air Force captain—even if few in San Antonio saw it in 1996—was the perfect man to make the Spurs a Jazz-like squad.

Popovich has copied Sloan's formula and used it to do what the Utah legend could not, win championships.

Again, Pop would tell you he never had to gameplan against Michael Jordan. That Duncan guy might get mentioned again.

The man who refuses to accept any credit for transforming a small market into an NBA power deserves a lion's share of it. Since Duncan arrived, the Spurs boast the best win percentage of any pro sports franchise and have become a model of consistency.

From sports talk rant victim to near Central Texas saint, Popovich has become the coach everyone respects, the hardwood genius who can do no wrong.

Charles Barkley routinely calls him the best in the business on TNT broadcasts.

Phil Jackson is the winningest coach in NBA history, and Pop would be the first to remind you of that.

Even with a six-ring difference between the two, it would not be absurd to call them equals should they meet in a playoff duel.

Kobe Bryant once said he would love to play for Popovich if the opportunity presented itself.

It was a cordial response to a question, but the sentiment was sincere.

Popovich doesn't have to be better than Jackson, Red Auerbach, Pat Riley or any other coach.

The fastest to ever reach 500 wins as a sideline superintendent, his tutelage has created front office, lead scout, and head and assistant conductor careers for Hank Egan, Lance Blanks, Mike Brown, Danny Ferry, Steve Kerr, Avery Johnson, Vinny Del Negro, Doc Rivers , P.J. Carlesimo, and Sam Presti.

All of those men list him as a primary influence, just as Popovich credits Brown and Sloan for his basketball arousal.

The Spurs edged Brown's Detroit Pistons in the 2005 NBA Finals and Sloan's Jazz in the 2007 Western Conference Finals.

Locked and loaded after an expensive summer renovation, this bunch still has a few bullets left to fire in its annual drive for championships.

Though he did voice displeasure, Popovich has promised that his team will not use the odd scheduling of a road back-to-back against Utah and Portland after a four-day rest as an excuse.

Armed with Richard Jefferson, George Hill, Antonio McDyess, and DeJuan "the beast" Blair, in addition to Ginobili, Parker and Duncan, the Spurs could pull off consecutive wins.

Holt—the same man who once contemplated sacking Popovich—listened this summer when the coach said a frugal franchise would need to spend money like the Lakers do to give Duncan a shot at the additional rings he craves.

With Ginobili sidelined this spring, the Dallas Mavericks kicked some Spur fanny, sending a proud franchise home after the first round, earlier than anyone in the Alamo City wanted or expected.

Holt responded, too—sanctioning a payroll that will top $80 million.

That winning relationship is a contrast to the calamitous Memphis Grizzlies organization, where owner Michael Heisley orders his puppet general manager around and cries foul when his decisions prove half-baked.

Popovich has outlasted the firestorms that followed his supposed chief indiscretions, swapping Dennis Rodman for Will Perdue and firing Hill. Those controversial verdicts now seem irrelevant.

When he faces off tonight against the man who could be credited as the Spurs real architect, the idol worship will be mutual.

Pop's typical line about Sloan-coached squads—that you know what you're going to get—could be said of his, too.

That day at Trinity, Hill was reminded of the surprise layoff he contends ruined his coaching career.

He still sees the decision as a gaffe, a farce for the ages.

When he saw Popovich, the vitriol flared and bile crowded his throat.

Though often portrayed as a non-stop screamer, Pop loves a good laugh.

He smiled at Hill and offered a thumbs up, just as he had done opening night in 2008 after ordering an immediate Hack-a-Shaq.

A long way from Pomona. Now, a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame.

Not bad for a Xerox.