Jackson’s Critics Go Up in Smoke

His only request was a cigar. So here it is, Phil Jackson, a beautiful and robust stogie, big enough to blow smoke rings up the nostrils of every critic who ever called you lucky, weird, hypocritical, Zen-daffy, a coattail rider or a Montana monk who runs off into the woods and eats berries.

“I didn’t get one Fed-Ex’d to me by Red,” he said with a satisfied smile, referring to No. 1 critic and noted cigar-sucker Red Auerbach. “Looks like I’m going to have to get my own cigar out of my briefcase in the locker room and light it up. It’s remarkable I’m sitting here in a situation that I never dreamed of.”

Specifically, what he has won is a three-peat three-peat. And if that isn’t enough to convince the rest of Planet Hoops that we are observing the most accomplished pro coach ever, then pity the fools. There were times in Chicago, I admit, when Jackson seemed like just another fortunate soul benefiting from a place in Michael Jordan’s orbit. But as the Jerrys tumbled into lotteryland, Scottie Pippen flamed out and the other Bulls faded, Jackson ventured to Los Angeles with the not-so-easy challenge of making Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant compatible and championship-correct.

He did it. Not once, not twice, but three times now, giving him nine NBA titles in nine Finals as a coach and defining himself as an all-time great who has completely broken free of Jordan to create a niche almost as prominent. As the Lakers put away the gnats-on-the-monument New Jersey Nets, the only hint of Jordan’s presence Wednesday was the famous No. 23 jersey worn by Bryant before the game, his latest replica statement in a prestigious line. But it all points to Jackson.