Coaches only as smart as the talent at their disposal

	After winning 987 games before this season, it's unlikely Larry Brown has lost his ability to coach no matter the Knicks' record. Kent Horner/NBAE via Getty Images)

Larry Brown, master coaching architect, comes out of the gate leading the New York Knicks to five straight losses. Phil Jackson, mystical coaching guru, has a three-game losing streak with the Los Angeles Lakers before the season is two weeks old. Bill Belichick, taciturn coaching savant, is scrambling to make the playoffs with the New England Patriots, with a pedestrian 5-4 record.

Weren't we anointing these coaches as geniuses about a minute and a half ago? Men like Brown, Belichick and Jackson, all with recent championships on their resumes, were supposed to have the magic touch, the ability to turn a team into a winner with their combination of teaching expertise, Xs and Os acumen and motivational ability. Brown was supposed to teach the Knicks the secret of how to play the right way. Belichick was supposed to be able to keep the Patriots on top by continually finding players to plug into his system. Jackson was supposed to be able to harness Kobe Bryant's talent the way that no other coach can.

At the moment, none of that is happening. But they aren't the only highly regarded leaders who suddenly don't seem as brilliant as they used to. Yankee manager Joe Torre, once the darling of New York, hasn't guided the Yanks to the World Series in five years, and don't think owner George Steinbrenner hasn't noticed. Bill Parcells? Pat Riley? Joe Gibbs? Steve Spurrier? All of them were "geniuses" at one time who became struggling coaches later on.

None of these coaches suddenly lost some special gift -- the truth is, they probably never had any. They're simply proof that there is no such thing as coaching genius. The whole idea is just a myth, one that we latch on to in an attempt to explain any run of coaching success. That's not to say that all coaches are created equal -- there are outstanding ones and lousy ones, some who are better strategists than others, some who have more of a knack for managing egos -- but in the end, they are more alike than they are different.

That's true even of coaches like Brown and Jackson, who are paid staggering sums, the kind that used to be reserved for franchise players, because owners have bought into the concept of the superstar coach. Maybe they will ultimately turn their teams around and prove to be worth the investment, but it's more likely that they'll be just like all their other colleagues. Coaches like Brown, Belichick, Jackson and the rest didn't win championships because they have some special quality or ingenious system that other coaches don't. They won because they found that elusive place where coaching ability, talented players, committed assistants and a touch of good fortune all come together at just the right time. When any one of those elements disappears, a coach's "genius" usually does, too.

Winning multiple championships seems to automatically elevate a coach to genius status, but sometimes just one is enough. Larry Brown was known more for his job hopping than for the quality of his coaching until he led the Pistons to a title two years ago. After that, he was suddenly everyone's choice as the best coach in the league. When Belichick led the Pats to three Super Bowl titles in four years, he was no longer the guy who had a mediocre tenure with the Cleveland Browns, he was a fascinating leader of men who was worthy of a David Halberstam biography.

True genius in any area is a rare commodity, and we often confuse it with mere success. If the San Antonio Spurs win another NBA championship, Gregg Popovich will be up for the title. Tony Dungy may start to hear the word associated with his name if the Indianapolis Colts make it through the regular season undefeated. But with all due respect to both, they're not geniuses now and they won't be even if they take their teams all the way. They're just smart, hard-working men who made the most of their resources. There's no shame in that, but there's no genius in it, either.