Phil Jackson’s Summer Reading Assignments for the New York Knicks
Carmelo Anthony, “Beowulf”
If there’s one thing I need Melo to understand, it’s that he is literally Beowulf, the Anglo-Saxon warrior of lore. There’s no reason he shouldn’t be killing Grendel and Grendel’s mother and the dragon and whatever else shows up. The astute among you will realize that, yes, I am talking about the Spurs and the Warriors and the Rockets and their calamitous restructuring of the right way to play_._ Beowulf was the original isolation virtuoso, the type of guy who makes the Triangle such a potent weapon. Beowulf can’t let himself be bothered if his buddies—like, oh, let’s say, LeBron and Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh and Free Darko—all won championship rings. Who is Carmelo Anthony? A man medieval in his faith in absolutes. And he’s definitely bigger than Kobe. Definitely bigger.
Kristaps Porzingis, “The Vampire Lestat,” by Anne Rice
Kristaps could stand to add some muscle, it’s true, but what he really needs to acclimate to the N.B.A. tempo is to meditate sixteen hours a day, eat a few tons of risotto, and read “The Vampire Lestat,” by Anne Rice. It is the origin story of the vampire played by Tom Cruise in the important film “Interview with the Vampire.” You wouldn’t believe the stuff this vampire gets into. He forms his own rock band! A vampire in a rock band—you have to read it to believe it. Also, the Vampire Lestat is from Europe, and Kristaps is from Europe.
Arron Afflalo, “Journey to the End of the Night,” by Louis Ferdinand-Céline
At the start of every season, I always encourage players to focus on the journey rather than the destination.** **And, as you can see, the title of this book includes the word “journey.” Sure, it’s a misanthropic and depressing journey—just the type that Arron needs to knock that gleam from his eyes.
Thanasis Antetokounmpo, “The Outsiders,” by S. E. Hinton
There is angsty wisdom in this slim volume. I used to make Scottie Pippen read it after he showered. Little-known fact: Scottie only reads when he is very clean. Thanasis is a lot like Scottie. They are both men. They are roughly the same height. They can both read. That’s why I chose this book for Thanasis. He has the clear-eyed innocence of Ponyboy Curtis in “The Outsiders,” but there is some wildness in him, too, like the greaser kid played by Matt Dillon in the movie version.
José Calderón, Some Graffiti
José is an intellectual. Any book I’d throw at him he would throw back, and I respect that. His outlook on life is completely dependent on scholarship and academia. That’s why he’s such a timid defensive player: because he’s read about defense, written about defense, and dreamed about defense, but the real thing escapes him, you know? My challenge to José is to go outside. Take a walk. Get lost on purpose. Find a brick wall in a despoiled area. And read the graffiti on that wall. Read it until salty tears fill his Iberian eyes and he can read no longer.
Kevin Séraphin, “A Good Man Is Hard to Find,” by Flannery O’Connor
Séraphin is a good kid. He doesn’t even seem French. But there’s no time to bring him along slowly. Luckily, this Southern Gothic masterpiece will shoot a bolt right into Kevin’s secret soul. He may fancy himself a ballplayer because he’s been with the Wizards for a bit. But he’s in my house now. And he’s going to come to camp completely consumed by thoughts of good versus evil, manipulation and dislocation, and a lot of questions about how to be a proper Catholic in the modern world.
Cleanthony Early, “A Feast of Ice and Fire: The Official Game of Thrones Companion Cookbook,” by Chelsea Monroe-Cassel and Sariann Lehrer
A man is not a man until he can storm a stranger’s kitchen and create art out of dead animals and some fruits. And, of all the cookbooks in the world, this is the one that I keep returning to—muttons and capon and that sort of thing. Anyway, if Cle commits himself to defense, he’s going to have a long career. If he doesn’t, he’ll just be some guy who was in the N.B.A. for the briefest of moments, but at least he’ll know how to cook some meals from an imaginary world called Westeros. That is my gift to him.
Lou Amundson, “Lords of Chaos: The Bloody Rise of the Satanic Metal Underground,” by Michael Moynihan and Didrik Søderlind
Amundson is an avowed (and, frankly, pushy) Satanist. Figured I’d give him something to get angry about, since this book is actually more about Odin and Thor and white supremacy than Satan stuff, which will give Lou more incentive to mix it up in the low-post with bigger men. Sometimes Lou says things like “Hail, Satan!” after a huddle, and I say to him, “When Michael returned to the Bulls in 1995, after a year and a half of playing minor-league baseball, he didn’t know most of the players and he felt completely out of sync with the team.” He’s understandably confused, but confusion leads to awakening.
Langston Galloway, A Fortune Cookie
Chinese food has always been the great equalizer. The other day I broke open a fortune cookie, and the message read, “Now would be a good time to take up a new sport.” I Rollerbladed to Langston Galloway’s apartment and banged on the door, and when he finally answered I shoved the message into his hands and ran as fast as I could. I ran like the wind that scatters. Galloway called me a few minutes later and asked if I had just given him a fortune cookie, and I pretended I couldn’t speak the English. He bought it.
Robin Lopez, That One Comic Book with the Naked Blue Guy
You know the one. It’s got superheroes in it. Robin has a reputation as a superhero enthusiast. I want him to know that I’m aware of his existence.
Derrick Williams, The Liner Notes to Nirvana’s “Nevermind”
Honestly, I’m not so sure about Derrick Williams. I had just finished a bottle of soju when we signed him. It was good stuff. My lord, it was really good stuff. Soju is very good stuff in general, and this particular bottle? Best in the city.
Kyle O’Quinn, Every Phil Jackson Book, But on Fire
O’Quinn is all right. He’ll do well in the Triangle. But I want to correct some of the bad habits he learned in that Florida cesspool, and there’s no better way than to take my own words and set fire to them. Yes, it is true that, in a review of one of my books, the New York Times said that “through candor and comprehensiveness, Jackson writes a convincing revisionist take, in which he emerges as an excellent coach,” but those are just words, and words burn. It’s important for a young player to realize that even the strongest book can burn.
Sasha Vujačić, A Conglomerate Rock
The Machine can’t read the way you or I can, but he loves rocks. He’s a two-time champion. He doesn’t need to read.