Ask Shaq to do something and he'll say: "No, I don't want to do that." But after a little pouting, he will do it. Ask Kobe, and he'll say, "okay," and then he will do whatever he wants. I discovered recently that Spotify has free audiobooks, and only put this on to test out that it was, in fact, truly free. It's a mark of the compelling nature of the narrative Jackson unfolds that I proceeded to inhale the book, listening to it on drives to and from the hospital, walks with my dog, even workouts. What he charts here is a slow-motion trainwreck of a season, one that I recall vividly from my childhood: the Lakers began the season as a championship-favorite juggernaut with four Hall-of-Famers in the starting lineup, started by going 18-3, and then hobbled through the remainder of the season with one setback after another: Karl Malone's injury, Kobe Bryant's rape trial, infighting and media warfare. Without ever, at any point, seeming like they'd found their groove, they made it into the Finals, and although they were widely expected--by everyone, including me--to sweep the no-star Detroit Pistons, they were ground down and humiliated by a superior team. Again, my memories of this time--I lived and breathed the Lakers, as maybe only a teenage boy obsessed with basketball can--are colored by the bitterness of the defeat, the ease with which it went from shocking to inevitable. The reason I tore through this audiobook as I did is because of Jackson engaging in what is essentially gossip--pulling the curtain back on the petty disputes and large fault lines that connected the highlights from that season--Kobe's buzzer-beater to end the season, Derek Fisher's miraculous 0.4 second buzzer-beater to fend off the Spurs. It's addictive to relive one's past like this, to have it enriched with inside information. As for the actual content of the book? It's fine. Phil Jackson writes with crisp lucidity, whether he's holding forth on the day-to-day business of coaching--practice shootarounds, defending the screen-roll, staggering time-outs--as well as the grander art of being a coach, his doomed attempts this season to connect with his players and bring out the best in them. So much of his work is less about Xs and Os than it is about modulating tempo and momentum--of a quarter, of a game, of a season, of a roster. Unlike almost any other person in the world, he's not awestruck by Kobe Bryant's talent, and does excellent work to demythologize him here: the Kobe in these pages is insecure, status-conscious, prone to missing practices and letting opponents get in his head, in ways that both bolster and drain his obvious talent. This refreshing insight into Kobe is tainted somewhat by Phil's clear contempt for working with him, and his overall weariness with coaching in general. There's a clear--and not fully intentional--contrast between his lofty Zen persona and the bitter, muck he has to wade through on and off the court on a day-to-day basis. The most striking episode, for me, comes early in the book, when he has to cut a walk-on player named Jannero Pargo (who I remember!). He writes with feeling about what a team player Pargo was, and yet how that wasn't enough in the end, and how devastating it is for a player to be told that his dream of playing in the NBA has ended. This book was written both by Jackson's experiencing self--hence the ruminations on basketball strategy and tactics--and by the remembering self who's bitter over a disaster of a season. But in some ways he's being too hard on himself: seeing what he sees, I feel as though the miracle isn't that the Lakers lost to the Pistons, but that they made it to the Finals at all. Jackson was given an impossible task, and this book is the record not only of his failure but of his reckoning with that failure. And part of the book's fascination for me lies in how much of it would prove to be mistaken in retrospect: Jackson seems to have sworn off basketball in general, and Kobe in particular, by the end of the book. See how that turned out.