A Mike Singletary-type rant? That's just not the NBA's style

Kings coach Reggie Theus (above) praised Mike Singletary's postgame expressiveness, but a rant like the 49ers coach's would be a surprising sight in the NBA. Steve Aschburner's Mailbag Submit a comment or question for Steve. Name: Email: Hometown: Question: SEND

It was entirely coincidental, and just as antithetical, that Mike Singletary's old-school rant after his debut as head coach of the San Francisco 49ers came in the same week that another NBA season began.

One has nothing to do with the other. Nor can it.

When Singletary put the sort of passion into his first postgame news conference that he used to reserve for the middle of the Chicago Bears' defense, and inadvertently turned himself into a YouTube icon, he became an instant hit with vast segments of America's sporting public. With his words about tight end Vernon Davis in particular and selfish players in general -- "Can't win with 'em. Can't coach 'em. Can't do it'' -- the Niners' new sheriff was taking a stand (in his linebacker eyes), going all Will Kane for his team and his locker room. But to a lot of fans, it was a High Noon moment across allegiances, across leagues, for the way coaches and players relate. Which, come to think of it, is a word that's symptomatic of the problem.

Coaches from whom Singletary learned football didn't relate to players, they coached them. Players in Singletary's day didn't relate to coaches, they listened and obeyed and performed. Or they sat and got fined and packed.

Relating to players is more for the NBA, the original "players' league,'' the place where the teachers in the suits walk softly while the athletes carry the big sticks. What Singletary said after an NFL game will end up one day as video schtick for a beer commercial (assuming Coors has a marketing rep with guts enough to seek Singletary's participation in schtick), but it also might take him from interim status to a long, lucrative head-coaching career. Saying and doing those same things after his first NBA game probably would get a guy some fleeting pats on the back and a long walk to some other employment option.

"Obviously, that can't be a situation at this level that you can do at every press conference,'' Timberwolves coach Randy Wittman said.

Closer to "any'' than "every.'' Different sports, different schedules, different temperaments, different cultures. Teams play only 16 games in the NFL, so each one is worth about five in the 82-game NBA. The best teams lose three, four, maybe five times all year. Games are played once each week, leaving six days to plot, worry, process and dissect.

The NBA, by contrast, crams three or four games in each week. Back-to-backs, four in five nights sometimes. In Cleveland one day, at Philadelphia the next. The elite teams lose 20 times each season and playoff qualifiers might drop 40 games. A coach who vents or rants after each and every one would flame out, have an aneurysm or be tuned out, his players' ear drums fatigued.

Then there's this: The NFL still doesn't have guaranteed contracts, and the sheer numbers on each roster suggest that nearly anyone is replaceable. In the NBA, with a maximum of 15 slots and with most players assured of getting paid this season or beyond, the coaches are the ones generally deemed replaceable, especially if they have one year or less remaining on their own deals.

"Football's different from basketball,'' Kings coach Reggie Theus told me the other night. "You don't have quite the same ... [its] players don't necessarily have the same type of pull with organizations.''

Theus toils about 80 miles away from Singletary's new gig, in his second season with the Kings, working on a contract that includes only a team option for a third year. At first, he would seem to be the sort of guy who helped to make the NBA such a players' league. Theus entered the NBA out of UNLV, where the Runnin' Rebels of coach Jerry Tarkanian weren't exactly known for their discipline. Drafted by the Bulls in 1978, Theus soon established himself as Rush Street Reggie, a styling favorite of the city's female fans, as charming as Billy Dee Williams but with a jump shot and a tremendous wingspan. After 13 seasons as a player, Theus spent nine on camera as a TV analyst and gained a different sort of fame from Hollywood as coach Bill Fuller in the Saturday morning kids' show Hang Time.

But there is more old school in Theus than people realize. Stylish or not, gunner or not, he always played hard. When he set out to coach, he paid his dues, working as an assistant at Cal State-Los Angeles, literally driving the bus for an ABA team, spending two seasons on Rick Pitino's bench in Louisville, then taking over the Aggies of New Mexico State. Frankly, with this Kings team -- with both Ron Artest and Mike Bibby gone from the club he took over in 2007-08 -- Theus still is paying dues.

So as new-agey and as relationship-savvy as he might have to be to make it in the 21st-century NBA, there is a Singletary chip deep inside Theus, too.

"I'm considered to be sort of a players' coach,'' he said. "But I also love the fact that [Singletary] was expressive. I don't have any problem with what he did. He's an emotional guy. He was a fiery player. He's going to be a fiery, emotional coach.

"It's hard to even talk about it because I don't want to have people think I'm talking about my guys, because I'm not. I'm talking in general: I think most athletes are coddled way too much. I think organizations and coaches coddle the players way too much. We lose the line of honesty. He didn't get personal, and that made it OK. He kept it based on [the incident].''

Theus was tested, too, as a rookie NBA coach. In March, he fined Artest $5,000 for publicly questioning his coaching tactics and the staff's desire to reach the playoffs. Earlier last season, he levied similar fines on John Salmons and Mikki Moore. He never went into full Singletary meltdown mode, but he did deliver a much-needed message each time about who was in charge or, at least, how things would get done on his watch.

"You have to be careful with the cameras and microphones,'' Theus said. "For me, it's one of those things where you want to keep as much in-house as possible. Relationships with your players are very important. I tell them, every time we sit down with players and get into heart-to-hearts, that I'm not perfect, and I make mistakes, too.''

That sound you just heard was Mike Ditka breaking something. Bob Knight throwing a chair.

"But,'' Theus said of Singletary again, "he has to coach his team the way he wants to coach his team. That's nobody else's business. Let him make his own mistakes. Let him fix his own mistakes. Let him find out if he can coach or not.''

This was Wednesday, a day before word leaked out that San Francisco's new coach -- at halftime of his very first game -- had dropped his drawers to make a point to his players about the 49ers' 20-3 hole and the manner in which they had dug it.

So Theus didn't comment on that. Odds are, though, that if the old-school coach lurking inside him ever went that far, the Kings would see one expensive and fashionable pair of silky boxers.

Steve Aschburner covered the Minnesota Timberwolves and the NBA for 13 seasons for the Minneapolis Star Tribune. He has served as president or vice president of the Professional Basketball Writers Association since 2005.